Chapter Text
Damian awoke to the desolate noise of a whirring air conditioner. It was odd. The manor did not have audible air conditioning, nor was it used often, given the gloomy atmosphere of Gotham. It was obvious. It was devastatingly obvious.
Damian was not home.
He truly had no idea where he could possibly be. The boy had no recollection of the events before waking up.
Underneath him was bare concrete. It seemed he was in a basement. Additionally, he was in his civilian form, so this was not a villainous act on behalf of Robin. Damian found himself too weak to move his legs, much less stand up. He deduced that it was the reason for the lack of chains.
It was quite obvious he’d been kidnapped. His brothers assured him that being kidnapped was a common feat as a Wayne child. Usually, the perpetrator was looking for money, which Father always complied with. In the rare instance where it wasn’t about money, well, Batman would be on the case quickly.
Damian was not worried. If he were somehow unable to escape. He was sure Father would find him within hours.
The door to the basement opened with a whine. Damian had gotten so used to the dark, he flinched when the light flickered on.
“Oh, Damian!” a man exclaimed. “You’re awake!”
Damian stared with scrutiny. The man was on the chubby side with an extremely large build. He had greasy blond hair and a cleanly shaved face.
“I’ve been waiting so long to have you,” he admitted. “You’re so much prettier up close.”
Damian grimaced at the language. He hoped Father would arrive soon.
“Have you contacted my Father yet?” Damian asked. “I’m sure the money you desire will be sent over promptly.”
The man’s face went from disgustingly obsessive to perpetually angry. “I do not want money! I want you! I want you! Why are you talking?! You are mine. You do not speak.”
Damian pursed his lips. Clearly, the man had some kind of psychosis.
“I can speak whenever I feel the urge, you piece of scum,” Damian snarled.
“No! No!” He stormed out of the basement, leaving the door wide open. If only Damian could move his legs.
He came back with a frown. “I told you to be quiet. I told you.”
Damian noticed something metal clutched in his hand. It was far too bulky to be any kind of weapon.
The man came at him with the object. “Get away!” Damian yelped.
“Stop talking!” The man screeched.
He whipped Damian across the face with the metal object. His face began to throb with pain. Before he could recover, Damian’s head was being slammed against the wall. His jaw was grabbed with vigour. The metal object cupped around his mouth while the man pried his jaw open. An additional piece of metal pressed down on his tongue, preventing him from speaking.
The device clamped around his face. Damian had been muzzled.
His chest stuttered as he attempted to breathe through his mouth.
“There,” the man sighed. “Isn’t that better?”
Damian glared daggers at him.
“Now,” he began, “I think the timer is about to go off for your medicine.”
The boy had absolutely no idea what the idiot was spewing. Damian had little time to ponder it before he was being distracted by hands on him. His breath hitched with what Damian refused to admit was fear. Father was coming, he chanted.
The man picked him up, and Damian could hardly protest with his limbs that refused to cooperate. He stroked Damian’s hair, and the boy cringed at the feeling.
“You can call me David. But you can’t really, can you? Because you can’t talk.”
Damian struggled as he heavily breathed through his nose. The stairs up slowly revealed the rest of the house, or wherever he was. David placed him on the floor and walked over to a glass of water. He began to crush up pills and dissolve them into the water.
The beep of the microwave broke Damian’s focus.
“Ah! There it is,” David cryptically announced. He walked over to the microwave to stop it from beeping and started another timer that looked to be counting down from six hours. The appliance didn’t glow as it usually did when turned on, nor was there a steady hum. It was simply counting down. It was just a timer.
David walked over to him and restrained him against the floor. He gripped Damian by the hair and forced his head to tip back. Damian’s eyes widened in panic as he spotted the glass firmly held in David’s hand. He began to tip it over Damian’s muzzled mouth.
With Damian’s mouth forced open, he had no choice but to choke down the bitter liquid. He couldn’t breathe. Damian couldn’t breathe. Father was coming. Father was coming.
“Good boy,” David praised as Damian convulsed on the floor.
He tried to hack up the leftover liquid in his mouth, but all that accomplished was the substance pooling in the muzzle. His weak, pathetic limbs could hardly hold his body weight. Damian collapsed onto the hard tile of the kitchen. His kidnapper was keeping him malleable and complacent. Mute and drugged.
