Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Danny could feel his core.

He was moving before he could process what he was doing, driven by a feeling he hadn’t felt for so long or to this degree. Instincts were a powerful thing, taking over reasoning almost like mind-control, but with more awareness, and all he could think about was eat.

It was there.

With the men on either side of him, it was tricky to detangle himself from Damian’s arm over his waist and Jason’s leg overtop his. They must have been exhausted, because neither woke—though Danny was stealthy—when he managed to remove them.

Danny slipped off the bed, swaying unsteadily and discovering that he didstill feel a tad nauseated and he was shaking with the cold—he was cold. Cold, cold. He could actually feel it—but the hunger drove him forward, setting his sights on the door that he had to open to get to it. The knob that he had to turn. The next step ahead of him that would bring him closer to food.

He was healing.

He nearly staggered into the door, lacking the usual strength in his legs and the ability to walk in a straight line, and braced a hand on the wall. He quietly turned the knob and stepped into the hall, leaving the door open after that. He didn’t care, it wasn’t in his way anymore, and didn’t spare it another thought.

His heart pounded unevenly and he panted lightly from the exertion of stumbling down the hallway on legs made of jelly. After catching himself from falling several times by leaning against a wall, he decided to keep a hand on it at all times and avoid the possibility of face-planting, unsure if he’d be able to get himself up again.

No. He would. He couldn’t imagine dealing with this hunger and not doing anything about it. Laying on the floor and waiting for help would take too long. This was too consuming. Too painful.

. . .

. . .

He supposed he could’ve just woken Damian, but he wasn’t thinking clearly and he wasn’t about to turn back now when he was half-way to the kitchen. He was just so hungry. He had a stomach to feel hungry with. 

Danny huffed stiltedly, chest rattling as he prodded at his core. It didn’t feel crystal clear like it was supposed to, it was sore, but it wasn’t completely numb, the crack was a bit smaller, and he could feel it. He kept moving, lungs thick and aching and sobbing a little with the revelation that he couldn’t stop to think about.

He was healing.

He was healing, he was healing, he was healing, his core wasn’t irreparably damaged. He’d be alright, he was regenerating, he had a stomach again, he’d have his arm back and his eye and—and—

He wouldn’t stay broken.

At some point, Danny’s pace slowed from a zombie-walk to a sludge, his bare feet dragging against the soft carpet. Turning his mind away from food was impossible and each slow step felt like agony when he thought about how much further he had to go, how much longer it would take ‘til he got there.

He thought about what was in the fridge. He hoped there were leftovers. The bats really liked Alfred’s food, and he really wished he’d paid attention now to if there was ever anything remaining after the feral children had gone at it like it was their first and last meal they would ever have.

Danny tried to pick up the pace, mind feeling hazier than it had when he’d started out and his emotions less controllable. This was the most painful walk of his life, and he’s run over asphalt with shards of glass in his bare feet before. . .multiple times.

He licked his lips. Saliva collected at the thought of all the big meals Alfred had made and what might be waiting for him. Danny had never seen the pantry, what kind of snacks did they have? If there was nothing in the fridge, maybe he could raid that instead.

Danny would and could eat anything right now.

His foot touched marble and he blinked. He’d reached the foyer at some point and he sucked in a steadying breath before continuing. 

He was so close. He forced his legs faster, his muscles afire and trembling as they reached the miraculous speed of a wounded dog missing a leg.

Geez, how long had he been in bed? 

Finally, his hand clamped onto the kitchen doorknob and he flung it open to stumble inside.

And beheld the glorious ice-box standing tall, large and probably, hopefully, holding so much food.

Danny beelined for it. Energy came out of nowhere, shooting down his sore muscles to stalk faster, heart beating rapidly and hand reaching out prematurely to touch the pristine, silver handle, yanking it open desperately.

Bright whiteness flashed his eye with a light he had been unaccustomed to for days, and he gasped, averting his gaze and shutting his eyelid. But he looked back and bravely pushed through the stinging and burning to see—

Food. 

Danny lunged. 

The first thing he grabbed had it’s top ripped off with a frantic fumbling of shaky fingers and breathless huffs. The lid fell somewhere and a chicken leg was grabbed and stuffed in his mouth, fangs ripping viciously into the meat, tears slipping between his lips with half-sobs and relief to eat, that he could eat. His core was healing, it was healing, he was going to be okay, he was regenerating. Free-handedly, he chewed on it as he tossed the container onto the table and grabbed another from the fridge and doing the same, whipping back and forth.

The second he’d shaved off everything he could from the bone, he went for the other one, dropping the bare, teeth-marked one back inside. He didn’t care about germs. He was going to eat everything in there himself anyway.

He ate this leg quicker and dove for another container, the white lights of the refrigerator glowing eerily and catching on the Tupperware on the table not cast in Danny’s dark shadow. Plastic pressed into his stomach as he clawed at the lid until it came off with a soft puff of air. The half of tomato was stuffed between his teeth, spinning back to the fridge as he chewed. The next container was random, he chose them all randomly, and shoved one side into his stomach to pull at the little tab as he’d been doing, and it came off easily. 

He licked his lips and opened his mouth wide to take the biggest bite out of the sandwich he could. There was sliced beef and pepperoni and turkey and mayo and tomato and cheese and pickle and lettuce, and he was salivating as he ate it. It was so good, everything was so good, salty and savoury and cheesy and substantial with all the meat in it, not too dry and not too wet, and he’d never had such good food before, he’d never appreciated such good food before. He inhaled it and reached for a second.

Creak.

Like a cat with a horn blared in it’s ear, Danny jumped and twisted around, mayo and bread squishing between his fingers. He huffed huffily around the sandwich in his mouth, staring wide-eyed at the intruder.

