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Damian took off his shoes without untying them, closed the door behind him and lurched towards the sofa.
He hadn’t slept much; the night had been long, his shift had seemed endless, and he would have jumped into the shower if he hadn’t been too mentally and physically exhausted to make it to the bathroom. Working at the hospital was exhausting, but Damian wouldn’t change a thing about his decision; being a doctor was a different way of helping people, and sometimes it was more rewarding than being a vigilante. Being a surgeon allowed him to apply the precision and care he’d learned at the League and honed over the years. He’d specialised in paediatrics primarily to help Gotham’s children, whom he’d seen suffer for so long, yet there were still moments when doing everything in their power was never enough, just like that night. Those were the worst moments for Damian.
He swore under his breath, staring at the ceiling with his head tilted back. He closed his eyes and tried to banish all the negative thoughts, inhaling and exhaling slowly several times, puffing out his chest as if trying to draw in as much air as possible. The chirping of birds outside the window seemed out of place and deafening to him, but life simply went on, even when things happened all around him that left their mark. Damian would have given anything for a moment of silence alone, without having to think of anything but himself.
“Hey, D. I didn’t think you’d be back yet.”
Jon’s voice burst the brief silence like a bubble, but Damian was glad to hear it. They’d recently started living together, or at least Jon would often appear at his window at random times. Although Damian grumbled about privacy and the need to announce oneself before entering someone else's home, it didn't really bother him. Maybe, even if he wouldn’t admit it, Jon’s presence that morning was exactly what he needed.
“Hey,” Damian said, raising a hand. “What are you doing here in the morning?”
“Breakfast.” Damian felt a quick shift in the air, then felt Jon’s weight settle into the empty spot on the sofa next to him. The scent of freshly baked bagels wafted around him. “How did it go?” Jon finally asked. Damian ran both hands over his face after groaning deeply.
“Night shifts are the worst.”
Jon gave a small smile. “A bit strange coming from a former Robin.”
“Yeah. It’s just that…” Damian shook his head and let his arms fall onto his thighs. He then tilted his head forward and stared at his socks, as if he found the Batman symbol printed on them rather interesting. “No. Nothing,” he finally said, and the silence between them fell like a hammer.
There was no need to say it, but Jon sensed that something was wrong. He’d known Damian for too long to pretend everything was fine, and he knew he wouldn’t open up without being prompted. Damian had always been capable of bottling everything up until he exploded. He was convinced that he shouldn’t share his fears or worries with the world. However, Jon had started to feel his heart racing, and he had no intention of letting Damian eat himself up inside for days to come.
“D.” Jon slid over to his side and put his hand on his shoulder. He could feel Damian’s muscles tense beneath his touch. “Talk to me. Did something happen?”
Damian hesitated again, then took a deep breath, looked up at Jon and said, “We lost a child.” Jon held his breath, which Damian noticed, but spurred on by Jon, he continued speaking. “He was with his parents — a car accident.” They were on their way back from his little cousin’s birthday party. The mother died instantly, and the father is in intensive care. The child had ruptured his aorta and went into haemorrhagic shock on the way to hospital. We couldn’t save him in time.”
A void settled in Jon’s chest. Ever since he’d stopped being a vigilante, that job had been everything to Damian. For him to lose a child meant that he had failed. But that wasn’t the case. Unfortunately, doing everything possible wasn’t enough, and he shouldn’t blame himself for something he couldn’t control. Without even thinking, Jon threw an arm over Damian’s shoulders, pulling him close and holding him tight against his chest, trying to give him the comfort he needed. Jon knew that Damian wouldn’t cry or let himself go in any other way than by telling him what had happened at work, but that was OK. Damian had seen and faced so much, and his tough exterior was simply a way to protect himself from the pain and horror that had always been a part of his life.
“How did it go for you…?”
Damian tried to change the subject, but he didn’t pull away from Jon’s embrace. He wasn’t usually one for such displays of affection, especially after an exhausting shift, but he’d learned to let his guard down around Jon over the years. The fact that they had started seeing each other in a way that went beyond 'just friends' — even if it had only been a few months — helped Damian to trust Jon more.
