Work Text:
Wind rustled the branches of the big oak tree outside of Damian’s open window, cold wind drifting into his bedroom. It didn’t bother Damian, the window was a reminder that he wasn’t trapped, and the cold served to make his bed feel warmer.
The sun had fallen hours ago and Damian was having an especially hard time falling asleep on this night. It happened occasionally now, less so than when he arrived just three seasons ago.
Nightmares plagued his dreams almost as frequently as scars adorned his body. Each one has a story to tell, a lesson or a mistake.
His father had assured him it was not common practice for one’s parents to train their child in the way he had been taught. Instead, his predecessors, like Richard and Cassandra, taught him to take care of animals and ride horses. It was… strange.
Damian had been told he would be rightfully next in line for the throne, that he would have to eliminate all competition in the form of adopted children. However, father had described Damian’s predecessors as ‘no less his children than Damian’.
For now, Damian was content to sit back and observe, even if that meant being babied by his father and his… siblings.
There was one thing Damian held on to tightly, the promise his father had made the second Damian showed any kind of weakness in regards to his upbringing.
“You will never go back there, I’ll never let you be taken from me again.”
Damian could protect himself, he had been trained so one day he might take over his fathers kingdom as its rightful ruler.
But as an arm grabs his midsection and a knife is drawn to his throat, Damian is clinging to his fathers reassuring words like they’re a lifeline.
Damian was able to see dark robes in the corner of his vision, heart sinking as it only gave more evidence to the figure being one of his grandfather’s assassins. His eyes shifted to the knife, embellished with carved swirls and twists in its handle. A League weapon. Damian cursed himself for leaving his window open, a clear weak point he hadn’t given thought to other than his own personal comfort.
Still, despite Damian’s clear oversight, he was still a train assassin. It was second nature to reach for the cloaked figure’s wrist, body moving automatically as he disarmed his opponent.
However, Damian hadn’t seen the second figure until there was someone pulling him down, pushing a knee against the small of his back. He let out a small yelp, an unacceptable noise by his grandfather's standards, as his face collided with the floor.
Hands clamped over Damian’s wrists, pulling them painfully behind his back. Damian immediately recognised the feeling of rope rubbing against his wrists, aggravating the rope burn scars they lay over.
Damian writhed under the harsh arms, only for his trouble to be rewarded with the knee pressing harder and a hand clamping over his mouth.
Panic built in Damian’s chest and a memory flashed in his head.
“I’m surprised you're a vegetarian, Dami, with those sharp teeth I would've pegged you for a carnivore. Well, at least you know if you’re ever in a sticky situation, your teeth are a natural defense.”
Timothy had said it as a joke, but as Damian bit down, blood pooling into his mouth, he found it was valuable advice.
“FATHER!” Damian screamed the moment his mouth was uncovered, having been far too distracted before to think of yelling. “RICHA–” He was cut off as a hand pressed against the back of his head sharply, forehead slamming into the ground and sending black spots into his already dim vision.
Tears sprung to Damian’s eyes as a gasp involuntarily released from his mouth. A dizzying spin entered his vision and all Damian could focus on was a red, getting bigger and making his face wet. It took him a moment too long to realise pain was emanating from his nose, the red dripping coming from his almost definitely broken nose.
Damian was hauled up by his bound hands, head bowed as he tried to fight the spinning. His brain was circling around one point, over and over and over again.
“You will never go back there, I’ll never let you be taken from me again.”
Father promised he wouldn’t let Damian go back. He promised. He promised. He promised–
Damian peered up, squinting as moonlight came into his vision, worsening the ache in his head. One of the figures was dragging him, almost at the threshold of the window. The other had positioned himself behind, eyes blank when Damian caught them.
Father wasn’t going to make it.
Damian’s chin dropped back to his chest, a familiar blankness overcoming his mind. Tears dripped from his eyelashes as he let them close.
A thudding, door slamming open and enraged noise of which Damian had never heard sounded out in the silent room. He tried to open his eyes, but with the black spots and spinning, Damian found it hard.
Damian was dropped to the ground, and with the hands behind his back, Damian once again couldn’t catch himself. This time, however, arms wrapped around his body, followed closely by the sound of a body thudding to the ground.
“Dami?” The voice was shaky, and when Damian pried his eyes open, his green eyes met blue. “Dami, can you hear me?”
Wincing at the noise, Damian nodded slightly. With everything coming into focus more, Damian observed the relief wash over Richard’s face.
Eyes shifting to the side, Damian only had a moment to register the figure behind Richard, a knife raised high and pointed at his brother’s back.
Everything seemed to slow down, and Damian felt like he was outside of his body, watching it happen and helpless to react. The assassin's knife starts to lower, only for another, quicker body to appear from the darkness of Damian’s open door.
Damian is thrown back into his body as his Father tackles the remaining assassin, saving Richard from an ill-fated end. Richard doesn’t even give the scene a spare glance, instead, his hands reach behind Damian, body contorting into a mockery of a hug as the older boy loosens Damian’s bonds.