Staring back were brilliant green, harried eyes. Damian’s hand was braced on the doorframe and wielded a phone in the other, looking for all the world to be a distraught parent who’d lost their child if it weren’t for the way his jaw was set firm and made him look like an enraged parent who was about to maul the one who caused the loss of their child instead. Damian seemed just as frozen, but he twitched, primed to move if he needed to, but had. . .forgotten how. He didn’t speak, gaze unwavering from Danny’s. 

A clock ticked. The time on the stove changed. The sandwich in Danny’s mouth was warming after the chill of the fridge. The house creaked and settled. The moment seemed to go on forever. 

The Halfa’s shoulders subconsciously cringed up a bit, seeing how ridiculous this looked; crying and panting with a sandwich clamped between his teeth, the mess he’d made of the table, the odd lid here and there scattered on the floor, all set out in the dark like a pack of animals had gotten in and ravaged the place.

The hum of the fridge vibrated softly, reminding Danny of the cold air flowing out of the open door and being wasted. His mom would lecture him if he’d ever done that at home. Not that he would’ve. The bratwurst and the vegetables would escape to terrorize the kitchen and Danny would’ve had to clean up the mess they’d made, and the remains of their corpses.

Danny was still hungry.

Wondering what this weird stalemate was between them, it felt wrong to end it, but not enough to stop eating. Watching Damian warily, he slowly pulled at the sandwich as he bit through it, chewing once, waiting for him to do something. 

The bread on his tongue quickly soaked in saliva and he chewed again.

Damian blinked and the staring contest ended.

Whipping back around, Danny stuffed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and added to the containers on the table, like he hadn’t just been interrupted. 

Stacking the remaining couple containers, Danny pulled them out and turned around, closing the fridge door with a light kick. After dropping the food haphazardly—he tried not to, but his balance was iffy and he was handling them with one hand—onto the table, he pulled out a chair and collapsed into it with a huff. His limbs felt like wet noodles.

Danny reached for the nearest dish and—

“Wait.“

Danny jumped at the hand falling down onto the lid, and snapped his gaze up to look in shocked betrayal at Damian—who stood across the table—willing him to let go of the food. Damian’s face shuttered as if not expecting it.

‘Hungry!’ Danny let go first to sign incredulously before his brother could speak, pleading with his face.

“Pace yourself. You’ll make yourself sick.”

And because he knew Damian wouldn’t like it, cause the guy was the worst mother hen ever in existence(surprisingly), Danny immediately played his trump card. ‘Hurts.’

Damian’s arm twitched and his eye spasmed. “It will be worse later.”

Dang. Not a KO like Danny had hoped.

He couldn’t imagine the pain being worse. It was all he could think about, all he could feel. He hadn’t felt hunger pains like this since the GIW(as they’d never fed him and he couldn’t die), and the desperation was real as he tried it again, signing more frantically, breathing harder. He wanted it to end, he was just so freakin’ hungry. He genuinely could not tell if the tears were strictly from overwhelmed emotions anymore, from the pain, or both.

‘Hurts.’

Damian’s jaw tightened and the veins and muscles feathered near the back, and Danny knew he’d won. He never won against Damian. It felt good. He should remember how he did this.

His brother drew back and crossed an arm over his ribs, spreading a hand over his eyes. 

Danny didn’t pay attention to him after that, ripping off a lid and picking up a slice of roast beef with his bare hand to shove it in his mouth. It was good even cold. Perfectly salted and he could tell how tender it would be heated up. He ate another. And another. A fourth. A glass of water appeared out of nowhere and he downed it in one go, setting it down with a clink. The next container was full of of carrots and mashed potatoes and he shovelled it in with the fork that had manifested at his elbow. When he set it down, a steaming dish was slid in from of him before he could even search for his next meal. It was hot and he realized he’d heard the humming of the microwave earlier and it beeped before going again. He didn’t hesitate to dig into the spaghetti; a small regret that he wasn’t savouring the food enough. It tasted so good, but he was just too hungry.

The flat bowl quickly emptied and another dish took it’s place with a glass magically refilled with water. Danny chugged that down first before fitting a slice of homemade pizza between his jaws, and then the second. After the third, there was no more and he stabbed the fork into the salad placed before him, impaling as many leaves on the prongs as he could and eating it. 

Normally, Danny disliked salad, but his preferences meant very little to him at the moment. The candied walnuts sprinkled overtop was a nice garnish.

The pangs were starting to ebb at this point and he slowed down a little, if only because he knew Damian would appreciate that(maybe) and because Danny liked to be able to  enjoy his food when it was this good.

Jazz had learned the basics of cooking and had wanted to at least make sure they were getting their vegetables, but it would often be spoiled by ectoplasm if the food wasn’t fresh from the store. Neither of them had the time to go grocery shopping every single day. So they’d usually get take-out rather than elect to have to re-kill their dinner all the time. It wasn’t a big pain to do every now and then when their parents remembered to cook, and there were four of them to do the massacring, but they’d rather just. . .not have to do that.

Potatoes were good. They lasted longer than any other vegetable since they were kept in a sack on the floor instead of the fridge to become enemies with the pork. The pork always hated everybody. The vegetables often allied against them.

“Danyal.”

Danny startled as his chair was pulled away from the table, dropping his fork into the dish he’d just finished. He twisted to look over his shoulder at his brother, with a face that clearly said “Why?!”

“Are you doing better?”

This was a trap. Danny’s face dropped into disgruntled suspicion.

“Then take a minute. The food isn’t going anywhere.”

Danny’s shoulders drooped and he turned back around, slumping in his chair. He eyed his brother as he rounded the table and sat across from him, taking the chance to scooch his chair back in.

Damian just. . .looked at him.