Before Damian could look around for an escape strategy, his vision swam. The last drags of light splotched with black as Damian passed out.
The next time his eyes opened, there was a voice next to him.
“Y’know, it’s so surreal having you this up close. I always had to watch you from far away.”
Damian groaned, trying to scoot away from the noise.
“I liked it when you were at school. That’s when you were outside the most. It’s much better than looking through a window.”
The realization should have dawned on Damian much sooner. This man was a stalker. His stalker. He had been tailing Damian for who knows how long, and he hadn’t noticed. Damian: trained by assassins and Batman, didn’t notice someone following him.
It was more than money.
It was so much more than money.
But Father would come.
Jason eyed his phone with a glare. It had been blowing up, first by Bruce, which Jason gladly ignored, then by Dick. At first, it was just a call every two hours or so. The next day, Dick was calling him all morning, and it eventually turned into Bruce calling him all afternoon.
Fed up, Jason decided to pick up.
“Jason,” Bruce sighed.
“Stop fucking calling me,” Jason threatened. He didn’t need to put anything on the line. Bruce already knew it was a threat.
“We need your help. I need your help.”
“Well, this is a first. The great big Bat asking for help.”
Bruce was selfish. He was selfish before Jason died, and he was selfish now. He probably wanted help on some stupid case that had a connection to crime alley. Jason would obviously know people, and Bruce wanted in on that. Jason decided he would not so kindly ask Bruce to shove his request up his—
“Damian is missing.”
Everything stopped. Jason stopped breathing, Bruce stopped talking.
“When?” Jason rasped.
No more dead Robins. Jason thought he had cemented that idea after his interaction with Tim. The one that involved bleeding out of Tim’s neck.
“Four days ago,” Bruce admitted. “He wasn’t taken as Robin. We thought the perpetrator would send demands, but so far, nothing. That means he had an ulterior motive.”
“And those are never good,” Jason finalized.
“No, they’re not,” he agreed.
“Did you place a missing persons report?”
“Yes,” Bruce whispered. “Gordan said the first seventy-two hours are critical and now that we’ve passed that…”
“B, it’s Damian,” Jason amended. “That kid can survive anything.”
“Just please help, Jaylad. Please.”
Jason clenched the phone in his hand. “If I find anything, I’ll get back to you.”
And then he hung up.
Damian woke up in the basement again.
His muzzle had been removed at some point while he was unconscious, yet the remains of saliva were still caked around his mouth. He tried his best to wipe it off in disgust.
If Father was going to take his sweet time, Damian was going to have to find his own means of escape. Considering Damian was conscious, he surmised that a new dose of drugs was to be given to him soon. Therefore, Damian had to escape in the little time frame he was awake.
His legs were still weak, but he attempted to stand nonetheless. Damian grit his teeth in frustration when he tumbled to the hard concrete floor. He swallowed his pride and began to drag himself to the door. Damian reached to test the handle, fully expecting it to be locked.
David was stupider than he realized, because the door to the basement was unlocked.
Damian assumed this was because he expected him to be catatonic. Perhaps David underestimated the amount of time Damian would be asleep. Either way, it made the escape much smoother.
Damian slowly pried open the door and glared at the stairs in utter despair. He could hardly maneuver across the floor, let alone an inclined surface. Yet, it was his only option, so Damian got started on the first step. His arms ached by the time he made it to the top, but a victory was a victory.
And there it was: the front door.
Damian attempted to pick up speed, crawling his way to the exit. Just as he reached up for the handle, the beep of the microwave sounded throughout the house.
“No,” Damian muttered, desperately trying the handle. It was locked.
Damian turned around to search for a key and came face-to-face with David’s knees.
“Damian,” David began, voice gruff, “you are supposed to be a good boy and listen to instructions. You are mine now.”
“Fuck you,” Damian swore, coralling himself up against the door. “I am not owned by anyone.”
“I said you are mine!” David screamed, slamming his fist against the wall.
Damian flinched at the dent it left.
“Bad boys get punished,” David growled. He stalked over ot Damian with haste.
If Damian wasn’t drugged, he could fight back. If Father came, he wouldn’t have to fight back. If, if, if.
