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Anger
It’s all he felt, every memory tainted by green around the corners. He was angry, enraged, furious, aggrieved, resentful, hopeless. His hands forever tainted by red and green. Redemption was for those who could change. It was for his father, who had done so much good. It’s for Grayson, who fights for his siblings He will never be one of those siblings. It’s for Todd, who was never made for the Lazarus pits but he was. It’s for Drake, the one who always has a plan. It’s for Pennyworth, who does his best for the family he didn’t choose but loves so much. It’s for Thomas, who has only just begun his journey. It’s for Brown, who fights battles she was never responsible for. It’s for Cain, who came from the same place yet has gone much further.
Redemption was always out of reach. Anger pulled him back, wrapping around his arms and legs, chaining him to his past. Always the heir to the demon head, the angry robin, the violent robin, the demon brat. Always his past, never his future he doesn’t have a future.
Never his future.
Never his future.
Never his future.
Never the future.
Never the future.
No future,
No future, no future, no future, no, no, no.
The green crept across his vision.
It couldn’t dilute the color of blood.
His hands were red, his hands were red, his hands were red. His blood his blood his blood his blood. Frantic movements, he didn’t control as the hands pressed against the hole, his hands. Blood gushed in between his fingers; he couldn’t stop it. He can never stop it.
Death hung around corners, an old friend he could never shake.
No redemption.
The cloaked figure awaited him, no helping hand or guiding touch. Watching. They won’t take him till the red paints the floors.
No redemption.
Who will remove the stains, who will clean his weapons, who will throw away the ripped uniform, who will find his body, who will bury him, who will feed his animals, who will mourn him?
No redemption.
Death and life were funny concepts, everyone dies someday. Why do people live their lives how they do, does death excite them, scare them, intrigue them? If everyone dies what does it matter if one dies early? He isn’t to judge if someone dies but isn’t that still judging that they live? He’ll never understand. Will he stay dead this time?
No redemption.
He held the emergency signal, he could press it. He could make it all stop. They had time, death still waits.
No redemption.
He crushes it in his hand.
No redemption.
He was angry. The green fed it and fed off of it.
No redemption.
Green was the color of envy, jealousy, greed. The color of money, of his vision when it got too much. It was the color of life, grass, robin. The color of his eyes. His mother’s eyes, Todd’s eyes. Green was ugly, but their eyes were beautiful. Never his eyes
No redemption.
His vision shifted, colors blending into grey, or perhaps that was the concrete he had fallen upon. He moved his hand, looking at the bullet hole, the gun used to create it sat a few feet away. Fallen with the man’s bravery.
No redemption.
His gloves were red, red, red. He was … angry?
No redemption.
The school counselor once told him it was easy to mistake some emotions for anger. She repeated, repeated, repeated her method to tell the difference.
No redemption.
Ask why you’re angry
No redemption.
What do you want to do about it?
No redemption.
Did you start out feeling angry?
No redemption.
What do you feel, beyond your anger?
No redemption.
He was angry because of the green. He wants to … to… to punch something kill something. He started out feeling. He felt something squeezing his heart, tears welling up in his eyes, a want for his family, lonely, hopeless.
No redemption.
The counselor was a strange woman, chubby and short. Her skin was almost as pale as Drake’s and her hair was pin-straight. She held her head high and had earned the respect of most the school. Damian thought she might have been an empath, even if she didn’t know.
No redemption.
The first time he walked into her office was after the fifth fight of his first week. She held a silent conversation with the teacher who had brought him in, giving Damian time to observe her office. It was mostly unremarkable, but on the desk was a few bowls of candies and sweet treats. The counselor turned to him, pushing forward a specific bowl of candy. This one was filled to the brim, unlike the others.
No redemption.
He had hesitantly taken one, it wasn’t like the candies Grayson had made him try before. It wasn’t even all that sweet and had a touch of spice to it. She had later called them ginger candies. She leaned back in her chair and observed him. Her eyes were slightly shiny in a way eyes get when one holds back tears.
No redemption.
“You deserve love too”
No redemption.
And if he took to visiting her once a week, no one needed to know, just like they didn’t need to see the ginger candies she slipped into his palm whenever they crossed paths.
No redemption.
Damian looked back at the gun, he wasn’t brave. His aim was off and now he wasn’t even able to even finish the job.
