Work Text:
Damian had a problem.
He was lost.
Completely lost.
Damian Wayne hated admitting that, but after nearly twenty minutes of traversing unfamiliar rooftops, even he had to accept reality.
He had no idea where he was.
It had all started with a scream.
Or at least, he thought it had been a scream.
Now, looking at the buildings around him, Damian wasn't so sure about anything anymore.
Irritated, he raised a hand to his ear.
"Batman, I—"
The words died in his throat.
His fingers met nothing but skin.
Damian froze.
His communicator wasn't there.
Damian looked around, hoping to find the damn device. But all he saw was trash. Trash everywhere.
No sign of the communicator.
He let out a slow breath and tried to calm himself down and remember what had happened.
He remembered the scream.
He remembered entering the alley.
He remembered the awful smell.
Then...
His head throbbed.
A sharp pain shot through his temple.
Instinctively, he raised a hand to the spot.
His fingers came away wet.
Blood.
As if it were some cruel joke, the moment he realized he was bleeding, his legs gave out beneath him.
He hit the ground like dead weight.
The world around him spun.
Damian squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight off the dizziness and the overwhelming drowsiness threatening to drag him under.
"Get up... I have to get up..."
He repeated the words while trying to push himself against the wall behind him.
With difficulty, Damian managed to stand.
He leaned heavily against the wall, trying to catch his breath.
His stomach twisted.
Cold sweat formed across his forehead.
Then, without warning, he threw up.
What felt like hours later, Damian finally stopped vomiting everything he'd eaten for dinner.
Disoriented, he tried once more to contact the others.
"Batman..."
Damian clenched his eyes shut as his fingers found empty air.
"Tt."
Of course.
Because losing his communicator once apparently wasn't humiliating enough.
He sighed and forced his body forward.
Every step made his head pound.
But standing still was worse.
Stationary targets were easier to find.
—
Batman landed on one of Gotham's rooftops.
Patrol had been quiet so far.
Too quiet.
That was when Batman realized something was wrong during the routine check-in.
"Report."
The responses came immediately.
"Nightwing."
"Red Hood."
"Red Robin."
"Spoiler."
"Signal."
"Orphan."
...
Bruce waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Nothing.
"Robin?"
"Probably ignoring the comms on purpose," Jason muttered.
"No. He always answers during patrol." Tim frowned.
"Hey, mini-Batman, you hearing me?"
...
"Damian?"
...
"Little D?"
...
"Damian, this isn't funny."
...
"Robin, respond."
Silence.
Dick felt a chill run down his spine.
A cold knot settled in his stomach.
Damian might be stubborn, but he never ignored communications during patrol—especially when Batman himself was calling.
"Oracle, track Robin's location."
Even through the communicator, concern could be heard beneath Batman's controlled tone.
"Got his last signal," Oracle answered after a moment.
"Where?"
"An alley."
The silence that followed was worse than any answer.
—
Damian no longer knew where he was going.
Not that he'd known before.
At some point during his wandering, his legs gave out again.
Now he was lying flat on his back against the cold pavement.
After managing to roll over, this was apparently all his body was willing to allow.
His eyes drifted toward Gotham's sky.
The city lights hid the stars.
He missed them.
Back when he lived with his mother, there had been nights when Talia would take him to one of the League's rooftops.
She'd lie beside him and point out the constellations overhead.
Those nights had been rare.
Nights when Damian felt more like a child than a warrior.
His mother would run her fingers through his hair while telling stories about the stars and how one day he would become a worthy heir.
Damian didn't miss the League.
But he missed those moments.
That silence.
That feeling that there was nothing in existence except himself, his mother, and the endless universe above them.
"Get up, my prince."
His mother's voice sounded so real that, for a moment, Damian almost believed she was there.
"No king remains on his throne after falling."
A pause.
"Get up, habibi."
Damian opened his eyes.
The voice was gone.
Only the throbbing pain in his head and the cold pavement beneath him remained.
He frowned.
He couldn't remember when he had closed his eyes.
That should have worried him.
