[ Jay's wound up tight, but all Damian can do is rub a heavy hand up and down his back, pressing circles into the thin shoulder blades and letting Jason huddle close and shake apart. He's got a sedative in the belt at his brother's waist if he really needs to use it.
(He can count the ribs bumping against his palm as he runs his hand back and forth, and on the up-run Damian cups the back of his neck, brushes his fingers through sweaty hair.) ]
I would fight for you and more. And I have. Losing you--
[ He can't even finish, words scattering. There was never any way for him to say how it had felt. Instead, he squeezes him, desperation lining his own strength, and breathes in hard. Damian's always relied on his five senses, more so than others, and the familiar smell of Jay's hair -- sweaty as it is -- is reassuring. Alive. Not like the empty, fading scents in Jason's room (where Timothy had so often found him, curled up like a child at the bedside after a difficult night, furious at everything again like he hadn't been since he was eleven).
His little brother. His family. One of the precious few people on this earth that Damian Wayne, once a boy who didn't even understand the very concept of family, loves.
Fiercely. Viciously. Selfishly.
(Never has he come so close to falling back into al Ghul ways as when his younger siblings came along. Sometimes he thinks that if half the world has to burn to see them safe, it's no price to pay at all.) ]
You've no idea, Jaybird. You have always been worth everything.
no subject
[ Jay's wound up tight, but all Damian can do is rub a heavy hand up and down his back, pressing circles into the thin shoulder blades and letting Jason huddle close and shake apart. He's got a sedative in the belt at his brother's waist if he really needs to use it.
(He can count the ribs bumping against his palm as he runs his hand back and forth, and on the up-run Damian cups the back of his neck, brushes his fingers through sweaty hair.) ]
I would fight for you and more. And I have. Losing you--
[ He can't even finish, words scattering. There was never any way for him to say how it had felt. Instead, he squeezes him, desperation lining his own strength, and breathes in hard. Damian's always relied on his five senses, more so than others, and the familiar smell of Jay's hair -- sweaty as it is -- is reassuring. Alive. Not like the empty, fading scents in Jason's room (where Timothy had so often found him, curled up like a child at the bedside after a difficult night, furious at everything again like he hadn't been since he was eleven).
His little brother. His family. One of the precious few people on this earth that Damian Wayne, once a boy who didn't even understand the very concept of family, loves.
Fiercely. Viciously. Selfishly.
(Never has he come so close to falling back into al Ghul ways as when his younger siblings came along. Sometimes he thinks that if half the world has to burn to see them safe, it's no price to pay at all.) ]
You've no idea, Jaybird. You have always been worth everything.