No redemption.
No one would be there for days, possibly weeks, deep in the Gotham sewers with all his trackers removed. Even if they weren’t the only one with a strong enough signal to reach the surface was the emergency beacon that he crushed.
No Redemption.
The green had faded away, leaving only the physical and metaphorical hole in his gut. He let out a soft laugh at his choke, blood coming with it.
Death waited with open arms, and for once Damian turned the other way. He pushed himself to lean back against the sewer walls. According to his watch what had felt like hours was only a minute or two. He had only minutes left, already feeling lightheaded from blood loss.
He reached his fingers into the wound, cringing at the feeling, and fished out the bullet. Thanking whatever higher being was out there that he somehow missed any important organs.
Next, he reached into his utility belt and pulled out thread and needle. He wanted to sanitize it but had limited time, he just had to hope it was sanitized enough. He pulled away the ripped edges of his costume.
It was only through years in the league and as Robin that he was able to steady his hands and insert the needle. The pain was barely noticeable compared to that of being shot. He squinted his eyes, fighting back the black that huddled around the edges of his vision.
He reminded himself one stitch at a time, watching the hole slowly pull shut.
He tied off the thread, letting his body grow lax. He was tired. Looking down at his bloody side he could only hope that he stopped the bleeding. His eyes slipped closed, and the last thing he saw was the gross ground of the abandoned sewer tunnels.
__________
Barbara was pulling up every security camera she could as Dick ran around the city looking for any possible clue. Bruce was ringing in as many favors as he could, ignoring the countless requests for him to take a break. Jason had only vowed not to let another Robin die and disappeared. Tim was passed out on a med-bay cot after Stephanie drugged his coffee after learning he’d been awake for a week straight. Steph herself was questioning as many rogues as they could find. Cass searched the manor for clues. Duke covered as many patrols as he could with help whenever someone could spare some time.
All for Damian. The youngest, baby-bat. He disappeared 4 days ago. 98 hours. 5884 minutes since he left the cave that night. All his trackers were destroyed or scattered around the city to throw them off the trail.
No one wanted to say it, but the chances of him being found were slim, the chances of him being alive even slimmer. In the over a week it had been he could have been halfway across the world, or at least his body.
Alfred descended the stairs, he’d been bringing food, tea, and reminders to take breaks frequently, but this time he held nothing in his hands. Bruce hung up his call, promising to call them back, and turned to face the old man.
“Damian’s school counselor called,” Alfred said, he then pulled out a recording device, “She had a story to tell you.” Bruce wanted to brush it off, but Alfred gave him a look that he couldn’t ignore.
“I met Damian less than a week after he transferred here. The teachers told me I had my work cut out for me; they called him violent and unreasonable. Their stories painted a picture of a delinquent, a child born from a one-night stand, his mother abandoning him to a father who didn’t know he existed for years. I thought it was gonna be another case like the other violent students I’ve dealt with, spoiled and unable to realize they weren’t the best thing to ever happen to the world. For students like that, I normally recommend a school more equipped to handle … violent teens. I suppose I must be honest that I thought he belonged at a boarding school or even juvie. I even had the recommendation papers drafted.
Then he came into my office. He only had one bruise, despite the number of fights he got in. When I had turned my attention to him I noticed him staring at my candy bowls. I didn’t want to give him one, but I couldn’t treat him differently. I pushed the ginger candies toward him, they were everyone’s least favorite. He took it before I could offer more, and when I watched him I suppose I saw something different from all the teachers before. I wasn’t thinking when I first spoke, or maybe I was, and the problem was that all I could make come out was the thought repeating over and over again in my head.
‘You deserve love too.’ He opened his mouth, and closed it, and then opened it again. I don’t think he realized he was crying until I handed him the box of tissues.
Goodness I’m rambling, this has a point I promise. He started talking, I don’t know what he said, all of it in Arabic, or a similar language. When he was done I pushed the bowl closer to him and he grabbed a handful of ginger candies and left.
He sees me once a week now or did. He missed his appointment yesterday, a first without warning. I don’t know why he’s gone, but deep down I think we all know. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but I think someone should know. Last week he let me look through his sketchbook. On the last filled page was a detailed map of the sewers, what some spots marked with symbols. I took a picture, it should have been sent to you by now. I don’t know everything, but, make sure to tell Damian just how much you truly love him.”
