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Reflections of Regret.
Pain. Agony. Torture.
All words that could describe the absolute pandemonium of the newest opponents the Bat family were forced to face.
This night was no different from many, objectively anyway, cold evening, late hour, biting wind and pointed rain, but with the added, poignant tragedy of who stood before the core members.
The night was young, cresting just into maybe two or three in the morning, so far, it had just been minor muggings, suspicious, low level gang meet ups and petty theft attempts. Normal stuff for Gotham, tame even, like tonight had been incredibly slow, thugs were cooperating, and civilians were heeding the unspoken curfew of staying inside during such late hours.
There had been rumors of some higher stake activities spreading, that Tim and Bruce were investigating, it had been such an uneventful night that Cass was sent home to help Barbara in the watch tower or go to sleep, call it early, rest or whatever she had decided to do. Dick and Jason were keeping watch of reports and the skyline, chattering about plans to see a movie together, maybe get batburgers or visit the local amusement park to celebrate Jason getting his G.E.D and starting College prep, at Dick’s insistence and glowing pride.
Damian and Tim were even getting along for once, not quite lovey-dovey, but at least not at each other’s throat with snarky mutterings, Tim even shared an energy bar when the little twerp yawned before splitting up to patrol with Steph. It was nice, seeing them finally show mutual respect and care, affectionately referring to the other as their favorite-least favorite brother, sibling, friend, pain in the behind, whatever you wanna call their bond.
Steph was giving the three apple tall demon reassurance on how to ask his friend, Jon Kent, for a casual hangout outside of missions and work, the kid wanted to ask him to the park on Saturday, maybe get hot cocoa, feed some ducks, take a walk through the scenic pathway lined with trees turning a golden orange with the autumn weather steadily approaching. He was hoping Steph would give her opinion on his idea, add her input, ground him with sisterly advice or tangents from her own past outings so he’d know what to avoid.
Once in a while Barbara would chime in, her duties as Oracle off to a lazy start meant being open to quip sound advice and rein in Steph’s more dramatic, rom-com level suggestions for Damian’s “Not-a-date” date with Jon. To which Damian eagerly nodded, mentally noting down their conversations while his legs swung over the edge of the rooftop they usually took breaks on, bobbing side to side as he added little details like how he considered getting flowers for Jon because Dick had mentioned blooms were for everyone and didn’t always have to be romantically intended.
Then someone made the mistake of mentioning, out loud, that it was a quiet night, that Q word was their downfall, funnily enough, Bruce was the one who made the mistake, off-handedly voicing out the uneasy feeling associated with the Gotham streets being so uncharacteristically empty and controlled during his chat with the girls when Gordon radioed in about a raging fire blowing up a seemingly unassuming office building.
Search and rescue was requested, along with recovery back up and detective aid, that building was a measly IT department, a specialist building, nothing but computers, servers, laptops and nerds working for a local tech based community college as an off-campus help center. Nothing of actual interest, no classified files, no high-intense work, not even paid employees were there, the only people working were student interns and one or two security guards half-asleep at the camera station and snoring over cold donuts.
The motive didn’t add up, not with their regular crazies that had penchants for blowing shit up with theatrical enthusiasm and exaggerated flair. Joker was still locked up, penguin had been apprehended again, even condiment man was laying low, mostly because Steph had kicked him hard enough for his squirrel to lose its nuts on accident while chasing him after getting drenched in parmesan vinaigrette and horse radish by him.
Now? Now what they were facing was something straight out of an 80’s slasher film.
Bruce stood firm, face to face with his haunted past, and a twisted alternate him, the kid that mourned in the alleyway stared back at him, wielding his mother’s pearls like a chain of heavy weights and his grief like an uncontrolled rage, and in the cowl across from him, was Thomas, gun pointed at him, red eyes glaring like he was the imposter, the wrong man, the bad apple in the cape and chest symbol.
Thomas looked just like him, but nuanced, he was older, bigger, angrier. He was blinded by grief and pain, mourning the loss of his Bruce, and configured into an anti-hero villain who shot first and asked questions never, who broke every moral code law Bruce himself had, who didn’t care about life or death if it meant rampaging in his scornful ire.
Was this a portal mistake? A slip in reality where alternate universes collided? Could it be startlingly convincing clay copies made to mess with them?
No, these were too accurate, too real, it wasn’t Vigilante versions, the kind the public could figure out, this was personal, this was Bruce against Bruce and Thomas, not Batman versus Batman and Batman Jr.
And the pearls as weapons? Thomas and his gun wielding fury? This wasn’t of this world, it had to be from another timeline, where supernatural beings reigned supreme, where he was hunted by things that shouldn’t be real.
