Chapter Text
Damian awakens to the low rumble of the TV in the background. His body is engulfed in a shield of impenetrable warmth and there’s a beating heart beneath his ear, a chest that expands up and down in slow motions. The boy’s eyes slowly flutter open to find himself nestled into the crook of someones side, buried in a cocoon of blankets. He can feel calloused fingers gently run through his hair, smoothing back the strands in a soothing motion that nearly manages to send him back into a placid doze.
The boy sleepily tilts his head up to see his brother, Grayson, who is staring at the TV screen, captivated by whatever silly television series he’s watching this time. The blue hue from the screen glows brightly against his face, making the calm expression he wears discernible in the unlit room.
It’s then that Grayson must realize he is awake because his blue eyes flicker away from the screen and towards Damian who watches him from beneath the blankets, scrubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands until his bleary sight melts away.
The man’s face instantly adopts a dopey smile, a small yawn escaping him before he whispers, “ Mornin’ sleepyhead.”
Damian huffs quietly and moves his gaze towards the television, mumbling his own little “Good Morning” in response. A silence develops as they watch an animated man on the screen set down a variety of strange items that he stares at for a moment before playing a heartfelt song on the piano.
Jade eyes idly trail to the window, expecting to see the breathtaking sight of the sun moving up, breaking across the horizon in an array of beautiful colors. But what he sees instead is completely wrong. Beyond the window is a sea of empty, inky black, never ending and unnatural in every way.
He freezes as goosebumps prick the surface of his skin, stares as the dread in his chest shrivels up the sense of peace that once resided there. Damian shoots up from his place on the couch to run towards the window, uncaring as Gotham’s bitter chill hits him.
The boy presses his hand flat against the glass pane, staring disbelievingly at the emptiness as he searches for a hint of anything . The green leaves of trees, the golden rays of sun, the red of healthy rose bushes. Something. Anything. But there is nothing, not a single color, not a single trace of life beyond the abyss of perpetual black.
“ Grayson! Something is wrong with —“
A horrified gasp escapes him as he turns to catch his brother’s reaction. Except the man looks nothing like his brother at all. His cerulean eyes are completely gone as well as the rest of his features, leaving his face a blank canvas of tanned skin. Damian can only watch as Grayson approaches slowly, towering over Damian menacingly.
“ R - Richard?” Damian whispers quietly, taking cautious steps away from the man until his back is pressed firmly against the glass with no where to run. Fear crawls up his feet and slithers down his fingers, winds around his chest and squeezes his heart tightly, painfully.
“ You.... I never should’ve trusted you.” He began in a furious mutter, voice increasing in volume as he closes in on the younger boy. His fists are clenched tightly at his sides, muscles coiled tightly, body screaming angry, angry, angry with each and every motion he makes.
“ I give you my name, my love, and you ruin it!” He rages on, a thick furry coating every word he spits at Damian.
“ Grayson, I — your scaring me.” He whispers quietly, voice cracking from the terror climbing up his throat. The imposter (or maybe it was the real Grayson) continues forward like he hadn’t heard the three sacred words, words that had always made Grayson pause, words that had meant he wanted the consolation that came with no conditions, no price to pay.
Except this time they meant nothing.
This time his weakness was for nothing.
“ Please — I.... I’ll be better! I’m sor —“
“ Too late Al Ghul,” Grayson’s voice said, words stinging like acid against his skin. “ Let’s see how you fly solo .”
The world seems to move in slow motion as the man’s fist connects with the glass and Damian falls down, down, down into a stifling void of blinding darkness. He tries to close his eyes to escape the cackling laughter of his brother that echoes from above but it is black all the same, no matter if he keeps his eyes open or shut.
He feels like he’s floating and falling at the same time, forever trapped midair in a spell of darkness. He knows no left nor right, does not know what is up or what is down or even where the black starts and ends. He’s trapped here, left to suffer with his thoughts and the—
His descent towards nowhere ends abruptly. He ends up on his back staring up into a hollow world, hissing from the pain of being dropped from — however high up he was. Damian stares into nothing a few seconds longer before he’s slowly pushing himself onto his knees and up onto his feet, teeth clenched and body aching. Not even seconds after Damian looks around to determine his surroundings, there’s a pair of slim hands on his shoulders while sharp nails dig into his skin, eliciting a sharp wince he cannot hold back.
