Chapter Text
Mama is so pretty. No, not just pretty. Mama is the most beautiful person Damian has ever seen. The best person he would ever know. He is sure.
Damian thinks that all the time, because it's always true. Everyone says so. And even the ones that don't say it, think it. Damian knows for sure. He sees it in the way everyone looks at mama. Talks to mama. The way they stare when they think she's not looking. Which is so silly because mama is always watching everything! Damian knows because he is really good at watching, just like mama.
Mama is beautiful, everyone knows it. But Damian is sure that he must know it so much more than everyone else.
He thinks it all the time after all.
But he especially thinks it when it's just the two of them. When the world is quiet and still and happy. And especially, especially when she smiles.
But, mama doesn't smile very much.
She's… sad.
She pretends not to be. Al Ghuls aren't allowed to be sad. Or scared, or a lot of things. Grandfather says that emotions are childish distractions unbecoming of our empire.
But mama is still sad. She just pretends. They all do.
Damian is sad too, of course. But that doesn't matter because Damian is always sad, and mama doesn't deserve it like he does.
He wishes he could fix things for mama. He tries. He always does what his teachers tell him, what mama and Grandfather tell him. He never ever cries, even when the grown ups hurt him or make him do things that make his insides go cold and grey. He watches mama all the time and tries his best to do all of the things that make her smile when it's just the two of them.
But mama is still sad.
Damian is starting to think he might be too little yet to fix it.
He hates it.
He hates it.
But one day, one day he will be big and strong. He will learn everything from mama, from grandfather, from the tutors, even from father!
He has never met father, but mama says he is a great warrior. A good man with so many things to show him once he's finally big enough. Mama says he's the kind of man who will love him. Strengthen him, when he's finally ready.
One day he will grow so big, and so strong that he will make sure that mama won't ever have to be sad again.
But tonight…
Mama is particularly sad tonight. She only just came back to the compound a few hours ago. He didn't know she was coming. She's been gone for a year now. One mission rolling into the next, into the next. It's not the longest mama has been gone, but it's close.
It’s late and Damian is sleeping. But he wakes up to the happy sound of his mama entering the hidden tunnel that connects their two rooms just like he's supposed to, and is waiting for her with the covers drawn back and the pillows fluffed by the time she slides the large portrait of Grandfather aside and steps into the room fully.
His memories of her didn't do her the justice she deserves. They never do.
Mama is like the myths of Inanna come to life. Love and war all mixed together into a terrible sort of radiance.
Like the christian Seraphim calling out “be not afraid” in voices so beautiful they threaten to burn their audience to ash.
Like looking up into the sky on a clear, dark night. A universe so breathtakingly grand it inspires an immense smallness inside of you.
His goddess.
His angel.
His universe.
His mama.
She climbs into his bed wordlessly, and he collapses into her open arms the same.
He's bigger than he was the last time she held him. But the two of them still fit together just as seamlessly as they ever did, so it's okay.
She buries her face into his curly hair and he nuzzles into the soft spot between her neck and collar bone, where her amber perfume smells the strongest. And together they just… breathe.
It is the first time in a whole year that Damian has been held. And even though Al Ghuls are not supposed to cry, something in Damian wants to.
They stay like that for a while. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. It doesn't really matter which.
And it is happy, and it is bitter.
It is beautiful, and terrible.
And everything.
It is everything.
Damian is so happy he thinks he might explode or fly. So relaxed by her touch, by her presence, his coiled shoulders melt to putty and the rest of the world disappears.
And it hurts so bad, so deep, he's sure it will kill him. Sure that if the airy weave of mama’s poison green abaya slips through his clinging fingers, she will vanish in a puff of smoke. He will be alone. Again.
It feels too real and all together not real enough.
And so they hold each other. Quiet and still. Mama graciously ignoring the way his fingers tremble. Him, graciously ignoring the way her breath occasionally hitches and her heart races under his ear.
And it is ache.
And it is jubilation.
And it is agony.
And it is perfect.
Eventually though, it ends. Just as it always has to end.
“Come my love,” Mama says with too much cheer in her voice to be anything close to real. Pulling him out of bed with her as if he weighs nothing at all.