The recording device clicked off. Barbara was already pulling up the image, broadcasting it on the batcomputer screen. It was a map of the sewers, but with even more tunnels mapped out, ones that were only heard of in rumors and ones that shouldn’t exist. Many were marked off with Xs, but one small room, a maintenance room, was circled multiple times over.
“It’s too deep for any signals to reach,” Barbara said, pulling up known maps of the tunnels. She overlaid them until she found a section that matched.
Cass rushed down the stairs, holding a sketchbook, opening to a page towards the end. She held it up to Bruce, the same map on the screen.
“Orphan, Signal, Nightwing, we have a map with a potential lead. Barbara will be sending it to you, find the circled room and search the surrounding area. All transmissions will be unable to reach us, so be prepared for anything.” Bruce barely waited to hear their confirmations before moving on. “Spoiler, Red Hood, search the known sewer tunnels, stay where our signal can still reach you. Red Robin will be on standby, and Bluebird and I will continue patrols.”
They would find their Robin, that they were certain of.
__________
Damian looked dejectedly at the caved-in ceiling, crossing the tunnel off in his mental map. He glanced to the left and found a door he hadn’t previously gone through. He shrugged, his wound was doing surprisingly well and he had enough food to last him a while longer if he stretched it out. They were high-energy bars made to replace meals, if he rations them he guesses he can make them last a week.
He put his hands on the handle, having to shove his shoulder into the door to make it open. His wound ached as he did so, but he ignored it Ignoring it won’t stop it. There were stairs in front of him, leading down so far he could not see the end. Damian pulled out his sword, cautiously creeping down the stairs.
The stairs turned uneven, and then to stone, the walls following suit. The railing broke away like someone gave up constructing the rest. He didn’t trust to touch the weirdly damp walls. He was an assassin and trained his whole life, he doesn’t need a railing to keep ba–
His foot hit a slippery patch of something(?), and he lost his footing. He squeezed his eyes shut as he began to tumble down the stairs. He could feel his stitches pull and rip, blood now staining his skin when he had just finally got all the crusty blood gone.
Damian found himself on his back at the bottom of the stairs, cringing at the knowledge of the giant bruise bound to form on his back. He pushed his body to stand, unstable as a newborn fawn as he felt everywhere he hit. The bit of skin showing already turning black and blue.
He sighed and turned to look at the room he’d fallen into anything to ignore the limited time he has left. It was a long hallway, made of ancient stone and with torches lining the walls. They had burned out long ago, lucky for Damian his portable flashlight was in his utility belt, and still working. He grabbed his sword from the floor and held the light in his other hand.
He flicked it on, shining it down the hallway, and began to walk. Every step came with an increasing feeling of dread, and yet a tugging in his heart (?) to keep moving. He didn’t like how quiet it was, the lack of something to focus on, it let his mind begin to slip.
Did his family notice his absence yet? They had to have, it’s been 3 days. Maybe they just didn’t care to find him? Were they happy, or were they spending every minute, every second, looking for him despite knowing it might be too late? Would they find him? Did he want them to find him? Yes! Find him, save him, love him. Cast away the doubts that linger in the back of his mind.
The school counselor probably noticed she was smart like that. Yesterday was the first time he missed their meeting, he was already craving the ginger candies. If he was better at symbolism maybe he would think of one about the ginger, perhaps how it’s supposed to represent Damian with its flavors, or how it’s called a candy yet is rarely eaten like candy, or how it was left alone in that bowl for so long, no one willing to give it a chance. He felt the urge to laugh at himself, he wasn’t a tragic character in some boring book for English class.
He wondered who would eat the ginger candies now, no one else ever did. Maybe someone else will come along to eat them, replace Damian’s position, but unlike him, this person might not be such a fuck-up.
Damian was brought out of his wandering thoughts by a fork in the road. The logical part of his brain told him to go right, he could guess where the right path led, a door he left untouched on account of time and it being locked when he first started mapping the sewers. Everything told him to go right. Well, not everything.
His gut, his heart, practically screamed at him to go left. Feeling like he was attached to a rope that only pulled harder the longer he stood unmoving. He shined the light down both halls, watching it illuminate the tunnels.
Left.
