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Robin charges into the building, ignoring the protests from his family that fill his ears. There’s a child in the building, a mother lost her daughter while trying to evacuate and everyone else refuses to enter the building, saying that it’s ‘too unstable’ and ‘no matter what, someone is going to be caught in the building’. Robin doesn’t care, he’s Robin, it’s his job to save people. The child did nothing wrong, and if nobody else has enough guts safe the child, then he will.
Smoke fills his lungs, his vision darkening from the thick, ashy air. He moves his head from side to side, trying to spot the child, or any evidence of anyone, and as he ventures deeper into the building, helplessness begins to bloom in his chest. He has to save this child, he’s made it this for, so he has to. He has to prove that he’s worthy of the Robin mantle. He can hear his father in his ear, telling him to turn around, that the building is seconds away from collapsing, that it isn’t safe anymore, but Robin doesn’t listen. He yanks the comm out of his ear, throwing it into the bright inferno that’s taking over the wooden structure. He hears a quiet wail, and he goes still.
“Hello? Is anybody there?” Robin calls out, trying to go into the direction of where he heard the noise. He hears another noise, a short shout. Robin rushes to the other side of the room, ignoring the growing heat the dances on his skin. He can’t imagine how the girl feels, since she’s been in here far longer than he has. Robin finally spots a flash of dark brown hair, adrenaline shooting through his veins as it dawns on him that he might actually be able to make it out of here alive, both of them. He lifts up broken furniture, digging the girl out from beneath the pile of wreckage. He gives her a gentle smile when she lays eyes on him.
“Robin!” She gasps, reaching her arms out for him. He carefully lifts her up, turning around and trying to find an exit path. The building creeks above him, and it finally sinks in that this building isn’t going to hold out for much longer, and fear flashes through his eyes as a broken support beam falls, him jumping out of the way just in time to avoid being hit. The girl cries, burying her face in Robin’s neck as he bolts away from the spot, his body moving on autopilot.
He follows the path that he took to get there, but when he reaches the stairs, theres a mound of burning wreckage making them practically unusable. Robin coughs, the smoke finally reaching his lungs as he wheezes, looking around to try and find any other way to get out. They’re far too high to jump out of the window, and even if they weren’t, he would never risk a child’s life by jumping out of the window, not unless it was the only other way.
Robin hears a snap above him, and before he can process what’s happening, he drops to his knees and covers the child’s body with his own, his vision going black as his body explodes in bright pain.
~~~
When Damian comes back to himself, the first thing he registers is incessant beeping. He groans, blindly reaching out in the direction of the obnoxious sound, swatting at the heart monitor with annoyance. Wait, pause, back up. Heart monitor? He peels open his eyes, looking around the bright room, a familiar rock ceiling with cold air telling him exactly where he is. He lets out another groan as he realizes that he’s in the med bay, which means that something must have happened. Why can’t he remember what happened? He looks over to his other side, noticing Dick sitting on the bedside chair with wide eyes.
“Wha’ happened?” Damian slurs. Dick gasps.
“You’re awake! You were out– it’s been nearly a week?! You almost died, I can’t– you’re alive!” Dick cries, his words growing desperate, repeating those words like a mantra. Damian takes a breath.
“I am alive, Richard. What happened?” He asks once more, his attention turning to the door when Alfred walks in, looking stoic as ever, but relief peeks through his indifferent expression.
“Master Damian, I am glad to see that you have returned to us. You got seriously injured when a building collapsed with you in it. A large chunk of it hit your back, and you’ve been healing since.” Alfred explains, Damian nodding along as he processes the words. He feels his legs tingle uncomfortably and Damian tries to wriggle his toes in an attempt to shift them, but nothing happens. Damian’s breath catches in his throat as he looks at Alfred with panic.
“I can’t,” he gulps, “I can’t feel my legs. Why can’t I feel my legs?” Damian asks, confused and worried all the same. Dick and Alfred make eye contact.