Dick found himself with his Escrima sticks to duel blades with a Talon, a feathered suit, brainwashed, dagger bearing version of him, nor grinning, not teasing, just stone faced with dull eyes and a hollow expression. He was being overwhelmed by this warrior of bred evils and constructed beliefs thrashing with no wasted movement at his jugular and chest. The sob filled wails of a little Robin boy swinging broken trapeze ropes at him like barb-wire whips, a wraith and an assassin on his number, one blaming him for being an easy target, a failure for not becoming his grandfather’s heir, a traitor for breaking the mind killing conditioning bored into his skull like a lobotomy gilded in iridescent magnificence, the other fighting to tear away his armored soul to snuff out the flames of his bleeding heart still weeping for his mother and father’s deadly circus act.
Jason was currently being pinned under an All-Caste figure, him, he knew it, heard it in his sarcastic remarks, smelled it in the incense and smoke on his robes, felt it in the iron grip wrapping his arms hard enough to snap bone with a single squeeze, his deepened voice bellowing over the all too cheery giggles of a poor baby Robin, choking on smoggy smoke and burning away in explosive bouts of chipper questions and weakened please for his Dad to save him, the cacophony blowing out his ears and deafening him as his helmet cracked below the weight of supernatural stomps and green boots kicking his jaw like a scratched record on repeat.
Pin pointed jabs to his sternum, denting armor plates and caving in his ribs with aims for his heart.
Tim, in the midst of attempting to contact Oracle, was getting repeatedly whipped by Joker Junior’s revolver, smack, wham, thwack, his face was getting bruised and his domino mask was getting torn, the endless laughter was grating on his overworked nerves, and the fact that he could see his angry Robin counterpart actively helping that version of him? Holding him down, snapping damned pictures, even watching with petty glee at how he reacted to being beaten by his own other half? It both hurt and infuriated him, and there wasn’t much he could do with him being cornered and his comm failing to radio anyone else in the family for help.
Steph was busy being hunted by her cluemastering twin, she had gotten her hair caught multiple times, her knees battered and her arms crushed by this chick who was, apparently, a proud Daddy’s girl. Judging by the matching costume and sneering grin leering down at her where she ducked and dodged her attacker, simultaneously fending off a wild, untamed, messy haired Robin proving her strength with feral biting and deep scratches, blinded by her insecurities. This lion-maned creature was tearing up her shoulders from latching on teeth first and clawing at her back as if she’d been infected with rabies from Cerberus himself.
It didn’t help that she’d lost Damian, she saw him get taken by two versions of him, one who’d never come to Gotham to learn how to be human first, and one overrun by Ra’s influence, his poor mind overflowing so much his eyes leaked with Lazarus rivers and his voice gargled around tendrils of shadowed darkness.
Cass was struggling to get through the doors keeping her from helping, Duke couldn’t even get his abilities to help them, power erasing devices holding them back from rushing in in time. Oracle was racing with the clock to get the GCPD in the building, let alone to the right levels, each and every core member separated by hierarchy or role or whatever cruel trick being played this time.
They didn’t even know what had happened, it was supposed to be a fire that they were helping with, search and rescue, recovery efforts, finding the lost students and getting them out to EMs workers. How they all got themselves stuck with their own reflections wasn’t even being thought about, it was pushed to the side as surviving came to the forefront, especially considering the horrifying situation they were slowly realizing.
Damian.
No one had heard from him after they had parted ways and spread out, he usually, at least, checked in every hour, “Tch-ed” over the line, reported back when Dick called “Robin: Report” or just made a shit joke if he happened to be working in Gotham with the family instead of in Blüdhaven with just Jason. He spoke, commented on Tim’s failures, questioned plans, bemoaned protocols and grumbled about curfew on school nights. Never was he so far from one of them or from the comms-line this long. And so abruptly, he’d gone from complaining about his mask to being cut off without warning.
But right now? Radio silence, not even just radio silence. Dead air. Static, crackling static, no answering when the brothers called his code name, in rare desperation from Bruce, his actual name, nothing. Nothing except the occasional clink of metal against metal, the ear splitting slash of sharp edges being dulled, and the nerve wracking silence of a comm button being pushed to speak, only for utter silence and complete quiet to breach over in the gap.
Not even breathing could be heard in that hair-raising gap between the button being triggered and the craaashhchchickick of the radio static.
