Damian Wayne | First Son (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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dreamsanddisasters2014-08-21 12:12 am
dfordangerous) wrote in dreamsanddisasters2014-08-21 12:12 am
Entry tags:
Age Reversal AU (For Batfam)
[ His father is dead, and he's still reeling from the shock. Alfred and Tim both know he's barely keeping it together, for all his standoffish composure. Years of preparing for this moment--
(steeling himself, to watch his father be laid to rest next to his grandparents)
--have done little to offset the grief. He wouldn't be seen at all if it weren't for his brother; if Tim hadn't coerced him out of his room in the hours following the funeral, hadn't confessed his worries for Cass (retreated, to the attic of all places), Jason (god, Jason, Damian's own cunning little húlí, he'd adored the man), and his father's newest stray, Richard. Dick. His father's Robin.
His Robin, now. As strange as the thought is. But the cowl is his, and so is Robin.
His Robin, who Alfred has informed him is currently making his roost up in the ballroom's chandeliers. Refusing to come down.
Damian, briefly, contemplates leaving him up there in favor of finishing reviewing this case file.
('He'll come down when he gets hungry,' he tells Alfred.
'He's in mourning, Master Damian,' Alfred points out, with all the dry chastisement his stiff upper lip can give.
'I'll get the broom.')
And here he is. He finds himself squinting in irritation up at the boy monkeying around on the fragile, expensive crystal. ]
Richard. [ Prim, clipped tones. Damian hardly raises his voice unless his fuse is blown; usually only when he's locked in a shouting match with Tim or with his father.
He doesn't know Richard that well. The boy is a relatively fresh arrival, and the past few months he's been here have seen Damian on longer missions; international and galactic trips alike. Before Bruce's death, they had maybe spent only a few hours in each other's company, and the boy was clearly not overly fond of him. ]
What are you doing?
(steeling himself, to watch his father be laid to rest next to his grandparents)
--have done little to offset the grief. He wouldn't be seen at all if it weren't for his brother; if Tim hadn't coerced him out of his room in the hours following the funeral, hadn't confessed his worries for Cass (retreated, to the attic of all places), Jason (god, Jason, Damian's own cunning little húlí, he'd adored the man), and his father's newest stray, Richard. Dick. His father's Robin.
His Robin, now. As strange as the thought is. But the cowl is his, and so is Robin.
His Robin, who Alfred has informed him is currently making his roost up in the ballroom's chandeliers. Refusing to come down.
Damian, briefly, contemplates leaving him up there in favor of finishing reviewing this case file.
('He'll come down when he gets hungry,' he tells Alfred.
'He's in mourning, Master Damian,' Alfred points out, with all the dry chastisement his stiff upper lip can give.
'I'll get the broom.')
And here he is. He finds himself squinting in irritation up at the boy monkeying around on the fragile, expensive crystal. ]
Richard. [ Prim, clipped tones. Damian hardly raises his voice unless his fuse is blown; usually only when he's locked in a shouting match with Tim or with his father.
He doesn't know Richard that well. The boy is a relatively fresh arrival, and the past few months he's been here have seen Damian on longer missions; international and galactic trips alike. Before Bruce's death, they had maybe spent only a few hours in each other's company, and the boy was clearly not overly fond of him. ]
What are you doing?
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[ There's sharp steel in his voice; Dick hadn't been here for the Joker incident, but it's with the same tone that he announced that Jason's death had been avenged, right to the face of his father. Cold, merciless, and confident; and viciously protective. ]
He won't be getting up.
[ He can hear the Batmobile pull up nearby, engine revving. There's no easy way to do this next bit, but Damian is going to try and make it as comfortable on Dick as possible. He yanks his other glove off with his teeth, tucking it into his belt, and sets Dick's hands upon his chest (infinitely careful to not jostle the breaks). He can't give Dick any strong painkillers because he doesn't know if the boy will wake up--
(Unease, jagged in his own chest. His panic's held at bay by training and sheer determination, but there's a running train of thought in the background of his mental processes: Dick's coughing is wet, too, he has to have internal injuries, god, what if he bleeds out in the car, Damian will be able to do nothing--not again, not again--)
--but the topical anesthetic he applied to some of the worst areas should help ease the transition home. He leans forward to slip his arms beneath Dick's neck and knees, making sure everything is in place as his fingers curl around his brother's shoulder. ]
We're going home, Robin. I'm going to lift you now, alright?