After an awkward silence settled between them, Danny resorted to fiddling with the tablecloth’s hem that fell just shy of his lap, and. . .okay, it was. . .a little nice to take a break for a minute and let his stomach digest. In fact it felt. . .better than it had in a long time. From the beginning, his gut had always been torn into deep, deep knots, twisting and weighing, and it was gone. The knots weren’t gone, but they weren’t quite so obvious or uncomfortable.

“You said that ghosts don’t require food for sustenance.”

Danny blinked again and winced, his thumb feeling along a thread. He nodded.

“Are you alright? Why are you hungry all of a sudden?”

Avoiding Damian’s gaze, Danny’s hand reached to run through his hair as he sighed, looking about the darkened kitchen. He was thankful Damian had never turned the lights on.

“You claimed it was a nonessential for you.”

Danny bit his lip and dragged his fingers over the top of the cloth, feeling the patterns swirl and change under them. It was pretty. He wondered if Alfred had picked it out or if someone else had. The kitchen was basically Alfred’s, right? Danny couldn’t imagine anyone else doing it.

“Akhi?”

He winced again, hesitating. ‘It was.’ He signed and blinked hard, riding out a wave of nausea.

“Was? What changed?” Damian’s eyes narrowed and Danny ducked his gaze down to his lap. They weren’t. . .angry, per se. Just. . .calculating and investigative. The usual look. Danny didn’t like it when they were trained on him, though. No matter how careful and gentle Damian made his tone.

This wasn’t an easy subject. Danny was beyond relieved and happy that he was regenerating again, but didn’t want to think about why that needed to happen in the first place. Damian wouldn’t be happy about it either.

He stalled, tapping against the table with a lazy hand, feeling the fabric run against the tip of his finger as he dragged it back again and again. He could feel Damian watching it.

He didn’t want to replant the memories of those videos in Damian’s head—‘cause Danny was pretty sure he saw them, as much as wanted to think he didn’t. Everyone had, why not Damian too?

It was nonsensical how badly Danny didn’t want Damian to see him helpless like that, think of him in that way, when Danny actively sought out his protection, aiding that image himself. He didn’t know what else to do. Damian was his safe place, where else was he supposed to hide and seek refuge and the kind of care he gave him? 

Danny shouldn’t be seeking that kind of care, he should be trying to stand on his own two feet, protect himself.

He didn’t want to.

Poor Danny, missing his internal organs and getting torn apart, so helpless and weak! Just another victim that needed to be coddled.

He liked the coddling .

He was supposed to be stronger. Like Damian. Like an assassin. Like a king. Like a. . protector of Amity Park? No. He didn’t do a very good job of it to be calling himself that. Just. . .a kid trying to. 

Damian kept getting peeks into the damage done to him and it terrified Danny that he saw him as nothing more than a thing to be protected cause he couldn’t protect himself. 

He couldn’t.

Damian didn’t need reminders that Danny was still broken, who had broken him, that he hadn’t been able to stop it himself before it was too late. Before they’d fractured him, his mind, beyond repair.

But. . .

He liked the concern. Damian’s anger at the people who hurt him and the affection he gave him as if he could make everything better if he tried hard enough was reassuring. He liked that Damian worried over him.

He hated that it was because he was so damaged. That Damian might think of him that way even if it was true.

“Akhi?”

Danny slid his gaze a little to the left and rose a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. ‘Not important.’ He signed.

“It is if it concerns your health.’

‘I need food now, that’s all.’ Danny signed, unsure with himself if this was really the route he wanted to take. Risking a glance up, he saw Damian holding a carefully blank face. His voice softened to the one he used when Danny was especially upset and the latter could feel his defences wanting to come down and give in. Curl up against Damian’s chest and live there.

Danny didn’t want to be weak, he didn’t want to feel or be seen as weak, so why was it that Damian’s tone made him feel exactly that way but made him feel better all at once? Like he’d been lost and freezing and chased down by someone he couldn’t possibly beat, then shielded behind another body, wrapped up in a warm blanket, and kept somewhere safe. . .

. . .so pretty much what happened with him, Damian, and the GIW.

“What’s the matter, Akhi? Tell me.”

Danny pulled his knees up and began nervously picking at a thread on the tablecloth, already feeling his resolve deteriorating. ‘Nothing.’ 

“You’re clearly bothered by something. Tell me so I can rectify it.”

His blatancy surprised a huff out of Danny, his fingers stuttering over the thread. He lifted his hand just high enough to sign effectively. ‘You won’t like it. .  .’

“All the more reason to tell me.”

Danny’s nose scrunched as he frowned at the thread—he should probably stop picking at it, he was going to ruin it—feeling as if he’d already lost somehow and he didn’t know when. From the very beginning, he supposed, with a deeper, more irritated scowl. He wasn’t sure at who.

‘It’s just. . .’ He began, words failing him. He didn’t have a stomach before? His organs had finally regenerated? Why could nothing in his life ever give him normal problems that had normals answers to give to people?

Damian waited patiently, back straight and hands most likely held together in his lap. Danny made the mistake of looking up at him properly and found green, resolute eyes pinning his avoidance into submission and mercilessly strangling any last argument Danny might’ve given. He could feel it die in his throat. . .hand(?) before he could give it.

Danny froze a little, deciding that he should stop looking at Damian’s face when they had any sort of serious conversation. . .so. . .like, almost all of them.

With a sigh, he slumped against the chair and curled his shoulders in. ‘Was missing pieces. Regenerated.’ Fiddling with the hem again, Danny slid his gaze back up, keeping his head down as if it would help at all to hide his peeking. 

. . .

“. . .Missing pieces. . .” Damian repeated faintly, his voice choked and strained as if angry and horrified all at once. His jaw was tight and his eyes had widened a bit, and Danny looked away before they could burn into his soul. “. . .Why. . .had you not. . .informed me earlier. . .” He pushed out tightly, calmness being an obvious struggle to maintain.

