Chapter Text
“And one more.”
He breathed in deep and it was like a lance going straight through his chest, his lungs torn to shreds as his whole body burned around them.
“Any pain?”
Damian shook his head.
Keeping his expression neutral, Damian glanced over towards his bedroom door if only to not need to look Thompkins in the eye. He knew that no one was hovering beyond the door, Todd and Drake could not currently stand the sight of him and Richard was sitting cross legged on the bed beside Damian as if he needed company for a simple routine health check he very clearly no longer required.
Worse than Richard with his forced smile was Father, standing a little ways away from the bed.
Father seemed… Troubled, even though he had no reason to be.
Thompkins at last pulled away from Damian, hooking her stethoscope around her neck.
“You’re sounding better,” Thompkins said.
Damian went to stand but Thompkins stepped in the way.
“Better is not cured, Damian.” She said lowly. “Especially if you still feel the need to try to lie about pain levels.”
Damian glared at her but Thompkins seemed completely unfazed so he strengthened the glare only to find it dropping, exhaustion winning out. He did not let his posture change though, even if it was like his chest was being crushed, not wanting to draw any more unnecessary smothering from Father or Richard.
“We will keep up the breathing treatments for now,” Thompkins said.
The glare was back in an instant because Damian was not only an al Ghul but a Wayne, breathing treatments were completely unnecessary and unwarranted, Thompkins herself has already given him the all clear on the pneumonia they kept claiming that he had developed.
While it was true that it was a little bit more difficult to breathe than normal these last few weeks, it was hardly to the extent that they were acting like it had become.
“Dami,” Richard said, shuffling closer. “Everything’s going to be-”
Damian stood, pushing passed Thompkins and going straight for his door. He opened it, keeping his hand on the handle, levelling his gaze at the wall.
“Damian,” Father tried.
Damian did not turn to him. He simply waited until Richard sighed deeply and climbed off of Damian’s bed. Richard didn’t fully leave the room though, neither did the Doctor or Father. Instead, he stopped by the door, kneeling down in front of Damian.
Damian did not let his focus follow Richard, keeping it instead on the wall.
“We’ve been talking,” Richard said. “And while we know that you’ve been through a lot recently, we are getting a little bit worried about you, Damian.”
We.
As if there even was a We.
“It’s great that your lungs are doing a little better,” He continued. “But we also know that it shouldn’t have affected your speech. No, we know that it hasn’t affected your speech. But without you telling us what’s going on, well, we’re worried.”
Damian kept his blink slow.
He opened the door a little wider.
But Richard made not move to stand, and neither Thompkins nor Father moved from their places.
“We’re home now, Dami,” Richard said. “And do you know what that means?”
That they were safe.
Except they weren’t. There was no safe, not in the entire universe. No one was safe, not around him. He blinked slowly, keeping his breathing silent even as his lungs screams for more air. His head spun a little at the effort but he shoved that all aside.
“Damian,”
Richard reached out towards Damian’s hand but Damian flinched back hard before he could stop himself.
Something crossed Richard’s face then even though his expression became soft just as quickly again.
“I’m sorry.” Richard said.
While it sounded sincere, Damian knew all too well how well Richard could, and does, lie.
“Son,”
Father was approaching now and it took everything in Damian’s power to not turn to him. His hand was shaking on the door handle but he willed it to still. It refused to, just like how Damian’s heart refused to settle.
It was fluttering in his chest, his ears straining for every little sound around him, his skin electric with every single sensation that could pose a threat to him.
Thompkins was still there too, no doubt readying a lethal injection.
No. No, she wasn’t preparing anything at all but packing away her equipment.
Despite his brain screaming for him to watch her every movement, Damian did not allow his gaze to leave the arbitrary spot on the wall, only seeing some of what she was doing in his periphery.
Finally, finally, Thompkins was finished. She passed them, Richard needing to shuffle forward a little to let her get through, and every cell in Damian’s body alerted to the danger that Richard now posed to him even though Richard would never hurt him, not purposefully.
But Richard could easily kill him with a single well placed blow.
Damian was in danger.
Damian was going to die.
Damian was going to-
“Hey hey,” That was Richard’s voice, though it was somehow miles away. “We’re okay, Damian, we’re okay.”