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So, he curls into Damian's chest instead, and it's warm in a way that broken and swollen blood vessels aren't, and he makes a small sound like affirmation to Damian's question. The roar of the engine almost counteracts the roaring in his ears, but he tries to ignore it like everything else. Can't see it too well, but-- can't see very much, but he can't close his eyes because he doesn't want to fall unconscious. Can't do that. Had to stay awake.]
I'm gonna-- [His voice is smaller, the price of making a conscious effort to steady it. A cough interrupts him again (god breathing was so hard) but he doesn't let it deter him. He needed something to concentrate on. Something that wasn't his head or his blood or everything else.]
I'm goin-- going to-- make a mess a-all over the i-interior.
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(His bones had snapped so easily.)
Dick is a gory mess, and though Damian is an old hand at gory messes, the sight is different when it's someone he cares for. Still, he's undeterred from dropping his head to press a brusque kiss to what seems to be the only undamaged square of skin on Dick's temple, covered in blood as it is. It's more of an eskimo kiss - the kind he, just as gruffly, hands out sparingly, and only when the mood strikes him. After a brother's nightmare, or as they're drifting off to sleep, or if they've just done something that he, for whatever reason, finds endearing enough to be moved to an expression of physical affection.
Or when he has been silently terrified of losing them. A too-close call during a fight. A hostage situation.
(Or when he has lost them. Jason, small and cold and still and shattered to pieces beneath his hands on the medical bed.)
He's careful to keep his gait smooth, to avoid jarring the bundle in his arms, as he slides into the Batmobile, letting autopilot see them home and sending a quick radio alert to Alfred to prep the med bay, and then a second one to Gordon to collect the bodies left behind, before he settles back. Damian looks calm, but really, he's anything but, with Dick's blood soaking through his suit and coating his hands. ]
However, I am going to ground you until you are thirty, brat. Alfred will be slipping your three meals through a slot in the door. [ It's a muttered threat, and completely insincere, but vehement. ]
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Even though he's expecting, the change in height and position still elicits a groan from pain, and his limbs all feel like lead under the force of gravity-- but Damian's stronger than that, and it's still not as bad as he thought it would be with a bit of anesthetic starting to take effect. Though Dick's only aware that more is starting to feel numb, and he just buries himself more into his brother's touch and his torso like a plant seeking sunlight.
(Maybe it was all a nightmare. He wanted to wake up so badly. He wanted to sleep.)]
'm sorry. [He only talks when he can hear Damian again, and his words are starting to slur. He's not one hundred percent sure if Damian's serious or not, but he sure didn't sound that convicted. And he'd never been able to keep Dick still when he tried to ground him anyway.]
...messed up... 'gainst Dent... Alfie'll be worried... lasagna can't fit-- can't fit through a door...
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You did. [ The eldest boy's never been one to lie to his brothers, or hedge the truth. Always blunt, always direct. Dick had made a near-fatal error tonight, one that could have (might still) cost him a whole lot more than a beating. There's no accusation in Damian's tone, however; just acknowledgment. ] -Tt.- And I'll forgive you once I have a chance to properly yell at you. Right now it'd be like chewing out a basket of drugged kittens.
[ An entirely unsatisfactory, wholly useless endeavor.
His earpiece beeps with an incoming transmission from Alfred, and Damian pauses to listen, tilting his head back as he does. His hand squeezes Dick's when he finally looks back down. ]
Alfred has given me the go-ahead to put you under.
[ Surgery. He'll have to perform surgery, he thinks, is worried by the boy's struggle with breathing and possible internal bleeding. The concussion is secondary to that. ]
You may sleep, and when you wake, I'll be here.
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'M not a cat. [It's almost petulant in the way he spits it out, a ragged breath that could almost be construed as a laugh.
He wants to sleep-- he wants to sleep so badly. He's scared, a little scared. But he's so tired.]
P... Promise...?
[The answer is only a formality, because he can already feel his consciousness swimming, now that he has permission to leave.]