Dick was screeching over that line, yelling for Robin to report, to answer, hell even fart, just to let him know he was still there, that he was okay, that he was alive, Jason was even bargaining with that dead air, scolding the silence, threatening repercussions if he didn’t call out, resorting to promising random shit like his favorite books and snacks and free rides to him if Damian just said something, anything. The two most chalant members losing their composure like a pair of banshees on a caffeine bender over him. Older brothers to the core, every protective instinct screaming in their bloodstreams, firing on all cylinders and locking in full throttle over the simple idea of their little brother being left alone to handle himself without any contingency plans or back up.
It was hell. Truly. A glimpse of Tartarus’s hellfire.
Bruce was being pulled in all directions, avoiding gunfire and punches from his own father, swinging the same throws he did like a fun house mirror from the pits of his darkest fears, he felt his mother’s broken pearls slamming into his heels far harder than they should have, as if they were a thousand pounds and made of lead.
He could hardly get a good blow in, his father was towering over him like a minotaur in a bat suit, shooting as if he would never run out of bullets in those guns latched across his barrel chest. The kid? He couldn't hit him, hell no, his morals were too strong, too well drilled into his mind for that, that was a child ambushing him, someone innocent, grieving, traumatized even if the little bastard had one hell of a right hook.
But he had to get some kind of leverage up, his kids were still fighting themselves too, they needed him, Gotham needed him, Alfred needed him, his friends, believe it or not, needed him, his family needed him. He needed them, needed them safe and sound, needed to help them, he needed his babies tucked under his wings where he could be absolutely sure they were protected. For once, he was admitting that he didn’t work alone, that he had a team, a team he dragged into his mess by the reins of fate.
He tried to reason with Thomas, hoped his father could hear him, then maybe he could get a hit in.
“Stop this- What brought you here- Why are you doing this- Where are my kids!”
But no response, just a snarl, a faster hit, a harder kick, a toughed tackle, this was frustrating to no end, barely getting anywhere meaningful with this thing wearing his father’s face and skin, his name, his voice and his suit, and stranded far from his children, who were no doubt being forced to do the same, face their mimics or alternate versions, he just hoped to a God he never prayed to that they weren't doing what he was doing, fighting his father. He almost begged this higher being he typically ignored in favor of logic that they weren’t battling a different version of him, he wasn’t doubting them being able to handle themselves, he was terrified for those copies, those fakes, those imposters and what they could do to his kids.
If Dick was the only one who could legitimately take him on in their reality, their world, and only in a slim chance, then the others were doomed from the start and he knew it. Adding another front he had to war against, guilt, terror, and uncertainty. Emotions. Attachment. He was at his wit’s end and wouldn’t last much longer like this.
In a split second decision, he made a beeline for his younger past, managing to catch Thomas’s attention, bingo, a weak spot, something to use as an advantage, with that distraction, he landed a deep slice with his batarang, slicing his father’s achilles tendon, then tying him up with his past, cuffing them to a pole when poof.
They were gone. An illusion. A hallucination manifested.
Feedback. Slimy bastard. They hadn’t heard from him in ages, assumed he was locked away, and that was a godawful mistake, a horrible miscalculation of complacency. Now he had to find him. Before he lost his kids to his brutal powers, or worse, lost them to each other mistaking one of theirs for a mirage.
He ran, well, stumbled, through the firelit hallways and stairwells, calling out in vain for his brood, none carrying over the noise of chaos and rampage of ever growing heat snapping wire into sparking whips crackling in the air, bringing tumbling ceiling tiles to the ground in raging embers, the echoes roaring in his ears as blood trickled down his limbs, and his vocal cords strained to keep up with his hollering.
By the time he got down to the third floor, he just managed to look up and catch the body of Steph, nose bleeding heavily, and eyes purple with fresh hematomas swelling her eyelids.
“Spoiler?- What the- Hey, hey, hey- Stay with me- I got ya- Lets get you somewhere safe-”
“...B..?...”
“Shh, yeah, it’s me, just stay awake, okay? I’m proud of you, you did good- Any word from the others?”
“No… But… I… I heard a gun shot… And saw Hood and Nightwing go towards the basement to search for people…”
Dick was even worse off than Bruce was, he been paired with Jason, heading to the lower basement level of this random, office building, barely even eight or nine floors, close but far from the others as Bruce went roof, Damian went just below, Tim went down two floors, and these knuckleheads headed all the way down, practically skipping away hand in hand like fools because Bruce said no and these two didn’t wanna listen to him.
They’d been clearing since ground level, jokingly swat-teaming the rooms with Jason crab walking rambo style and Dick swing his Escrima sticks in every direction but the right one, making “Hee-yah” and “Hoowaaah” sounds like a pair of idiots in the hallways because it was quiet and they were delirious. Up for three days straight just last patrol when a Black Mask lead popped up and they abandoned all rationality for combined hyper-focusing. Jason and Dick were even planning to get Batburgers and watch Shark-Nado three when they got back home when hell broke loose from the gates of Hades and trapped them as far as possible from the rest of the family.
