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With every crack of a shutter, daggers dug into Damian’s eyes.
He marched forwards all the same, keeping perfect step with Father as he was expected to do.
When Father slowed, to wave and grin so falsely it was a miracle that anyone ever fell for it, Damian would slow too. With each of his own waves, his own much more convincing smiles, Damian looked out for any sign of direct or indirect threat.
Sure, the crowd of reporters and self-important fans thought that they might be worthy enough to be within Father’s line of sight, but that did not guarantee that there were no malicious parties hidden amongst the shifting bodies.
Father risked himself further, stepping towards the useless barrier that had been erected to keep the walkway clear. Damian in turn went closer too, to Father and to the barrier and to the stranger that was holding out a magazine for Father to sign.
Damian did not click his tongue at the inanity of it all, he kept vigilant of every single movement around him even as new flashes of light cascaded over each other.
They had lingered too long, every moment that passed brought further risk and yet Father was still conversing about nothing at all even though they must keep moving. And they will keep moving, Damian will make certain that they will keep moving.
Finally, with one more goodbye, Father took three entire steps before he was stopping once more. Damian did not let his scowl fully form, he just silently stepped closer to Father in silent reminder that they must continue.
A hand settled on Damian’s shoulder, Father saying something to the reporter.
Damian focused hard, needing to hear the particular words over the din of the crowd, the wrong combination could mean certain death after all but then Father was laughing. The reporter laughed too and Father returned to the centre of the red carpet and Damian dutifully fell into place just a fraction of a step behind him.
A particularly obnoxious camera flashed more brightly than the rest but Damian had been trained to resist the effects of a flash bomb and so he did not falter, not even for a moment.
At last they reached the steps of the theatre and just as they were nearing the relative safety of a building that Damian had made certain to scope out before the premiere had even officially been announced, and then again only hours ago to make extra certain that it was still safe, Father slowed again.
Damian resisted every urge to whip around to him and demand that he stop wasting time, pressing a sharp nail into the palm of his hand in such a way that even the paparazzi should not be able to use as evidence of weakness within the Wayne lineage.
Father waved once more and the crowd erupted into cheers and it was an explosion of sound that had Damian stagger only he could not stagger.
Wayne’s and al Ghul’s do not stagger and yet he was now two paces to the left of where he was meant to have been. Any assassin worth their salt could very well take advantage of those two paces and so Damian shot back towards his rightful position by Father’s side, waiting for the roar of gunfire or the glinting of steel.
A voice from the crowd called out above the rest and it must be a verbal attack from how Father tensed the slightest amount but the words themselves did not make any sense at all despite Damian knowing seventeen languages fluently and even more in passing, he was meant to understand, he needed to understand.
It must be a code then, a code that Father had recognised and possibly registered as a threat but then the grin was back and Father was giving a reply in that same unknown language.
More flashes, more shouts, there were so many people swarming to get a look at Bruce Wayne but Damian would not allow this to continue on for any longer. He gripped onto Father’s arm, tugging him towards the theatre.
Father continued speaking in code except now it was not directed at the stranger, but to Damian himself. Damian really did scowl now, realising that he was expected to have already worked out the key to the new language, not only that but he should have been able to reply in form too.
When Father’s steps slowed once more, Damian pulled him even harder. They had already wasted more than enough time interacting with the crowd, it was high time for to minimise the amount of people surrounding them.
At last they broke through into the lobby but just like outside there was a sea of people, a sea of threats, all clamouring to talk above one another.
As one, this new crowd turned to them and a foolish woman with a death wish came right on over and began speaking with Father even though Damian made it clear to him that they should instead simply find their seats.
Father said something to Damian and Damian understood the meaning, of course he did, he would always understand what was being demanded of him and yet…
Another bright flash and Damian’s hand snapped down against where a blade should be hidden beneath fabric only Father had demanded that he not bring any weapons tonight.
No matter, Damian himself was a weapon.
There should not be any paparazzi within these walls and yet there was another damned flash and Damian scowled at the intruder only to see that they were wearing a lanyard hanging from their neck that declared them as an offical part of the event.