A voice, colder than a lake frozen over, whispers in his ear, “ You disappointment me greatly Ibn. Al Ghuls’ do not lose.” And Damian suddenly notices the sword clutched in his hands, the intense sting of a wound on his cheek, the grit of sand and the taste of blood on his tounge.
But before he can turn around to face chestnut hair and emerald eyes he’s being pushed through a tall, mahogany door. He stumbles his way through, helpless as the door slams shut behind him. Damian clumsily rights his balance before he’s running at the door, furiously pounding on the wood and pulling at the handle, raging on and on until his throat feels like it’s been rubbed raw against sandpaper since the beginning of time. Damian turns around to find Father watching him from afar, just as faceless and angry as Grayson had been not too long ago. “ Dick was wrong to give you this.” He reaches forward and rips the golden ‘ R’ insignia from his chest, leaving a gaping hole where is once was. Damian looks down to find himself completely clothed in his Robin uniform, fabric torn and red stark against bright green gloves.
“ You haven’t changed at all. You’re still that cold hearted boy who couldn’t give a damn about anyone but himself!”
And then Damian shoots up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, heart beating erratically and tears pricking at his glowing green eyes that pierce through the dark.
Damian’s hands shake profusely as he shoves another hoodie into his grey backpack.
It is 3:04 am, the day after everything has changed, and Damian can see nothing but neon green no matter where he looks.
Outside his window the sky is still a smoggy, dark black and when Damian's eyes wander towards it he is all too reminded of the never-ending abyss of darkness that had been in his dreams. The way his body plummeted down, down, down with no foreseeable possibility of stopping. The laughter of his faceless brother as he watched Damian suffer from above, the way he didn't even seem to care when Damian begged for forgiveness, a thing he'd never usually resort to. His throat feels tight as the memories of his vivd nightmare play in his head, rewinding like a disk on a record player.
Blank, terrifying faces. Sharp nails biting into his shoulders. Falling without an end in sight. The unbearably hot desert. The locked door to his guest room. Failing no matter how the circumstances changed.
The boy blinked and suddenly he was back in his bedroom where the sheets of his bed were haphazardly thrown, an accumulating pile of clothes discarded on the surface. Jade eyes flicker to his trembling fingers, breath unsteady, and it takes Damian a grand total of five minutes to reign in the green electricity that had begun to crackle and pop, takes five minutes to gather every piece of himself and rearrange them until he could breathe normally.
Damian spares one last glance at the dark beyond the window, letting a final shuttering breathe escape him before continuing his packing.
He has to leave immediately, has to escape before his nightmare becomes reality. He has to abandon his home, his room, his family before morning comes when they'll inform him of just how wrong he is inside, just how disgusted and disappointed and enraged they are towards him.
Damian doesn't think he could bear hearing those words from the ones he loves most, doesn't think he could continue to live without breaking if he saw the sheer looks of anger, the reproach, bound to reside on their faces.
The boy stiffly gathers his bag and slides his arms into the straps, walks over to the window and pry's it open with little to no force.
Damian doesn't himself to cry, doesn't allow himself to think about them or the trepidation clogging his throat and stuffing his chest. Not even as he passes by the framed photo of them sitting on his desk, happy and smiling and laughing about who knows what. Not even as he ventures off into the dark hours of day long after he'd been falling into an inky, endless dark.
The morning starts with golden rays of sunshine peaking through his navy blue curtains. Outside his window is the distant chirping of birds, ever eager to start a new day, and it is, for what may be the first time in years, peaceful.
The quiet settles over him in a thin blanket, ever so delicate yet easily enjoyable all in one. Bruce cracks his eyes open to the beige colored ceiling of his bedroom, lets blue eyes the color of glistening frost trail around until his resolve to rise settles in. With an audible grunt, the man halfheartedly shrugs the warm layers of comfort away from his body and drags himself up and out of bed.
The moment his feet hit the floor he is stumbling towards the windows, dragging the curtains open with one hand while the other rubbed the customary morning bleariness away. When Bruce is cured from his temporary fogged vision, he looks up to gaze through the clear glass pane. The grounds of Wayne Manor stretch yards from where he gazed upon it, healthy, verdant grass and trees the only thing in sight. The sky has lost its ordinary smoky black fog that hangs over the city like an omen and is instead replaced with a brilliant baby blue with fluffy white clouds passing by.
The beginnings of a smile, as subtle as the first few drops of rain before a storm, creep onto his face.
And it is in this moment when his door is thrown open and in comes Alfred, worry glistening in his eyes and concern crinkling his face.