He chose left, letting his heart guide him down the damp tunnel. The walls were rough, the old torches not lined up even and straight, varying distances between each. It annoyed the perfectionist in him but also brought back old memories, ones he had forgotten about until now. Being 4 or 5 maybe even 6, and hiding from his tutors. Finding an old door, more of a crawl space, so small that most adults probably couldn’t fit into it even if they tried. He had found his way in, finding old tunnels covered by a layer of dust that led deeper into the mountain than he’d ever been. It was there that he found himself hiding most days. As he got older he learned his place, learned not to disobey, and forgot about the tunnels he had made a second home out of.
It felt eerily similar. He felt himself relaxing, moving his sword back to its sheath. He walked at a leisurely pace down the hall, taking it in, childhood memories coming back to him with every step he took. He could not explain the beauty of it to someone who’d never experienced it.
He slowed down when the hall began to brighten. He was set on edge when he noticed the familiar green hue.
His feet carried him faster, in the tunnels he grew up with ahead was a big empty room, with a weird hole in the middle that he often played in. A hole that resembled-
A Lazarus Pit.
__________
Cass felt uneasy as she approached the door. She stopped in front of it. Her brothers stopped behind her, confused. She ignored them, instead crouching to stare at the handle. Normally she delighted in drawing out these moments when she confuses her siblings, but now was not the time.
“Babybat, blood,” she pointed out the red stain on the metal handle. The door was slightly ajar, letting her push it open to reveal the room without a problem. Her attention immediately went to the gun on the floor. Jason was missing one of his guns, one with a matching description to the one sitting on the floor.
Dick, finally having grown impatient, shimmied his way past her and into the room. His gasp made her tear her gaze away from the weapon and to the large blood stain on the floor. Duke attempted to follow the oldest sibling, only for Cass to turn and shove her hand in front of his eyes. She pushed him back, unwilling to let her newest sibling see such as sight with the knowledge of who it came from.
“Orphan … Cass. You have to let me see, please.” He slowly pushed her to the side. She gave in, though only because she had to. She and Duke fully entered the room.
“It’s his blood,” Dick crouched in front of it.
“We don’t know that!” Duke denied. Cass looked at him solemnly, they all knew whose blood it was, there was no denying it. They’d also seen enough to connect the dots between the gun, Damian’s blood, the map, the missing trackers, and countless other signs. Cass could only look back at the countless warning signs that screamed at her and that she just ignored.
Dick was kneeling, unwilling to get up, he stared at the gun, tears dripping from under his domino mask. His hands clenched into fists. Cass looked around the room, it was so grey, she hated grey sometimes, but it was better than the red that colored the ground. The only things in the room were the gun and pipes on the walls.
She corrected herself looking over at Dick. A single needle and thread were barely visible in the dried-up puddle of blood. She crouched, drawing her brothers’ attention to the objects in front of her.
“Stitched up, alive.”
They all made eye contact (or as close as they could with masks). Dick was the first one up and out the door, directing a flashlight at the ground. Faded bloody footsteps led to the right. He started following them, Cass and Duke not far behind.
“He’s probably headed for this exit,” Duke pointed to the tunnel that led directly to the surface. Dick, looked down at the map and then back at the other vigilantes.
“Then what are we waiting for, we can’t waste time,” he turned and took off in a sprint, his footsteps echoing in the sewer tunnel as he ran towards the exit. With an injury to have lost as much blood as Damian did then he had to be moving slowly. They had hoped to catch up to him, especially if he was taking breaks (like he should be when injured).
Cass clenched her hand hard enough she could feel her nails forming crescents even through her gloves. Her heart ached for her little brother, the one raised so similarly to her. The one that never had and will never have a normal childhood no matter how hard they try. The one she watches struggle for words the same way she does, covering it up so well even when it hurts to speak. He takes care of animals the way he should have been taken care of, with so much love and care that most don’t realize he’s capable of. She heard his counselor on the phone. She could see it too, the boy he was meant to be. The one he can still be.
He has to survive for the boy he already is.
If he doesn’t who will show off the most beautiful paintings she’d ever seen, or be her “unwilling” dance partner? Who will rescue so many street animals and find shelters for even more?
She can’t imagine a life without her youngest brother in it. The young are not supposed to die before the old and yet here Cass is running through previously uncharted sewers praying to gods she never believed in that he’s still alive. That they aren’t too late. That he’ll wait for them, for the family he is supposed to be able to rely on.