Father gestured between the woman and Damian and the woman smiled, speaking in tongues that Damian should understand, he did understand, there was nothing in this world that Damian Wayne al Ghul did not understand.
It was hot within this atrium, hotter than was standard. Damian found it ridiculous that even with just how much money had been spent on creating this event, the air conditioning was still sub par.
Damian would manage with the heat of course, though a bead of sweat still ran down his spine. He cursed himself for even that weakness; Father was still perfectly sweat free and so should Damian be.
The woman at last left but before they could continue on, they were accosted by a couple. The taller man was grinning brightly, still holding the hand of the smaller man and only letting go for long enough to shake Father’s in greeting.
There was no sign of weapons on either of them, but Damian kept a close eye on the smaller man in particular. By the way the finely crafted suit was sitting on his frame, he was not only fit but possibly trained.
Trained in a sport, most likely, not a discipline given that he was standing so loosely that Damian could fell him with one well timed punch.
Then again, the stranger could be pretending to be in a relaxed position; all decent assassins should be able to hide their skills when standing in a crowd of targets.
The taller man said something and Father chuckled in a way that was clearly fake and yet the two men twisted around all the same, one holding up his phone to take a photo together.
Bright light seared into Damian’s eyes but he would not blink, he would not, especially not when Father was in such close proximity to unknown individuals.
At last the couple left and Damian whirled on Father to demand that they stop with this ridiculous drivel only somehow Damian turned a little far, nearly a whole half rotation too far. He corrected himself immediately, he must punish himself later for the juvenile mistake, but Father did not comment on it.
Someone gave a shout, one that must be a warning or a threat and so Damian whirled again, ready to protect his Father by whatever means necessary only the atrium had somehow whirled also, because Damian was now facing the door once more.
A thousand flash bangs all went off right outside the doors and Damian’s ears rang out with the explosions only he could not allow even explosions to distract him from his mission.
His mission of…
Of…
His mission of protecting Father, of course. It was not simply a mission, but a duty. One that Damian would do anything to fulfil, anything to meet and exceed the expectations that came along with his name.
A hand touched his elbow and Damian balled his fist, ready to strike down anyone that dare touch him only before he could even do so, he realised it was not a threat at all but simply Father.
Damian focused on the touch, waiting for light taps on his elbow that he would decode immediately, but Father’s grip only tightened.
Father’s mouth moved and Damian watched it to parse the silent words.
“Damian, is everything alright?”
Damian answered perfectly for everything he does must be perfect and yet for some reason Father’s brows pinch. He opened his mouth once more but this time his lips do not have a chance to form words, silent or otherwise, before there’s another threat coming closer towards Father.
So close that Damian could smell the stench of alcohol even before he sees the flute of wine held loosely in their hand.
Damian sneered, knowing full well that glass was not allowed within the premises as it could be used as a weapon. Well, actually, it was to reduce the need for clean up should it break but anything could be turned into a weapon, glass especially.
The stranger laughed and it should not be a stranger, Damian should know every single person within these walls less they pose a threat but Father spoke to them as though he was familiar anyway.
When the stranger laughed, loudly, so loudly, and Father laughed too.
It was the fake laugh he always used for social events, it was nothing like the true laugh that Damian alone has earned.
Damian and perhaps the other people he had been forced to live with even though they had no tie to Father’s lineage.
As the stranger tried to sling an arm around Father’s shoulder, Damian moved faster, shoving them back so hard that they staggered.
An explosion of sound slammed into them and Damian swore that his ears bled with it even before any of the glass shards scattered across the tiled floor but Damian could fight through it, he must fight through it.
Father’s hand was back on Damian’s arm only this time it was not on his elbow at all.
Damian did not recall having dropped to his knees any more than he could remember clamping hands against his ears and yet somehow that was the vulnerable position he had allowed himself to assume.
He launched back up to his feet to eliminate the fool that had broken the glass only there must have been poison in the wine because Damian overbalanced to one side.
