Chapter Text
The mission had been routine until it wasn't.
Damian had seen plenty of alien tech in his fourteen years. He'd fought alongside the Justice League, led the Teen Titans, survived encounters that would have killed most adults. He knew how to read a battlefield, how to anticipate threats, how to move before the danger reached him.
But Jon saw it first.
The weapon fired. Damian registered the sound, a high-pitched whine that made his teeth ache; and then Jon was shoving him, hard, hands against his chest with enough force to send him stumbling sideways.
The first blast hit Damian in his lower stomach. He felt it punch through him, a sensation like being stabbed with something white-hot. His legs gave out.
The second blast caught him as he fell, grazing down his right side from just under his chest all the way to his thigh. The pain was immediate and overwhelming. He heard himself scream, though it sounded distant, like someone else was making that noise.
Then the third blast went through Jon.
Damian hit the ground hard, his right wrist crumpling beneath him. The pain in his arm was nothing compared to the fire in his side, but he felt something crack. Fractured. His wrist was fractured.
He tried to push himself up. His hand wouldn't support his weight. He went down again, his face slamming into concrete. Blood was everywhere. His blood. So much of it, spreading out beneath him in a pool that was growing too fast.
"Damian!"
Jon's voice. Jon was beside him, hands pressing down on Damian's side. The pressure made Damian cry out, a sound he couldn't control.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry." Jon's voice was tight. "Keep your eyes open, okay? Look at me. Don't look at the wound, just look at me."
Damian tried to focus on Jon's face. Jon was pale. Too pale. And there was blood on his suit. Not Damian's blood. Jon's blood.
"Jon—" Damian's voice came out as a wheeze. He couldn't get enough air. "You're—"
"I'm fine." Jon pressed harder on Damian's side. Damian's vision went white for a second, the pain so intense he thought he might pass out. "Stop trying to talk. Just breathe. Keep breathing. Everything's going to be okay."
But Jon was bleeding. Damian could see it now, the dark stain spreading across Jon's chest. The weapon had gone through him. Through his stomach or his lungs or something vital, something that mattered.
"Jon, you need—" Damian tried to reach up, tried to put his hands on Jon's chest where the blood was coming from, but Jon caught his wrists and pushed them back down.
"Stop it. Stop moving." Jon's hands were shaking. Damian could feel the tremor through his skin. "You're going to be fine. The others are coming. Just keep your eyes open."
Damian could hear shouting in the distance. The rest of the team. They were coming. But Jon was still bleeding, and Damian couldn't make his body work, couldn't push Jon's hands away and put pressure on Jon's wound instead.
He tried again. His arms felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, but he managed to lift them, reaching for Jon's chest. Jon immediately shoved them back down, harder this time.
"Damian, no. Stop. You need to stay still."
"You're bleeding," Damian whispered. His vision was starting to blur at the edges. Everything felt far away. "Jon, please, you have to— let me—"
"Shh. Don't cry. It's okay." Jon's smile was wrong. Too soft. Too sad. Like he was saying goodbye. "Everything's going to be fine. Just calm down. Look at me. Keep looking at me."
Damian tried to reach up again. Jon caught his hands and held them against the ground, pinning them there while he kept pressure on Damian's side with his other hand. The position looked awkward, uncomfortable. Jon was leaning over him at a strange angle.
"Stop," Jon said, and his voice cracked. "Damian, please. Just— just stay still. They're almost here."
That was when Damian knew.
Jon was dying.
"No." The word came out broken. "No, no, no—"
Jon's hands slipped a little on Damian's side. His grip was weakening. He looked over his shoulder, and Damian followed his gaze. The others were closer now. Cyborg and Kid Flash were in the lead, with Raven and Gar right behind them.
Jon looked back at Damian. His eyes were starting to glaze over, that bright blue fading to something duller.
"They're here," Jon said quietly. "You're going to be okay."
Then he stumbled to his feet and moved away.
"No!" Damian tried to push himself up, but his body wouldn't cooperate. His right wrist buckled again and he went down, his face hitting the concrete. Pain exploded through his skull. He'd hit his head, hard enough that stars burst across his vision. He tasted blood. "Jon! Jon, come back!"
He tried to crawl. His legs wouldn't work properly. He was slipping in his own blood, his hands sliding out from under him. The concrete was slick with it, warm and sticky. He could see Jon a few feet away, stumbling, falling to his knees.
"Jon!" Damian screamed his name, kept screaming it even as hands grabbed him from behind.
"Damian, stop!" That was Dick's voice. "You're hurt, you need to—"
"Let me go!" Damian thrashed against the grip, but there were too many hands now. Dick and Cyborg and someone else, all of them holding him down. "I have to— he's dying, let me go, I can still—"
They were rolling him onto his back. He fought them, tried to stay on his hands and knees so he could crawl to Jon, but they were stronger. Multiple sets of hands on his shoulders, his arms, his legs. They flipped him over and the movement sent fresh agony through his side. He screamed again.
"Hold him still!" That was Leslie's voice. When had Leslie gotten here? "I need to see the wound."
"Jon!" Damian kept trying to twist away, kept trying to see where Jon had gone. He could just barely see him if he turned his head far enough. Gar was kneeling beside Jon now. "Please, someone help him, please—"
"Damian, you need to calm down." Dick's face appeared above him, pale and frightened. His hands were on Damian's shoulders, pressing him flat against the ground. "You're losing too much blood. You have to let us help you."
"Not me!" Damian could feel tears on his face now, hot and humiliating. "Help Jon! He's—he's—"
Someone was cutting his uniform away. The fabric peeled back and cool air hit his wound. Damian gasped, his back arching off the ground. The pain was incredible. Like someone had poured acid down his side.
"Jesus Christ." That was Cyborg, and he sounded sick. "That's—"
"Don't look at it." Leslie's hands were on Damian's side now, pressing down hard. Damian screamed. The sound tore out of his throat, raw and animal. "I know. I'm sorry. But I have to stop the bleeding."
Damian turned his head, searching for Jon. He could see him now, about ten feet away. Gar was kneeling beside him, and Gar was crying. That was wrong. Gar didn't cry. Gar made jokes and turned into animals and—
Gar bent over and vomited.
The sound was wet and horrible. Gar was on his hands and knees, retching, and Raven was beside him now, her hand on his back. She looked at Jon's body and her face went white.
"No," Damian whispered. "No, no, no—"
"Damian, look at me." Dick's hands were on his face, forcing him to turn away from Jon. "Look at me. Stay with me."
"I can't—" Damian's vision was going dark at the edges. "Dick, I can't—"
"Yes, you can. Keep your eyes open. Keep talking to me."
But Damian couldn't keep his eyes open. The darkness was pulling at him, dragging him down. He tried to fight it, tried to stay conscious, but it was too strong. The last thing he saw before everything went black was Jon's face, pale and still, and Raven kneeling beside him with her hands glowing purple.
Then nothing.