Something touched his hand and he clenched harder onto the door handle, preparing for the pain but it never came, at least nothing but the hand itself hurt.
“Let go,” Richard coaxed.
“Son, let go of the handle.”
“It’s going to be okay,” Richard said. “But you’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t let go, Bud.”
Damian… Damian let go.
“Great job,” Richard’s smile was a lie, Damian was sure of it. “How about some ice cream?”
Damian stepped further into the room, letting his gaze finally drop to the ground.
“Damian,” Father said.
“B,” Richard said quietly. “I’ve got him, just… Give him some space, yeah?”
Father tensed then because he was disappointed in Damian. He turned on his heel because he could not so much as stand the sight of Damian and he left the room because Father regretted ever letting him come back to this House.
Richard was standing again now, no doubt to follow Father out.
“Instead of ice cream,” Richard said. “How about we take Titus out for a walk?”
Damian hardly needed Richard to walk Titus which meant that Richard did not trust him well enough to leave the confines of the Manor while alone because Richard saw him as little more than a pathetic excuse for a Wayne and an al Ghul who hadn’t handled a minor illness.
“Dami,” Richard said. “Whatever it is that you’re thinking, it’s not true. There’s no ulterior motive here, and it’s not pity either. I’m offering to go out walking with you because I want to spend time with my Baby Brother, that’s it.”
But there was another motive, there had to be.
There was always a motive, always a plan, and Damian would not make the mistake of missing that plan, not again.
Not like back there.
The gunshot echoed in Damian’s ear and Damian dropped down low to the ground, curling a hand around one of his blades.
“Whoa!” Richard was down again just as quickly, his hands raised. “You okay? Did you get dizzy?”
Damian stared at him.
Oh.
Oh, the gunshot wasn’t… Damian swallowed. It wasn’t real, or at least it wasn’t real right now even if it had been back then.
“Damian?”
Damian’s fingers curled tighter around the blade.
“No.” Richard said. “I’m not leaving. Stab me all you like, Little D, I’m not going anywhere.”
Damian did not know why that statement made it easier to breathe. He wanted Richard to leave, he needed Richard to leave, Richard needed to leave, he needed to go, he needed to-
“Damian.”
Richard was… Richard was holding Damian. He didn’t remember when Richard’s arms had wrapped around him but they had and they were warm and familiar and everything.
But Damian pulled away.
Damian opened his mouth but nothing came out.
He pushed himself up off the ground, returning to his place by the door. This time, he did not raise his gaze from the floor and this time he did not take no for an answer. He waited Richard out, ignoring Richard’s false pleading, ignoring every instinct that screamed at him to burrow into Richard’s chest.
After an eternity, and what were certainly a forcibly summoned tear that rolled down Richard’s cheek, Richard finally walked through the door and Damian slammed it closed after him.
He sank down onto the ground once more, his back pressed against the wood, curling his knees close to his chest.
Richard didn’t leave, not immediately, his voice still echoing through the door.
More lies.
More false assurances.
Damian curled tighter, covering his ears, his own face burning hot for some reason.
At some point Richard’s voice faded, though the footsteps that moved away from the door seemed like they were heavy for some reason.
Damian’s chest ached, his ribs sparking with pain whenever he tried to settle his breathing completely but he shoved it all aside.
He… Did not know how long he stayed there.
He might have slept. He might have spent the entire time remembering the blood, remembering the pain, remembering the lies they kept telling him that things were going to be okay, that they were going to get out of there together, that everyone was going to be okay.
Lies.
It had all been lies.
They had known, each of the fools had known but it was Damian who had been the ultimate fool, believing their lies, believing that they would have never willingly done… That.
Eventually Damian rose from the ground. Eventually he trudged down the hallway, keeping his head low. Eventually he picked at the plate before him, the food tasteless, the voices that swirled around him fading in and out of his focus.
Brown said something and Drake laughed loudly beside her but his breath caught, no doubt pressing a hand against his side.
Todd was mocking Richard in some form or another but Damian felt no urge to become involved.
He set his fork down but at once all eyes were on him, every conversation faltering as if he had screamed loudly or something as foolishly embarrassing.
Richard tried to goad Todd once more, bringing his focus back, but Todd did not rise to the bait.
No, Todd was staring straight at Damian.
“Okay,” Todd slammed a hand on the table. “Fuck this.”