Any poison it must have been, Damian would fight through it because he had built a resistance to all types even before he could remember drinking any of them down and he would overcome this poison also.
Father’s voice rang out by Damian’s side and it was like a thunderclap.
Flashes of lights, so many lights, so many voices, so many body’s all around them all clamouring to fulfil their own self interests and Damian was all at once on his knees again, the atrium growing ever hotter.
More lights, even as Damian closed his eyes and he shouldn’t close his eyes, he had been trained not to close his eyes and yet the lights still burned into him and the crowd, the sea of people, were shifting, transforming into a giant beast that surely must be targeting Father.
Father was in danger.
Father was in danger and Damian needed to fight.
He needed to fight, he needed to protect Father, he needed to live up to his name and yet all Damian did was lurch as acid burned his throat.
It was the poison, it must be the poisonous fumes let off from the moment the fake wine had been dropped and Damian must purge it from his system and immediately go into a fighting stance and yet just as Damian was lurching again, there was something wrapping around his shoulders.
Damian’s elbow shot back, colliding with hard flesh but the all consuming heat did not relent, not even when something hooked beneath the crook of his knees.
He was lifted but Damian thrashed against the enemy that held him, managing a blow to the throat and the ribs and yet the enemy did not let go.
Damian fought harder, needing to protect Father, needing to-
To-
A light exploded at his left.
Damian’s head spun but he would not scream, he could not scream, he must conserve his energy. If he were to be tortured, if he were to be torn apart piece by piece then he must conserve his energy.
Sound, so much sound, a jet engine, no, a scream but it must not be his own, it could not be his own.
He had been trained not to scream, he had been trained not to falter, to stagger, to hesitate and yet Damian’s throat was burning not only from the bile, but from something else entirely.
If anything, the resulting sound only made his head pound harder.
Something hot tracked down his cheeks and it must be more poison because Wayne’s do not cry, they must not.
And he will not for Damian must instead find Father and protect him from the poison and the lights and the shouts and the-
The-
And the-
The world was greying and Damian was greying alongside it.
He dug a nail sharply into the palm of his hand even as he jabbed his elbow straight into the ribs of whoever it was that dared lift him only they did not let go, not until the world all at once went darkened.
The moment that Damian’s legs touched the ground, he was scrambling away, hand rushing for a blade that was not there.
He was a weapon too, Damian himself was a weapon too even without any metal on his person and so he surged up onto his feet to tackle and destroy the person that had dragged him away from Father only to realise that the man that was kneeling a few feet away, arms raised up in surrender, was Father himself.
A door clicked shut and it was like a gunshot and Damian braced for the bullet to lodge into him only for none to come at all.
Damian’s hand raised up to his forehead as his ears rang but it did not tremble, he could not allow it to tremble.
Father said something and Damian must understand it, he must, it was expected of him to understand all commands that were given to him and yet Father was still talking in that nonsense code.
The code that Damian should have already deciphered but he simply had not yet had the chance to.
Father’s voice fell silent.
Impossibly, it was hotter within this… This room, than it had been in the atrium.
No matter, Damian could fight in any conditions, whether that be a desert or a tundra or a side room within a theatre meant only for staff.
Perhaps this room was both, given that there was ice running through his veins even as sweat dripped from his skin. Perhaps he was in a rainforest too, for how thick the air was; each breath almost impossible.
He could still fight.
Damian pushed himself up and onto his feet only to tilt too far and slam right back down again.
Father was talking to him, giving him orders, orders that Damian must understand. But then Father’s voice grew softer, quieter, there must be enemies close on their position after all.
The world tilted again until it was as though Damian was sitting on the wall even though his stinging knees never left the ground.
A sound, a bang bang that ricocheted in his head and Father was not coming closer to Damian, he was launching up to his own feet and crossing the room back to the door they had come in from but the moment he opened it, a thousand suns burned into him and Damian had to duck his head between his knees and chest in an attempt to shield himself.
Father was still at the door which meant that he must be in danger but when Damian tried to focus on his footsteps or his shifting weight, all he heard was noise.
