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Nobody cares.
That sickening thought struck Damian’s mind as he laid in bed on his back, hands intertwined over his chest.
I haven’t left my bed in a week and nobody cares.
The pain at that notion was so horrid it brought a smile to his face.
Without looking, Damian reached towards his bedside table and clumsily grasped until his phone was in his hand.
He brought it to his face and scrolled through his notifications hopefully.
In his inbox, there was an email from Amazon letting him know about the 20% off sale this week. Great. Just what he was wishing for.
He didn’t know what he was expecting. Obviously, none of his friends would have texted him. He didn’t have many friends, and he told the ones he did have that he had been sick all week and that’s why he hadn’t been at school. Why would they check in? They didn't know he was wasting away in a dark room, tortured by an array of never ending thoughts. He really had only prayed, when the exhaustion started, that his father would take some sort of notice.
Yeah, god didn’t seem to be listening.
He closed his eyes, for a second, and embraced the inky blackness of his eyelids. He felt himself drift into wondering what it would be like if he never had to open them again.
He snapped himself out of it, placing his head in his hands.
No. No more of those thoughts.
“DAMIAN!” His father’s booming voice called from downstairs.
“WE’RE GOING TO DINNER!”
“oh, shit.” He thought, “I’d completely forgotten about that.”
He mustered the energy to get out of bed, but he definitely did not have the energy to change clothes, even if he was wearing a stained white t-shirt and pajama pants.
“It’s only a family dinner.” He thought “there’s no point in dressing up.”
Bruce looked puzzled as Damian came down the stairs. “Son, what are you wearing? Go and change, we need to leave for dinner in less than—“
“Father, please, can I just…not dress up today?” Damian begged. “I’m so tired.”
Bruce hesitated, and then his eyes softened. “You’re still feeling bad? Eh…well, alright. I’ll allow it since you're sick and it’s not a press dinner. Just this once.”
“Thank you, father.” Damian muttered.
—————————————————
Damian stabbed and twisted his fork into his dish as the adults gorged themselves in conversation. Richard went to take a bite of his pasta and stopped before it reached his mouth, taking notice of Damian’s unusual silence.
Are you alright, Dami?” Dick queried, an anxious smile plastered on his face.
“I’m fine, Grayson.” Damian snapped, then melted. “Just tired. I didn’t really…sleep last night.” It wasn’t technically a lie, but the way he phrased it was a bit misleading. It's not like he was tossing and turning, unable to sleep, it was more like he chose not to.
“Ah, sorry about that, buddy. Bruce told me you’ve been sick.” Dick paused, thinking. “Hey, how about you come over to my apartment for a sleepover after this? I’ve got How to Train Your Dragon on Blue Ray and plenty of popcorn.”
Damian hesitated. He absolutely wanted to, as much as he hated to admit it he really did love hanging out with his older brother, and he would do anything to get out of the manor, but he also wanted to stay in his room. It was safer to be away from everyone.
Against his better judgement, he decided to take him on his offer.
“Yes. That sounds recreational.” Damian nodded.
Dick smiled, a bit less worried than before.
—————————————————
Damian came out of Dick’s bathroom, now changed into a fresh pair of pajamas. He entered the living room to find it transformed into some sort of sleepover haven. Dick had adorned the two couches in his living room with enough pillows and blankets to give someone a heat stroke. Dick walked in and finished the room off with a fresh bowl of popcorn.
“Voila, just like that, the ultimate sleepover setup is complete.” Dick smirked, gesturing pridefully.
“It’s…something.” Damian laughed, grabbing a piece of popcorn and shoving it in his mouth. He crawled into one of the “beds” and tucked himself under the covers. Dick did the same and started the movie.
—————————————————
Damian woke groggily, head pounding, and he realized he must’ve fallen asleep during the movie. He didn’t have to look towards Grayson to know he was asleep, his snoring practically shook the whole room.