The first smack to Damian’s face sent him sprawled across the floor. He could taste blood in his mouth, unsure if it was from his tongue or his cheek. A heavy boot slammed into his stomach, enough to cause Damian to lurch with nausea.
He curled into a ball on the floor as the kicks came in quick succession. Damian had been in pain before; he could deal with more, he told himself. A crack sounded throughout the room, and Damian deduced it must have been one of his ribs, hopefully just cracked and not broken.
When David paused, Damian dared to peek up. His captor was removing his belt. Damian’s breath hitched. He knew what happened to kids in the hands of evil people. There was a good chance it was going to happen to him now. David was obsessed with him.
But the belt came down on his back, eliciting a sharp cry from Damian’s mouth. This was better, he thought. After the first few strikes, Damian allowed his mind to wander. He let himself stare off into space, away from his body, away from the pain. Damian fell into the beautiful world of dissociation.
He was startled back to himself when he felt something being poured into his mouth.
The microwave. The drugs.
Before Damian could attempt to spit it out, his mouth was covered by a large hand. Damian began to struggle when his nose was pinched. It felt like drowning. The only choice he had was to swallow the drugs or drown.
He felt the liquid unwillingly slosh down his throat as his body forced him to swallow. The hand was removed from his mouth and nose, finally allowing Damian to gasp in bouts of air. He slowly felt the pain ebb away from his torso, his body floating and painless.
David picked up the muzzle and strapped it to his face. “Good boys don’t talk.”
Damian had no idea how long he’d been trapped. David gave him no clue, hesitant to even tell him what the weather was like.
It was explicitly obvious that Father wasn’t coming. Perhaps he had given up, or perhaps he hadn’t been looking at all.
By now, Damian had gotten used to the way things went. The microwave timer went off, and Damian complicitly swallowed the drugged water. He suspected he hadn’t said a word in over a week's time, but the days blurred together. Damian always enjoyed time without the muzzle.
Today, however, was different. Damian had not yet been visited by David, and there was the unusual sound of pop music blaring from upstairs. After a quick break from the music, Damian heard a man’s cheery voice; he suspected David was listening to the radio.
And then Damian heard the front door. Someone was here. Someone could help him. He tried to call for help over the music, but his voice was most likely muffled by the concrete walls. It was no use. Besides, anyone who hung out with David probably wouldn’t be much help.
The company stayed over for a while, enough to make Damian have to listen to his stomach grumble for a couple of hours.
The tradition soon came to be. When Damian heard the annoying trill of pop music, he knew he was going to sit on the hard concrete floor and starve for the rest of the night.
Jason hadn’t given up on looking for Damian—no one had—but there were still other crimes and still other children in danger. Jason eventually had to investigate Damian’s case in his free time instead of letting it consume his time all day. Crime alley had gone months without Red Hood appearing regularly, and crime was getting worse.
Batman was as violent as ever. Tim said it rivalled the time Jason died. Every criminal could see why—they could see the absence of Robin.
Dick was… silent. After the initial search died down, Dick spiralled into a depression. Jason tried to cheer him up, but without his little brother, it was a useless endeavour. It was clear Dick blamed himself. Damian had gone missing after school, while Dick was late picking him up. Dick couldn’t have prevented it, even if he had gotten there early. They suspected the perpetrator didn’t take Damian because he happened to be the most vulnerable child there. He had always planned to take Damian.
Tim was trying to stop Batman from beating people to death while also trying to manage searching for Damain by hacking into every known camera in Gotham City. The kid was running himself ragged.
So Jason focused on other criminals. Because he was the only one who hadn’t gone crazy, and he was afraid that if he focused solely on Damian’s case, no one would be sane enough to find him.
David finally told Damian that he had been there for five months.
Damian doubted he could even talk anymore, given how long he hadn’t. He was utterly complacent, taking his drugs, not talking, and staving off the starvation when he heard the tinny noise of the radio.
“I think it’s time you needed a bath,” David suggested.
Damian stared up at him with his blown-out pupils. He had no way to protest apart from a weak strain in his limbs as he was picked up. David carried him to his bathroom and set him down on the closed toilet lid. Damian had never been in the bathroom before. He was supposed to relieve himself in a bucket kept in the corner of the basement.
