SUMMARY: Of all the people at Gotham Academy, you hated Tim Drake the most. Thankfully, your good friend Red Robin is always down for a trash talk session
WARNING: cursing, no use of y/n
WORD COUNT: 2K
A/N: this is a slight edit of an old fic, I figured I'd repost in my new style. I'm not a huge fan of established relationships, and I think it shows lmao.
Rich people suck. More specifically, rich teenagers suck. You should know, you go to school with one. Tim Drake, the pride and joy of Gotham Academy and the adopted son of Bruce Wayne. Was he adopted? You didn’t remember, but that didn’t matter. Mr. Wayne has a habit of picking up strays almost as bad as Batman, and Tim Drake was lucky enough to end up under his umbrella of wealth.
You had 3 classes with Tim Drake. He was smart, and most of the teachers liked him well enough; in fact, most of the school liked him. You, however, hated him. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but something about him was just off. Like he had some big secret or something.
No one at school seemed to agree with you on that. They all thought he was a perfect angel, so you stopped trying to convince them of your anti-Drake agenda a long time ago. Thankfully, you had one person in your life who always listened to your rants.
“He sounds like a douchebag,” Red Robin said, sitting cross-legged on your bed with an ice pack against his lip. 6 months ago, you found a beat-up hero on your fire escape and offered to help patch him up. A few days later, he came back to say thank you, and when you told him he was always welcome to stop by, it became a habit.
It was a mutually beneficial friendship. For him, it was an apartment almost exactly halfway between safe houses, so on nights like tonight, when he was a little bloody and bruised, he’d stop in. For you, it was a captivated audience for your late-night rants.
“Oh, he totally is! Thank you for that. No one ever agrees with me,” You rolled your eyes, thinking about how many times you’d heard people gush about the billionaire brat. You sat down across from him and opened the first aid kit you’d just dug out from under your bed.
You were too busy rifling through the various bandages and ointments to notice your vigilante friend desperately trying to hide his smirk. “Oh yeah, no problem,”
“He’s way smart too, which is super annoying.” You found the healing gel you were looking for. “I swear he’s hiding something; he must be like an alien or something.”
You looked up to see a laugh-suppressing grin on the hero's face, “Don’t laugh, I'm serious! This guy is a pain, and just because he’s hot, people let it slide!”
Red's face went completely serious, and you could’ve sworn you saw his cheeks tint pink underneath his domino mask, but then again, his left side had a sizable cut on it, so you really couldn’t tell. “You- you think he’s hot?”
“That is so not the point I'm trying to make!” You rolled your eyes and dabbed a bit of gel on the cut. “But yeah, his looks are like his only redeeming quality.” Once you had applied a thin layer to the cut, you used butterfly bandages to hold it closed. It wasn’t exactly pretty, but it would heal well, and the gel would make it nothing but a small scar in a week or so. “You know, you kinda look like him. Is that what you're hiding behind this mask?” You used this opportunity to tap the bottom edge of the mask. “Rugged good looks and a billionaire smile.”
“Oh, ha ha,” He retorted sarcastically, lightly moving your hand away from the fabric. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t dying to know his identity. It’s not that he didn’t want to tell you, it’s just that he’d heard you complain about his alter ego enough times to worry about your reaction, plus the whole ‘your-life-would-be-in-constant-danger-if-you-knew’ thing. Lately, he’d found himself going out of his way to end up knocking on your window, and he didn’t want what you had to change.
“Hmmp, you're no fun.” You huffed playfully, hopping off the bed and stashing the first-aid kit once again. You heard a small buzz and knew that Red had gotten an alert.
He stood up and listened for a second. You could only guess he was getting instructions via earpiece. “Got it, I’m on my way.” He called over coms before turning back to you with an apologetic look.
You spoke before he could get an apology out. “Let me guess, some goon’s breaking open an ATM, and everyone else is busy?”
“Pretty much yeah,” He ducked under your windowsill onto your fire escape. “Thanks for the help. I don’t know where I'd be without you.”
“Probably bleeding out on someone else's fire escape. Or at that robbery already,” You gently shoved him the rest of the way through the window and bid him farewell. You watched him grapple off into the dim moonlight before getting back into your bed. Over the past few weeks, you’d started staying up later just in case a certain someone happened by; this, of course, made those full 8 hours a little harder to come by. You didn’t really care, though. A little less sleep for a little more time with him seemed like a fair trade.
The next morning finally came, and you weren’t exactly pleased to hear the familiar beeping of your alarm clock. Still, you forced yourself out of bed, pulled your uniform on, and got your stuff together for another day at Gotham Academy.
You didn’t have any classes with Tim on Fridays, but you usually saw him passing you in the hall or at lunch. Today was different. One might even say he was avoiding you, but why? You saw a glimpse of him quickly heading away from you before the second period, and at lunch, you got a great view of the back of his head for about 30 seconds before he ducked out to go who knows where. Sure, you weren’t exactly friends, but today it seemed he’d gone completely out of his way to make sure you didn’t see him. And it was pretty successful, at least until you literally collided with him.