" Master Bruce, you must come immediately! Master Damian is nowhere to be found around the premises!"
And like a snow globe falling, fracturing into a million pieces, like a gunshot echoing through an alley, watching as the world falls apart, his peace and happiness shatters into a deep fear that settles in his stomach, creating open wounds with every breath.
Bruce is out of the door and down the stairs faster than he's ever bothered to go.
Damian shoved his hands into his pockets, kicking a pebble astray with each step as a bitter draft washed over him. Despite his time in Gotham, he wasn’t quite accustomed to the dreary weather of the city which only consisted of three options on a regular day; raining, freezing, or cloudy. Most weeks the city would only choose one and stick with it, but if Mother-nature really had a vendetta against the entire world that day, she’d play all three cards just to see how miserable the day could get.
Damian certainly felt that misery hanging over him now, even if the rain was the only thing missing from making this city borderline depressing (as if it wasn't already).
The soles of his boots scuffed against the pavement as he walked through endless mazes of alleyways, head down and hood up. In any other city, a child (and he is only using this word for explanatory purposes) walking by his lonesome on the streets would be concerning to almost every decent citizen that passed by. But in Gotham, decency was the less common factor in its residents, closely seconding lack of common sense. And besides, out of psychotic clowns, ladies who are overly obsessed with vegetation, and men who speak every sentence in riddles, there were much more important things to worry about than a random kid (refer to the previous ‘child’ reference if you still do not understand that no, he is not a child!) trudging through Crime Alley without any adult supervision.
Tt. Supervision.
When his feet stopped moving and his head stopped spiraling with rather unpleasant thoughts, he looked up to see where his feet had taken him during his trance in deep thought.
The place was an apartment building, one he’d visited enough times to recognize the rusted fire escaped and the graffitied brick walls.
( Hungry, flickering red. Freckled cheeks. Long hair. Two bodies, two children, young and still, too still—)
The building was decrepit, worn away from years of abuse and neglect inflicted by the city. But it was the home to a lady in her late 50’s, one he’d saved some distant night ago on an unauthorized nightly adventure. She’d given him a thankful smile and a ruffle of his hair after his save, warmly invited him to her apartment and Robin hadn’t been able to refuse, not when the mention of a feline was brought up.
And so now her home - and her fire escape - was a home away from home. A sort of respite he could escape to during his moments of blind anger or fierce discontent.
Home, where Damian had to try and wrangle The Thing into the deepest, darkest shadows, to hide the part of him no one could ever see. Home, where he loved his family and did so with that terror pumping in his chest every time the laughter of The Thing came around, every time he was on the verge to bursting with rage or close to unintentionally hurting something with popping electrify that sprouted from his finger tips.
Damian’s jaw clenched, heart shrinking further in his chest. How was it that everywhere he went, everywhere he looked, he was reminded of them? Of Grayson's bubbly laugh and Father's ghostly smiles, of Todd's permanent stench of cigarette smoke and sweat and Drake's long rants with the clacking of key's to back it up. Why couldn't he forget Alfred's tea time and Brown's cackle and Cain's delicate movements? Why couldn't he simply move on, try to save himself the promised heartbreak of their final reactions, their final decisions on Damian and how simply wrong he is. How strange and inhuman like he is?
( " Attachment to the ones surrounding you is a great weakness, Heir. Do not be a fool; you will never be able to leave once you dedicate yourself to them.")
The boy squeezed his eyes shut, hands pressing against his forehead in an attempt to banish the thoughts away. He will not allow himself to think about them, will not allow himself to dwell on the indisputable truths of his familial relationships, not matter the damage it causes his heart just to think about it.
Soundlessly, the boy jumps to grab ahold of the ladder and hauls himself up and onto the first fire escape. From there it is a quick climb of stairs up until he hears the meowing of a cat, signaling he was close. The noise instantly washes away the tension collecting in his shoulders and the deep scowl that seems permanently etched into his face, smoothes out into a delicate smile and calm movement as he climbs the last set of stairs.
Dinah - the owner of the apartment he was currently visiting - was unlikely to be awake yet, considering she worked a night shift at a local clinic. Damian knew she wouldn't mind if he took residence on her fire escape, even if she was currently knocked out from the long shifts of medical care.
He climbed the last set of stairs to get to the fifth level and was greeted by the sight of a waiting companion. There, seated on the other staircase leading up, was an orange tabby cat. He had dark olive irises and a tail that curled loosely around his body. His orange coat was lightly dusted in debris, proof of the daily adventures he took while his owner wasn't watching, and he was staring at Damian with attentive eyes.