“Jason,” Father warned.
“No.” Todd said. “I’m sick of this shit. What the hell is your problem, Brat?”
“Jay,” Richard said lowly.
“Shut the fuck up Dick, don’t pretend that you’re not wanting to know the same damn thing. Say something, Damian, anything. Tell me to fuck off. Tell me that you’re pissed. Tell me that you want something else for dinner, just fucking say something. Your half hearted glares are getting real old, Kid.”
“Jason Peter Todd Wayne,” Pennyworth’s voice rang out.
“But-”
Pennyworth must have raised a single brow because Todd’s voice did not come again. In fact, there were no voices at all, nor was there any scraping of utensils against plates. There was no noise at all except for the rabbiting of his own heart and the gunshot that echoed again and again and again.
Damian pushed up and away from the table, barely even registering that he was moving before he was already in the hallway.
Someone called after him, Richard maybe, but it was lost to the nothingness alongside everything else.
Damian was… Outside. He was outside, sitting on something that felt almost like tile. The roof then. His knees were close to his chest, his chest aching as if a building had landed on him and crushed every single rib.
He was gasping, Damian realised, but as he tried to settle his breathing he found that he couldn’t.
Rocking forward did little to ease the pain either even though his training demanded that he be ready for battle at any moment.
Wrapping an arm around his ribs didn’t help either, nor did gripping onto his knife. He needed to calm. He knew that he needed to calm. Panic meant delayed or inappropriate reactions. Delayed or inappropriate reactions were dangerous and could get him killed, or worse get the people in the Manor below killed.
The pain grew ever more intense because he had nearly gotten them killed.
Maybe not Brown, Cain, Duke Thomas, Father or Alfred, but in Damian’s weakness Richard, Todd and Drake could have very well died.
A sound, to his left.
The knife was out of his hand in an instant but it didn’t hit his mark because Damian was useless and pathetic and everything was spinning and they were going to die, they were all going to die.
The enemy came closer but did not attack Damian in turn, they simply just… Sat down, still a few feet away.
They did not speak, simply looking out towards Gotham.
Damian curled tighter, preparing another blade but the enemy stupidly did not take advantage of his very clearly compromised state.
“So I’ve been wondering.” It was Drake, Damian realised with a scowl. “How much do you actually remember of what happened?”
Damian’s eyes widened but he then ducked his head lower, wondering if he should just throw the second blade anyway.
“You were pretty sick.” Drake said.
Damian bristled at the insult because he could not be weak, he was the Heir to the Demon’s Head and the Batman, he was many things but weak was not, could not be, one of them. Except… Except he had been weak. He had… He had needed to depend on the others even though he should have been completely capable of looking after himself.
“And I know when I’m sick,” Drake said. “Things can get pretty confusing. Scary, too.”
Damian does not get scared.
He cannot get scared.
Drake needed to be quiet. Damian needed to make Drake be quiet but his body wasn’t listening to him and his ribs were aching and that gunshot was ringing out again and again and again. It had been a single shot, one shot and yet it might as well have been a thousand.
“And,” Drake continued, because of course he wouldn’t shut up. “That’s not even mentioning the fact that you were tortured too. Because of me.”
Damian’s head shot up then but Drake wasn’t looking at him, his gaze still set on Gotham instead.
It wasn’t Drake’s fault, but Damian’s. If Damian had not been so… Weak, then he could have gotten Richard, Todd and Drake out sooner. He could have found a way out of that cell, that place, that situation.
He needed to have gotten them out.
He needed to have done anything but be an embarrassment to his name and his lineage, to his family.
Damian’s lungs screamed for air that refused to come.
“All this to say, I wouldn’t really blame you if you don’t fully remember or understand everything that happened.”
Damian understood everything. He understood that they were liars. He understood that they were fools that had lied straight to his face every single time they claimed that they were going to get out together, that they were all going to be okay when they had had no intention of ever doing so.
No, Damian understood perfectly well.
He understood that they were liars that should never have been trusted in the first place.
“So,” Drake said. “Would you mind telling me what you do remember?”
It was just another trick, Damian decided. A way to make him falter, though what Drake’s ultimate goal was Damian wasn’t quite certain. Knowing Drake, he was trying to reestablish himself as the rightful Robin.