David started the bath, and Damian flinched at the sound of water hitting the porcelain. Rough hands reached for him and began taking off his clothes. Damian closed his eyes and hoped it was just for the bath.
Sure enough, David lifted him into the water, which stung at his raw skin. Damian sat in the water that went up to his stomach. He was unsure of what to do. Was he to begin washing himself? David usually told him what to do.
So, in hopes of being complacent, Damian continued to sit in the tub and stare at the ripples of water. Eventually, he felt hands on his hair, scrubbing soap into his unruly locks. Damian stayed perfectly still to appease him.
When Damian slowly leaned back to wash out the soap, he felt a hand on his face, shoving him down into the water.
Damian could feel his legs kick out in protest, trying to shake the man off of him. He didn’t know why David was doing this. Damian was being good—he made sure he was being good. He took his drugs, he didn’t speak, and he went hungry when people were over.
Eventually, Damian’s vision was spotted with black, and he unwillingly gulped in bath water.
He awoke with a cough and hands pressing down on his chest. He rolled over to hack the water out of his lungs, and only then did he notice the voice.
“I’m so sorry, Damian. I’m so sorry,” David chanted.
Damian tried to get his bearings on the tiny bath mat.
“You just looked so peaceful underwater. I wanted to keep you there.”
Damian wanted to ask if he’d been bad, but he also didn’t want the muzzle.
“You did a good job coughing up the water. When you went limp, I thought I lost what was mine.”
So it was an accident. David didn’t mean to shove him underwater. He just thought Damian looked better when he was drowning. He supposed it made sense… he just hoped David didn’t do it again.
As Damian shivered on the floor, David wrapped a towel around him. Damian snuggled into the warmth, trying not to focus on the pain in his chest. He suspected David had cracked, possibly broken, a couple of Damian’s ribs when performing CPR. It was nothing Damian wasn’t used to. His back was already littered with belt lashes, and his torso was bruised like a world map.
“I’m so lucky to have you. Everyone would be so jealous if they knew,” David cooed.
Damian pulled the towel tighter around himself.
It was around a month later when David came down the steps to the basement. He began to tie Damian’s hands together with rope.
“Good boys don’t struggle,” he said.
Damian limply allowed his hands to be tied, grateful that at least his feet were free. When he was done, David stepped back to admire his work. Then he leaned over Damian and…
He never said anything about a bath.
Damian unknowingly made a muted whine as he felt the waistband of his pants being dragged down. When David’s hands returned for his boxers, Damian lashed out, screeching and trying to rip his hands free. David smacked him on the cheek and tried again, only for Damian to react the same way.
With a frustrated yell, David reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. “I told you to be still!”
David stabbed the blade into Damian’s wrist. If it wasn’t concrete below him, the knife would have pinned his arm to the floor. Damian cried out and prayed that David wouldn’t get the muzzle. Blood seeped from the wound in bountiful rushes, pooling onto the floor.
Damian squirmed as David pulled his boxers down.
He picked a spot on the wall and let his mind retreat from his body.
When Damian came back to himself, he was a heap on the concrete floor, covered in blood and bodily fluids. His legs were numb, and Damian couldn’t tell if it was because of the drugs or other things. The knife was still plunged into his wrist.
Damian closed his eyes and hoped the next time he opened his eyes, David would be dead.
Damian had been missing for eight months now. Jason was no further than he was eight months ago. It was frustrating, it was horrible. Jason just wanted his little brother back.
Unfortunately, crime was still very much apparent in the alley, and Jason was the one who had to deal with it. There was a trafficking ring he had been following. They were selling kids by auction, and Jason was loath to find out the things that happened to them (what might be happening to Damian).
While the actual operation was hard to take down, Jason had recently gotten word on who organized the auctions. If Jason could at least take one asshole down, it would be a whole lot better. Besides, it would stop the auctions until a new douchebag came into play.
His name was David Archibald.
Finding his address was like taking candy from a baby. The guy was insane, partly an idiot. He had two counts of sexual assault, but had served his jail time and gotten out. Jason wanted to put a bullet through his skull.
Red Hood drove up to the home and parked his bike just outside. He wasn’t trying to be discreet. He clambered up to the front door and kicked it in, cocking his gun.
