Work Text:
If you had told Damian all those years ago that he'd be living with a talon in the ashes of his father's empire, he'd kill you. The nineteen-year-old felt like he had gone to sleep with his brother his normal self and awoken to find him as a shell. A mere remnant of who he used to be before everything fell apart. Before Bruce sent him away on that stupid mission and ended up killing the man formerly known as Dick Grayson. Permanently. Leaving a man with a damaged brain and an utter void where his immense empathy used to be, that the teenager cooked, cleaned, and looked after.
"Richard," The teenager scowled at the pale man as he came in through the window. He was blank-faced, covered in mud and drenched. "You're ruining the carpet."
The skeleton that used to be his vibrant older brother just smiled at his worry and came over. Each step was heavy, weighed down by the mess that had become the man's head after the drugs and torment thrust upon him. For years, Damian had believed Richard was dead when he was being held captive by the Court of Owls. He mourned him. Raged for him. Killed in his name. Only for it all to be a lie and his dear brother to be turned into a puppet for a twisted game.
Damian was grateful that even when beaten and reprogrammed, brain-damaged and devoid of empathy, Richard couldn't be tamed. He was a killer and a monster, but he wasn't someone's toy. His smile was still as bright as it had been the moment Damian earned his trust as a child with the man ruffling his hair. He was taller than Richard now, so it was awkward, but he appreciated the affection. Only he got it these days, with the others only receiving blank glances and stiff hugs you'd give to a stranger pestering you.
Damian savored the special treatment briefly before guilt tore at his greediness. He remembered the day he managed to convince Richard to reunite with their loved ones. His captivity had lasted nine months, and Richard had been legally dead for four years. The teenager trusted his older brother even in his twisted state and the talon swore to not dissapoint him. The meeting was brief and stiff. Richard didn't care. He was unresponsive to the rest of the family's emotions. Their grief didn't register in their brain, and not even Barbara could make his mask fall.
Only his Robin, his littlest brother, could get any genuine love from that dead heart of his. It was wrong to be gleeful about something so wrong, but Damian was a neglected child. He couldn't help but enjoy being the chosen one for once. The son who was looked at with stars in Richard's eyes and a smile that screamed he was adored. Damian soaked up all the sweetness the talon gave him as he gave the boy a quick peck on the cheek before going to strip out of his drenched clothes. The teenager could see that it wasn't only rain leaving puddles, but he made no comment about it.
It wasn't like Richard would care. He hated to upset Damian. The day the boy screamed at him for stealing him from the manor, the killer crumbled before his eyes. Showing bits and pieces of the Richard he knew before the years of conditioning the Court subjected him to under their noses. But that didn't lead the man to letting him go or stopping his missions. His brother lacked the proper wiring in his brain to even think of why killing was bad. It merely shifted from taking lives for the Court to taking lives to keep Damian safe. That wasn't something he could sit and argue with the older man about.
All he could do was deny his father's pleas for him to return home and continue to nurse his brother back to health. No matter how long it took, he would be there when further shards of the shattered psyche of Dick Grayson resurfaced. He watched his brother walk down the hall with a clenched jaw and sighed. Richard was in there. The cheek peck and the hugs and the little comments he made in that emotionless voice of his proved it. Damian didn't care what Barbara or Bruce or the psychologists said. He would remain a willing captive if it meant bringing Dick home.