Then again, Drake had seemed quite content in his position as of late.
“Or,” Drake said. “If you don’t want to talk about it yet, then I’ll drop it.”
Drake readjusted, his breath catching.
The gunshot rang loud right by Damian’s ear because Drake had gasped back then too. He had gasped and his eyes had widened and he had dropped and he had lied. He had claimed that they would go together, he had claimed that everything was going to be okay.
Lies.
All of it had been a lie.
Damian bared his teeth, holding his blade so tightly it almost hurt. No, it did hurt. His whole body was on fire, every breath like acid, because it had all been a lie.
“Or,” Drake said again. He leaned back, his breath catching once more. “I can tell you what I remember, and we can make sure we both know how everything went down.”
A single throw of the knife and Drake could be dead.
Damian might as well do it because Drake should already be dead.
Drake was meant to be dead because of Damian, the gunshot ringing true in his ear.
Damian was curling tighter into his ball, his hand shaking on the hilt of his blade. His ribs were hurting, his lungs were screaming. His whole body felt as though it was dying but that was all he deserved anyway.
“You were sick.” Drake said. “Even before we got jumped. Jason realised first, he always does, and we were about to take you home when they came out of nowhere. You fought hard. Hell, we all did. But we were outnumbered.”
It hadn’t simply been a case of them being ambushed and outnumbered.
Whoever had captured them, they had planned it well. Having been cornered as civilians, the protocol should have been to go without a struggle as any rich family would except Damian had known even then that this time was somehow different.
Damian’s chest had been only a little sore then, but he had sensed the danger more so than fully understood what was so different this time. Richard had gone to stop him, to remind him that they were civilians, but then Richard had noticed what Damian had, and so had Drake and Todd.
They had fought.
They had all fought and it hadn’t been enough. Damian had been pinned to the ground, unable to rise no matter how he manipulated his body to get out of it, his lungs screaming for air while Todd had been knocked unconscious not only with blows but with a quickly administered dose of sedatives, and then a second dose when he fought even against that.
Drake had…
Drake had made a sharp cry except it hadn’t been one of genuine pain, but a way to attract attention. He hadn’t been injured, though Drake had certainly been pinned in a similar way to how Damian had been, and it was only later that Damian had realised what Drake’s lack of direct injuries had meant that he had been the main target all along.
Richard had lasted the longest out of all of them except he too was subdued the moment a gun was held against Damian’s head.
Damian had roared for Richard to keep fighting but Richard had dropped to his knees instead, surrendering without a single word.
It had been foolish, Damian would have been able to free himself from the hold before the gun had ever gone off but Richard had surrendered all the same and they had each been dragged not into a waiting car but instead in a series of tunnels, tunnels that they each knew incredibly well and should have had the advantage within, even with their hands bound and Todd unconscious.
They should have been able to break free.
On any other day they would have been able to break free but Damian…
Damian had stumbled. He had stumbled and his chest had burned with exertion that would have ordinarily been little more than a warm up for him.
Something was wrong, something was very wrong but he could barely blink back the blurs to make sense of it.
“They had taken our trackers,” Drake said. “They knew exactly how many each of us had and where they would be.”
Damian clicked his tongue.
He wanted Drake to leave. He needed Drake to leave but he was equally desperate to not be left alone right now. It was pathetic, Damian thought, but he was useless to fight against the need to know for certain that Drake wasn’t dead.
The first day, they had all been taken into a small room, restrained on wooden chairs so tightly that even Richard had been unable to slip loose of them.
Damian had fought hard against the bindings, and even now his wrists ached from it.
“At first,” Drake continued. “They didn’t even ask anything. They just…”
Drake took in a deep breath then, holding it for a moment.
“Started hurting Dick. Jason was still knocked out so when Dick refused to break, they moved onto you. You were so brave, D, didn’t even make a damn sound. When they turned to me, I tried to prepare myself for the pain, tried to remind myself that I can handle whatever comes at me.”
Except their captors, their torturers, had never turned to Drake.
They had gone back to Richard. When Todd at last awoke, he was like a ravenous beast that nearly broke the chair in his attempts to throw himself as those who had harmed his brothers but it was no use.
Jason’s screams had not been out of pain, but anger, but apparently it did not elicit the response their enemies were aiming for because they very quickly turned back to Damian.
