Chapter Text
He couldn’t remember the last time his family cared enough to check in on him.
Not that Damian could say much, considering the fact that he didn’t go out of his way to do the same. No, he’d rather lurk in the background. Molded into the alleyway shadows. He felt it was better than having a loud presence—an opinion that would have his younger self pulling out a sword.
If you could have seen what we would become, perhaps you never would have allowed Mother to send us away.
A bitter thought, he realized. Perhaps not as bitter as the poison in his wine glass, rolling with the movement of his wrist. A painless death was the easy way out, he’d reasoned several days prior to this evening. Not only had he failed every expectation ever imposed upon him, but he’d also hurt thousands of people. He’d killed and maimed the innocent. He spilled the blood of his own family members. He was deserving of an agonizing end. One that might satisfy the demands for justice. Perhaps this could pay back even a fraction of what he’d done.
That was the least he could do. After the monumental failure of his existence, there was little else to accomplish. He failed in every way possible. He’d become the complete opposite of what his mother had envisioned for him, and he would never inherit anything from his father. He was a failed experiment. A clone, amongst many others.
If the others hadn’t shaped into the wrong form, perhaps they would have done better in my position.
He stared at the contents of his wine glass. There was a beautiful view in front of him, stretched beyond the balcony he was standing in. Gotham was beautiful at this time of night, police sirens aside. There were plenty of lights to be seen, speckling from scattered windows.
Look at all of them.
He’d wanted to save lives, once.
Thought it was worth something, back then. That maybe it’d make up for all the wrong that he’d done, and that it’d scratch his itch for redemption.
He found the opposite to be the case.
He was twenty-five now, and things have only gotten worse.
Mother would call this the coward’s way out.
He used to think she was the smartest person in the world. He clung to her skirts and followed her every command. She used to be his everything. His aspiration. His role model. His only friend. Then she gave him away, and everything rolled downhill from there. He started learning about things outside of the League, and that didn’t make his mother happy. She had disowned him. Nearly killed him too. Heretic would have stabbed a sword through his heart if Dick hadn’t been there.
Why did he save me?
Seemed pointless, in the end.
Why pretend that my life was meaningful?
Damian turned around and leaned back against the railing.
Enough reminiscing.
He was stalling for time. He might as well get this over with.
Damian lifted the glass to his lips and took a slow sip.
It tasted like nothing even though it was supposed to be a vile poison.
Damian made sure to drink the entirety of his cup before letting the glass slip through his fingers. It crashed onto the ground, exploded into shards, and spilled off into the abyss below his balcony.
Damian gave out a relieved sigh. He tilted his head back and leaned his elbows against the railing. Then he stared at the moon. The longer he looked at it, the greater the peace he felt.
It would take one minute to feel the effects.
It started with a feverish sweat.
Then he started to heave.
Damian slid towards the ground and curved forward to press his forehead against the concrete. He tucked his knees beneath him. His arms crossed over his stomach and pressed inward.
Something’s wrong.
He retched and gagged. He heaved and heaved until there was nothing left. His throat ached and he couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t time to breathe. This poison was supposed to prolong the pain. It wasn’t supposed to happen all in one moment. What was happening? Did he take the wrong dosage? Impossible. He’d been meticulous about this. He was supposed to suffer a slow and painful death. It wasn’t supposed to happen instantly like this—all in on spurt.
Why is this happening?
Damian wouldn’t get an answer, not as his vision blurred, and his throat restricted. Damian most certainly couldn’t breathe now, and there was stomach acid stuck at the bottom of his throat. He couldn’t get it out. Couldn’t breathe. He was choking and his mind was spinning.
No, not like this.
Why couldn’t he even die correctly? Why had he failed that too?
Not fair—none of it.
How was this justice? How was this going to make up for anything that he’d done? Could he at least not die honorably?
Damian almost wanted to laugh, but he was in so much pain he could barely think straight. As consciousness ebbed away from him, he thought about all the people he’d killed. He could make out some of their faces. His life flashed in front of his eyes, running like a reel. He saw everything he did to people—all the consequences his actions had upon them. He saw how it affected them and their children, and their children’s children. He saw how the world changed from the death of a single person.
He'd killed many people.
Crippled even more.
He’d made the world a worse place just by living in it.
What a bitter thing.
“—ere’s hundreds of them here.”
Voices. Through a deep, deep sea. Muffled. He could barely hear them.