Danny bit his lip. From stopping a wince at his brother’s anger that made him shudder.

‘Didn’t know I was a ghost.’

“And after?”

Danny ran a light finger over the tabletop again, chewing on his lip and shrugged. How was he supposed to tell him the truth? He could never. ‘Didn’t come up.’

Damian sighed. One of those deep, long ones through his nose and his voice was notably more relaxed. “. . .But you’re healing?” He asked quietly. Anxiously. Hopefully.

Danny nodded.

When there was a long, awkward silence, he supposed and hoped that was the end of it.

The food calling his name took his focus immediately afterwards and Danny reached for a container, slowly pulling it towards him and casting a nervous side-glance at his brother. But Damian didn’t try to stop him, so it must be fine. Danny dug into the baby carrots and Damian stood to begin cleaning up the mess Danny had made.

“Slower.” Damian said pointedly.

Danny scowled broodily, but did.

After eating the rest of the leftovers, half a jar of applesauce, a couple of cheese-strings, four pickles, and three bowls of the cereal kept in the pantry for Dick, Danny exhaled contentedly as he knocked his head back over the back of the chair—mostly to make the room stop spinning. He was stuffed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this full. He closed his eye, taking a minute to scrunch away the lightheadedness that wouldn’t go away. It was nice to rest his head and his tiring vision.

It opened and he blinked rapidly at the warmth pressing to his forehead.

“You’re fever hasn’t passed.” Damian commented and came around to his side. Danny was going to lift his hand to sign, but Damian dipped before he could, picking him up with an arm underneath his knees and the other around his back.

Danny exhaled heavily and rolled his face into Damian’s shoulder. His brother left the kitchen with him in tow.

‘Walk.’ Danny tapped. He didn’t want to walk. His legs shook just at the thought of trying to make the trip all the way back up to his room, and gravity was being an annoying jerk, shifting and tilting the world on it’s axis to mess with him every now and then. His head was heavy. He didn’t want to lift it.

But he had to at least give the illusion that he wanted to. Not with that last conversation sowing fresh seeds of insecurities and anxiety around like it should be his main food source.

Damian snorted as if he’d said something funny. “No.”

Danny fell asleep before they’d even made it back.

><><><><

Damian’s eyes blinked when Danny’s opened. 

The room smelled liked apple cinnamon and pine, with a nice breeze coming through the open windows. Stale air was ushered out as fresh air was invited in. It felt nice, not reaching Danny’s skin, but felt the change and the smells were nice and it helped clear his head a bit. It made the sweat clinging to him feel less abhorrent and hot.

Damian was hovering over him, propped up on an arm, paused with a cloth in his hand. He gave him a small smile. “Akhi. How do you feel?”

Danny inhaled softly, taking stock, and immediately taking notice that he was more clear-headed than last night. . .or whenever he had last been awake. The burning had faded to a slightly uncomfortable warmth and the shivers had, not disappeared, but ebbed and stubbornly trembled on the surface. His headache was almost gone, though he was still a little lightheaded. His core. . .he could feel his core.

He could still feel his core. It hadn’t been a dream, it was real, he was still healing.

Danny inhaled deeply, wetly, his heart skipping as nervous hope bloomed in his chest all over again.

He could feel his core.

Danny inhaled shakily and let it out slowly with a careful nod.

Jason wasn’t here, he noticed.

The blankets were folded down just below Danny’s collarbone, supposedly for wiping down his shoulders, and Damian proceeded to do so. His neck was next, then under his jaw, before Damian rinsed it out in a basin, and continued on to his arm which Danny realized had been retrieved from the blankets.

“. . .Good.” Damian whispered softly, hiding the word so low that maybe it wouldn’t break. The cloth was laid over the basin’s lip and carried to the bathroom when he was finished. Danny kept his eye on the door, anxiety curling in his gut while he was gone, though it couldn’t have been more than a couple seconds before his brother was back, basin-less, and rejoined him on the bed.

Danny watched blatantly as Damian settled down next to him, propped himself up on an elbow, and carded through his damp hair. Danny didn’t know if it was from sweat or if Damian had given his hair a cursory cleaning too.

‘How long?’ Danny lifted a forearm and signed.

“After you ate, you slumbered for a day or so. The total sum is about six days.”

Danny’s jaw fell open. He’s been sleeping for six whole days and he was still sick?!

“Everyone was quite worried.” Damian murmured and laid down properly, pillowing his head on an arm. “The majority of your vitals were adequate and we couldn’t find the cause of your sickness.”

Danny winced. ‘Ghost thing. I think.’

Damian hummed. “We surmised as much.”

‘Jason?’

“Todd is with the others in the cave. The Fenton’s movements have been odd.”

Danny’s breath hitched. He’d completely forgotten about them! ‘What happened?’

Damian’s hand paused in his hair, distracted, and his brows pinched. Danny followed his gaze to his own arm and flinched as his brother placed a hand on it.

“Danyal, are you cold? I’d thought it was simply from the fever.”

Danny shrugged uncertainly.

“Tt. Why didn’t you say something?” Damian quickly sat up. The blankets were drawn back and Danny tensed, not resisting when his arm was manually returned to his side and the blankets drawn back up to his chin. Damian slid off the bed.

Feeling at a loss, Danny eyed his brother as a thick comforter was removed from the closet and marched over to the bed. Damian stood at the foot, and with a snap of his wrists, unfurled the blankets smoothly overtop him. Danny’s lashes fluttered as a brush of air floated across his face. 