In truth, the hard blows were nothing compared to the conditioning he had been subjected to in the League but Damian’s chest had exploded with each hit as if his body had already been through hell.
On the roof while Drake was still a little ways away from Damian, Damian could feel just how stiff his entire body was.
“Finally they did turn to me except they didn’t hurt me. They… Just started asking questions.”
Damian huffed out a breath.
They hardly needed to go over this, of course Damian remembered the events that had lead up to Richard being so unlike himself, of course he remembered why Todd would be ever more overly protective than normal, of course he remembered why Drake would harbour some self blame for all that happened even though he had done nothing except stick to his training.
Of course he remembered when Todd and Richard began antagonising their captors more and more as if to keep their attention away from Damian. It wasn’t like it worked anyway, it was like clockwork after that first day.
While two would be left in a featureless cell with little more than a bucket, Drake and one other would be dragged back to the room with the chairs.
The other chairs had been kept there, as if the drying blood on them would make Drake more willing to cooperate.
Drake was never hurt, not physically at least, his chair being the only one kept clean.
Eventually they would be dragged back to the cell, Drake being given an hour or so reprieve with all of them being in one place before inevitably the guards would come back in and force Drake and whoever was next to go to the room with the chairs again.
Damian had very quickly worked out that the hour pattern wasn’t actually exactly an hour. Their captors were likely former military, or possibly even current military members that had gone rogue, given how the techniques they were employing such as infrequent meals, brief moments of reprieve and the violence that came without hesitation whenever they were in that room or whenever one of them refused to come out of the cell when summoned.
There were a few times early on that Todd in particular lashed out except it was not Todd that was punished for it, but Richard and the next time he tried to do the same thing, Damian had been the one to take the brunt of the punishment.
The days had started to bleed into each other but Damian did not let them.
At least, he had tried to keep track of the passing time. But it had gotten hard to track, not just due to the infrequent meals but because something had indeed been wrong with him. His breathing had grown harder his chest stuttering with every attempt.
Damian had shoved aside the feeling, certain it was just a few broken ribs that could be properly set once they managed to escape, but it only grew worse.
He grew worse.
The others had always been protective of him each time it was Damian’s turn to be taken, but for some reason they had become more fierce after the first time Damian had a coughing fit.
Drake had even managed to force one of the guards to strike him one of the days, and while Drake had grinned brightly, Damian had been taken anyway alongside Drake and while he tried to fight against being tied to that damn chair again, he had simply been unable to.
Every breath was almost worse than the torture itself because while he could prepare himself for any pain their captors caused, he couldn’t quite maintain his focus enough to mitigate the pain that came every time he tried to get any oxygen into his body.
“It was… Hell, seeing you like that.” Drake said. “There was a few times where you passed out and I thought…”
Drake stopped then.
He dipped his head low as if ashamed of something.
“Anyway,” Drake said. But then he stopped again. “Wait, Damian, are you-”
Damian waved Drake to go on before he remembered that he was pretending not to listen to him. He scowled, burying his head in his knees, huffing when he heard Drake chuckle.
Drake’s humour drained away. He turned fully towards Damian but Damian made no answering movement.
“What did Leslie say?”
Damian refused to acknowledge Drake’s question.
“Damian.” Drake said firmly. “Your breathing is still off. Did you do your treatment today?”
As if Father would have let him not do it.
Damian clicked his tongue and for some reason Drake looked almost relieved.
“I’m glad,” Drake said. “I know it’s not easy doing treatments you don’t want to do.”
Drake edged closer towards Damian and Damian fought every urge to shuffle further away again, though he wasn’t certain that was the right call because now the liar was sitting right next to Damian and Damian did not feel like needing to clean his blade of Drake’s blood.
No, it was more than that.
Damian did not want to hurt Drake.
Damian did not want Drake to hurt at all.
Even though he lied.
Damian’s nails dug into his knees.
Drake had lied. He had lied and now he expected Damian to just move passed it as if any tenuous trust between them had not been irreparably broken.
While everything had been fuzzy at the time, Damian still distinctly remembered Drake promising that they were all going to go out together just as he still distinctly remembered Drake’s sharp intake of breath as the bullet lodged into his abdomen.
Again and again the gunshot echoed.