There was too much of it and yet still Damian must fight, he had been trained to fight through anything and right now Father needed protecting but then Damian detected another sound amongst the cacophony, the rattling of metal.
Damian pressed one hand hard against the ear while the other reached out towards the door as though to close it and protect Father.
The door opened wider and Damian heard a wrenching sob that could not be his own, he had been trained to never make such a ridiculous sound but it was too bright and too loud and the room was rotating around him again and again.
“Baba.”
Just as quickly as the word had slipped from his mouth, the rest of the world slipped from his grasp.
The smallest of sounds, barely more than a sigh but it still had Bruce’s head snapping up, his hand hovering just above Damian’s cheek.
Damian’s head tilted, trying to stir, but then it was stilling once more.
Bruce shifted back once more, resting his hands onto his knees. His grip tightened, then tightened further, needing the pain to focus his breathing.
They had dimmed the lights as much as they could but Damian’s brows were still pinched in pain. They had even silenced the monitors against protocol when Bruce realised that even the beeps were enough to have Damian flinching in his sleep.
Bruce kept his back straight, so straight that even that ached, his gaze never leaving his youngest.
The Doctors assured him that there was no sign of stroke and yet an ice cold fear still lingered in his veins. A migraine, they said, as though a migraine could get so severe to have Damian losing consciousness like that.
Then again, Dick’s migraines could sometimes be debilitating. They could last for days, too, though the thought of Damian spending any longer on this too large bed made Bruce’s heart ache.
Damian made another sound, shifting until he was curling up on his side. Damian’s hand was shaking as it gripped onto the sheet beneath him as though it was the only thing keeping him steady.
Vertigo, then?
Whatever it was that had made Damian like this, Bruce wanted it to be over.
If anything, the fact that Damian had not fought against the cannula that had been placed on the top of his hand just made it ever more clear that something was wrong. Even now, on the edge of waking, Damian did not register the line that was keeping him hydrated and medicated.
Not like the medications had even done anything to ease his suffering, at least not that they could tell.
Damian must have built a resistance to whatever had been administered, given that they barely seemed to touch his pain at all.
It had already been hours, hours, and yet Damian was no better than when he had been brought here. Bruce wanted to take him home, hell, wanted to take him to the Watchtower if that meant Damian got better faster, but all he could do was wait here by his bedside.
By another bedside.
By another Son who he could not soothe.
Another child that suffered because Bruce could not protect them, not even from their own heads.
Damian tensed, his grip on the sheets tightening until his whole hand was shaking with it.
“Damian,”
The boy flinched hard, baring his teeth but then he was curling Into himself, flinching again when he gave of a quiet moan.
Bruce longed to reach out for him, to take Damian’s pain as his own, but he did not want to cause any more pain for him and so Bruce stayed silent and he stayed still.
He counted his own heartbeats, keeping them slow just in case Damian somehow could sense it, just in case even that would be too loud for him.
Another sound passed the boys lips but this was somehow different, as though he was trying to form syllables amongst the pain.
No, those had been syllables.
A single word, one that Damian repeated with a whimper.
Even in pain, all Damian wanted wasn’t Bruce, nor was it Dick, it was his Mother.
Bruce…
Bruce understood what that felt like.
He had already contacted Talia, needed to let her know of Damian’s admission before she would no doubt find out from her own sources or, worse still, find out from the media.
While Bruce knew that Barbara was already hard at work, clearing the photos of Damian in such a fragile condition there had been too many cameras around when he had grown dizzy, too many eyes on them when Damian had all at once thrown up, with even more interest when they took him out to the waiting ambulance despite event security trying to control the situation.
No, there were still too many photos of the poor boy, being passed around as dramatic news when what he needed most right now was privacy and care.
Bruce understood what that felt like too; there was still the occasional article released with the image of a small boy kneeling by his parents sides.
“Baba?”
It was a wobbling croak, those beautiful eyes that were so like his Mother’s barely open at all.
“Damian,”
Damian lurched upright, hand rushing for a non-existent blade.