“David!” he called, “you home?”
David seemingly sprang out of his bed and rushed to where he had heard Red Hood. Jason stared at him, gun lazily slung in his hand.
“NO,” David cried, “he’s mine. You can’t take him!”
Jason stopped dead in his tracks. He had a kid here? He had a kid hostage here, and Jason didn’t even know?
Red Hood levelled the gun at David’s forehead. “You gonna go easy, or am I gonna have to shoot you?”
David lunged for a knife in the kitchen. Jason shot him in the forehead.
David’s body crumpled to the floor in a heap. If Bruce found out what he did, he would be pissed, but Jason didn’t give a rat's ass. Anyone hurting kids deserved to die.
Jason decided to check the guy’s bedroom first. There was nothing of use there, only a few addresses scribbled out and a file with photos Jason didn’t bother to look at. He didn’t want to have nightmares, thanks.
The bathroom was clear, and the next possible room was the basement. Jason took off his helmet in preparation to talk down a kid. When he pried open the door, Jason lost his breath.
“Damian…?”
The kid looked up. His eyes were sunken in, pupils dilated to high hell, and he was covered in blood.
“Oh, kid,” Jason whispered, relieved. What were the chances? “We’ve been looking for you.”
Damian didn’t say a word and curled in on himself, clutching his injured hand to his chest. Jason slowly crept closer and kneeled in front of him. There was blood caked on the inside of his thighs, and Jason hated the implications of it. He pulled off his jacket to cover Damian’s bare legs.
“Can I see your hand, buddy?”
Damian obediently gave his hand to Jason and didn’t make a noise as he inspected the knife wound in his wrist. It was infected, covered in burning red skin and pus.
“We’d better get to the hospital, huh? Let’s call your dad first.”
Jason pulled out his phone and dialled Bruce’s number. It only rang for about two seconds.
“Hello?” Bruce greeted.
“Hey, B, I found Damian,” Jason delicately informed.
Bruce’s breath hitched. “Where are you? I’m on my way.”
“I’m taking him to the hospital; you should meet us there. Damian needs treatment right now.”
“Can you—can you at least let me talk to him?” Bruce begged.
“He hasn’t said a word, but I’ll put you on speaker,” Jason allowed.
As soon as Jason clicked the button, Bruce's voice echoed in the basement. “Hey, sweetheart. I’m going to meet you at the hospital, alright? You stay with your big brother, and he’ll keep you safe. I love you, baby.”
Damian was definitely listening, yet he didn’t say a word. Jason sent him a weak smile.
“Alright, B, he heard you. I’ll see you at the hospital.” Jason hung up before Bruce tried to get him to stay on the phone any longer.
He stood up and reached down for Damian. The kid didn’t flinch back, but he looked at Jason warily, as if he wasn’t sure what he was doing. Jason scooped him up from under his arms, making sure the jacket was still wrapped around him. Damian’s legs hugged his waist, and the kid rested his head on Jason’s shoulder, as if it was too tiring to hold it up. It probably was.
Jason swayed as he walked, trying to make the boy feel better.
“We’re gonna have to get on my bike, kiddo,” Jason warned. He feared he didn’t have time to wait for Bruce to get there in a car due to Damian’s hand injury.
Damian, with the same demeanour he had had the whole night, didn’t so much as nod at the sentence, yet Jason could tell he understood.
Jason put him on the bike first before getting on and blanketing Damian with his body. The boy leaned back into him when Jason started the bike. The poor kid was probably cold from the air on his legs.
Jason raced to the hospital with his baby brother.
When Damian saw Jason, he thought he was dreaming. His brother looked magical coming down those basement steps—like a saviour. Damian could hardly process it, blindly listening to instructions.
Until he heard Father.
At first, it had Damian looking around for him in the room until he spotted the phone in Jason’s hands. Jason will keep me safe. Father loves me.
Damian repeated the thoughts in his head like a mantra.
When they arrived at the hospital, doctors were poking and prodding at him. They took Jason’s jacket away, and Damian had a fit as much as he could while being mute. When they brought out the rape kit, Jason held onto his non-injured hand and rubbed his thumb along it as a distraction.