This meant getting ripped apart, over and over and over, again and again, by the taunting shadow of what could have been if he hadn’t escaped from the vice grip the Talon’s had on his head and shattered soul, teased by that damned Robin drowning in guilt and anger choking him with that same rope, wrapping his throat and yanking until it burned and bled, while watching helplessly as Jason faced a similar fate at the gloved hands of the Robin who cursed them both on a daily basis.
Jason, at the moment, was being thrown down, right next to Dick, just out of reach, his spine stomped into crunching, cracking pieces, pinned by himself, that All-Caste double shoving his shoulders into the burning floor threatening to crumble underneath their weight, his guns long kicked away from his hands, fingers being crushed below steel-toe combat boots, Jaybin now hopped back and forth between the two, deviating from his original target when he saw the mortified expression on Dick’s face.
He jumped down on Jason’s helmet like a drummer with no tact, eventually destroying it into total bits that jammed shards of metal and plastic into his head, then he leaped over to cuddle up with Dick’s Robin, the two of them in their bright bloodstained suits giggling at the mess they made together, teaming up like little toothy-grinned devils. Hugging tightly, smiling with delight and spinning about with squeals of morbid joy at the pitiful grasp Dick made at Jason’s arm. No longer focusing on defending himself as daggers lined his back one by one like embedded spikes and his Talon döppelganger aimed a final strike to the back of his head, ready to finish the job, deal a last blow, end the night once and for all.
All our precious Dickiebird saw was his beloved little wing getting hurt beyond compare and gave everything he had left to protect him one last time. If not then, then when, and it would be now, while he still had a chance, while he could at least say goodbye this time.
“Jay…. Jay… Please…”
Dick begged, groaning softly and gritting his teeth, an agonizing sound dying on his tongue as he felt harsh knives dig further into his shoulder blades and heavy boots stand over his disheveled body. He crawled to the prone form of Jason, biting back a sob at the fluttering gaze of his brother staring back at him, lacking his scowl and sass, but holding all his care and affection behind his snarky orbs, now dazed and disoriented, barely staying open.
“Don’t look, Jay…. Please… Please… Don’t… Don’t look… Just… Close your eyes for me… My Little Wing…”
With an achingly tender, adoring kiss to Jason’s bloodied temple, Dick made his move, an assumed last stand, or at least a proper goodbye as he placed a hand over Jason’s domino mask, a final mercy to his brother.
Strength, energy, air in his strangled lungs and awareness in his flooded senses left his body right as he pushed up with all his might, shoving that All-Caste Jay aside back off his brother, and breaking his own sworn rules, grabbed Jason’s fallen gun, firing without hesitation, launching a round square in the fake’s face, his own eyes shut to avoid seeing that gut-wrenching image. Then he gave into unconsciousness and laid himself over Jason’s half alive body, propping himself there to catch the collapsing roof overhead as flames ate the walls and blazes crawled up the ashen structure.
Tim was already out, down for the count, curled in that blocked corner, shaking and coiling further in on himself, the bodies of Robin and Joker Junior spread out before him, one with his unhinged and painted jaw agape in a too wide yowl, eyes rolled over, a “Bang!” flag stuck through his chin from an unaimed misfire of that stupid revolver. A brutal game of Russian roulette between the intertwined two having gone just right enough to spare the right Tim, a turn out of place and...
His robin counterpart? Tangled in his own cape, domino mask upside down, and hazily bound from their fight, he was younger, angrier, and though stronger than he should have been by forces Tim couldn’t fully comprehend, was no match for Tim’s brain, and his upgraded skillset.
It was difficult, not battling him necessarily, no, but staying awake long enough to partially disable the devices preventing Duke from getting closer to their locations or what had happened in that godforsaken blind spot. Victory came, but at a price, the cost of his mind once more. That laughter didn’t stop, it never did, even with Joker Junior taken care of, only now, Tim was the one letting it loose into the frozen timeframe, chuckling into his crooked arms where he tucked his head into his knees, his hands grappling the back of his neck and his mussed hair, tugging at the strands like a lifeline in a turbulent sea. And despite being so from being awake his heart monitor bracelet Bruce made everyone wear for “safety” was beeping frantically like a disconcerted android, he continued to giggle incessantly as if his voice was stuck on loop without his consent.