“How’s that?” Damian came around and lifted one corner when Danny nodded, to slip under the blankets with him. An arm snaked under Danny’s head, his heart simultaneously relaxing and twitching as he was shifted so his head was cradled in the space between Damian’s shoulder and chest. He could faintly feel the reassuring pulse of his heart. Sufficiently snuggled against his brother with an arm squeezing around Danny’s shoulders, the chill was less apparent, leaching warmth off of his brother. There was less room for his head to roll, firmly secured and easing some of the lightheadedness. He exhaled shakily as fingers began winding through his hair and creating small rifts for the air to vent through.

“There was a short conversation which they didn’t care for and made an assault on the manor, but it was to no avail. I stepped out to speak with them and they departed.”

What?!

Danny tried to turn his head up a bit to look at him, but Damian shushed him and used a hand to keep his head still.

‘You didn’t have them arrested?’

A small sigh left Damian’s lips. “Technically we’re harbouring you and impeding the Fentons from ensuring our own and the public’s safety. While the GCPD has left us alone, we wouldn’t win in court.”

Danny’s hand felt out until he found Damian’s leg under the blanket. ’What did you say to them?!’ He tapped.

“Unimportant.”

‘I wanna know.’

“No. You’ll be notified if it warrants your attention, don’t worry.”

Danny breathed unevenly. There was a sudden pressure in his chest and his ribs hurt. Was Damian going to keep him away from his parents forever? Would he ever see them again? 

It made sense . 

His parents loved him. He missed them.

Damian slipped his hand under the blankets to twine over Danny’s before he could tap again.

“Shh. It’s alright, Akhi.” Damian fretted and stroked Danny’s hand with a thumb. “It’s alright.”

Danny wobbled his head side to side.

“Shh, it will be. It’s alright. Your safe. I’ll be right here every step of the way.” Damian added and it helped. Danny may never see his parents again, they may never accept him, love him, for what he was, they were dangerous, but Damian would still love him. He’d never leave, even if this was his fault. Damian loved him, he knew what was best.

“We can discuss this when you’re well again, alright?” Danny didn’t responded and Damian gave a small sigh. “Are you hungry?”

Danny sniffled and nodded. There was a big hole in his stomach.

"Would you like to have food sent up or dine downstairs?”

Danny shrugged, swallowing down the wetness and trying to settle his nerves. 

“Mm. Alright.”

As Damian slowly sat up, he forced Danny with him, shedding the coverings over his torso, and bracing him with his arms. Danny’s brows rose, disconcerted, as the fresh blanket Damian had just brought out, was dragged up with a hand, and wrapped tightly around Danny. The softness pressed against the line of his jaw and sealed in the heat. It was kind of nice. If he forgot how much he felt like a caterpillar.

Damian slid out of bed and threw back the first blanket. As an arm dipped under Danny’s knees and he was hauled up, he might’ve tried to tap or sign that he could walk, but he couldn’t even begin to find the opening for his arm to snake through, or spend the energy fighting against the press of the blankets to do that. And. . .he didn’t really want to walk. It just sounded. . .so exhausting and hard. His headache grew just thinking about it.

His head lolled against Damian’s shoulder on the way out, closing his eye to the dizzying change of being upright after laying down for so long. 

Damian was ridiculous. A sweater would’ve been just fine. It wouldn’t’ve sealed in as much heat as Danny wanted, but he could deal with it until he went back to bed. But he also. . .very much liked it. It was so, oddly comfortable, being wrapped up like a burrito, and he didn’t have to move. He didn’t have to think. He. . .liked being Damian’s. He took good care of him. This had become his favourite mode of transportation. Danny could hear the pulse of Damian’s blood in his neck and how tightly his arms wrapped securely around him, keeping him safe, as if he’d rather do nothing else, as if nothing could ever make him.

Danny didn’t remember closing his eye, but he must have, because it opened again as he was carried into the kitchen. Where Alfred was cooking at the stove.

. . .Uuuggggghhh. Danny’s burning face tucked into Damian’s shoulder.. He shoulda said he’d eat upstairs. Or insisted to be set down before coming in here. He forgot about Alfred. Why did this keep happening?

“Good morning Master Damian. Master Danyal. I’m pleased to see you awake. How are you faring?”

Damian settled Danny down in a chair, fussing with the blanket and making sure he was comfortable. “He’s improving.” He answered for him with a dissatisfied grimace, implying it wasn’t happening fast enough. Danny averted his eye and bit his lip, feeling irrationally anxious for not meeting his brother’s expectations. Though he knew that wasn’t it. Damian was just worried, he was worried, he didn’t like it when he was sick.

He liked it when Damian worried.

“Very good. Might I inquire as to your visit?” 

Damian went to the fridge. “Danyal is hungry. I thought he might enjoy the leftovers from breakfast.” 

This took Alfred’s attention from the pot he’d been stirring and adding the odd spice here and there. His amused look was knowing. “I presume this change has to do with the ravaged ice-box the other night?.”

Danny sighed and rested his forehead on the table.

“I was under the impression that you did not need to eat.” Alfred commented lightly and returned his attention to the pot.

Damian set a few containers on the kitchen counter and pulled out a plate. “Evidently, “not requiring sustenance” equates to lacking certain internal organs.” Damian grumbled. Danny winced and cringed into himself.

Alfred was suspiciously quiet. The wooden spoon he used scraped slowly along the bottom, rippling through the contents. “. . .That is quite alarming.” Alfred didn’t sound alarmed at all, rather restraining a different emotion. Damian huffed as he drew out a couple mugs and set them on the counter, grabbing the tea kettle next. 

“Agreed.” Damian piled scrambled eggs, bacon, and hash-browns onto the plate. The hollow, watery echo of the tea kettle being filled followed. 

It felt as if Danny was being teamed up against, though he didn’t know for what.

“His recent regeneration warranted a late-night trip to the kitchen.”

Alfred hummed. “Well, I hope it was to your liking, Master Danyal. I’ll account for your appetite from now on.”