“We don’t have to talk about it if—”
“No, I want to,” Damian insisted. Jon sighed and reached thoughtfully for the bag of bagels.
“A creature attacked Metropolis.” Jon felt Damian tense up and hesitated for a moment, but knew that was not what Damian would have wanted or asked for. “There were no fatalities, though… the injured were too numerous to count.” Jon turned the bagel over in his hands, closing his eyes as he tried to banish the sounds of police sirens and ambulances he’d heard all night long from his mind. “We later discovered it was the creation of a wizard, but the damage had already been done. I’ve never seen a more chaotic night in Metropolis.”
“A shitty night for both of us, huh?”
“A shitty night for both of us,” Jon repeated, finally taking a bite of the bagel. “But let’s move on.”
“Because we have to.”
“Because we have to,” he confirmed, grabbing another bagel to hand to Damian. “Here. You definitely need to get your strength back.”
“I’m not really that hungry, actually.”
“I get that. But you’ve only slept for about two hours, and you've only eaten a protein bar at the start of your shift.”
Damian grimaced, knowing that Jon knew him better than he would have liked. He hadn’t eaten much, had thrown himself headfirst into work immediately, and had dealt with children arriving at the ER for trivial accidents, from beads in their noses to the horror he’d witnessed with that little patient who’d died in the operating room. He hadn’t slept a wink or rested enough, and hadn’t eaten either. Maybe taking a bite of that bagel wouldn’t be such a bad idea. So, even though he grumbled, he reached out for what Jon was offering him. But it was just then that he noticed the dark stain on Jon’s uniform trousers, and he frowned.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, noticing Jon's frown.
“Huh?” Jon followed Damian’s gaze and looked down, noticing that the blue fabric was stained with dark red. He hadn’t even noticed in the heat of the moment. ‘Oh, it must have happened when that wizard attacked me.”
“Let me take a look.”
Jon immediately waved a hand. “Don't worry, D. It’ll heal on its own.”
“You Kryptonians aren't immune to magic,” Damian insisted, snatching up both bagels and putting them in the paper despite Jon’s protests. “So if you want me to eat something, let me see that wound.”
“Is that blackmail?”
“Yes,” Damian replied imperiously. “Now shut up and take off your pants.”
“How dare you! Aren't you even going to offer me a coffee?”
“Jonathan Samuel.”
The tone in which Damian pronounced his full name promptly deflated any ironic retort that Jon might have wanted to make. He didn’t say anything else or even attempt to; he simply stood up and took off his uniform, allowing Damian to assess the damage. The cut on his thigh was clean and fairly neat, despite its depth. It was struggling to heal precisely because of its magical nature, something that Damian had probably noticed when he brushed against the wound.
Jon knew that Damian was familiar with magic and spells, so he trusted his judgement. He relaxed his shoulders, though he kept his eyes on Damian as he stood up and headed towards the medicine cabinet. Jon heard him mutter something to himself — perhaps about his 'stubbornness', though he wasn't entirely sure — and then rummage through the cabinet. He also heard him run his fingers through his hair. Damian set everything down on the coffee table before going to wash his hands and returning to him.
“It won't heal because there's a residue of magic,” he explained, placing a finger on the edge of the wound. “But I'll take care of it,” he said, muttering a few words backwards. Jon clenched his teeth slightly and cursed as an intense heat radiated from his thigh. However, the pressure beneath his skin eased, the pain slowly faded and only a raw, throbbing sensation remained around the wound.
Only then did Damian begin to disinfect the wound with such care that Jon was certain it was the same care he reserved for all the children he dealt with during his shifts. Despite the ups and downs, and despite knowing they couldn’t always win, Jon was glad to see that Damian had found his place in the world after everything life had thrown at him.
Maybe the night shifts were the worst — that was true. But for every life lost, they would try to save many others.