Steph had been knocked over the stair railing of the fourth floor into a nose bleeding swan dive through the stairwell, clue-master Steph only able to gloat for a solid minute before her wild Robin clumsily tripped mid-bragging session and toppled them both down the steps, their fight was mostly running. Mostly STeph running circles around her evil twin, making idle conversation to buy more time for a decent plan, snapping back equally sarcastic and lackadaisical responses to her annoyed attacker, pushing her buttons while skidding past Robin, who was messing up tackle attempts and trying to snatch her collar. An endless loop of running, back-talking, and scrambling until she was decommissioned, landing safely in Bruce’s arms below.
Meanwhile Duke and Cass barged their way in, finally getting some footing on aiding the hazard containment turned rescue mission. GCPD and Oracle’s directions shot on their high-tails from side doors and fire-escape window accesses.
But time was running out, running, running, running, running out like an overturned hourglass without a solid bottom.
And Damian was still M.I.A. Oracle was screaming into comms, getting through to no one beside Bruce and Steph, the only members left semi-conscious. Worse yet, the building was nothing more than rubble and wreckage, walls were gone, roofs falling in, floors breaking down above as licking flames finally began to subside beneath daybreak.
Then all of a sudden, footsteps, multiple, seemed to echo from somewhere down left from where Cass and Duke were scrambling through the sixth floor looking for Tim, hoping to find Damian as well, Duke turned, barely side stepping a Harley slipping on the slick linoleum flooring, catching herself on Ivy’s vines creeping from wall to wall.
“Wooaah?!- Oomph- Woo- That was a close one-”
“Harley?”
“Huh- Oh, hi- I saw the fire and the Muscle Mommy Wonders scrambling around with Bat-woman trying to get in- Figured I’d come help! What do ya need me to do?”
“Wha-”
“Ive’s has her plants reinforcing the walls for the most part I think- Don’t really know how that works- And I believe I saw little Redbin just that way behind me- Third room on the right- I saw what he was fighting- Thought it’d be better if one of you got to him instead of me- Y’know- Didn't wanna trigger any unwanted memories-”
She explained quickly, hyper, loud, and unapologetic, but also freely throwing herself into the frey despite being in her pajamas, miss-matched Halloween socks and bunny slippers skidding through fiery tunnels as she waved and hopped away, looking for… Something?
Duke didn’t even have time to question it much before Cass was pulling him in the direction Harley pointed out, rushing to the room she specified but passed in case she was telling the truth.
And sure enough.
Third room to the right, just past a door swing off bent hinges, was Tim. Pressed into the back corner of the room, head between his knees, hands over his head, nails digging into his scalp, palms slamming into his ears with cracked chuckles filtering out of his dried lips.
Just in front was the slowly dissolving bodies of his foes, himself, Joker Junior and him when he held Robin mantle, desks overturned, chairs knocked in his path, and leaking chemicals from cleaning supplies making the tiles shiny with slippery surfaces, downed ceiling wires dangling wildly with sparks flying above him.
Harley was right, he was in here, and they could see exactly why she didn’t want to be the one to rescue Tim, she didn’t abandon him because she didn't care, she left him there and went to find Duke and Cass instead because she’d been there, with Joker, when Tim was Robin, when he was made into Joker Junior against his will, and even though she turned back to the good side and they were on good terms now, she feared scaring him worse, she dreaded bringing up old trauma and opening still healing wounds, she cared enough to know if he saw her now it would set them back and went to get them so that wouldn’t happen.
Cass jumped in to gather him up, while Duke turned and started down the other adjacent hall, shouting for Damian while half keeping an eye out for Harley, wanting to thank her for helping. He wandered from room to room, giving his thanks to Ivy with a nod of acknowledgement as he caught her lifting hunks of building material off of stuck civilians and bracing tilting walls with her plants, even carrying away debris blocking pathways from EMTs. Seeing her, also in her pajamas, hair in a bonnet, face mask half melted off, plaid pants and Little Shop of Horrors t-shirt ripped from rebar catching the loose threads, making her way through with a nightgown wearing, curler donning, bunny slipper treading Harley was a jarring, sobering, bewildering sight to the day shifter Duke.
But he paid it no mind when he heard Bat-woman and Wonder Woman approaching, if they had been summoned to help, this was serious, or deemed so by Babs.
“Oracle called us, we found Batman and Spoiler, but no sight of the others-”
“Batgirl just found Red Robin, and I think Robin is somewhere here- But I don’t know where Nightwing and Red Hood are, can you guys find them?”
Wonder Woman nodded, taking Bat-woman with her as Duke went back to searching for Damian, by now, the firefighters were slowly putting out the flames, but him still being M.I.A was the priority.