The moment his arms are free, Damian reaches towards the front of Richard’s shirt, hands curling into the fabric. He needs something to cling onto, something that isn’t a reminder of his past, of the clear message his grandfather is sending through this near abduction.
You’re not safe, you never will be. I could have sent a dozen, or a hundred assassins, but I sent two, and they very well could have taken you without any sign of their arrival or departure.
Tears soaked into Richard’s shirt, blood from his nose also smearing against the fabric. Richard was rubbing a hand across Damian’s back, unknowingly pressing against long healed over scars, lessons learnt and mistakes carved into his skin.
“Damian.” That was his father’s voice, concerned and shaky. “Damian are you alright?”
No. Damian was far from alright. Pressing his face further into Richard’s chest, Damian turned his face away from Bruce.
Breathing was still hard, short breaths the only ones Damian was able to drag into his lungs. Panic wasn’t a foreign concept to Damian, far from it, but he hadn’t felt this tight chested since he was a child, palms outstretched to his trainer and awaiting punishment.
“You lied.” He croaked out. “You told me you’d keep them from getting me.”
Damian couldn’t see the look on his father’s face, didn’t want to see expression his words had drawn out of the usually stoic man.
It was Richard who spoke first, his own hand pausing on Damian’s back. “He wasn’t lying, he did come for you–”
“No!” Damian pulled back, a heat in his face and head snapping up to glare at Richard. He winced ever so slightly when the spinning returned with a vengeance. “No, you were the one to come first, if it had been up to father to stop them they would have already gotten out the window with me.”
Richard’s face fell. His eyes shifted over to Bruce, a helpless look in his eyes.
A palm, warm and calloused shifts Damian’s head to the side. He’s too tired to stubbornly pull his face away, refusing to look at the liar in front of him like he usually would. When he looks into the stormy blue eyes of his father, he sees so much guilt and sorrow in them, even more than with their first meeting. “You’re right Damian, I failed you.”
“Bruc–”
Bruce continues over top of Richard, eyes never straying from Damian’s. “I wasn’t there to protect you like I should have been and you have every right to be angry at me. I know it will take a lot for you to trust me again after this failure, but I ask you humbly if you would be able to forgive me.”
At some point during his admission, he had pulled Damian’s hands away from Richard’s shirt, holding them in his. The feeling of Bruce’s thumbs running across Damian’s knuckles, careful not to aggravate any sensitive skin, brought a new pricking of tears to Damian’s eyes. He tried to blink them away, but it only made it worse.
“Damian.” His father’s voice is so gentle, kinder than any one person had treated Damian. Not treating him like a fragile vase, but like a person worth holding with care. “You don’t have to believe me right now, or even ever, but I promise you nothing like this will ever happen again. I will do everything in my power to make sure you are safe, cared for, happy and never in a positon where you can be taken from me.”
Something was choking Damian, clawing up his throat and pushing past his defenses. With a trembling lip, Damian couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He flung himself fully into his father’s chest, arms wrapping around him and being consumed in his father’s embrace. A sob escapes him, raw and painful.
His father’s soothing words filled his ears as Damian is swayed side to side. He lets himself indulge in the comfort, telling himself it’s to spite his grandfather, a man who holds no such warmth.
Reluctantly, Damian pulls away to wipe at his face, grimacing when he is reminded of the blood coating his face. His nose aches, but he has suffered from a broken nose many times before that it barely registers now.
His eyes scan the room, much clearer now that the dizzying movement in his head has calmed down. Richard had at some point moved away to bind the unconscious assassins. Damian smirks when he recognises the ropes as taken from the assassins belts.
“Thank you Dick.” Bruce smiles at his eldest, appreciation in his tone.
Richard smiles back, but his is laced with a hint of mischief. Damian wouldn’t be surprised if he’s also enjoying the irony of the assassins restraints. “My pleasure.”
Damian jolts a little when Bruce moves to stand up, pulling Damian along with him. His face heats slightly when he realises he’s positioned on Bruce’s hip like a baby. He considers attempting to move, but he’s distracted when something soft is placed into his arms.
Looking down, he’s greeted with the sight of the stuffed fabric cat Richard had gotten Damian when he first arrived. His eyes shift up, expecting to see the same mischief in Richard’s eyes as before, like when his siblings would tease Damian for being the youngest, but all he sees in Richard’s eyes is fondness.
Damian’s hands curl around the soft fabric, deciding once again to indulge in the comfort, in the reminder that he is surrounded by those who care for him as a person and not for his skills and title.
“Come on Dami, let’s get you to the medical wing. I’m sure Alfred would be happy to make you a warm drink while Bruce fusses.” Richard sends a pointed look at Bruce before smiling back down at Damian.
Nodding, Damian gives his own small smile. He didn’t know how he was going to feel later, what the long-term effects of this attack would be, but Damian was going to put his faith in his father, trust that another chance wouldn’t end in heartbreak.
For now, Damian could relax.