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Two minutes later they're back at the Cave, and he's handing his Robin off to Alfred and quickly scrubbing up to assist.
It's going to be a long, long few hours of surgery, but when--
(Not if, when, he'll be okay, he'll be alright. He better.)
--when Dick awakes, he'll be there, slouched next to his bedside in exhaustion. Damian keeps his promises. ]
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Sometimes it gets as far as Batman in his vision, and all he remembers from the conversation is that promise. But usually it rewound when Dent left. He had no idea how many times he watched it.
When Dick wakes up it's cold and numb again, but it's not warm or hurtful or heavy. His vision isn't wet and his mouth isn't bloody, and he can feel his face in as much as he could tell that the swelling had gone down.
He shifts around, just slightly-- moving still hurt, and the breath he takes in hisses between his teeth (breathing doesn't hurt as bad, but it's strange and there's a cannula in his nose and it makes him sniff). Stitches and bandages and probably a cast or two, and it feels like there's an IV in his arm. His head is clearer, but not by much. But more importantly, he moves his head to the side, searching, and there's an overwhelming relief in his chest when he can confirm that Damian was here.
He's here. Thank god. He's OK and he's so much gladder than he could've ever thought he would be.
Dick lets out a whimper, not from pain but to have something to say, to make some noise to try and get his attention if he was even awake, lifts up a hand to try and grab onto his brother, trying not to rustle anything else.]
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(He misses him.)
But a whimper is enough to draw him back to consciousness. Damian's eyes blink open, shoulders rolling at the stitch in his neck from his awkward position in the chair, and he focuses his attention on Dick. Dick, who's awake, and looks like he may stay awake this time.
Leaning forward, he catches Dick's hand in his, other hand running up through the boy's hair and pushing his bangs back. ]
Hey. [ His voice is deep, still thick and scratchy with sleep, and Dick's lucky enough to catch him when he's groggy, a slight, affectionate smile on his face before he has the sense or inclination to resume his scowling. ] You've been out a while, baby bird. Thirsty?
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He closes his eyes, lets his head rest back against the pillow under the feeling of a hand in his hair (a small part of him remembers that his mom used to do that whenever he was upset, and it helps put him further at ease.) The anxiety from his dreams and waking up relaxed, and he nodded his head against the pillow in response to the question.] Mmhm.
[Yeah. Wow his throat kind of hurt even with all the drugs that were no doubt in his system trying to spare him the aftershocks of surgery. It sure felt ragged.] How long has it been...?
[Damian wasn't waiting here the whole time, was he? Man, he was so tired of sleeping.]
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He didn't want him to wake up down there. ]
A few days. [ Closer to a week. ] You woke up for a bit earlier, but I doubt you remember. Alfred had you on the very strong medications.
[ There's a dangerously amused smirk playing around his lips, although the rest of him is utterly composed as he holds up a spoonful of ice chips for Dick to take. ]
Timothy came in to see you once he got back in from the Tower. You ended up proposing to him, but he had to turn you down. [ He clicks his tongue. ] You were so heartbroken, for nearly an entire thirty seconds.
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Some psychologist would probably have a field day with that.
His face is immediately red, and it's not from the heat. If it weren't for the fact that he was rapidly realizing he was really thirsty, he'd probably be content with hiding his face in his pillow as far as he could. But thankfully he edges forward to puts his mouth over the spoon and suck the chips in. Which, thankfully meant he couldn't actually respond verbally right away. But he still managed to puff his cheeks in indignation.
(Ironically he's probably a bit more awake for the embarrassment. So that was certainly a plus.)]
Then my rebound time is awesome. [Yes. This was his conclusion, mumbled around the melting ice and a pout.] Tim is missing out.
[So take that.]
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Tim is out of your league and you know it. [ He counters, matter-of-factly, holding up another spoonful of ice for when Dick is done with his first. ] But you are correct. Your rebound time is admirable. So much so that you also proposed to Alfred, Titus, and you would have done the same to Jason if he hadn't left the room.
And me. [ : he adds, and his smirk now has tooth to it, that dark, wicked humor he sometimes has. ] And I am please to inform you we are engaged. I expect a proper ring - tying our fingers together with loops in the IV line does not count.