Holding him to her chest like he's important.
He clings to her like a child, stubbornly locked into position for just a moment more. Even though he knows he shouldn't. Knows it's improper. Implies he needs her.
Even though he knows what will happen if someone sees.
~●~
Drake towers above him. Feet planted firmly atop father's ridiculous dinosaur animatronic.
Resplendent and shining in the bright greens and reds of his hand me down uniform.
Dressed in the legacy promised to Damian his entire life.
And as Damian falls…
He wonders…
“Maybe this time, I will be the one who is loved.”
He wonders what it will feel like.
He wonders if it will be like Mama.
~○~
Ravi holds him. Comforts him. With steady hands and gentle hugs.
Even as Damian's knife slips, wet and gushing, into the man's right eye.
“It’s not your fault.” Ravi mutters softly in a voice that sounds like Pennyworth.
“It's not your fault.” He repeats. Smiling at Damian around his own blood as Mother's dagger dips deep into his left socket like a grisly apology.
“You're just a child.” He whispers as his world goes black.
Forever black.
Ravi was a painter.
Damian has made sure he will never paint again.
Ravi is kind.
Ravi is a liar.
Damian isn't a child. Damian is a monster.
~●~
Mama returned to the compound broken.
Alive, but utterly broken.
He isn't sure why. Isn't sure what happened. Only that, when she came home, she came home in pieces.
He woke that morning to the servants whispering to each other just behind the door where they thought he could not hear them.
But Damian is always watching everything. Just the same as he always had been.
Of course he hears them.
The house staff nurse their ugly gossip and half formed lies. Tittering over the fate of their lady in quiet, muffled voices.
Like scratching vermin crawling between the walls.
Like Mama wasn't the whole entire world.
“Yusif helped carry her in from the helipad last night. He said it's a miracle of the Demon's Head she's alive at all.”
“Dawa said it won't be much longer though. It looked like a close range explosion.”
“I heard it was a train crash while visiting that American hero of hers.”
“As if a mere train could do that to the Demon's daughter! I was talking Jié and….”
And on and on their droning, slandering, canard went on.
Pulsing, hot and angry, behind his eyes. Like the beginnings of a migraine. Like the start of a terrifying rage he could not control. Like the beginning of an encompassing depression from which he would never rise.
Until his chest feels too small, too tight. Unable to contain him properly.
Until his vision narrows to a pin pick and his ears roar with invisible sound.
Until Damian's body feels wholly not his own.
Until the sucking hole that lives just above and in front of his heart begins to grow.
Ripping him apart like burlap in heaving, gnawing, merciless, expansion.
Until the hole that lives inside of Damian is a yawning pit below his feet and he is sinking.
Spiraling.
Sinking.
He will go to Mama he decides.
He will go to Mama and she will be fine and strong and beautiful. Just the way she always is.
She will hold him, and sing, and tell stories of her time away. And he will tell her every poisonous lie the servants whispered behind the walls.
And then…
Then they will cut out every single tongue that offends him. So their owners can never tell such ugly lies again. Together.
Together.
It's fine.
It's fine.
It's fine.
Mama is alive and whole and it is fine.
He is fine.
It has to be fine.
~○~
Chains rattle behind his door and Damian is trapped.
In his room.
Trapped.
Always trapped.
Father and Drake laugh and cheer down the hallway and Damian wants to join.
He wants to!
He promises he does!
But the chains are rattling and the situation is dire.
He is trapped.
Always trapped.
Damian tries to listen to their happy conversion.
He wants to join.
But their words are nonsense and he does not understand.
The chains rattle, loud as ever, and the situation is dire.
~●~
They didn't lie.
They didn't lie.
The bandages that hold her together are red black and crusted.
Pink foam leaks, burbling and horrific, from the corners of her mouth. Her copper skin gone grey, her sharp honey eyes staring dead and unfocused out the windows.
She is in pieces.
Damian's whole world is ending in front of him and he is powerless to stop it.
He cannot think, or move, or breathe.
He can't.
He can't.
He can't.