“—nd him at this rate.”
Someone answered, but Damian could not make out what he was saying. He was too quiet.
“This one?”
“Yes. This one.”
There was a good period of things that didn’t make sense. His sense of awareness was shot, and he couldn’t even think. There was nothing there. He could only witness things. Like the shattering of glass, and the crash of water. At one point, he remembered being cold. Very cold.
Then there was warmth.
“There we go.”
He’d been wrapped in something and moved around. Perhaps he would have protested if he had any brains. He didn’t. He could only be. There was nothing in his head. There was only basic instincts and discomforts. Damian momentarily forgot how to express himself and ceased speaking entirely. He was still.
“He’s not opening his eyes.”
“He’s very young. This will be a dangerous trip for him. You’ll need to put him in the incubator the moment we get in the ship.”
Damian heard a lot of words, but they didn’t seem to make proper connections in his head. He just didn’t care. He only wanted to listen to his body, and his body said not to do anything. It said to stay within the warmth and be comfortable. There was nothing more important than that.
“Hear that, Damian? We’re taking you home.”
Waiting.
That’s all Damian seemed to do these days.
He waited. Waited until his body protested and made him uncomfortable. Then it’d explode out of him. Scream and demand for attention. Fix this right now! We’ll die if you don’t!
Make it stop!
There was never a time he seemed to be satisfied until after the issue was fixed. It always seemed to be fixed rather quickly. When the loud noises began (what was that horrible wailing!?), there was a solution to the problem nearby.
“Bruce! The baby is crying again!”
This voice was younger than the rest, much, much younger. Damian didn’t care though. He didn’t care about anything. Only himself. Only his discomfort.
Make it stop, make it stop, make it—
His whole world was lifted, and two hands seemed to encompass his entire form.
“He’s okay—just hungry.”
The moment something was pushed into his mouth—he just knew what to do. He sucked and drank up… whatever this thing was… and that immediately shut the noise up. Thank God. He hated that annoying noise. It only made him angry.
“Can I try?”
“What? Feeding him?”
“Yeah. You said he’s my little brother now, right? I have to learn how to do it anyways.”
A silent pause.
“Alright.” Agreement. “Hold out your arms.”
No, no, no. Bring the thing back. Bring it back. Bring it—
The noise—why is the noise back? Not the noise, please.
“He doesn’t like me.”
“No, he’s just fussy. He’ll like you plenty once you give him some milk. Here. Sit down in the rocking chair.”
Damian’s world shifts. There’s movement. He doesn’t care about the movement though. Or does he? It’s awfully distracting.
The sound picked up in volume. Damian was just about ready to go insane until—
Oh. There it is.
Peace.
The thing is pressed into his mouth again. Good.
“Just like that. Good job.”
“He eats all day.”
“I could say the same for you. You have a bottomless pit for a stomach.”
“Yeah, but I don’t cry about it.”
“Are you sure? I remember you throwing a tantrum because—”
“I was cranky, and I just came back from a long day at school. I deserved food!”
“Well, Damian is cranky, and he’s had a hard day too.”
“That’s different. He doesn’t do anything but nap.”
They talk and talk. Damian listened but, still, nothing made connections in his mind. He was mostly focused on eating. There was nothing more important—nothing more vital.
Eat.
Sleep.
That’s all that mattered.
Eat.
Sleep.
Eat.
Sleep.
Eat—
NOISE!
Too much noise. What’s that noise!? What’s that irritating, horrific noise!?
“You always were a night owl.”
Damian knew this person. He’ll fix his problems. Yes. He’s certain of it. Problem-fixer is here.
Hands dug underneath his body and lifted him up. Then there was talking and mumbling. A rejected thing in his mouth—the life-giving thing.
“Not hungry?”
They move around. The longer the world tilted, the quieter the noise became. Then there was a new sound. A soft sound. A nice sound.
It was better than whatever that other sound was. Damian listened to it intently and focused in on it.
He was okay. For now.
“Oh my, is my face that interesting to you?”
He couldn’t see much, but he could make out shapes. Images. There was something hovering above him. Whatever was hovering above him was somehow responsible for feeding him right now, and it also seemed to possess a voice that was capable of making sounds.
“Well, your face is an identical copy to that of your father’s,” the hovering thing continued. “I remember holding him and feeding him just like this.”