The boy walks over slowly, crouched down to offer his hand which the cat sniffs before allowing him to gently run his finger down his back. A satisfied meow came from the feline and Damian reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small cat treat, offering it to him before standing up to lean against the iron bar that created a pseudo balcony. He ate the treat with the no regards to savoring it.
“ I’m not returning home today.” He admitted, tired of the stifling silence he’d faced this entire morning. Damian stares up at the sky which is lined with dark grey clouds that entirely block out the sun. They remind him too much of a window that leads to nowhere, of being prison to a never ending, plummeting trap.
He swallows thickly, clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles turn white.
“ My family...” he starts, mouth opening to say the words but no sound comes out. He closes it, opens, starts again. “ They have recently discovered my... abilities. The very secret that allowed me to help your owner in the first place.”
Damian still remembers the night he saw her, shaking and frightened from the mugger with the gun pointed at her. In her attempt to escape she’d slipped and fallen to the ground, unconscious not even seconds later. During that time Damian had taken down the mugger, sent an anonymous call to the GCPD, and healed her injuries in the dark, desolate corners of the alley during her moments of unconsciousness. The rest of the night was a blur of worry and regret, thinking if he had just moved quicker, faster, that she would be okay without the help of unnatural forces.
And somehow, that led to a quiet conversation in her tiny apartment, a cup of warm tea pressed in his hands and a warm body of fur pressed against his side.
The memories managed to quirk the corners of his lips up, the beginnings of a smile, only to smooth out as quickly as it had started.
Damian sighed, sinking down into a settled position with his back pressed against the brick, rusted metal creaking the entire way down. The cat, Oliver (apparently named after Dinah’s favorite brother-in-law) silently approached him, easily climbing up and onto his lap.
Damian stared at him for a moment, frozen in a momentary shock, before his fingers begin to gently stroke his orange fur.
He bites his cheek, swallowing down the knot that forms in his throat as thoughts of his family take root once more. He can push the memories away, try to force his mind into forgetting them, forgetting this. This life full of all the small little joys he never knew of. But like Grandfather had claimed all those years ago, it was impossible to trick you mind into forgetting someone you are attached to. Impossible to forget the feeling that comes with that relationship.
Oliver purrs quietly and Damian continues stroking his fur with a downward curve to his lips. The boy gazes up to find the dark grey clouds still in the place he checked last, perfectly resembling all the things tumbling around inside his head.
“ Surely you understand right?” He asks suddenly, his voice no louder than a whisper. “ Surely you understand the feeling of knowing you will not be accepted no matter what you do, even by the ones you cherish most?”
Oliver doesn’t respond.
He just sleeps in Damian’s lap, content and oblivious to the boy's words, to the question Damian wants answers to.
Fine, Damian thinks to himself as he stares at gloomy skies.
He doesn’t think he’d want him to answer, even if he could.
The sound of blaring car horns and unintelligible chatter filled her ears. The time was 10:01 a.m, the day after everything has changed and the morning where her little brother went missing and Cassandra feels... sad.
No, not sad. She thinks to herself, frowning as she weaves through crowds of people, all distracted or talking amongst themselves, eyes scanning dim alleyways and empty rooftops. It is an early hour for the city, nearly approaching twelve but everyone lives on, frowning and yelling and threatening every time a random pedestrian happens to bump into them.
Guilty, she decides on as she watches a man scoff and push past someone else, angry, angry, angry outlining his entire figure.
Cassandra feels guilty. And it’s because she knew.
There had always been something off - no, different - about her little brother . Something he didn’t want anyone else to know. A secret.
And Cassandra understood. She was different too, sometimes so much so that it felt as if she was made of entirely different parts than the rest of the world, than her own family. And despite her own experiences with secrets - because with David Cain secrets had always meant hurt, and lies, and the rawest of pains - she did not make any moves because Cassandra could tell that his secret was not one made of something as hurtful as her Father’s had been.
So she hadn’t said anything, never thought it was hers to mention because she knew what it was like to be different, to be afraid to say you were when everyone else was so similar. She knew what that kind of fear was like. And she hadn’t known the exact circumstances of how different he was but Cassandra knew.
She could see it in the way his eyes would be light, sparkle with secret content and joy and then darken, as if he’d remembered something sad about that moment. She saw it in the clenching of his jaw and the drawing of his fingers, the tension that seemed to coil in his stomach and flow out to the rest of his limbs. The moments where he was timid and afraid, glancing over his shoulders, small, sad frowns on his face when he should’ve been excited or happy or joyous.