“The roofing hit your spine. You have a chance at being able to walk again but… it’s going to be a lot of intensive physical therapy.” Dick explains softly. Damian feels like all the air was stolen out of his lungs, unable to breath. His eyes burn, unshed tears welling in the corners of his ducts.
“You must breathe, Master Damian. Your ailment will not heal if you do not provide your body with it’s necessary oxygen.” Alfred reminds Damian, but the teen lets out a choked sob.
“Ailment? Ailment? Alfred, I might never be able to walk again.” Damian exclaims, tears running down his cheeks in a rare show of (perceived) weakness.
“And you’ll learn to live if it comes to that. Right now, you must focus on staying alive.” Alfred states firmly, allowing no room for argument. Damian looks away, focusing on the walls on the room as he forces down his tears, trying to ignore the loss of feeling in his legs. Trying to ignore the loss of purpose that his injury might present him with.
~~~
Damian wheels himself into the plain building, the sound of gentle chatter assaulting his ears as Jason leads him through the door. Damian keeps his gaze turned downward as Jason checks him in, barely listening to the receptionist as she instructs them on where to go. He feels like cotton is shoved into his ears, preventing him from hearing anything clearly. He moves through the hallways robotically, following Jason’s familiar frame with little thought. Jason opens a door and gestures to Damian to enter the room.
He looks around the room, a small window on the opposite side from the door, two plus chairs pushed again the wall adjacent to the entrance and in the middle of the room is a thick mat with two bars, about the height up to Damian’s waist, planted atop the mat. Damian gulps, finally returning back to the present, only to see an unfamiliar woman sitting on one of the chairs. Damian stares at her, taking a moment to realize that she’s probably his physical therapist. He looks up at Jason, helplessly. He feels more exposed, more fragile, than he can ever remember feeling before, and Jason might be the only person to truly understand that.
Jason gives him a smile, but there’s an underlying hint of worry. Damian looks back at the women, who is adorning a wide smile, far too wide to be genuine, and Damian dislikes her already. He wanted to do this in the comfort of the Batcave, but Bruce said that it would be good for him to interact with people outside of the manor. Damian thinks that that’s stupid, because he goes to school for 180 days a year, but Bruce didn’t seem amused when Damian pointed that out. So here he is, in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people in an unfamiliar situation. Damian continues to stare at the woman, even when she begins to shrink away.
“Damian.” Jason sighs, warning tainting his tone. Damian clenches his jaw, but looks away all the same.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Wayne, and who might you have with you today?” She asks kindly, but she says it in a manner that makes it sound like she’s talking down to Damian, and he despises that. He is not a child, so he mustn’t be talked to like one. Jason smiles, strained.
“I’m his brother’s friend. Dick couldn’t make it, so I took his place. You can call me Peter.” Jason replies stiffly. Damian has to withhold his urge to roll his eyes.
“Well, lovely to meet you, Peter. Now, Mr. Wayne, shall we get started?” She cheerfully asks. Damian huffs, but still nods in response. The woman smiles again, and Damian is getting quite tired of her constant smiles, especially when it’s from something that’s so… not smile-worthy.
The woman, she said her name but Damian doesn’t remember it, guides him off of his wheelchair, helping him onto the mat, not letting go until he has a firm grip on the bar and he’s at least stable enough to keep himself upright. She stands rather close, but Damian can’t be mad about that because he himself is worried that he’s going to fall. Jason sits down on one of the plush chairs, watching Damian intently as the woman leads him through basic exercises. Damian’s arms can barely support his bodyweight, barely being able to put any of it on his legs without them crumbling.
Damian get frustrated the more he tries to walk, his legs not listening to him no matter how hard he tries. His balance is equivalent to that of a newborn kitten, and he hates it. He’s wobbling like a duckling and, no matter how much he tries, he doesn’t seem to improve.
Through months of physical therapy, he can still only manage a few steps before his legs give out, and he finally accepts that he’ll never be the same.
He finally accepts that this is a part of him, and he has to learn how to live with it.