But he didn't have time to worry.
With a tired sigh, he pushed himself upright.
The world spun violently, making his stomach lurch, but he stayed on his feet.
The only thing that mattered was continuing to move.
One step.
Then another.
Ignoring the pain.
Ignoring the dizziness.
Ignoring the bitter taste lingering in his mouth.
He had to keep walking.
—
The alley was empty.
Bruce examined it for the third time.
There was no sign of Damian.
Only a broken communicator lying beside a dumpster.
Dick felt his stomach sink.
"This doesn't make sense."
Jason crossed his arms.
"If somebody attacked him, where's the body?"
"Jason."
Dick shot him a look.
"What? I'm being realistic."
Bruce crouched beside the communicator.
The device was shattered.
Small dark stains marked the concrete a few feet away.
Blood.
Not much.
But blood nonetheless.
Enough.
The silence that settled over the group felt suffocating.
Dick looked away.
He didn't like this.
Not one bit.
Damian was many things, but he would never willingly abandon his communicator.
Especially not during patrol.
Bruce closed his hand around the device.
"Oracle."
The channel opened immediately.
"I'm here."
"Cameras."
"Already checking."
Several seconds passed.
Then:
"We have a problem."
Everyone froze.
"The nearby cameras were offline for approximately ten minutes."
Jason swore.
"Of course they were."
"I'm trying to recover the files, but it'll take time."
Bruce stood.
Dick knew that look.
Knew it far too well.
It was the look Bruce wore whenever he was terrified and trying not to show it.
"Expand the search area."
"B."
Dick hesitated.
"We'll find him."
Bruce didn't answer right away.
His gaze remained fixed on the blood.
"I know."
But his voice came out too quietly to convince any of them.
"Split up."
The order was simple.
Nobody argued.
Dick vaulted toward the nearest rooftop.
Jason headed in the opposite direction.
Cass disappeared before anyone even saw her leave.
Steph and Duke took the outer sectors.
Tim stayed connected to the Batcave, assisting Oracle.
Within seconds, the alley was empty.
Except for Bruce.
The Dark Knight remained still for another moment.
His eyes swept over the alley again.
The dumpster.
The wall.
The ground.
The blood.
Not much.
But enough to tell him Damian was injured.
Bruce knew his children's trails better than he ever wanted to.
Robin hadn't left blood by accident.
That meant a head wound.
Or a facial injury.
Something that bled heavily.
Something that could explain why Damian wasn't responding.
His jaw tightened.
Then he vanished into the night.
—
"Oracle."
Tim's voice came through the comms.
"I recovered part of the footage."
Everyone stopped.
"Show us."
The recording appeared on their visors.
Low quality.
Filled with interference.
But it was Damian.
Alone.
Entering the alley.
Dick released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
At least they had something.
Then the footage continued.
A blur.
Movement.
A figure running.
Damian charging forward.
And then—
The image froze.
When it returned, Robin was gone.
Only a shadow disappearing beyond the camera's range remained.
"That's the last image?" Bruce asked.
"Yeah."
"Damn it," Jason muttered.
"Wait."
Tim interrupted.
The footage rewound several seconds.
He zoomed in.
More.
And more.
Until part of the image became clear.
Dick felt his heart drop.
Because now he could see it.
Damian was stumbling.
Only slightly.
But he was.
"He's injured," Dick said.
"Concussion," Bruce answered immediately.
Nobody asked how he knew.
Everyone saw it.
Everyone understood.
And everyone reached the same conclusion.
If Damian had a concussion...
Then maybe he didn't even know he was lost.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Until Tim broke it.
"B..."
"What?"
"If he's disoriented..."
Tim didn't finish.
He didn't need to.
Bruce already understood.
Because a lost child in Gotham was concerning.
Robin—the Batman's partner—lost in Gotham, injured, and without a communicator, was a nightmare.
And every passing minute made it worse.
—
Gotham felt colder.
Not winter-cold.
Dangerous-cold.
The buildings seemed taller.
The streets quieter.