If what Oracle relayed from Spoiler? if Damian really was facing his doomed counterparts with no moral code? Then there was a chance he wouldn’t be the one left standing when he found him, though he hoped he could get to him in time if that was the case.
Wanna know where Robin is?
Do you really?
The scene Duke had walked into when he reached the last door of the only hallway on the eighth floor was a harrowing one he’d be seeing in his nightmares for the rest of his life.
Damian had been pinned to the wall, three swords stabbed clean through his abdomen where he was left to bleed from his torso, one katana was placed in his left shoulder by the assassin heir who never set foot on Gotham soil before that night, the second driven straight through his right shoulder by the ghouls parading his skin around with emerald water dripping from its empty eye sockets. The third, was his own blade, impaling flesh on dulled, curved metal, so far back, only his hilt could still be seen, that’s not all, no. Daggers hung his hands above his head, and his cape was torn off, draped almost reverently over his face like a veil, crimson dripping from his blood soaked onto his comm button making it click on, then off, with dead air in between.
He’d been like this for a while, and they didn’t know because his radio triggering wasn’t a conscious action.
It was rhythmic droplets leaking from his sternum onto his radio, tap, tap, tap, with a subtle pause in between each and every drip, tricking the family into thinking he was still active.
The floor below him was soaked in a massive puddle of it, Damian’s brown skin tainted with a ghostly pallor, draining slowly but surely, as if he were a wet wash rag left on the clothes line to dry. He’d struggled, clearly, there was evidence of that, drag marks on linoleum in red trails, there were large bruises all over his face and arms, defensive scars, and his stash of daggers and throwing stars, even all his batarangs and birdrangs were spent, scattered to winds in the aftermath. Fabric fibers caught under his nails, his nails themselves bent backwards at the center from clawing at his assailants, hands half clenched from wriggling and curling over a pair of daggers nailing his palms to the wall, his gloves were stuffed into his mouth, breaking the lower left side clean in half, his lips swollen and purple when Duke stumbled forward, lifting his cape veil to see if he was still alive.
It was an eerie, eerie picture left behind by cruel body doubles who were no longer physically manifested anymore. They’d long since disappeared by the time Damian had finally been found, crucified like a damned saint and strung up on the charred, flower patterned wallpaper by his alters. He was put on a brutal display of mania and ill-intent like a prized hunting trophy, a darling little Robin on the mantle for any and all to see, and Duke was his first witness, an unwilling audience.
“Oh my god, Robin- Jesus- B, I found Robin-”
“You did? Where is he? Is he okay?”
“I… I… Fuck…”
“Signal? Signal! Signal, answer me- Is he okay? I’m coming to you-”
“He’s… I-I… Oh god…”
“Duke, breathe, tell me what happened- Is he okay? Is my son alive?!”
“I… I can’t… Fuck, he’s-he’s…”
Click.
Duke turned off his radio, he couldn’t answer Bruce, what could he even say? That he found his Robin, his son, his child, strung up like fresh laundry with his own sword buried in his diaphragm?
“Robin… Please… Talk to me…”
Duke muttered quietly, his whisper cracking on his codename as he pulled Damian’s gloves from his mouth as gently as possible, cupping his face like he’d seen Dick do a thousand times, his thumbs slowly rubbing over sore muscles, pressing just below bruised eyes along the edge of his mask, trying to comfort what he was hoping wasn’t a cold corpse warmed by the fire.
Gasp-
Damian coughed, violently, with his gloves finally removed from his throat, he could get air in his tired lungs, burning from dried blood lining his breaths as he writhed, pain flashing across his face before his eyes could fully open, adrenaline vanishing, shock disappearing the moment he snapped awake in agony so encompassing it felt like drowning in a sea of red hot pins and molten needles.
Disregarding protocol, Duke didn’t wait for Batman to arrive or Gordon to come in, didn’t even turn his radio back on yet, all his focus and attention went to Robin’s thrashing form, convulsing with fresh blood bursting from partially formed scabs, as he set his hands on the sides of his head, his cheeks, his neck, anywhere that wasn’t painted with lacerations in an attempt to steady him.
“Robin? Robin! Oh thank god- You’re alive- What the hell happened-”
“Grugh- Thom- Hha- Signal- Wha- Agh- Argh-hah-”
“Hey, hey, hey- It’s alright- I got ya- Let me get you down-”
“Hu-hurts- I can’t- Uuughhh-ahhh-”
“I know- I know- I know! Just stay still- We’ll get you home and patched up-”
“Heeey! Yellow guuuuy! Where ya-”
Harley’s ear splitting yell rounded the corner, skipping down the hall, still on her mission to look for something, which was Duke now, apparently, her perpetual grin falling the second she saw Duke and Damian.