Damian curled into himself tighter, trying to cover his ears without Drake noticing.
Drake, the idiot fool he was, noticed.
“Is it the screams?” Drake asked. “I can still hear them too.”
When Drake breathed then, it was a little strained, forcing a weak laugh.
“It was fucking hell in there, wasn’t it?”
What was hell was the fact that Damian had believed them.
He had believed them that everything was going to be okay.
He believed them when they said they would get out together but while they had managed to get out of the cell with Drake carrying Damian and Todd helping Richard, they were quickly surrounded by armed guards.
In truth, it had all come in flashes; his consciousness fading in and out as his lungs screamed for air that refused to come. It had been flashes, and yet the moment that Drake set Damian into Todd’s arms was still fresh in his mind.
He had screamed at Drake to run but his voice had refused to sound. He had hit hard against Todd’s chest, demanding that he let Damian go but his own fists refused to actually rise from where they lay limp.
He had been useless to do anything but watch as Drake had surrendered, except it wasn’t a true surrender. The moment a guard had come close enough, Drake had launched himself forward, taking the guards gun and turning it on himself, firing it before anyone could react.
The guards had swarmed Drake then, all too aware that Drake was the only one of them whose life mattered to whoever it was they answered to, leaving Todd, Richard and Damian a clear opening to escape.
The gunshot echoed again and again and again and it should never have gone off in the first place, if only Damian had been strong enough, if only Damian had been brave enough, he could have faced down the guards alongside Drake and Drake would have never needed to take such a drastic measure as a stupid distraction.
“Damian,” Drake said now, leaning a little closer. “What’s going on? What is it that you’re hearing?”
False promises of safety.
Gunshots.
Lies about getting home together, no matter what.
Gunshots.
Assurances that he was okay, that everything was okay.
Gunshots.
Drake had gasped and he had fallen and Damian had been unable to do a damn thing because he had already been fading again and by the time he awoke, the building that he had been held in had been replaced with a hospital room with too bright lights and strong smelling antiseptics and a mask fixed to his face.
Drake had sacrificed himself because Damian was too weak.
Drake had nearly died because Damian was too weak.
Damian had believed the lie that everything was going to be okay because he was too weak to accept anything else.
“Dames, everything’s going to be o-”
“Don’t say that!” Damian roared, on his feet before he even realised he had moved.
Drake blinked, then again.
“You don’t get to say that.” Damian bared his teeth.
“Okay.” Drake said. “What can I say then?”
Damian’s fury simmered because… Because he didn’t know.
He didn’t know what was happening, he didn’t know why his hands were trembling, he didn’t know why his eyes were stinging or his face was burning.
He didn’t know anything right now and that utterly terrified him because Damian was meant to know.
He was always meant to be prepared, he was always meant to know the next step. He was always meant to be adaptable and quick on his feet and yet now that he was on this rooftop, he found himself floundering.
“You lied.” Damian croaked. “You lied straight to my face and I believed you. I never should have, but I believed you.”
Again Drake blinked slowly, tilting his head the way he always did when something confused him.
“Is this about how we got out? Damian, it was the only way to get you guys out safe.”
“Father was right there.” Damian countered. “If you had only waited, then-”
“Then you could have been killed.” Drake said. “You were already incredibly sick and while Dick was awake, he was bleeding internally and Jason wasn’t much better. Sure, Batman came in almost immediately but I had no way of knowing he’d found us. All I knew was that I could not let you die.”
“Why?” Damian snarled.
“You’re my Brother.”
Drake said it without hesitation, without mocking. Like it was a simple fact. Like they had always been brothers and not enemies. Like Damian even deserved to have a brother after he had handled a simple case of pneumonia and a few weeks of torture so poorly.
He bared his teeth, fist curled tight around one of his blades only to find that his hand was still shaking, his chest stuttering with every breath.
Everything hurt.
Drake’s calm expression even though he had nearly died in an attempt to save Damian.
Drake’s slow blinks as if coaxing Damian himself to calm down.
Drake’s avoidance of touching his side even though Damian knew that the gunshot wound would have been pulled at when he had climbed up onto the roof.
Everything hurt and Damian just wanted it all to stop.
“Damian,” Drake said. “I’m not going to apologise for what I did. But I am sorry if I scared you. I’m okay now, we all are. Everything’s okay.”