“Fuck!” Dick skidded to a stop. It was unusual for him to curse, but wholly warranted when she noticed the caved-in ceiling blocking the path. Cass felt like the world had stopped, the footprints had faded away long before they reached the caved-in ceiling, and with them went their last lead.
She watched as Dick moved his hands to grab at his hair, tugging on it in frustration. Duke sank to his knees, hugging his arms tight around himself, the quietest of sobs coming from him. Cass couldn’t blame either of them, feeling like the world had stopped spinning. But it hadn’t, cause the world can’t stop for one person, even if that one person’s world may be close to over. It hurt her to search the rubble for any sign of blood yet nothing. Nothing at all.
It felt hopeless.
She let herself slide down the wall, cracking and feeling herself shatter. Her siblings following suit.
__________
Tim didn’t like sleeping, it seems every time he falls asleep he misses something big. This time he woke up to Babs informing him they found a lead, and Tim was left behind to be back up. He grumbled to himself as he poured a cup of coffee.
He frowned at the cup after his first sip, it seemed someone had replaced it well he slept. They didn’t even replace it with the good kind of decaf. He set the cup down on the table, turning to the screen.
The map was still on the screen, overlapping their own map. He had been staring at it for the half hour he’d been awake. Something about it rubbed at him the wrong way. He moved closer to the screen, squinting at the drawing as if the answer would magically appear.
“Master Timothy I must insist you stay a respectable distance from the screen,” Alfred walked down the stairs, holding a tray with a cup of tea and a cookie on it. He placed each next to Tim and looked up at the screen.
“Must it always be sewers,” the butler mumbled to himself. Tim frowned as he watched the old man leave. Sewers, what was it about the sewers?
“Alfred you’re a genius!” Tim shouted, standing from his seat so fast the chair tipped over. He barely paid enough attention to it to avoid tripping. He rushed up the stairs, not bothering to change out of his costume as he burst into the manor and set course for his room.
All he could think of was the box hidden under the floorboards in his room, specifically the file he could never make sense of. The one hidden behind so many layers of security just for it to turn out to be utter nonsense, or what he thought was nonsense.
He threw his door open and pushed the mess on his floor to the side to start pulling at the floorboard. His nails broke as he pulled the wood away and set it to the side. The box was still there, the same as when he first hid it. He pulled it out and for the sake of time just slammed the wrench in his pocket on the lock.
The file stared at him from the box, taunting him. The mystery he couldn’t solve. His hands gripped the folder, opening it to reveal the delicate piece of paper. It was placed in a sleeve to protect it yet the edges were still falling apart. The journey from the League of Assassins to the manor having not been kind to it.
He grabbed it, standing and turning to run back to the cave. He was met with the sight of Titus watching him. Tim put his hand on the dog’s head.
“He’s coming back, I promise,” he reassured the dog. He’s coming back, even if Tim has to drag his soul back to earth himself.
He practically jumped over the side of the stairs to get down to the computer (the only thing stopping him being Alfred’s presence in the cave). He held the paper up to the screen, rotating it to align with the drawing.
He placed the paper on the scanner, and pulled it up on the screen, lining it up with the Bat’s map and Damian’s sketch. It lined up, but this time it had even more undiscovered tunnels. The question was, why did the league have a map of the tunnel system under Gotham, and why was it locked away with so much security.
Tim zoned in on part of the map, a symbol he had nearly mistaken as just a smudge.
“Hey Oracle,” Tim turned on the connection to Babs, “I think I found something important.”
__________
Jason scowled, looking down into the sewers. He was not looking forward to trying to clean the smell out of his suit. He climbed down the first few rungs, closing the cover above him before letting go and landing in a crouch. Steph was already waiting for him, shining her flashlight up and down the tunnel.
“Let’s hurry up, it’s gross down here,” she began to walk away. Jason nodded, that was one thing they could agree on.
He glanced behind them before following. Nothing good ever happened in the sewers. The green was already starting to creep back into his vision after he spent so long trying to get rid of it for the sake of finding Damian.
Jason clenched his fist on the empty gun holster on his waist. He knew it was Damian who took it, he watched on the security cameras as he did. He didn’t tell Bruce, the old man needed to get over himself, but maybe he should have. If he had they might not be in this situation.