Danny shut his eye with another pained sigh.

The microwave clacked shut, beeped a few times, and hummed. Danny could barely hear the rattling of the wheels keeping the glass base inside spinning. A cupboard was opened and shut. The tap ran again before Damian set a glass in front of him.

“Drink.” Damian turned away.

With much effort and frustration, Danny sat up and eventually found one end of his blanket that overlapped with the other end, to poke his hand out and grab the tall glass of water. After chugging half of it, he sat back and cradled it close to his face behind the protective barrier of the blanket, sipping at it while watching his brother. The plate that had been removed from the microwave had manifested a fork where they sat on the counter. Damian was stirring a mug with a cinnamon stick. Karak chai.

Damian turned with two mugs in one hand, Danny’s plate in the other, and set it and a mug in front of him. The chair was pulled out next to Danny and his brother sat.

It was the best breakfast Danny had ever had.

><><><><

Danny exhaled contentedly as he lowered into the pleasantly warm water. Not too hot, but not cold. It sunk into his skin, appeasing the chill for the moment. 

He closed his eye, simply enjoying the water and slipping into a light doze. How could he not when he felt so cozy and warm and relieved of the gross sweat that clung to him. 

To prevent his body from turning into a prune, he eventually used the new soaps Damian had got him, cleaned himself up, and carefully crawled out of the tub. It felt so good to be clean. It sucked to be cold again. 

Danny towelled off quickly and donned the fresh pair of boxers and sweatpants Damian had set out for him. When he wobbled to the door, he was glad he hadn’t tried to walk downstairs earlier considering how shaky and off-balance he felt. Damian had carried him right to the tub and set him on the edge before leaving, so Danny would have to walk as little as possible. 

Danny opened the door and leaned against the frame, causing Damian to glance at him briefly before closing his laptop on his desk, and making his way over. He snatched the comforter folded on the bed on his way to bundle Danny up in it. The halfa was expecting it this time when Damian scooped him up, and he rested his head on his brother’s shoulder to the short ride to the bed. Leaning him against the headboard, Damian dug the first-aid kit from the bathroom, and returned to pause with a hand on his ankle.

“. . .Your scrapes are gone.”

Danny was healing faster.

The kit was put away.

Damian loosened the thick wrapping to take Danny’s wrist and walk him through the hand and finger exercises. Danny. . .could have told them they were unnecessary now, just as healed as his feet were, but he liked how tenderly Damian held it and how attentive he was. He spoke lowly, guiding him through the steps until they were done.

Damian fastened the brace over it. “How is the pain?”

Danny nodded.

A tray with legs and a bowl of potato soup were put in front of him. It was creamy and salty and cheesy, and he fell asleep, full.

><><><><

‘Who?’  Danny tapped sleepily, his eye blinking blearily at the screen Damian held in full view. His thumb was in the midst of typing a, frankly, scathing retort to whoever Vicki Vale was. On social media.

. . .Social media. . .

. . .

. . .Damian. Had social media?! Not Damian. Not his slightly psychopathic brother who had always scorned communication with people deemed beneath him. Not Damian who would willingly, purposefully, burn bridge after bridge if he didn’t like the person on the other side, violently, and cruelly just to keep them from nearing his presence. Not his people-hating brother who would rather die than engage in mindless gossip and news, where people were often senselessly idiotic to no end. (Damian’s words).

Danny supposed he’d seen this lady messaging him before, but it hadn’t processed.

Damian had a handle!

“Drivel” Damian would call it . Danny could almost hear it. And here Damian was. On Beeswax. 

Though. . .to be fair to Damian’s love of hating people, it was utterly ruthless. Danny involuntarily winced.

“Vale is a reporter.”

‘She wants to talk to you?’ Danny tapped, taking note of the message Damian was responding to. It seemed he had been contacted multiple times and had mostly ignored the lady. His patience must have run out.

Damian hummed. “Yes, if she cannot speak to you directly.”

. . .huh. . . .what?

“She’s been harassing all of us and attempting to extract any information on the new Wayne.”

Danny’s eye widened, the corners of his mouth turning down.

“Apparently, Gotham is curious about you. After dispatching the city’s most vilest criminal, defusing several bombs, revealed to be the superhero half-ghost the most hated government agency has been targeting, and now a suspected member of the most well-known family in the city, you’ve caught much attention.”

Air slowly escaped Danny’s tense throat in a high, breathy sound. He slipped down a little from his place against Damian’s chest. 

Damian snorted, his muscles tensing under Danny as he reached for the side-table. “If you’re averse to the publicity, you should be less memorable. Here.” 

Danny automatically took the thermometer in his mouth, scowling, not pouting, and curled into his brother’s ribs.

><><><><

“Mm. You’re fever has nearly passed.” Damian set the thermometer aside. 

Danny was aware of this. After another night of weird dreams, he’d woken up to ectoplasm that had waned to a low simmer and his core feeling more thawed than it had in ages. The protective layer like the early morning Autumn frosts still lingered stubbornly, though. . .Danny wasn’t sure if he wanted the fever to melt it away completely. The less numb it became, the more it hurt, and he’d grown used to the protective, cold cocoon. Similarly, he just wanted it to heal. He wanted to be better.

Blinking away the heavy fog that came with cozy warmth and dimmed lights, Danny lifted his head from Damian’s chest and braced his hand against the mattress. Only to huff tiredly as he was pressed back into the body behind him. He gave up quickly as limbs wrapped tight around him and pressed in on his legs. He flopped his head back against Damian. His stomach—he had a stomach now, it felt different and amazing—twitched and twisted a bit, admittedly. . .enjoying Damian’s possessiveness. He liked how tightly he held him, how safe and inescapable the cage was. 

. . .

. . .Was there something wrong with him?

“What are you doing?” 