But Damian was shaking his head now because it wasn’t, the gunshot was still echoing in his head and his wrists still hurt from where the ropes had dug into them and his ribs still shifted weirdly each time he made the mistake of breathing too deeply.
He wasn’t okay, and neither was Drake, or Richard, or Todd.
None of them would ever be okay again.
“We’re home, Damian.” Drake said. “I know it probably doesn’t feel like it, but I promise you that we’re home. We found the guys that did this. The guy who had set it all up is going to be in jail for a very long time.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying.” Drake said. “Look around. Look where we are.”
Drake was right beside Damian but that only meant that Richard and Todd were stuck in that cell, alone and bleeding and in pain, all because Damian had not been strong enough to keep them safe.
“Damian. Dames, we’re… We’re okay.”
Damian shook his head hard.
His chest ached, a cough trying to work it’s way up but he refused to prove to Drake once and for all that he was so pathetic as to still be weak after Thompkins herself had said that he was fine now.
“It’s going to take time,” Drake said. “Both for your lungs to recover, but your head too. I’m not going to pretend that this hasn’t fucked me up pretty good, because it has, but we’re going to get through it like we got through that place. Together.”
“It wasn’t together. You… You…”
Damian didn’t know why the words refused to come any more than he knew why his face was burning hot with tears.
“You fell. You fell and you didn’t get back up. You told me that we were getting out together but then you shot yourself and you fell.”
“I did what I had to.” Drake said. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it it meant that you, Dick and Jason were okay.”
“Why?” Damian demanded once more.
“I’m a Robin.” Drake shrugged. “Robin helps people. Like how you’ve been watching over me when I’m asleep. Like how you’ve been making sure Jason’s medications are exactly where they need to be to remind him to take them. Like how you’ve been letting Dick be there every time Leslie comes over because you know that he’s worried about you and that he’d feel better to know that you’re okay.”
Damian opened his mouth to rebuke but his words failed to come.
“You really think we haven’t noticed?” Drake’s smile was small, fatigue set deep into his eyes. “You’ve been just as worried about us as we have been of you, though I have to say having my very own sleep paralysis demon at the end of my bed isn’t the most soothing thing to fall asleep to.”
It didn’t feel safe acknowledging how Damian had been acting in the time since they returned to the Manor so Damian turned back to something that felt more real.
“Father had been there.” Damian said.
“Yes.” Drake said. “But like I said, I didn’t know. And also like I said, I would have done anything it took to keep you safe. Bruce is definitely going to bench me for a lot longer than necessary, I just know it, but I don’t regret it.”
“Father had been there.” Damian said again. “At the hospital.”
Drake’s expression shifted but he masked it again just as quickly.
“Yes.” He said simply. “We all were. Dick especially was worried sick about you, though I have to admit I was pretty out of it those first few days too.”
“I did not require hospitalisation.”
This time when Drake’s expression changed he did not make any effort to hide his frown.
“Damian. You were very sick.”
“No.”
“You were dying.” Drake said. “Jason told me after that the Doctors said that you would have been dead within hours if Dad hadn’t gotten us out.”
“No.”
He was not that weak.
He could not be that weak.
That weakness had nearly gotten Drake killed, it had nearly gotten all of them killed.
“I’m sorry, Damian, but I swear it’s the truth. I, we, would have lost you. And I don’t want to lose you again so please, even if it’s hard, talk to the others? Like I said, Dick’s been worried sick about you especially because you haven’t even been talking to him and Jason’s just going to keep being a dick if it means you might yell back at him. And Bruce… Well, Bruce just wants us to be okay too.”
“Father is ashamed of me.”
“No. He isn’t. He never could be. He adores you, Damian. And you might be a little shit, but no one can deny that you’re stuck in a family of little shits now. And do you know what that means? It means that we keep you safe, no matter what.”
“I can handle myself.”
When Drake nodded, it was without reservation. For some reason Damian’s chest felt warm then, knowing that Drake accepted it without issue.
“We can all handle ourselves, but sometimes we can use the help too.”
Damian glared at Drake but Drake did not falter.
Drake only came closer to him, not quite touching Damian but still close enough that it was up to Damian alone to close the gap.
Damian did not.
He could not.