The room was dark, the movie over and the lights off. Damian tried desperately to go to sleep before the thoughts came in, but it was of no use. There was no going back to bed after he woke up.
God, why couldn’t he just have slept through the night just this once?
Damian pushed himself into a sitting position, feeling sick even though he knew it was only a lie he told the others. He stood and walked to the bathroom to refresh himself.
Damian splashed the sink water into his face, trying to refresh himself — as if attempting to reset his brain into believing he hadn't tried to sleep yet.
He caught a glimpse of his sleepover bag, still sitting in the corner of the bathroom from when he took it in there to change clothes earlier. He knew its contents weren’t only clothes. He kneeled next to the bag and, with hands shaking, moved the clothes aside. His fingers gripped the teddy bear from the bottom of the bag. His father had teased him for bringing it, but he didn’t know the real reason.
Damian turned the bear over and zipped it open. He reached inside, feeling the cool metal against his fingers. He pulled out the razorblade.
“I shouldn’t.” He thought. “Not at my brother's house.”
He looked away, but couldn’t seem to place the blade back inside.
“One couldn’t hurt.” And he knew the second he thought that he had lost the battle with himself. He stood, lifting his sleeve and looking over the scars in the mirror. He turned the blade to the sharp side and swiped it, just once.
He paused.
He swiped it again.
Two times turned into 3, and before he knew it his mind was playing all his failures like a YouTube fail compilation and he swiped again and again and again until thick red liquid was pouring down his arm to his fingers.
It had never bled that much before.
“Shit.” Damian thought, beginning to panic. He quickly sat, digging through Richard’s cupboards for anything that could stop the bleeding.
The door creaked open.
It all happened in slow motion.
Dick Grayson, opening the bathroom door in search of his baby brother, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
Damian Wayne, blood soaking his sleeve from his clearly self-inflicted wounds, jolted back in an attempt to hide his arm, but nothing could hide this.
Dick froze, a million emotions passing through his face like a violent storm. Fear, worry, sadness, panic, and the slightest hint of anger.
Dick knelt down, finding the bandages in less than a second. He silently took Damian’s arm and began wrapping it.
“That’ll stop the bleeding for now, but we need to go to the hospital to get some of those stitched.”
Damian wrenched his arm away. “No. No way.”
Dick’s gaze softened. “Then the manor. Alfred can—“
Damian backed away, fully alarmed now. “No.”
Richard pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kid, what exactly do you want me to do here? Let you bleed out?”
Damian looked away.
“…Dami, look at me…” Richard begged, lifting his hand slightly to reach for his baby brother.
Damian didn’t look.
Dick sighed. “Fine, don’t. Just…I’m always here for you, baby bat, but you’re walking a tightrope. You could get seriously hurt. We have to tell B about this. At the very least.”
Damian turned as pale as a ghost. “No — no we don’t. He can’t know.”
Dick looked guilty. “Listen, Dami, I don't want to rat you out, but…”
“…you’re going to.” Damian finished his sentence, defeated.
“It’s a matter of your safety, Damian.”
Damian shook his head.
—————————————————
Damian sat on the couch with his head in his hands. In the other room, Richard talked to Bruce on the phone.
“He needs medical attention, definitely, and some of the cuts will probably need stitches, but most of all, he…he really needs you, B. Someone to talk to.” Dick explained.
“Yeah, okay. Alright. Bye B.” Dick hung up and walked into the living room. He sat on the couch opposite from Damian.
“Damian—“ He began.
“We don’t need to talk about it.” Damian replied before he could even ask.
“…” Dick sighed, turning his head away.”
“I’m…sorry, Dami. I haven’t been there for you enough lately. I was so distracted with being Nightwing—“
Damian looked sucker punched. “What? No, this has nothing to do with you, Grayson.”
Richard went quiet.
“You don't believe me.” Damian frowned.
The older boy sighed.