He’d seen too many young kids take their lives for a lifetime, he had no plans to add Damian’s name to that list, but it might be too late already. They should have figured it out sooner, questioned the school employees, searched his room, his sketchbook.
No, they shouldn’t have even ever made him feel like this was his last option. No more dead robins, that’s what he told himself. No more kids in brightly colored suits and red, too much red. No more barely recognizable bodies and funerals for children. 14 was not enough years.
Steph came to a stop. She looked to their left, it was a door to what was previously thought a maintenance room, but thanks to Damian they now know it’s another staircase that leads to lower tunnels, ones not even their signals can reach. Of course, it was Damian who mapped out the tunnels, once he puts his mind on something there’s no stopping him. Too determined for his own good,
But it seems that determination does not lend itself to everything.
Steph was moving again. Jason took one last look at the door and followed her further down the tunnel.
__________
Damian had only ever heard rumors of the Lazarus that ran under the city streets. He’d thought it had dried up long ago. Clearly not.
He should keep moving, turn around, and go out the other exit. He had no more thread, the hole in his side ripped open again and was bleeding through the minuscule amount of gauze he had.
The green was almost enchanting to watch.
His legs crossed as he lowered himself to the floor. The pool didn’t seem so toxic here, impressive considering how toxic the entire city seemed to be. He reached his hand towards the liquid before his mind finally caught up and stopped him.
He always felt drawn to the Lazarus pits, but never so strongly. Pulling his arms closer to his body, he resisted the urge to lean forward. The green felt like peace in a way he’d never felt around Lazarus. With his eyes closed, he rocks back and forth to a silent beat.
It was like he was young again, listening to his mother softly humming songs for him to fall asleep. Telling stories of his father, a man who held the weight of the world on his shoulders without a sign of cracking, or the children who shouldered some of that weight for him. Could he take a portion from him?
Damian opened his eyes, finding the tips of his fingers dipped in the Lazarus pit. It didn’t hurt, and no rage appeared as it would normally. He felt … calm? Like the background noise had finally stopped, the green thoughts that hung around the edge of his mind receded.
Hesitantly, he stuck his entire hand in, then up to his arm. Every moment in the green he felt his body relaxing. Without thinking he slid his legs in the pit, the rest of his body following after.
A gasp pushed its way out of his mouth, barely avoiding swallowing a mouthful of the green water. He dunked his head under the water, feeling his wounds stitching themselves together.
His head surfaced back above the liquid. His vision slightly blurry. He squinted trying to make sense of the swirling colors.
“The closer to death I am the more the pit seemed to call to me.” His mother brushed back his hair, placing a kiss on his forehead.
“It changes your perspective and draws you in, but never trust a devil” .
He began coughing and hacking, the liquid worming its way into his lungs. He could it for its true form now. The toxic green tainted slightly brown. A pit he could not escape from with his mind intact. He scrambled for the edge of the pit, but felt as though something was dragging him down.
His eyelids drooped and unconsciousness pulled at him. It tried to make him fall asleep, to give into the pit. He couldn’t fall asleep, once he does it’ll be over for him. He kicked and thrashed, the liquid spreading into puddles on the floor. His hands grapes for the edge, grabbing on with one hand.
The green crawled up his body, tainting his skin all the way down to his soul. It grabbed at the edge of his mind, trying to twist his vision.
He grabbed the edge with both hands and heaved himself out of the pit. His breath was heavy as the green returned to the edges of his vision.
“One, why,” he coughed up another lung full of water, cursing his luck, “why are you angry.” There was no straightforward answer. He was angry from the pit, he was angry at himself for getting ensnared in its trap, he was angry that he was down there in the first place, he was angry that no one noticed his struggle, angry at the world.
He pushed past the thoughts to continue with the exercise.
“Two, what do you want to do about it.” He … didn’t know. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to see his family again.
“Three, did you start out angry?” Damian …
“Four, what else do you feel beyond the anger?”
“I-I’m scared,” Damian admitted to no one in particular.
The green pulled back from the edges of his vision, his heartrate evening out. He felt sick to his stomach to even be near the Lazarus pit, but couldn’t find the strength to move yet. He wasn’t dying anymore, his wound now healed, so what was the harm in lying there for a little bit longer?