[ Alfred has the video. Dick will be treated to the full-color experience the next time Damian wishes to knock the future uppity teenager down a few pegs.
But still, the grin slips back into the quieter, fond smile, and he can't help but go back to carding his hand through Dick's hair, fingers smoothing down the edges of his bandages. ]
How are you doing? Feeling alright?
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(Still kinda hurt, but that was mostly because he ended up moving his hand all over his face. The pain was still vastly less important than his dignity.)]
I'd rather marry the dog. [It's official. If he ever had a girlfriend he was never, ever, ever bringing them home or letting them meet the family.
He moves his hand to the side mostly so he can have the room to slurp up more ice chips, and eventually lets it fall back onto the bed completely.]
Mm. I feel like I got hit by a freight train. [Which was a vastly preferable explanation compared to what had happened, really-- but if he thought about that any more, he was sure he'd get nauseous.]
I think I'll be good when I can feel my toes again. [He shifts a bit, fingers fidgeting; lying still this long was starting to kill him even more.]
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Titus is also out of your league. Plus, he's much too old for you. Sixteen - you know how long that is in dog years?
[ Very long. Most dogs make it to ten, twelve, but Titus has been hanging in there years past the usual life expectancy. Damian's prepared himself for his pup to pass soon (or, more like, Timothy has been preparing him, as Damian was refusing to acknowledge it altogether), but so soon after the wake of his father's death--
No, he won't think of it. ]
Close enough. It was a long few hours in surgery. You had some internal damage, too.
[ And Damian himself had to pick the splinters of bone out, had to drop them in the metal bowl and watch the pile grow. A long, long few hours.
His eyebrows raise at the toes comment, and, with lazy grace, he stretches one long arm over to tweak the toes of the nearest foot beneath the blanket; half to tease, half to see if Dick really couldn't feel them. He has been laying down for a while, and he can see the boy getting increasingly restless. ]
These toes, you mean?
[ Ah, but he'll take pity. Dick does need to move a little bit. ]
I can help you sit up. No acrobatics just yet, but you may feel a little better if you do.
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Well, maybe he had a little feeling in his toes, because he wiggles and jerks his foot away from Damian's hand, letting out a little snort and a giggle. He regretted it slightly, and the weird feeling of the cranula in his nose when he snorted, but. It tickled.]
But I don't even need both legs to do a one-handed hand stand...!
[The humor was a bit weak, but he was already fidgeting and shifting, trying to get himself in a better position to lift himself up on his own-- though not really getting that far before some bone or muscle or stitches started to disagree with him. So he just nodded a little (yes, he would definitely like to sit up a little), and rolled his stiff shoulders against the surface of the bed.]
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Although the stupid giggle-snort is -- is reassuring, on a level he hadn't been aware of. He'd worried that Dick would have lost too much of his innocence after Two-Face, wouldn't be able to laugh so freely after, and the idea of his Robin losing that was distressing. Damian would have missed it.
(Just as he misses the way Jason used to be able to laugh so easily.) ]
Alfred won't have to do it - I'll tie you to the bed myself. Don't even try.
[ Damian sets the cup aside, standing up just so that he can lean over, slipping his arms under Dick's shoulders and knees and lifting him, easily, to sit against the headboard. He's also prepared ahead of time (of course), sliding an armed backrest behind him for support. Damian knows where every break and bruise and stitch is, has committed them to memory, so the process is quick and painless.
He fusses with the IV line for a minute, coiling it out of the way, and perhaps spends a beat too long ensuring that Dick is as comfortable as he can be made.
(And they call Tim the mother hen. Damian spoils his siblings rotten when they're sick or injured.) ]
Better?
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He nods when his head is resting against the headboard, and smiles, moving his shoulders some more and stretching his spine carefully. The new height and perspective is refreshing-- helps him get more in his head and not drifting off.
(On the contrary, he was sure he wouldn't even know what to do with himself if he wasn't smiling and laughing; everyone else would certainly be even more unhappy, and he wouldn't know what to do with himself if he made the others so upset.)]
I bet I could escape even if you did tie me down. Tim and Cass teach me all sorts of stuff when you're not looking. [Gloating. He knew all sorts of things.