Damian couldn't tell whether they were truly empty or if he'd simply lost the ability to understand what was around him.
It was pathetic.
He was Robin.
Son of the Bat and Talia.
Heir to the mantle and the Demon's Head.
How could he be this lost?
This helpless?
This wasn't worthy of an al Ghul.
Nor of a Robin.
"Oh, my prince, you're so close... you only need to keep going."
His mother's voice sounded like a lullaby.
He wished so desperately that she were really there.
To hold him.
But he knew better.
His mother only embraced him on rare occasions.
This wouldn't be one of them.
Not when he was so pathetic and lost.
Not when he couldn't even tell if people were standing around him.
His mother would be disappointed in how far he'd fallen.
"Stay strong, my prince. You only need to keep going. They're so close."
"M-Mother... I... can't..."
His voice came out slurred and barely audible.
The shadows of Gotham seemed to swallow him deeper into darkness.
At some point, rain began to fall.
His Robin uniform became soaked.
The wind made every hair on his body stand on end.
Damian lay motionless on the ground.
Rain softened the dried blood in his hair.
The pavement beneath him slowly turned red.
For a moment, he wondered whether only his head was injured.
His legs hurt too.
Heavy.
Wrong.
Then he saw her.
Talia.
Looking into his eyes with an expression Damian could only interpret as pain.
Or anguish.
He wondered if she was hurt too.
She approached him.
As elegant as he remembered.
She knelt beside him.
And he felt her hand run through his hair as though comforting a frightened child.
He closed his eyes.
Trying to absorb every ounce of warmth.
Only for her voice to wake him again.
"You cannot sleep, Damian. They're coming. You only need to hold on a little longer."
"You would do that for me, wouldn't you?"
"You'd endure a little longer, wouldn't you, my prince?"
Damian no longer had the strength to speak.
But he couldn't leave his mother unanswered.
With great effort, he nodded.
A strange sound escaped his throat.
He could only hope she understood.
"Very good."
"I'll stay with you until they arrive."
"For now, stay awake and keep breathing."
"You're doing very well, my Damian."
—
"Damian!"
The voice cut through the rain.
Distant.
Muffled.
Damian needed several seconds to realize he'd heard it.
Or maybe several minutes.
He couldn't tell anymore.
"Damian!"
The voice came again.
Closer.
More urgent.
He knew that voice.
But its owner felt distant inside his mind.
For a moment, Damian assumed it was another hallucination.
After all, he'd been hearing his mother all night.
What would stop this from being another illusion?
Then came footsteps.
Someone running.
Then another.
Then another.
Boots striking wet pavement.
Many of them.
Damian tried to open his eyes.
Only one obeyed.
Blurred lights danced across his vision.
Shadows moved above him.
"Here!"
The voice was close now.
Very close.
"I found him!"
Someone dropped to their knees beside him.
Hands gripped his shoulders.
Firm.
Careful.
Familiar.
His body was shifted just enough to move him away from the growing puddle beneath him.
The world immediately spun.
Damian let out a weak sound of pain.
"Hey, hey. Easy."
Dick.
It was Dick.
Damian tried to focus.
The face above him remained blurred by rain and tears his eyes insisted on producing.
Tears.
How humiliating.
One hand gently cradled the side of his head.
Another brushed soaked hair away from his forehead.
"I'm here, Little D."
Damian wanted to answer.
Wanted to say he was perfectly fine.
That it was nothing.
That he didn't need help.
Instead, his mouth moved before he could stop it.
"You... took... long enough."
The words came out slurred.
Weak.
Barely recognizable.
But Dick smiled.
A smile Damian recognized even through blurred vision.
"Yeah."
Something in Dick's voice sounded broken.
"I know."
"Sorry about that."
Damian felt another hand touch his shoulder.
Then another.
Familiar voices echoed around him.
Jason.
Tim.
Cass.
Steph.
Duke.
His father.
They were all there.
Finally.
For some reason, the weight crushing his chest eased.
The last thing he heard before his eyes closed again was Dick's voice.
"It's okay now."
"We found you."