__________
Tim raced through the sewers, hoping to catch up to Duke, Dick, and Cass. He’d found the utility room and the scene inside. It was almost enough to make him lose the decaf coffee he’d had earlier, but he had to keep moving.
He followed the steps carefully, checking every door he passed, most locked or leading to an empty room. So deep in the sewers it was quiet, and smelled like dust and decay. Being so old, this part of the sewer wasn’t actively in use.
Tim moved faster when he caught the sounds of people talking. He ran around a corner and came upon the sad sight of his siblings sitting in front of a caved-in ceiling.
“Ti-Red Robin?” Signal questioned. Tim paid him no mind, instead zeroing in on the door to the left of the caved-in tunnel. It had been used recently, the dust around it disturbed and the door itself slightly ajar. He also remembered it from the map. One of the fastest paths to access the room with the strange symbol.
“We’ve found another map, and I think I know where Damian is,” Tim moved towards the door. He pushed it open easily, finding steep stairs going down. As they began to descend he could only pray that they wouldn’t be too late.
__________
Steph shivered as another drop of water hit her back. She didn’t even want to know what germs and diseases were in the water. She just had to keep moving, trudging her way through the tunnels and hoping Damian would resurface alive and well.
Jason followed a few steps behind her, his boots splashing in the puddles the only sign he was still there. Her mind wandered as they patrolled in circles. She kept coming back to her last interaction with Damian before he disappeared. Only two hours before anyone had last talked to him.
They had been discussing his many animals. He’d suddenly stopped mid-conversation and looked at Steph, he asked if she’d feed his animals were he to die. She said yes, of course, she didn’t question it. In their line of work, death is inevitable. She should have looked into it further.
She should have paid attention to the hours he spent exploring the city, seen the way he had been slowly pulling away from the family. Maybe if she had said something all those weeks ago when she’d found Damian bandaging up mysterious cuts on his arms from “training”, then they wouldn’t be in this situation.
“We’re all idiots,” Jason was the first of the two to break the silence since they’d first entered. He put words to the thoughts that had been consuming her mind for the past hour.
“He deserved better than us, he deserved a family that would have noticed,” Jason continued. Steph stopped and faced him, finally finding the words she’d been trying to formulate.
“Sometimes, there isn’t anything you can do. Damian has been wearing masks his whole life, this was just another one for him to put on. Sure we can look back and see its cracks, but it was nearly impossible for us to see in the moment,” Steph looked, “we need to find him, so he can have a second chance at life.”
There were no more words exchanged between them as they turned down another corridor. They all had their own battles they were fighting every day, some more obvious than others. Damian’s battle would not end in death. That she would make sure of.
__________
Dick wasn’t feeling so cheerful right now. He slowly descended the stairs, holding a flashlight to guide their way. The deeper they went the more the halls fell into disrepair. The walls turned to stone and the stairs became uneven. There was no handrail, but they were careful not to slip, even when Dick hit a weird substance on one of the steps.
“It’s like a League of Assassins base,” Tim whispered to himself as he looked around. They reached the bottom of the stairs, stepping out into a larger hallway. Dick looked down to find a couple drops of liquid at the bottom of the steps, it resembled that of dried blood.
Staring at the red stain, Dick had no doubt they were in the right place. He looked to the left and the right, questioning which way Damian would have gone.
“To the right should lead to another exit,” Duke suggested, inching towards the right hallway.
“Damian must have been suffering from blood loss, he might not have thought of that. To the left, it feels familiar, it reminds me of the league. I think he went that way,” Tim began to walk down the left hallway.
The group made to follow, Dick took one last glance in the other direction, swearing he could see footprints in the dust. He shook it off as a trick from the light of the flashlight. Turning, he followed Tim down the hallway.
The further they went the more the hall seemed to fall into disrepair. The burned-out torches were placed at varying heights, some slots missing torches altogether. The stone beneath his feet felt bumpy and uneven, nothing like that of the sewer channels above. As they made their way further down the hall, Dick swore it was getting brighter.
Brighter with a slight tinge of green.
He gasped as they passed under an archway and came face to face with a Lazarus pit. The surprise only increased when he glanced to the side and saw the flashlight Damian always kept in his utility belt. He’d been in the room, but where was he now?
Dick shared a glance with his fellow vigilantes, a bad feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.