“I can still fight.” Damian said. “Father, I-”
What little colour he had regained in sleep was lost in an instant but when Bruce reached for a vomit bag Damian shook his head hard, those eyes widening as his hand rushed to grab back onto the bedsheet as though it might stabilise him.
“Da-”
Another shake of his head and Damian was left trembling, so pale that Bruce was certain he was going to be sick.
Bruce stayed right there by his side, falling silent and still once more as Damian swallowed roughly and worked through whatever dizziness and nausea had slammed into him.
Damian listed, snapped upright, listed again.
As Bruce opened his mouth to check in with him, Damian lost his battle against the nausea and Bruce surged to hold the bag for him.
Damian lurched again but there was nothing but bile for him to bring up, his whole body straining with the need to purge everything in his system as though that might ease the dizziness.
Instead of his arms wrapping around himself, Damian’s hand fumbled once more for a weapon as though he could defeat his illness with a knife.
His eyes widened, frantically checking the rest of his clothing for a blade but even before he had been changed into a hospital gown, Bruce had insisted they stayed at home for the premiere.
Bruce wondered if even allowing him to carry just one would have prevented Damian’s lip from trembling like that, though he also understood that a confused Damian could very well lash out even without any sharp gear.
“I can fight,” Damian rushed out. “Father, I can fight, I swear it, you do not need to punish me, I-”
“Damian.” Bruce said firmly. “You’re not being punished.”
A shudder washed over him and Damian’s hands fell back down to grip onto the bedsheets once more.
He was still undeniably dizzy, then, though the worst of the nausea had finally seemed to pass. Damian’s chest shifted with too fast breaths but then he forced himself to slow, to focus.
To take stock of all that was around him, and all that was within him.
As soon as Damian registered the IV, his hand was snapping towards it but Bruce managed to catch it instead, holding it firmly in his own.
“You need it.” Bruce said.
Not that the fluids and medications had done much in improving Damian’s condition but it was best to keep him as hydrated as possible, especially given that he’s already thrown up so many times.
Damian’s breath stuttered again, steadied, quickened once more.
“Father,”
“I’m right here, Damian. You’re safe.”
“Father, it burns.”
“It’s just saline.”
“It is not.” Damian insisted. “I know what poison feels like, I know how it- it makes the world spin and- and-“
And Bruce had never seen Damian like this. Never seen him so… Raw.
The dizziness really was affecting him but Bruce couldn’t help but wonder if it was more than that.
“Damian,” Bruce said.
“I can fight.” Damian said. “Father, I can fight, you do not need to test me. I-I can fight and I can tolerate the poison, I can, but, but remove it, please, I- remove it.”
“Son,”
“Baba, please, I will do better, I swear it, I will do whatever you require, I’ll-”
Damian swallowed roughly.
“Make it stop.” He demanded. “Make it stop spinning, I’ll do better, I- I will live up to your legacy, your name, your-”
“Damian.” Bruce said.
But Damian was shaking his head again and then he was curling so tightly into himself that he shook with the effort.
He was scared, more scared than Bruce had ever seen him.
Bruce was already halfway onto the bed before he even remember moving at all, tugging Damian into his arms.
Damian immediately lashed out but just as soon as he had slammed a fist against Bruce’s chest he was clutching onto Bruce’s shirt instead.
“Father, Father, I can fight,”
“Stand down, Son, shh, I’ve got you now. Shh…”
A weight slammed against him outright, Damian’s head burying into his neck.
Bruce ran a hand up and down Damian’s back, pressing against each ridge until Damian’s shoulders were hitching again not from barely restrained gags but from broken sobs.
Pressing a kiss against the top of Damian’s head, Bruce held him just a little tighter.
“Baba.”
“I’m here. I’m right here. Shh. Rest.”
Although instinct screamed at Bruce to rock him gently, but he resisted it, not wanting to make the boy any dizzier than he already was. All Bruce could do was hold him right now, hold him and love him the best he could.
Hold him and wait for the world to stop spinning, for the pain to ease and for the peace Damian had fought so hard for to return.