Damian wasn’t quite sure when he decided to check out, but it happened sometime when he felt too many hands on him. He came back to himself when he heard a voice.
“Hey, your dad’s here,” one of the nurses said. Jason nodded, briefly taking his eyes off Damian.
When Jason turned back and looked into his eyes, he smiled. “Hey, look who’s back.”
And then Father stormed in. His eyes were wide with panic as they flitted around the room. Jason rubbed his shoulder when Father’s eyes landed on him.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Father breathlessly whispered, “I missed you, baby.”
Father slowly approached him. He brushed his fingers across Damian’s scalp before placing a kiss against his forehead. Jason rose from his chair and ushered Father over. Damian let out a terrified squeak, causing Jason to pause. Damian didn’t want Jason to leave. Sure, Father would keep him safe, but Jason had saved him.
Jason shrugged off his jacket and placed it over Damian. The boy had to admit it was nice to have.
Damian eyed the two men as they stood in the corner of the room, whispering to each other. Each time Jason spoke, Father’s eyes darkened, mouth creasing. Damian heard “infection” and “rape” before he decided to stop eavesdropping.
He was having a hard time staying present. It was far too appealing to let his mind wander to a place where he wouldn’t have to think about anything; where he wouldn’t have to think about the hands on him, the ropes biting into his wrists, the muzzle around his—
“How are you feeling?” Father asked. Damian didn’t remember Father moving to sit right in front of him.
Damian clutched Jason’s jacket tighter, relishing in the heavy weight of it. Father looked upset, and Damian had no clue why. Did he want an answer? Damian couldn’t answer. That meant he would have to wear the muzzle again, and he absolutely did not want that.
“Damian?” Father asked again. “Can you hear me, chum?”
Damian looked to Jason for support, who was standing beside Father. Jason’s face screwed up in an odd manner before his lips twisted into a curt smile. Damian could tell it was fake, yet somehow reassuring.
Damian turned back to Father and nodded. Even after all that happened, Damian had not lost his hearing. His father audibly inhaled; it was shaky and nothing like the Father Damian knew.
“Can I hear your voice, baby?” Father begged. His voice was choked.
Damian frowned and shook his head. Didn’t Father know that was bad? Damian was not meant to talk.
But David was gone. So why couldn’t Damian talk?
Father turned away to hide his face from Damian. The action was concerning enough for him to look at Jason for assistance. Jason combed Damian’s hair back and squeezed his shoulder before turning to his father. His brother leaned down and whispered something into Father’s ear, and miraculously, Father sprang back up with a forced smile.
“That’s alright,” Father reassured. “I think you’re just about ready to head home, huh?”
Damian studied him with a thoughtful expression. Home sounded nice. Damian wanted to see Titus especially. As well as both of the Alfreds. He nodded with renewed excitement and inwardly beamed when Father flashed him a smile.
Sure enough, the doctor came in and gave Father a run-down on how to care for Damian. The boy tried very little to listen in. It was tiring to focus—everything was tiring.
“Alright, let’s go.” Father turned to Jason. “And thank you, Jay.”
Jason uncomfortably nodded. He moved to exit the room, causing Damian to let out an undignified shriek. Both men turned to him, concerned. Damian reached for Jason, and once he was close enough, refused to let go.
Father studied the two. “Do you want Jason to come to the manor with us?”
Damian insistently nodded before reaching up to communicate that he wanted to be carried. Walking seemed hard and completely unnecessary. Jason took one look at Damian and sighed. He scooped Damian from under his arms and held him chest-to-chest.
Jason smelled like home—he smelled safe. Jason had saved him; Father hadn’t.
Damian refused to let go of Jason, resulting in him having to sit in the backseat with him while Father drove. Absently, Damian wondered why Alfred wasn’t at the wheel, however, the thought dispersed as quickly as it came. He watched the scenery go by and realized he had forgotten the feeling of wind on his face. The car was blissfully silent.
Until Damian heard the familiar tune of the radio and a blaringly recognizable pop song.
The effect was instant. Damian was back with David in the basement. His stomach hurt because he was so, so hungry. Damian wanted something to eat, but he had to be quiet. David had guests, and bad boys got muzzled. Damian didn’t want to be muzzled—
“Kiddo?” Jason muttered. “What’s up? What happened?”