With Danny’s arm pinned as it was, and Damian not complying to the silent request to move it, he resorted to dragging his foot up to tap it against Damian’s.

‘Bathroom.’

“. . .Oh.” Damian said like he had completely forgotten that he would need that now. . .just like Danny had. He couldn’t say he’d missed the feeling of needing to tend to his internal plumbing. “Of course.” 

Danny was shifted forward as Damian sat up properly, keeping a hand on his shoulder to help stabilize him as he got to his feet.

‘Walk.’

“No.”

The bathroom was literally right there. Surely Danny could make it that far. He was feeling a bit better and he shook a lot less now, he could use the meagre exercise. His joints and muscles ached for it. Though, he didn’t bother protesting further to deaf ears as he was picked up and cradled to Damian’s chest. His brother carried him directly to the toilet, setting him down where he could brace a hand on the wall if needed.

If it was anywhere else, Danny wouldn’t care, he. . .well, he liked it when Damian carried him, but when it was the bathroom for. . .bathroom purposes, it just felt. . .sorta uncomfortable? There really was no good reason for it, it just was.

After Danny relieved his bladder and washed his hand, he took the opportunity to slowly pace the room, staying close to the counter to steady himself on pathetically weak legs. It felt good to use them. There were maybe a couple times he nearly fell flat on his face(he did), but there was no chance of a popsicle in a heatwave that he would tell Damian and it wasn’t like he was pacing for long, because then Damian would be getting suspicious and worried why he hadn’t come out yet.

Damian was striding to him the instant he opened the door and picking him up as if the thought of Danny exerting any energy whatsoever before he was over his fever was utterly unacceptable.

It was simultaneously frustrating and the warmest feeling ever. 

“Would you care to join the family downstairs for dinner?” Damian said and sat on the edge of the bed with Danny in his lap. A blanket was dragged closer to cover him. 

Danny shrugged, feeling uneasy about being around the others while he was in such a state. By now, he was (mostly) sure they wouldn’t hurt him, and Damian would protect him if they tried, but it still left a sour taste in his mouth and his shoulders tensed. 

“They’ve expressed concern for you and a desire to see you.”

Danny’s face scrunched. ‘Why.’

“They’ve missed your presence.” He said like it should be obvious.

‘Why?’ Danny truly couldn’t understand this family. He’s attacked them, snubbed them, hated them with vicious hostility and yet they’ve stuck around like fruit flys, impossible to get rid off and buzzing around his head. They shouldn’t care about him, they didn’t know him. They shouldn’t have accepted him so easily. His parents didn’t.

“You’re family.” Damian pet his head, dragging his fingertips lightly along his scalp and Danny’s lashes fluttered closed with the pleasant sensations. He rolled his face a bit more into his brother’s chest. “It’s only natural.”

‘Don’t like them.;

Damian snorted. “You’ve made that exceedingly clear.” He said softly and went quiet. Danny listened to his heartbeat and took reassurance in the fall and rise of chest, forever and always searching for the proof that Damian was here. That he was breathing and present and holding him tight.

“Danyal. . .if they had not impeded your. . .departure, the GIW would have eventually caught up with you.”

Danny tensed. 

“At the time, I suppose you thought they had ill intentions. But do you still?”

Danny swallowed, tucking his hand underneath the blanket and curling into Damian, hoping it’d help getting him out of answering.

He. . .didn’t know. Yes, he did. He had many feelings over being held captive against his will, anger, sure, but also. . .reluctant relief. That the bats may not be as bad as he thought. That they’d kept him from getting captured. As much as much as it pained him to admit it, they had. . .ugh. Good intentions.

‘. . .dunno.’ He replied, because despite knowing all this, it was still frustrating that he hadn’t been able to escape when he’d clearly wanted to and had clearly been distressed, when Damian had still been terrifying to be around. Still was. His feelings on the matter were far from clear-cut and understandable.

“You’re protection was—is—our top priority.” Damian sighed and pressed his mouth to Danny’s hair, sending the halfa’s heart-rate up and his chest twisting into a pretzel.

How could something be so frightening and reassuring at the same time? Damian would do it again. If he had to. Keep him locked up somewhere as long as he was safe. He still was. Danny definitely didn’t want a repeat, he definitely. . .didn’t want Damian not to try and keep him safe? That was so much scarier than not. Danny had learned that Damian. . .knew better? If Danny doubted him again and wasn’t listening, at least Damian would do what he needed to do.

Ugh. The logic made perfect sense and none at all at the same time. What the heck was wrong with him?

“They care for your well-being.”

Danny blinked, discontented when Damian stood and placed Danny directly on the bed. He readjusted the blanket around his shoulders before going to the closet. “You must be famished.” Damian said, snatching the black sweater from a chair on his way back to him. He dropped the two sweaters on the bed and loosened the blankets around Danny to push it out of the way, helping him don the first sweater, Danny’s pullover hoodie, and then Damian’s bigger sweater which fit over it. Danny hadn’t seen the thick socks until they were in Damian’s hands. Danny held his hand out for them. It was a struggle to get them on with one hand, but he wasn’t about to let Damian do it. That was just a step too far.

“Come.” Was all the warning Danny had before he was lifted up.

The journey downstairs was quick and quiet. 

‘Walk.’ Danny tapped when they turned down the hallway connected to the kitchen.

“No.”

‘Yes.’ As pointless as it may be, he at least wanted to maintain some illusion of dignity.

“You’re ill.” They were nearing the door.

‘Legs work fine.’ Danny signed back with a pointed slap on his brother’s chest, ignoring how that wasn’t completely true.

Damian huffed and gave him a look, but set him down when they reached the door, much to Danny’s relief. Damian slung and arm over his shoulder and pressed him tight into his side, keeping Danny steady.