He wouldn't go so far as crying-- not again-- but his face grows a bit serious, and he picks up the IV from where it's hanging off the edge of the bed, thumbing the tube carefully and looking down as he speak]
...I'm sorry for messing up. [Shame-- it's one of the last things he remembers.] I guess it's gonna be awhile before I can go on patrol with you again.
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[ Tables turned, flipped neatly, and Damian's own gloating eyebrows rise in challenge.
Damian never talks much about himself; his interests, his history, or his skills. Tim, of all of them, knows the most (too nosy and clever not to find out), and with Cassandra it was one of the only ways through which he could reach her (the shared history, knowing what it was like to be born to kill, has given them one of the closest bonds in the entire family), but Jason and Dick he's always tried to keep them as far away from that as possible.
Wanting, maybe, to be admirable in their eyes. Or just to spare them the weight of that kind of knowledge. ]
Not until Alfred clears you for returning to training. A few months, at the least. [ Confirmation. Damian's head tilts as Dick plays with the tubing, using the distraction to avoid his eyes. ] Richard.
[ Prompting, gentle but firm, for Dick to look up at him. Damian's brows are furrowed, a frown bending his lips, and his stare is too direct. ]
You made a mistake, and it cost you. It almost cost you too much. We, all of us, have done the same. Many times. Some many more than others.
[ Guilty as charged. Damian has a laundry list of fuck-ups that stretches on for miles. ]
And it'll happen again, and again. Despite your best intentions, and no matter how experienced you become.
But what I want you to know and to take away from this: you are irreplaceable, and you are loved. To all of us? Your life is worth more than every single person in Gotham City. Remember that.
[ It's a lesson every hero (super or not, vigilante or officer or fireman) has to learn: when to prioritize their own safety above the life of a stranger.
His father always used to focus on what was lost. The man who'd been killed because of Damian's mistake, the lives lost, the damage wrought. Damian remembers just wanting to hear from him that it was his own life Bruce had feared losing the most; he later learned that was certainly the sentiment behind his father's anger, but he so rarely said it. Maybe that's why it's so easy for Damian to say it now, to his family; to be brutally honest where his father and mother had blurred the truth. ]
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Dick listens, and he's-- he's not sure what to do with himself, what to think. It's not as if his parents had ever been short of loving and caring, but-- but this magnitude, it'd never been required, never been necessary, never been a topic to breach before they'd been gone forever. And Bruce, he'd-- for the short time Dick had known him, he'd never been taught that anything was more important than the mission. That's all he had the time to learn.
But Dick was a smart boy-- smart enough to draw his own conclusions and opinions at the least, from both Bruce AND Damian. And he fidgets and squirms, and holds the IV tubing in his figures as he drops his eyes back down to his hands, away from Damian's gaze.]
But I almost got you hurt.
[Unforgivable. Unacceptable. He had an entire new family here, but Damian was the one that had been watching him, training him-- he was his partner. He's glad he's the one hooked up to the machines, as long as Damian's still OK.]
I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to you because of me.
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I'm invincible. [ Damian's pokerface is flawless; entirely sincere. ] Even a torpedo can't kill me. [ Truth. ]
You think someone like Dent could take me out? Please.
[ He lets up on the ruffling, taking a moment to pick the bangs out of Dick's eyes, eyebrows raised. ]
I'm Batman. It's my job to plan ahead and make sure you aren't put into that kind of position, anyway. All you should have to worry about in the field is being the best Robin that you can be. That was my mistake that night, and I'm sorry.
But you did well. Better than I did, when I was your age. I'm proud of you.
[ They both screwed up, but they're alive, and have learned. Damian understands a little better why his father was always so paranoid, so dead-set on knowing the exact ins-and-outs of a field situation before he'd make a move, and why he was always trying to control all the variables.
That's Batman's job: prepare for any eventuality, so he can protect his partner. ]
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(It's not really his best effort. He's still woozy and a bit weak and kind of weird feeling, and he can't even get Damian to leave his hair alone on a good day, so he kind of just ends up hooking his hands onto Damian's arm and letting them dangle from there.)]
No one's invincible. [Stated very matter-of-factly, with the air of a child expert. He'd once thought his dad was, and that had clearly been proven wrong, and not even Bruce Wayne was unstoppable.] Not even Superman.