Damian's fingertips fell cold and the world is so far away.
He is sinking.
Spiraling.
Sinking down.
His body is like static and the world is ending.
It hurts worse than dying. Than torture. Than disappointment. Than failure.
The world is ending and he can't…
He can't.
He can't.
“Mama.” The word leaves him like a prayer. Like a plea. Like desperation. Like the last breath of air as it escapes a drowning man.
Her eyes snap to him. Just as sharp and beautiful as they ever were. And for an instant they are both alive. Together and alive.
She smiles at him around bloody, broken teeth. And it is love. And it is endless agony.
“Little love.” She whispers. Soft and full of grit. “Come. Come closer.”
He wants to.
Damian wants to.
He wants to.
He wants to.
He wants to.
Wants to.
Wants to.
Wants to.
But Damian is afraid.
Terrified.
A coward.
“I'll get the doctors.” He says instead.
It feels worse than dying.
Mama waves what remains of her good hand dismissively. Like the world isn't ending in front of them. “There is no point my love. It would be nothing but a waste of resources to try to treat my injuries. Come, please.”
“I don't want to hurt you.” He whispers like a dying man confessing to a most gruesome sin.
Like a half truth.
Like a bold face lie.
She watches him for a moment. Quiet and still. Her eyes cut through the heat of him, just as they always did. And he can tell, just like he always can, that she sees through all of him. Every ugly thought, every hurt, every weak insecurity.
And yet.
And yet.
Somehow, when he meets her gaze, he sees nothing but her love.
Her fathomless love.
It hurts.
It hurts.
“You will not hurt me.” She eventually answers with absolute certainty.
It feels like understanding. Like forgiveness.
It hurts.
It hurts.
And he does not want to.
And yet.
And yet.
It is the only thing he's ever wanted.
He looks once more into her soft, determined eyes and the decision, at last, is made. He will be strong. He will be brave. For her.
With a shuddering breath, he goes to his Mama.
She pulls him to her with the strength of a kitten and does her best to drag him close.
Damian tucks his head against her with all of the gentleness he can manage. Right where her collarbone meets her neck. And for the first time that day, he smells the amber of her perfume around the copper scent of her blood.
All Ghuls are not supposed to cry.
Damian sobs into her chest anyways.
Mama only holds him tighter.
His goddess.
His angel.
His universe.
His Mama.
~○~
The world is red.
Red.
Red.
Red.
Damian is red too.
He looks at the sky above him and wishes he could escape. Could fly away from this red stained world.
But Damian is red too.
And he knows.
In his heart of hearts, he knows.
He would only taint the sky if he could.
There is no escaping the stain when you're its cause.
The world is red.
Red.
Red.
Red.
And Damian's the one who made it bleed.
~●~
“You are my flesh, my blood, my heart, and I love you like breathing.” Mama rasps after Damian's tears have finally run dry.
She pushed him gently with her waning strength and he follows her instruction. Sitting on the edge of her death bed and turning hesitantly to face her.
Just as beautiful as she ever was.
“Please,” she gasps, almost desperately, “please know that my heart. I love you Damian. Utterly. And I'm sorry.”
“Mama don't-” Damian all but yells. Mama shouldn't- she's-
But the look she pins him with instantly kills any further protests before they pass his throat.
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I could not keep myself safe for you. I'm sorry I could not keep you safe from…so much. I'm sorry you were born into a vicious world not meant for one so small. Into my world. I'm sorry I was not strong enough to let you go. I should have, I think. And I'm sorry for what I must ask of you now.”
“Anything Mama, anything.” He breathes. She is the whole world after all. Anything. Everything.
“Your Grandfather wishes to put me in the pit.”
And for the first time Damian can breathe. And for the first time there is light. And for the first time the world is not ending.
Damian will keep his Mama.
“Mama! That's-”
In an instant she's holding, clutching, his happy face in an iron grip he thought her incapable of. Blood smeared across his cheek and true terror dancing wild behind her eyes.
“You must not let him.” She begs like a death sentence.
He's ripping himself away from her and retreating to the furthest corner of her room before he consciously registers the movement, but her words follow him like daggers anyways.