Father peered back in the rear-view mirror.
“Talk to me, Dames.” Jason gently shook his shoulder. “Breathe, buddy. C’mon, you’re safe. Breathe with me.”
Damian could feel the cold concrete floor on his shins.
“Bruce,” Jason gritted with a strained voice.
“Damian, can you hear me?” Father asked. Damian didn’t respond; good boys don’t talk.
He stared at the radio placed right near Father’s arm. When was the last time Damian ate? How much longer was he going to go hungry? How long were the guests—how long was the radio going to stay on?
Jason jolted. “The radio! It’s the radio, fuck, turn it off!”
And once again, the car went silent. Damian sagged into his brother.
“There,” Jason soothed. “There, deep breaths. You’re good. We’re good.”
Damian gulped in heaving breaths, trying to stop his chest from feeling so tight. Jason’s hand was warm on his back, rubbing against his spine. Father continued to divide his attention from the road to Damian in a consistent manner.
“We’re almost home,” Father assured.
Jason detested going back to the manor, but denying his recently abducted and traumatized little brother was the last thing he wanted to do. Damian refused to let go of him, even preferring to be carried by Jason. It was crazy. It was unbelievable.
They had never had a close relationship. That was always Damian and Dick, sometimes even Bruce. Jason was… reckless. He was irresponsible. He wasn’t supposed to be his baby brother’s only comfort.
And yet he was.
When the car pulled into the garage, Damian refused to get out of the car.
Bruce stood behind him as Jason tried to coax the boy out.
“Don’t you want to see Alfie?” Jason crooned. Damian stared at him with glass eyes.
Jason helplessly looked back at Bruce, honestly desperate for anything. Bruce seemed to mull something over before he left and quickly returned with Titus on a leash.
“Look who came to see you, baby,” Bruce announced, leading the dog to the open car door.
Damian’s eyes instantly locked onto his pet, though he was hesitant to reach a hand out. Jason frowned at the implications. Damian was so… not Damian. He would have never hesitated to pet Titus, let alone any animal he came across. That man was horrible. He was evil. Jason was glad he was dead.
“Titus missed you,” Bruce softly informed. “I’m sure he would like some pets.”
Damian finally wearily reached out and stroked Titus across the head. Jason had to give it to the mutt; he was doing well, staying calm and not overwhelming the kid, apart from his tail beating rapidly.
Damian was now within reach to be picked up, so Jason moved to gather him in his arms. “Up we go,” he sang.
Damian willingly allowed Jason to pick him up, abandoning the pets he was giving to Titus. Bruce held the door open as Jason entered the house with Damian curled into his hoodie. Alfred was just behind the door.
“I am so very happy to see you, Master Damian,” Alfred confessed.
Jason had never seen Alfred cry, but he figured the man was close considering the strain in his voice. Damian lifted his face away from the fabric to see Alfred, yet no noise came out of his mouth. Bruce moved to whisper into Alfred’s ear.
Jason turned away from them. “What sounds good right now? Your room? You wanna try to go find Dick?”
Of course, Damian didn’t say a word. The most Jason got out of him was a shrug before he rested back on his shoulder. It turned out they didn’t need to go far to find Dick. After moving further into the manor, Dick and Tim were spotted sitting on the couch. Both of their heads raised in an instant.
“Dami,” Dick whispered. He stood up and reached out to take Damian from Jason’s arms.
Jason was more than agreeable to hand Damian over to Dick, but he knew the kid wouldn’t react well to being away from him. Yet still, Jason allowed Dick to tug his little brother out of his arms. Damian yelped and hung on to Jason’s shirt with a vice grip, unwilling to let go. Dick had clearly noticed, judging by his furrowed brow.
“I’m right here, kid. Go and hug Dick. He’s like a plant that hasn’t been watered,” Jason urged.
Damian seemed to contemplate it for a moment. Eventually, his grip on Jason loosened, and he wriggled to be put down. Jason easily obliged. Dick was the right person for that kind of job. Jason was not caring. For fucks sake, he had tried to kill Tim not too long ago.
As soon as Damian’s feet hit the ground, Dick scooped him up into a bear hug.