He yearned to reach out, to confirm that Drake was genuinely alive despite his idiotic sacrifice, but the need to hold onto the anger outweighed all else because if he let go of it completely, he would be untethered and falling.
Falling into what, Damian did not quite know.
“I really did scare you, didn’t I?” Drake asked softly.
Damian was not proud of the wounded sound he made.
“But you scared me too, Dames. Scared all of us.”
It was only then that Damian realised why Drake had crowded closer. He was making space for others. Damian gripped tightly onto his blade as Richard and Todd settled in beside Damian, each of their movements silent despite the fact that each of their injuries were still healing.
It had been weeks, yes, but the damage to both Todd and Richard’s bodies had been significant with the both of them having tried to take the brunt of the torture in order to spare Damian the pain even though Damian should have been able to take it without issue for all of eternity.
“I know it doesn’t feel real,” Richard’s voice was soft. “But we’re home now. We’re okay.”
“It’s gonna take time.” Todd said. “A lot of time, but it’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before. We’ll get through this just like how we’ve gotten through the rest.”
“There’s going to be days where you blame yourself.” Drake said. “Just like how there’s going to be days where you blame us. Blame me. But there will be better days too. It’s going to get easier, Damian, even if it feels like everything’s crashing down around you right now.”
Damian ducked his head low, demanding that his chest stopped stuttering for every breath, demanding that the tears stop pouring down his face, demanding that he regain his composure already because this was just getting downright embarrassing now.
They were liars.
They were all liars, telling him that it was going to be okay.
Telling him that it was over, that they were home for good now when in truth there is always danger lurking in the shadows.
They were liars, Damian told himself, no matter how much he wanted to believe them.
He leaned to the side, lightly pressing up against Drake. Drake to his credit did not mock him, did not do anything but wrap an arm around Damian and hold him close.
“I’m glad that you’re okay.” Drake mumbled. “That we’re all okay. But it isn’t going to be easy. For any of us. Not unless we let ourselves depend on each other.”
“You fell.” Damian’s voice was raw.
“I know, Dames.”
“You nearly died. For me.”
Drake set his chin on the top of Damian’s head.
“Why?”
“Because I needed to.” Drake said.
Again, he said it so simply and without hesitation. As if it were a simple undeniable fact that Damian should have absolutely no reason to doubt.
“You’re one of us, Brat.” Todd said. “And no one gets to push you around except us.”
“I’m so proud of you, Damian.” Richard said. “But you know you can lean on us when you need to.”
“We’re home?”
“We’re home.” They promised.
It was a lie.
It had to be a lie and yet Damian wanted desperately to believe them.
He wanted things to be okay, he wanted that gunshot to never again sound, he wanted Richard and Todd and Drake to fully recover. He wanted himself to fully recover.
But… While they were home, it was still going to take time.
Just like how it had been hard to track the length of days they had spent in that cell, the days they had spent being hurt over and over and over again, Damian did not know how long this new pain will last.
Damian barely remembered those first days in the hospital, lost in the agony of knowing that his brothers had been ready to die for him, even if he could remember flashes of Father running fingers through his hair or Richard talking to him gently or Todd reading aloud to him.
He had not heard Drake’s voice amongst the rest back then, he had been certain that Drake’s wound had been fatal even though Father kept insisting that Drake was alive, that he was recovering.
“I’m sorry.” Damian said, his face burning hot.
Drake just held him tighter, setting his chin on the top of his head.
“I’m sorry.” He said again.
“I’m not.” Drake said. “I’m just happy that we’re home.”
They were home.
It wasn’t a lie.
They were home and they were safe and they were okay.
Richard’s broken bones were already healing, Todd’s bruises were slowly going down, Drake had finally started to allow his gunshot wound to heal too.
And Damian…
Damian was on the rooftop, being held by his brother while his other brothers kept close by, Richard’s hand soon running up and down Damian’s back as he cried, Todd’s hand curling around Damian’s shoulder.
“We’re home,” Todd mumbled.
“We’re okay.” Richard said softly.
“You were so brave, Damian,” Drake said. “But we’ve got you now.”
Damian’s ribs ached, his lungs screaming as his breath caught again and again but he could find it within himself to care. All he cared about was the fact that he was home and he was safe and he was loved.
All he cared about was that everything was going to be okay, eventually, as long as they each had each other.