And it wasn’t hers to tell, would never be hers to tell because it solely belonged to him and him only but Cassandra couldn’t help but feel guilty because in that last moment before home his words had said, “ I’m ready to talk” and his body said, “ I’m too afraid to admit.”
Cassandra felt guilty because she’d seen his body say scared, scared, scared and she hadn’t said anything, guilty because he had left and he was afraid and she wished she had given him something to hold hope from; a gentle smile, a shoulder pat, a squeeze of the hand.
Something that would’ve meant safe. Something that would’ve meant love. Something to keep him from leaving.
Cassandra turns another corner on the sidewalk, quickly crossing the street when the light turns red. A few more steps and she was at the mouth of another alley, sparing a glance as she passed by. An abrupt flicker of green pulsed in her peripheral and she stopped mid walk, causing other citizens to spit loud curses and shoot her annoyed looks. She paid no mind as she quickly shoved through the crowd and towards the alley, mind screaming Damian, Damian, Damian.
When she entered the dark of the alley, her eyes immediately fixated on her crouching brother, healing something (an animal?) beyond her view. Damian immediately noticed her presence and froze and Cassandra could see the outline of his body tense into fear, into confusion. And then he was off on his feet, racing towards the end of the alley and turning into a new one.
Cassandra was running before she registered it.
He brother wove his way through the maze of walls with ease, forcing her to follow him. In desperate attempts to escape, he left knocked down random trash cans and other obstacles in his wake, all of which she passed with ease. The chase did not lead on for long, despite her little brothers best efforts, and eventually Cassandra caught up to him, grabbing him by the hood of his jacket.
Damian twisted and turned, voice furious as he yelled, demanding to be released, fighting and kicking without any real aim. But Cassandra could see the sadness behind his anger, could see the fear and the minuscule hope that she wouldn’t let go, that she’d stay. A sad frown took her lips.
The female turned him around with little force, tugging him forward and into her chest, arms wrapping tightly around him. She needed him to know he was safe, that she loved him, that he did not need to fear. She need him to know that she was sorry.
The boy easily came forward and tensed slightly from the contact but easily melted into the embrace. She could feel his arms slowly wrap around her, tight and unyielding.
“ Little brother...” she whispered, pulling back to look at jade green eyes that watered up at the words.
“ Please come home.” She said, hoping he understood the entire sentences she wanted to convey with those three words. Hoping he understood just how much she loved him, how much everyone did. “ Do not be afraid. We love you.” She wiped a stray tear from his cheek, offering small smile. “ Always.”
Damian bit his lip, eyes casted down towards the ground. He halfheartedly pulled at his writs which she held tightly, a frown on his lips, furrowing his eyebrows. “ I - I cannot come home with you, Cain. I’m too... I’m too wrong. I will only further disappointment everyone.”
“ No.” She said forcefully, causing him to look up at her, startled. “ You are not wrong brother. You are right. In here.” Her hand guides his own to his heart, placing it flat against his chest. “ Everyone knows. We are not angry with you, promise.”
A silence develops after that and Cassandra silently hopes.
His face twists into anger.
“ Your lying,” He accuses, attempting to pull away with more energy this time. “ I will go home and they will finally realize how terrible I am. Father will send me away, Grayson will never look at me again, the other’s will undoubtedly despise me -“
“ Will not happen.” She interrupts, refusing to let go even when he starts to tug harder. “ They are worried. About you. Because they care.”
His struggling is momentarily paused and green eyes stare at her and she stares back, determined and loving and true.
"... How do you know?" He whispers, the words barely audible.
“ Because we are family. Family always loves, little brother. No matter what."
Damian stares at her, glossy orbs searching her entire face, for what she will never know. But he must see it in that moment because he finally says, ".. Okay."
And Cassandra can see that his fear is still there, can see that he is a little unsure but there is hope there. There is the beginnings of warmth.
Cassandra tries to smile comfortingly like her older brother would and releases her grip on his wrists, gently taking his hand and leading him back the way they came. They do not say words and do not share glances but it does not matter.
It doesn’t matter as long as her little brother is right there beside her, safe and loved, two facts her and the others will make sure he never forgets again.
Cassandra squeezes his hand tightly, sending thousands of messages with the contact.
Hesitantly, Damian squeezes back.