“I have seen what the pits have done to my father. To the others. Please my love! What leaves those waters will not be me!”
“No!” The word tears out of him like the desperate, angry growl of a corned animal. “No! I will not lose you!”
“I am already lost! You know! You know what I would become!”
And he did. Of course he did. Damian watched everything. He knew.
But he couldn't-
He couldn't.
“I can't.”
“I'm so sorry Damian. I'm so sorry. It is not fair, I know. But there is no one else.”
~○~
Damian sits on a gentle hill in the mayor's vast back gardens. He looks out, into an endless sea of grass dancing softly in the warm summer breeze, below a bright, sunny sky, and he smiles.
To his right Pennyworth sits tidy and proper. Muscles loose and a quiet, happy peace pained across his usually somber features.
To his left, father's imposing figure lounges loose limbed above him. His posture protective rather than looming.
Mama leans her head, soft and trusting against Father's opposite shoulder and his hand moves unthinking to wrap softly around her waist. A small, unconscious movement that tells a love story all its own.
Father looks down at him just as Damian's looking up. And as their eyes meet, father smiles.
~●~
Damian watches as Grandfather and his soldiers stormed mother's chambers.
Watches as men bundled his Mama in blankets and carry her softly from her bed.
Watches as she shakes and cries and begs like a child for them to stop.
“She does not want this.” He finally bites out as they reach the door. “Please, she does not want this.”
Grandfather's slap is swift and entirely expected. In an instant Damian is off his feet and as stareing up at the enraged face of the Demon's Head in all his resplendent glory.
“What she wants does not matter you insolent child!” Grandfather hisses above him through clenched teeth. “No more than the cattle's wishes affect the slaughterhouse. You are mine. She is mine! And you will do what I wish!”
~○~
Damian pins his Mama down.
Down.
Down.
Down.
She fights, and begs, and chokes.
She claws at his arms in a way that will scar him forever.
She cries.
Above him Grandfather laughs, victorious and manic.
Damian pins his Mama down.
Down.
Down.
Past of the putrid green glow. Past the stinking icy waters that sting and pull at the cuts she made.
Into the miracle that will heal her.
Into the family curse that will claim them both.
“I'm sorry.” He whispers again and again and again.
“I'm sorry.”
“I'm sorry.”
“I'm sorry.”
Above him Grandfather smiles. Wicked and angry.
Below him the water boils. Boils. Boils. And goes still.
“I'm sorry.”
“I'm sorry.”
“I'm sorry.”
~●~
Drake lays dead and cold at the feet of father's anamatronic trophy.
The Bat stands casual and quiet beside the corpse. Prodding it softly with the toe of his boot.
And when he looks up at Damian, his eyes hold only the warm glow of pride.
~○~
There are no more songs in the compound's kitchen.
No more quiet nights wrapped in one another's arms.
Mother isn't sad anymore. She isn't anything anymore.
Mother is…. Hollow now.
Damian is too.
A week after Mother is healed, is broken, he walks into her chambers to see her holding a gun between her lips. She smiles at him around the barrel and there is nothing behind her eyes.
She tells him everything is okay.
She tells him she only means to make the voices stop.
And as he talks the gun out of her hands, directs the barrel away from her, away from him, Damian feels nothing at all.
~●~
Damian's eyes go wide as the closet doors were ripped open. Revealing Drake of all people towering above him. Looking as nervous and out of place as he ever did.
Damian's throat was raw and sore in that way that seems to only come from screaming. His face felt worn and wet and hot with tears.
A nightmare then.
How humiliating.
Above him Drake opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish for several seconds before breaking the heavy, frozen silence between them.
“I um. Alfred and I were talking…before.” He stuttered out, ruffling his own hair and fiddling with his fingers in a way Damian never could. “And…I mean, I started thinking so I came up here to…it's not important. But…Then I heard screaming? So I picked the lock and… I. Um. Are you…okay?”
Damian looked up at him and thought about Mother. Thought about Father and Grandfather. Thought about locks and problems and weapons. About red and yellow and green.
And Damian hated.
With all of himself he hated.