“Good evening, Danya—“

“Danyal! You’re up!” Dick twisted in his seat at their entry with a beaming smile that was much too bright and obnoxious. Danny scowled as he was greeted similarly from the others. They turned his stomach with discomfort, their pleased smiles washing over his skin like slime and itching powder. Their eyes followed him, some more worried than others(Dick), like they were half-expecting him to collapse.

Jason was much more tolerable.

Damian guided him to a chair beside Duke who flashed another brilliant smile at him. Something flickered in his eyes and he looked away, quickly blinking a few times.

Damian sat beside him and took his plate. The bats didn’t comment on it when Damian piled it high with food and returned it to it’s place, so he must’ve filled them in. Danny knew he had when he caught them giving Danny looks. At least he didn’t have to explain it again.

As soon as the plate touched down with a dull thunk, the bats went rabid, filling their own dishes as fast as they could, throwing taunts and insults at each other, bodily getting in each other’s way, and nearly coming to blows a few times. Bruce looked on with a weary smile, thanking Alfred as a plate was set in front of him.

Danny kept a wary eye on the rambunctious bunch as he drew his fork to him and began eating the lasagna. He’d been given a large portion with three slices of cheesy garlic bread around the edges, and a large bowl of salad with lettuce, diced tomato, spinach, parmesan cheese, dressing, and croutons. Damian refilled his water glass whenever it emptied before Danny had a chance to reach for it himself.

Danny’s plate cleared quickly and he eyed the rest of the food the bats squabbled over as he clamped his teeth over his last bite of garlic bread. There were only two slices left on the table. He wanted more.

. . .

. . .

He didn’t want to get involved with this veritable food-fight happening between the siblings. He didn’t want to be a part of. . .them.

One of the slices disappeared. 

Thunk!

Just about everyone jumped at the knife stabbing into the garlic bread. Stephanie yelped, snapping her hand back from reaching for it before she could be impaled.

“Hey! We agreed no weapons!”

Damian slowly leaned back, taking the knife and bread with them. He held them out to a gobsmacked Danny. Carefully, flicking his gaze up and back down, the halfa un-impaled the bread, his heart palpitating and squishing up in a weird way. His insides felt warm, but not in the fevery, ectoplasm-boiling way.

“It’s a butter knife.” Damian drawled like they were the simpletons they were. Danny was with Damian on this one. Knives and weapons should always be brought to the table. Just in case. What if the food reanimated? Alfred probably didn’t keep ectoplasm next to the food like his parents did, but it always paid to be prepared.

“Butter knife! It’s still a knife! That counts!” Tim jumped in.

“Master Damian.” Alfred said, ever impressing Danny with his ability to successfully scold Damian. His brother put the knife down.

Jason laughed silently.

“There should be a rule. Damian doesn’t get utensils anymore. Why hasn’t this always been a rule?” Tim complained.

“I am perfectly capable of collecting my own cutlery.” Damian quirked an eyebrow.

“Not if Alfred’s the one banning you.” Duke snickered.

“He wouldn’t do such a thing. He is no neanderthal like you lot. Besides, it wouldn’t make much difference.”

Danny leaned back in his chair, catching Steph shifting her narrowed gaze from Damian to Danny.

There was something . . just. . .so. . .satisfying about her loss. A tiny smirk lilted up a corner of Danny’s mouth as he took a bite of the bread, staring right at her. Stephanie’s mouth slowly opened in an offended, dramatic gasp.

Danny was very pleased with himself. He was pleased. . .that Damian had thought of him first. 

Danny was his favourite. 

Danny was everything to him.

It was stupid to be so happy over a piece of bread.

><><><><

The hand withdrew from Danny’s forehand and passed him a glass of water which he took gratefully. As cool liquid slipped down his throat, he saw Damian in the corner of his eye preparing the thermometer again, and refused to put down the glass until it was empty, knowing the stick would be in his mouth as soon he did. He was right and it was held to his lips when the glass lowered. Danny looked at Damian, unimpressed, but opened and allowed it to be slid under his tongue. He’d already had the thermometer twice earlier today and it wasn’t the most comfortable feeling to have it’s dull edges poking at the underside of his tongue, the floor of his mouth, or his gums. His fever had reduced significantly, surely there was no more need for this.

He liked it when Damian worried.

His brother took the empty glass from Danny, set it on the side table, and readjusted the blanket still wrapped tightly around Danny to be more comfortable around the shoulders. “Do you feel ill at all?”

Danny shook his head. 

Damian deadpanned. “Do not lie to me.”

A flinched was suppressed, rolling his eye instead. ‘Feeling better.’

“That does not equate to a clean bill of health.”

Danny sighed, resting his head against the head board and closing his eye for a minute. ‘Dizziness almost gone. Tired. Not burning anymore.’

Damian hummed. “Yes, your fever is nearly gone.” That’s not quite what Danny meant, but he didn’t feel like explaining, so he didn’t. “Do you think you could walk?”

Danny opened his eye to frown indignantly at him. ‘I can walk!’

“On your own? Steadily and in a straight line?”

Danny scoffed, screwing his eye shut indignantly and gripping his blanket from the inside to keep it closed, mostly because he couldn’t answer that truthfully in the way he wanted to.

A sigh left Damian as he got up from the edge, and settled next to Danny against the headboard. “The Scotts were asking for you while you were compromised.”

Danny’s face scrunched. Damian made it sound like he’d been gravely injured or captured by hostiles on a mission or something.

“I informed them you were ill and would contact them when you regained health. The youngest one requested I deliver a message.”

Curious, Danny rolled his head a bit to look at him, entertained by the frown that appeared more irked than usual.

“She inquired, “Would my stuffies make him feel better?”” It slid out like rubber on granite, and Danny bit his lip to keep his smile from growing any bigger at Damian’s visible chafing.