School had let out, and you had almost left the building before you remembered you’d left a textbook behind. On your way back to your locker, you turned a corner without caution and slammed into him at full force. The folder in your arms went flying, and all the homework inside was scattered across the floor. You both bent to gather the pages.
“Ah, shit, sorry, I’m so sorry I didn’t see-” That’s when you actually saw who it was you’d bumped into. “Tim?”
“Sorry, sorry, I should have been watching where I was going.” He apologized as you both stood up, and he handed you the sheets he’d grabbed. Something about him was super off. He wouldn’t even meet your eyes; in fact, he kept his gaze firmly to his left. Maybe he’d somehow heard you complain about him, and now he wanted nothing to do with you. You still didn't like him, but the idea of him knowing as much made you feel guilty about the trash-talking.
You were about to awkwardly say bye and shuffle off when a locker a little ways away from you slammed shut, startling you both and causing Tim to finally look to his right.
“Whoa, what happened to your face?” You asked, leaning in slightly to see the hefty hash that had been carefully held together with butterfly bandages. “That looks just like,” It clicked. “hOLY-”
“SHHH!” Tim acted fast; he clapped a hand over your mouth, effectively putting your mind-shattering realization on hold, and rushed both of you into a thankfully unlocked maintenance closet nearby.
Suddenly, a million pieces were falling into place in your mind. Tim cursed. “God, if you know now what I think you know, you’re gonna have a lot of questions. So I'm gonna move my hand, but you have to be quiet about it. Ok?” He spoke softly and with full concern. After all, he may have just caused a massive overload in your brain. Your archenemy and your closest confidant were the same damn person, who knows what that could do to someone’s psyche.
You nodded profusely, still unable to even conjure a sound. Slowly, Tim lifted his hand away from your mouth and watched you closely. You didn’t say anything for a beat, you just stared back at him, and then, “What the actual hell! You’re- and he’s- and I- which means- I mean all this time- and… what?!?”
“Umm, yeah?” In all honesty, this was going better than Tim had imagined. Whenever he’d envisioned you finding out, it usually started with you cursing him out and ended with you never talking to him again, but now here he was. You hadn’t cursed him out and you were kind of still talking to him, so overall, better than expected. “I wanted to tell you ages ago. I just know how you feel about… well, me.” He gestured down to his civilian attire.
“All this time,” You were still definitely in shock. “All this time you were him, and he was you! And you never told me! I talked to you about you! I called you hot!”
“Oh yeah, thanks, by the way.” A shit-eating grin had made its way onto his face, and you were not pleased.
“Oh fuck off!” You sank down onto a little step stool that happened to be in the closet. “I can’t believe I was so dumb. I mean, how did I not see it sooner!”
Tim crouched down in front of you. “To be fair, we put a lot of effort into keeping our secrets.”
“We? Wait a second! If you’re Red Robin, that makes Batman-”
“...Yup.”
“And Nightwing-”
“Oh yeah.”
“So Robin is-”
“A total pain in the ass. But yeah, it’s Damian.”
“Holy shit!”
Tim finally let himself laugh a bit at your reaction. You were smart, and he knew that. There had been a few times over the past few weeks when he thought you might start to suspect his secrets, and he’d gone out of his way to cover it up. Including, but not limited to, a leaked story to the tabloids about a Tim-Drake-kidnapping-attempt that was thwarted by the one and only Red Robin.
While the tabloids weren’t the most believable sources it had planted a seed in your brain that Red and Tim were in the same place at the same time. Of course, thanks to that cut on his cheek, he wouldn’t need to lie to you anymore.
“Don’t laugh! This is serious! I can’t believe I didn’t see this months ago. I mean, your stupid mask doesn't even cover that much!” You exclaimed, throwing your arms in the air to emphasize your point.
Tim lightly grabbed your arms and brought them back down. “Ok, ok, I’m serious, but you seriously need to calm down.”
“I’m calm,” You defended. “I mean, considering. Wait, how did this start? Did you have to train long? When did you find out who Batman was? Is he really a Vampire?” You rattled off questions a mile a minute. Finally, the shock and slight annoyance had given way to pure curiosity.
Tim looked around the small maintenance room, as if he were contemplating a really bad idea. “I can’t explain anything else here, but if you want, I can take you to the Batcave? I mean, you’ve already guessed most of the secrets, and even if I don't tell you the rest, you’ll probably figure it out anyway.”
You were already halfway out of the closet before he could finish his sentence. “Yes, let’s go, let’s go right now.” He grinned as he followed you out. Bruce was going to be so mad.
hai rain! i just kinda wanted to spread awareness (kinda). so, in my city, they're threatening to build a data center. horrible, ik. i live in a place with a lot of farmland. if its not a house, its a farm. lately there hasnt been a lotta water, so having this data center would probably just send us all to shit and make the bills even higher and food even worse.
i just wanted to say this to maybe remind people that this stuff is real and actually happening to people. people tend to forget the news is actually someone's life
but happy august! creepypasta halloween is just around the corner haha
Yes! They are trying to pass it through for them to build one near where I live too, and it’s so upsetting and frustrating to see people saying the news is dramatic. Like, yes, news and information is sometimes dramatized for effect—but you have to understand that these are real people with real lives, no matter where they exist.