[The news of Superman's death had been a downright devastation to his even younger self. For a full week he refused to believe it, and decided the news had been lying to protect Superman's secret identity. So it was certainly a good thing that the man had come back.
But despite his anxiousness over the subject matter, he can't help but smile again at the praise and draw his gaze back up. He often thought about what his brothers might have been like when they were Batman's partners, never quite willing to ask for fear of rubbing salt in open wounds. But sometimes he gets to hear stories, especially from Alfred when the older man is trying to clean, and he knows they're big shoes to fill. It's a challenge he accepted with pride and gusto-- and if he can make Damian proud in the same span of getting the living daylights beat out of him, he must be doing something right.]
Robin should be someone that can help Batman when he can't plan ahead enough. Or save him from a torpedo. [Heh. That actually sounded kind of funny.] So it's OK. We can get better together, when you finally let me out of bed.
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[ Heh, he'd almost picked that up as his first moniker. His father had maybe been a little exasperated in suggesting they stick to a theme, instead - so Blackhawk it had been, and Blackhawk he'd stayed. The colors had better suited his assassin wear, anyway.
He hums at Dick's decision, considering. ]
If that's who you want Robin to be, he sounds like he will be one of Gotham's bravest heroes.
--Right now, though, I hear he's something of a pipsqueak.
[ Damian can be truly, horribly bratty when he wants to be. Also it so wasn't funny, you little cretin, he'd been blown to smithereens-- ]
Remember, it's up to Alfred. [ He folds his hands over his stomach, smugly. ] Not up to me when you'll be let out of bed.
[ Although duty still seems to be calling Batman, because Damian's smartphone on the bedside table is making an insistent buzzing noise keyed to Gordon wanting an audience with him. Most likely about this incident, and most likely to discuss Two-Face's condition.
(Gordon hasn't been happy since day one that Damian is the new Batman. Really, it should have gone to Cass, but she told him herself she didn't feel she was ready, that it was too soon, and he's not going to push.) ]
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[The kid who wanted to be called 'Robin' isn't scared at all. It's not like Dick really thought much about superior genetics, when he himself was from low class circus stock.
His ears turned a bit more red with the new praise (he wanted to make Damian and Alfred proud, he wanted everyone to think that bringing him here was worth it, and he can't fight the smile spreading further on his face). He drops his hands and plant them in his lap again, placated enough from even arguing with the fact that spending months in bed sounded ridiculously more than necessary to him. He was all ready to object to the 'pipsqueak' comment, but--
His attention was drawn away by the noise of the phone, suddenly curious, and more alert even if it wasn't even a signal he could respond to.]
....Is... the Comissioner mad about what happened? [Actually, he doesn't even know what had happened to Two Face after that night. And Dick had... heard some stories, about Damian, from before he joined the family, even if it was just files he'd tried to take a peak at while no one was looking, but nothing seemed very concrete. Was that what this was about....?]
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Demon is a very terrifying moniker, brat.
[ Tim probably laughs at the thought of anyone considering Damian scary. Yes, as Batman he plays the role of terrorizer well, but everyone in the family knows him as the over-protective, cranky older brother who hates any flavor of ice cream that's not vanilla and will bitterly complain about finding even a single sprinkle on it.
(But even he has his moments of being truly frightful. Neither Tim nor Cass laugh at those.)
He grunts an affirmative at the question, one broad hand reaching out to click the buzzing off, casually dismissing the Commissioner. The buzzing starts up again a minute later, just as insistent, and he grumbles, turning the phone off altogether. ]
Nothing about you, though. This one's between me and him.
[ Blackhawk's had plenty of one-on-ones with Gordon. The man always yells about the same things, and Damian always yells back, and they give each other the cold shoulder for a few weeks. This is the first time it's happened with him as Batman, though. He sighs hard through his nose, slouching down in his chair, like a teenager ignoring how his name's been called to the principal's office.
Still, Robin's his partner. He deserves a little more of an explanation than that, and Damian's not exactly trying to be secretive about it or anything. Not like Bruce was. He'll find out eventually, and it's better that he learns it now. ]
Dent is -- no longer a threat. I made sure of it. [ Short, clipped, and neutral. ] Gordon's not happy with that choice.
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