“Oh- Oh- Oh my go- Ive’s! Ive’s, get Batsy! Hold on for us, Robby- You’re gonna be alright- I promise-”
In less than the blink of an eye, Harley was vaulting over file cabinets laid across the hallway, shouting for Ivy some distance behind her to go get Batman while she shoved her way past Duke, a kind of motherly instinct surfacing from the depths of her very soul at the sight of him so battered and beaten.
“C’mere- There we go- Let’s get you out of here- You, yellow guy-”
“Signal-”
“Right right- Signal- Whatever- Tell Batsy to follow Ivy- We need to get this little guy to Alphie ASAP-”
She rolled her eyes, tutting an order at Duke while carefully, so, so carefully dismantling Damian’s body, shushing him gently as she used what he assumed was stolen or salvaged bolt cutters to snip the blades, snapping the exposed parts and the sections just behind his arms and back, not pulling them out, this way she wouldn't cause more internal damage.
“Hi, baby bat- Mama Harley’s got ya now- How about you tell me about your animals, hm? Any interesting facts you’ve learned recently, my dear?”
She whispered with a softness Duke had only seen once or twice from her, and only with Damian and Jon, her arms cradling him, coaxing him to lay his head on her shoulder and chest, holding him tightly as she made her way out, looking back occasionally to make sure Duke was following her.
“Mmm… M-Mm… Mmph…”
“C’mon, stay awake and alert. You can rest soon, baby. Now tell Mama Harley about your animals…”
“Mm… Alfred… The cat… Likes tea and sun bathing…”
“Oh, does he? Much his namesake I assume… What about Batcow…?...”
“Mooooo…”
“Yes, baby bat… Moooo indeed… Just keep talking, sweetpea…”
“Is he.., Is he gonna be okay?”
“Hm? Yes, Signal. He should be alright with proper care and rest, you did good finding him, a minute later and…”
Duke swallowed thickly, relief and guilt warring for control of his mind. He looked down at Damian in Harley’s arms, pulling out of those thermal blankets Bruce always managed to stuff into their utility belts, wrapping it snugly over Harley’s shoulders, covering her and Damian up from the cold Gotham air seeping into the halls past the dying embers and dwindling enders. The soft sound of faint weeping, the low ambling wails of the city rumbling beneath alarms and sirens filling the gap the roar of fire made when it fizzled out, the yelling of first responders doing nothing to hide the sorrow felt by her borders surrounding the area where tragedy nearly struck their family again.
“Hey, hey, look at me, Signal. Stay present, no panicking or what-ifs in that big head of yours, you’re smarter than that. Be thankful you got to him in time, that he’s still with us. Don’t spiral, he needs you here right now, okay?”
“I…”
“Okay?”
“Yes, Ma’am…”
“Good, good. Don’t worry so much, we’ll get him home safely, otherwise Batsy’ll have both our rear ends mounted on his cave shelf-”
“Yeah… He… He’d kill us ten times over if we didn’t get him home in one piece…”
Their banter came to an end when the outside world came into view, the sunrise cresting just above the new morn, laying shadowed darkness to rest. There stood Cass, arms wrapped around Spoiler, both girls practically cuddling on the sidewalk across from the now non-existent building, Tim had just come to, no longer giggle, but exceptionally exhausted from the ordeal, clinging to Bruce’s cape, Bruce was pacing, having taken off his cape to smother Tim in it while waiting for Wonder Woman and Bat-Woman to return with Dick and Jason, or at least intel on them, Ivy was waiting by the remains of the entrance awning, tapping her food with crossed arms, bonnet long gone in favor of fidgeting with messy hair.
“Batsy!”
Harley hollered at the top of her lungs, catching his attention from across the blocked off street, moving aside the thermal blanket to reveal Damian’s body snuggled in her grasp as she carefully laid him along the hood of a police car to get a better look at his condition in the daylight.
“Harley- Did you- Robin?”
Bruce sprinted to her, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a light shake, glancing past her head at Damian and nearly trampling her to get to him.
“Oh my boy…”
“Aaaaaannnnddd that’s how we found Damian, Dick. Your turn, tell us what went down.”
Harley finished off her retelling, weeks later, long after things had settled, investigations were being done and recovery was under way, at the moment, Damian was being lovingly throttled by Steph and Cass, both girls squeezing him as much as they could without aggravating his injuries.