__________
Damian sat up with a gasp, he’d fallen asleep on the cold ground. He checked his surprisingly still functioning watch and found the it was the morning of the fourth day of his disappearance. He didn’t know why, but he almost felt disappointed to have not been found.
But that was what he wanted,
Right?
He wanted to die alone, for his family to not miss him. To finally prove his worth by removing the useless part of the equation
Himself.
He looked around and came face to face with the green again.
Green
Green that tries to take over.
Green that presses in on his mind, forcing it to yield.
Green that he could not stand to be near.
Damian stood and ran. He ran like a monster was on his trail, running past the stairs that brought him down to that level originally.
Every breath felt like it was trying to choke him. Feeling like the shadows were reaching up to grab at him. Pulling on his arms and legs, and torso and head. It was too much.
He collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down his face. His fingers tore at his skin, hoping to rid himself of the feeling of the Lazarus pit. He wished that he hadn’t destroyed his emergency signal so fast. Not only was he alone without a way to contact anyone, but his impromptu swim had ruined his protein bars.
He had no food, no water, and no way to contact the rest of his family.
Damian thought back to the school counselor. The one that slipped him candies and made him feel like someone would listen. She was waiting for him to come back, to return to their weekly meetings.
The animals too, bat cow, and Alfred the cat, and Titius, and all the other animals he’d yet to meet. They were waiting for him.
He was blind. Too blind to see that people were waiting for him. People who loved him. His family loved him. He would do anything to return to them.
Damian pushed himself up using the wall. Moving forward one step at a time. At the end of the hall would be a staircase, once he makes it up he’ll be in the home stretch. He was so close, he would see his family again because he loves them.
Damian loves his family.
Damian loves.
He loves so much.
He loves sunrises with only Alfred awake. He loves painting in the art room. He loves training in the Batcave. He loves fun days out with Dick. He loves dancing with Cass. He loves joking with Steph and Duke. He loves working on cases with Tim. He loves reading with Jason. He loves talking with his father.
He loves living.
So he pushed himself to take another step. Even when all he wanted to do was go to sleep. To sleep and never wake up again. To never have to worry about disappointing his family again. But that was life, and he couldn’t give up his life.
For his family.
__________
Death is what gives life meaning, without it we would never appreciate life for what it is.
__________
Jason stopped, staring at a door. He’d passed by it a few times now, but something made him stop the time.
Steph stopped and looked back curiously at him, but Jason just ignored her questioning glance. He moved closer to the door and placed his ear against it, it sounded like.
Footsteps!
Damian’s footsteps!
He took a couple of steps back as the person got closer. The door handle jiggled for a few seconds before opening. The person who emerged looked exhausted, covered in dirt, soaked, shivering, and in a Robin uniform.
Jason has never been one for hugs, but he wasn’t ashamed to say he swept Damian into a hug the moment he saw the boy.
“Damian,” he whispered into the boy’s hair, “Damian, we finally found you.”
Steph gasped running to surround Damian in her arms alongside Jason. Holding the boy close until he slowly stopped shivering, and then some time longer.
“I lost your gun, I apologize,” Damian whispered.
“Oh Damian, I can replace a gun. It’s you I can never replace,” Jason cradled the boy’s head.
“Damian!”
Jason’s head snapped up to find Dick, Tim, Duke, and Cass running up the stairs towards them. They ran right into the small group, forming a huddle around Damian.
__________
Damian looked around at his family, the last of the green receding as he was gathered in a hug by too many people to count. He survived, he was alive and with his family and maybe there were still some dark thoughts lingering at the edges of his mind, but he couldn’t find it in himself to worry.
As he was deposited on Jason’s back his problems didn’t seem so bad. Slowly making their way out of the sewers, he got to breathe in the clean air (as clean as Gotham can get) for the first time in days. Waiting for the batmobile to pick them up, he could even believe he was going to be alright again.
After all his family loved him, and that’s all he really needed in the end. They could figure anything out, together.
He slowly drifted to sleep on Jason’s back, listening to the quiet conversations going on around him.
__________
People are like water
They come together in large oceans
Or stay singular, separated drops of water
And like water
They keep moving
Always flowing
No matter how slow
Evan when hardship slows them down
And they feel like they’ll never continue
They’ll find the strength to move again
Even if they need help from others
To lift them up and send them moving again
People are like water
Resilient and ever moving