“Oh, honey,” Dick tearfully muttered into the boy’s hair. “I missed you so much.”
Tim stood awkwardly to the side. He looked exhausted and proved it by flinching at Jason’s approach. Tim looked at him wearily.
“Why is..? Why is he–?” he stuttered, choked up.
Jason pursed his lips. He knew the replacement had a hard time when he didn’t know why something was happening. Damian was a very different boy from when the family had last seen him. Tim was confused. Jason was confused.
“He…” Jason began. “It was bad, Tim.”
They both looked back at Damian. Dick was smothering him so hard, they could hardly see the boy. Dick was muttering things Tim and Jason couldn’t hear while he rocked Damian. Jason stood helplessly while he watched a tear roll down Tim’s face. Tim never cried. Ever. Jason thought he was hallucinating at first.
Tim turned away from Jason’s gaze, probably embarrassed, and ended up turning right into Bruce’s arms, who had appeared in the room silently. Tim accepted the embrace much easier than Jason ever would have. It was cute. It was sad.
“How about a bath, Dami? Hmm?” Dick asked him, still rocking in a therapeutic motion.
And then Damian began to scream.
The effect was instantaneous, enough to cause Tim to flinch away from Bruce. Damian lashed in Dick’s arms, trying to claw himself away. The first noise Jason heard out of Damian in eight months was a horrific, terrified scream.
Jason reached out, although he was truly helpless about what to do. The demon brat was so… not.
Fortunately, Damian took the olive branch and tugged. Dick, whose arms were covered in bloody scratches, handed Damian over with a pained look in his eyes. Jason knew it wasn’t because of the injuries.
Damian latched onto him quickly, letting out tiny pants against Jason’s shoulder. He had never truly realized how small Damian was, but it was apparently clear when he was tucked up into Jason’s broad build. His hands were fisted in Jason’s t-shirt, obviously terrified.
“No bath,” Jason promised. “You’re alright, no bath.”
What had gone on in the bath that shook Damian so much? What had that monster done to him?
Damian still clung to Jason, however, once he regained his breath, he turned back to Dick. Upon seeing his injured arms, Damian’s eyes widened with horror. The kid clearly realized he had scratched up Dick’s arms like a feral cat.
Dick, the ever-knowing, simply smiled. “It’s alright, no sweat, kiddo. It doesn’t even hurt.”
Bruce stepped forward next. Tim was tucked up under his arm in a way Jason hadn’t seen since the boy was Robin. The poor kid was obviously overwhelmed. Like silk, Tim was smoothly passed to Dick, who enveloped him in his famous hugs. Tim dragged Dick somewhere else, probably to clean up his wounds.
Bruce stood directly behind Jason so he could look at Damian’s face. “What about a washcloth, hmm?”
Damian obediently nodded but didn’t let go of Jason. He had figured that would happen. So Jason carried him to the bathroom, which elicited as few flinches every time he inched closer to the bathtub, but eventually Damian settled when he was placed on the counter.
Alfred dutifully wiped the boy down, methodically stripping him of the grime that caked his skin. By the end, Damian had slumped over in exhaustion. Jason could see his eyes desperately trying to stay open, but they would involuntarily shut for more than a few seconds.
With Damian almost asleep, Jason finally got a break from holding him, but still followed him and Bruce up to his room just in case. Bruce looked relieved that he finally got to hold his boy. Hell, Jason would be devastated if he couldn’t hold his kid after not seeing them for eight months.
Softly, Bruce set Damian into his bed and draped the blankets over his body. Now and again, Damian’s eyes would flutter open, but Bruce quickly dealt with the issue and hushed him to sleep.
“I love you, baby. I’m so glad you’re home,” Bruce whispered, and Damian fell into a deep sleep.
Damian awoke with a start. He was—no, David was gone, Jason saved him. His chest stuttered while he tried to catch his breath.
Jason had saved Damian, and now he was safe at home, even though he kept making a big deal out of everything.
Damian rolled over and turned on his bedside lamp, then peered over to the other side to see Jason.
Yet, he was not there.
Jason was gone. Jason was gone, and Damian was not safe anymore.
The door to his room opened, and Damian scrambled up and darted under his bed.
And then he couldn’t breathe.