“It’s not your fault, Grayson. It’s not anyone’s fault besides my own. I chose to—“
“You’re just a kid, Dami.” Richard interrupted, his eyes worn and tired. “None of this is your fault. You shouldn’t have had to deal with any of this in the first place.“
“Well…it’s still not your fault.” Damian insisted.
A car honked from outside the apartment.
“I think Alfred’s here.” Dick stated, obviously.
Damian stood and his legs trembled. He had faced murderers, defeated psychos, killed hundreds and even died, but the thought of looking into Alfred's disappointed face filled him with dread.
“Do you think they’ll be…” Damian trailed off.
“It’s going to be okay, Dami. Whatever happens, and I’m sure nothing bad will happen, you’ll always be welcome here.” Richard reassured his brother. He moved with him to the door. “I love you.”
Damian didn’t reply, he just nodded and walked downstairs to the car. He hesitantly pulled open the back door of the vintage car, sat, and strapped himself in. Alfred glanced back, but said nothing. That was almost worse than a scolding. Indifference. The air was tense as they drove, thick enough to cut with a butter knife.
Damian wanted to say something, anything, maybe an apology or some sort of excuse, but no matter how much he tried to come up with something, his brain was completely blank. The only thing he felt come up was the lump in his throat.
They eventually pulled up to the manor. Alfred left the driver's seat and opened the door for Damian. Gotham was well known for being one of the gloomiest places on earth, but the clouds seemed especially dark that night.
He opened the doors to Wayne manor.
He walked up many sets of stairs.
He walked down the long main hallway. Every step felt more suffocating, like he was walking down some sort of shrinking hall straight out of Alice in Wonderland.
He stopped outside of 2 grand looking doors. Beside them was a shiny silver placard engraved with the words “B. Wayne’s Study”.
A hesitant hand reached out, and he took hold of the door handle.
“Father?” Damian asked as he stepped into the study.
“Damian.” Bruce turned to him from where he had been rifling through the bookcase a moment before, as if trying to distract himself.
“Come here.”
Damian hesitantly approached, stopping next to the much taller man.
“Let me see.” Bruce demanded, holding out a hand.
Damian was confused, for a second, and then he realized. He wanted to see what he did to himself.
“I don’t think—“ Damian started defensively.
“Let me see.” Bruce repeated, stricter now.
After a moment, Damian passed his wrist over and looked away, too ashamed to see his father’s expression as Bruce pulled up his sleeve.
Damian suddenly felt both the cool air on his skin and the disappointed gaze of his father. “Good lord, Damian. Don’t you know how dangerous this is?”
All of Damian’s defenses set off at once. He yanked his arm back.
“Thats the point.” Damian snarled, regretting it almost instantly.
Bruce looked appalled at his response. “Why, Damian!?” Bruce demanded. “Why would you—…why wouldn’t you come to me if you were feeling that way?!”
“Because you ALWAYS react like this!” Damian groaned.
“Like what? Like with reasonable worry for my son?”
“No! With judgement!” Damian exclaimed, throwing his hands up furiously.
“I’m not judging.” Bruce replied defensively.
“Yeah, right.” He crossed his arms.
“I was just trying to—“
“Oh, you were trying to WHAT?! I hardly left my bedroom for a WEEK!” Damian yelled, the words bubbling up in his stomach and shooting out of his mouth in an instant. “You barely even NOTICED.” He choked on the last word, looking away to shield his wet eyes from his father’s view.
“You told me…you were ill.” Bruce was pale.
His eyes were stinging, now.. “Oh, and the “World’s Greatest Detective” didn’t even ATTEMPT to fact check that, did he? Even if I was ill, did you bother to see how I was feeling? Did you make sure I was okay?! NO. Because you… you DON'T CARE.”
Tears were pouring down his face, now.
“You don’t… care about me.”
It was silent.
The room was completely silent.
Bruce turned away.
“Go to med bay. Get stitched up.”
“That’s what I thought.” Damian replied, grinning as he wiped his tears with his sleeve. He ran out of the office, slamming the door behind his back.