“Ohhhh- Damiaaaaan- You worried us! No more solo work! My heart can’t take the an-ticipation!”;)
Steph whined dramatically, smushing Damian’s face in her hands with theatrical smooched to his head and light cheek pinching, throwing herself on the foot of his cot while Babs smacked her leg to quit it, the silent giggling of Cass only fueling her resolve to ignore Damian’s disgruntled cat-like scowl, stopping simply because Alfred had cleared his throat and raised a brow at her from where he was putting salve on Tim’s back.
“Sorry, Alphie-”
Jason snickered at the display, making himself mighty comfortable on Dick’s lap, sprawled over his legs like a two ton lapdog with zero concept of personal space. Dick loved his personal space, and Jasona also loved his older brother’s personal space, it was his safe space, and it was funny that his proximity mildly inconvenienced Dick but Dick wouldn’t tell him no because it meant spending time together and being close like old times.
Revenge, really, Dick was an asshole older brother to him back then, still is on occasion, no amount of maturing or growing out of old habits would change their dynamic, their bond of fucking with each other and purposefully testing each other’s nerves, annoying each other was how they showed affection, brothers to the very end, and knowing Dick, probably in the next life too.
He looked up, smirking at his older brother, expecting him to be laughing too, but it soon faltered when he noticed how far away his eyes looked, so he called out to him.
“Yo- Dickhead- Anything working up there, old man?”
“Hmm…”
Odd, really odd, he was suspiciously quiet, he got like this on occasion, but rarely ever in front of the rest of the family or during day hours, he was usually brighter, happier, not always, but he was typically present in conversation and responded when addressed directly. Dick didn’t even seem to feel Jason’s weight on him.
Then he noticed how tight his grip on his cot had gotten, he’d only been up for maybe a few hours after coming too, the both of them had been gone for days after being taken home, he’d been weak, lethargic even, but his grip was white knuckle on the mattress, the thin medbay blanket crinkling in his fist, almost ripping where his nails clutched the fabric like it owed him money.
“Dick, hey, earth to Dickiebird- Hellooooo- You cognitive right now, man?”
No response, unless you count how tightly Dick squeezed his eyes shut, how he lowered his head to hide his expression below his sleep tussled hair, or how his breath hitched behind his clenched jaw. Something was plaguing his head, it was obvious, he wasn’t even trying to hide it, he knew something, what, wasn't totally clear, but he knew more than he let on. It didn’t help that even with whatever camera footage survived the fire, no one knew for certain what happened in that basement, Jason had already told his side of the altercation, his story cutting off when Dick had put his hand over his eyes and fired his gun. He didn’t know anything that occurred in that basement beyond that, he passed out the second Dick had covered his eyes, Dick was the one person who could tell them and he wasn’t even emotionally there in the batcave.
“Dick, dude, seriously- Answer me- What’s up with you? Did something else happen there? Talk to us-”
Jason insisted, poking Dick’s cheek with a bandaged finger, waiting for him to react, push him away, playfully bite his finger even, but nothing, not really, all Dick did was breathe heavily, sighing like some defeated hero in an unbeatable coliseum of trials he couldn’t continue facing with his cheery smile and warm, ball of sunshine personality. Even he had dark times, and for the first time in a while, his rain clouds were showing with a dark overhang that rivaled Gotham’s gloomy atmosphere.
“... Dick…?...”
Slowly, agonizingly slow, Dick moved, gently grasping Jason’s wrist where his hand was still poking his face, he didn’t push him away, he did the opposite in fact, he pulled his arm up closer, pressing his wrist against his cheek. He held it there while his eyes stayed shut and his breath tried so hard to stay steady with how unevenly he was sucking them in and letting them seep out of his chest, each one heavy like his lungs were filled with lead weight. Like a sinking man desperate for a ship in a blinding storm, Dick pressed himself as close as possible to Jason’s arm, feeling his pulse thump against his skin, hearing the rivers in his veins flowing in and out from his pumping heart, physical confirmation that he was alive, that he was there, that he was okay.
Jason didn’t protest, didn’t squirm, didn’t tease, he just let Dick have his moment, clearly needing it more than he needed to talk, he could tell by the way tears had started to fall, thump, thump, thumping onto his bandages, trickling down his cheeks with crystalline shimmers. Like melted diamonds sprouting from sapphire orbs, their brilliant gleam greyed from unfathomable thoughts and memories racing through his head in a whirlwind, like faucets they seemed to never run out of melancholic flood waters.
Bruce walked closer, standing by the cot as he placed a hand on Dick’s shoulder, trying to ground him with a firm pat. Knowing that right now all that mattered to his son was having his little brother’s heartbeat in his hands.