The hovering thing kept talking to him as he stared. He couldn’t stop staring. There were lots of things to look at. Odd things. Hovering things. Tall things. Strange looking things. With each passing day, they seemed to become clearer. He noticed more.
Like vivid blue eyes and a mouth that moved with each sound.
“You’re getting big, huh?”
Something was holding him up, inspecting him. Damian stared at the thing, the caregiver. He looked into the eyes and saw that they moved around.
“He’s so fat, Bruce.”
Silence.
“Yeah, he’s a little fat.”
“His cheeks weren’t this chubby when we first found him.”
“That’s because he’s healthy now and growing into his body.”
Another span of muteness. Damian’s position changed and then he looked up at his caregiver. He stared at his chin instead of his eyes. Until those eyes looked back down again.
“He’s going to be so happy this time around. He’ll get to live a normal life and be a normal kid.”
“Yeah.”
“He won’t ever have to worry about the League and—” A breath. “He won’t be alone.”
“Yes.” An answer. Then an added response. “Neither will you. Or Jason. We’re going to be a family this time. No crime. No capes.”
A noise. These people make a lot of noises, Damian realized.
“You don’t have to remind me. I agreed to that a long time ago.”
Another sound. A grunt. Then the caregiver patted his belly and rested a big hand on it.
Damian didn’t know why, but from that point forward, he liked putting a hand on his stomach before going to bed. He patted his own belly, just like the caregiver did every time he had to go to sleep. It didn’t seem to feel as good, but it was better than nothing. It also got rid of the irritating—ear-grating—noise in the middle of the night. When Damian woke up, he just had to pat, pat, pat with his fist.
Sometimes the noise still happened though.
“Tell him to shut up! I can’t sleep—!”
“Master Jason!”
“Don’t worry about him, Alfred, I’ll take him out to get some fresh air.”
“Thank you, Master Dick.”
“I just want to sleep! I haven’t gotten any sleep—”
Bad sound. Damian hated that sound. He—
“Oh goodness gracious, Master Damian. Must you compete?”
Everyone seemed to get together around feeding time, eating things that Damian had never noticed until now. He reached forward and—
“I don’t think so.” A hand pulled his grabby hand away. “You’re not ready for that yet, bub.”
I want.
He was about to make a fuss about it until the life-giver was pushed into his mouth. Damian accepted it happily, sighing and suckling and grunting.
“Growing so big, aren’t you?”
“Is he ever going to be as big as me?” Jason asked. “It’s going to be forever.”
“Time will flash by in the blink of an eye,” Alfred said. “Don’t rush it. We may as well enjoy this time while we can. Before the two of you start getting into fights over toys and other things.”
“I’m too old for toys.”
“Jason, you play with action figures all the time,” Dick pointed out.
“That’s different!”
“Not too different,” Bruce agreed.
Everyone continued to tease, squabble, and bicker until it was time to leave. Everyone left the room, and Damian was alone with the secondary caregiver. He had a lot to do, always moving around and doing things with his hands.
“Let’s put you down now, hm?”
He was put into a contraption that seemed to carry all of his weight and move around with the twist of his body. It could cross the floor as lightning speed, much faster than his crawling.
As Damian ran around on the tile, Alfred busied himself at the kitchen sink. Damian was familiar with the sink, for he’d been given several baths in it. He liked the running water sometimes. This time, he was disinterested. He wanted to go wherever he wanted.
This is the greatest day ever.
This time, he wasn’t woken up by the irritating noise.
“Hey buddy.”
Dick pulled him out of his crib, walked back towards the rocking chair, and then collapsed in it. He secured Damian in his arms and made sure he was comfortable.
The chair began to creak, and the floorboards underneath did the same.
It was quiet for a good long while. Damian nearly fell back to sleep. Probably would have, if his older brother didn’t start talking. Damian paid rapt attention after that, staring at his moving lips. How did they do that?
“Never really did get to say sorry, did I?” A shaky exhale. “Or goodbye. If I’d known that you were suffering—I wouldn’t have—no—what am I saying? I shouldn’t have left you alone to begin with. I should have been there for you. I should have—” A hitch in his breath. “I’m sorry Damian. I’m sorry.”
Lips. So fascinating.
“Let’s do this whole family thing better this time around. If you do my best, I’ll do my best too.”
Lips. Moving. How? How did they make sounds?
“Don’t give up on us this time, alright? If you’re hurting, come to one of us. We’ll get you through it.”
He was tired of the lips. He was tired in general. His vision was blurring, and the rocking never seemed to stop. It was perfect for lulling him to sleep.
Sleep.
Yes. He rather liked sleep, and what better place to sleep than in his older brother’s arms?
Hm.
Maybe Father’s arms.
Damian sure liked all of this cheering for him.
“Da—I mean Bruce! Look! Come look! He’s standing on his own! BRUCE!”
Running and squawking and noises and all kinds of things. But then there was Father, and then there was Jason. Jason pointed at Damian standing next to a chair, grabbing onto it, and supporting himself. Father didn’t look terribly amazed, but Jason was so astonished that he played along.
“Damian, look at you,” Father complimented, “you always never fail to exceed my expectations.”
His heart thumped.
Huh?
That was unusual.
Damian didn’t have time to wonder about it when he was lifted up in the air and popped up. Damian took a good moment just to register what the heck that was after Father caught him. His father secured him on his hip, but Damian was still whiplashed at whatever that was.
“We were just messing around—playing with his blocks and stuff but then—he just—he decided to—” Jason could barely get his words out. He was ten times more excited than anyone else in the room.
Damian tuned out as Jason continued to speak on, encouraged by their father who either hummed in the affirmative, or spoke to give Jason acknowledgment. Damian leaned his head against his father’s chest and felt 100% safe in his arms. There was no other place that could provide more protection. That’s why he liked being with his father, and that’s why he liked being with Alfred too. They knew how to hold him and how to make him feel happy.
“—ery proud of you for playing blocks with Damian and for being patient with him. I know it’s not easy but—”
“What are you saying? He’s my kid brother. We’re going to play catch once he gets older, and I’m going to teach him everything I know! We have to work on his hand-eye coordination until then!’
“Where did you learn about hand-eye coordination?” Father stiffened.
“The internet said that if you play video games, you have good hand-eye coordination.”
Father’s tension released in an instant.
But then he seemed to stiffen again. “The internet? Did you sneak into the office again?”
“Yeah but—”
“You know that’s exclusively for adults, correct?”
“It’s just a stuffy office, and the computer in there is ten times better than the ones at the school library!”
Damian tuned them out once Father started scolding Jason, and falling asleep in his father’s arms was an unintentional side-effect.
Oh well.
He’d wake up later, anyways. When Father was laying him down and tucking him into his crib.
“Don’t be in a rush to grow up, sweetheart,” he sounded so sad. “Enjoy your childhood. That all I want for you.”
A tender kiss to the forehead. Then the swipe of his (currently) thin hair.
Damian fell asleep quickly.
Unaware, and ignorant.
...
...
...
Wait.
Was he a baby!?
“Bruce,” Dick’s voice echoed throughout the cave, “are you really going to do this?”
“You don’t have to come with me. I know all the possibilities and I know that things might go wrong. But I don’t care what Flash or what anyone else thinks. I’m going to change things. I’m going to change everything.”
“I’m not here to stop you,” Dick said. He grabbed his father’s arm and forced him to look at him. “I’m here to join you.”
Dick let his words hang in the air until a sufficient amount of time had passed. Then he continued.
“If you’re going to change things, I want to be right there with you. There’s a lot we’ll be able to prevent if we work together. We’ll find Damian and… we’ll stop him.” Dick’s grip faltered. “We can do other things too. Stop Jason from dying. Stop Tim’s parents from dying. Keep Barbara out of the business.”
“Keep everyone out of the business,” Bruce corrected. “We’re not going to do this again. Not if it means sacrificing everyone’s happiness or sacrificing my children.”
“I get it. I’m with you all the way. Gotham was never going to get better anyways. No matter what we did, how many lives we saved, it didn’t drop Gotham’s crime rates. I still believe we can make Gotham better, but without having to sacrifice our sleep, health, and family. We just have to change our approach.”
Bruce stared at his oldest son. The only one who’d dropped everything to attend Damian’s funeral.
The others were too engrossed in vigilante life. Drowning in misery and work. Never stopping, not even to take a breath. Always, always, pushing through mud and never finding dry land to stand on.
“Today, we’re stopping a legacy from ever forming,” Bruce swore. This was it. He was taking Dick with him. Back in time.
“And then we’ll start a better one,” Dick promised.
A healthy one.
A healing one.