Fight back! Sign petitions if you’re able! This stuff is scary, but hopefully voices will be heard!
I’m like genuinely in the same position as Anon rn except they recently just built multiple data centers for meta and other companies with plans of building more. Our water pressure has decreased significantly along with our water bill increasing a TON. Genuinely AI sucks. The only petitions I’ve seen have been for Nashville Zoo which thankfully surpassed the amount needed.
ੈ✩‧₊˚ if everything could ever be this real forever
hurt vigilante! reader on a mission with tim drake leads to the relationship getting exposed to his family (request)
warnings | description of violence, reader is shot, blood
This wasn’t right. It was supposed to be an incredibly easy stakeout. Just you and Tim, looking over an exchange on the docks for a bit over two hours, nothing you haven’t done before. Matter of fact, it was going to be only him on this operation, and he was the one who invited you to get some time alone without getting exposed on the comms of the family while vigilante-ing together.
Imagine your reaction when, leaning on the rooftop of some dingy motel to watch the area properly, one of the guys who was guarding up the exchange suddenly left his position to talk with who you believed was the boss. Shutting Tim up by pressing your finger to his lips, you guided his head yourself towards the direction of the criminals, urging him to look at what was happening.
The following events took place in barely ten seconds, hence why you need to focus really hard to make sure you got them in the right order.
The guy who ran up to the boss got a memo at the place that the operation was being observed by an informant that they were being watched, and he found your position rather quickly for the distance you were at. After telling the big man the news, the leader turned to look towards you, staring at you directly in the eye as he began mouthing words angrily and rapidly while he turned to look more in your direction. He pointed at you, not Tim, who aware of the situation now was shouting orders to get down now, and he moved his hand down to his neck, where he glided his ringed finger across the expanse of it, with an eerie calmness in his face that brought chills down to your body.
When he finished his gesture, a sharp, blinding pain pushed you to the ground and left you gasping for air, looking like a deer in headlights at the sky while you tried to breathe air in, but it was too heavy, feeling like it was being taken away from your lungs by an uncontrollable force. You barely registered your surroundings, your voice gurgling in your own throat while you kept gasping for air that couldn’t be retained inside for long. Your hands flopped towards your neck, trying desperately to contain the red, red liquid inside without exit and when you removed them without any force left in you, looking desperately at them covered in the substance that was dripping out of your body.
You made another noise without realising, and a whine could be heard in reply. Searching for the source, making sure Tim had gotten an out while he could not get involved in the crossfire as you did, you saw his figure right beside you with an unreadable expression on his face. His features were impossibly tense, yet his demeanour radiated the composure of an ancient medic. He began moving after being frozen by the shock for a couple seconds, and his hands that used to be cold now were warm, hot even from your blood, as he expertly took out the necessary supplies he kept on him for emergencies from his utility belt.
Gauze and wraps, so many wraps were all that covered your vision as his sharp but decided breaths contrasted against the loud noises in the docks. Cars moving, running away, tires screeching and finally, silence once again. His eyes never did leave yours for one second. Not even when the band he has been chasing for half a year got away in front of his eyes, not when his comms began to sparkle with lights and noises, so many loud noises that numbed your senses for a while.
A hot tear ran down his cheek just to fall down on your own face, and you tried to crack a dumb joke to make him smile at least while your bloody hands reached as far as they could in their attempt to wipe his tears away, like he had done to you far too many times to keep track of. Your intentions weren’t accomplished, only stretching as far as his chin, where your hand floppily tapped it. More and more tears were spilling now, as you just kept trying to make horrible puns at the situation, your voice a bit watery too, but from all the blood accumulated.
One of Tim’s hands left your body, getting a hold of his comms now, and with a few short comments, he ordered a vehicle to get him stat at your current location. Getting more gauze from somewhere you couldn’t remember exactly, he kept bandaging you up carefully, trying his best not to hurt you more than you already were, and when he deemed you were covered enough, his hands, now full of your blood too, went under your knees and back to get you up and into his arms to carry you to the meeting point downstairs. You couldn’t help but cry out at the change in position, and he seemed to match your whines too as he kept crying, shushing you gently, and keeping pressure steadily over your wound.
Now on the ground, you barely could see from the pain shot through your whole body, the laceration had caused so much blood loss that you were extremely weak, a painful sight for Tim as he was used to your sharp and smart comments and taking him on a spar match where you both would end up on a draw constantly, mixing up who ended up on top of who depending on the day. Tim was your eyes now, and as such, he guided you towards the car that arrived at the scene just now.
He opened the door to the passenger door, carefully lowering down the seat to make it more comfortable for you, and after making sure that you were properly strapped in and as good as you could be, he then moved on to the driver’s seat of the self-driving car he showed you last week (“A gift form Wayne Enterprises to Batman himself, to help with his vigilante activities”, he explained in the middle of a laughing fit).
The car moving at illegal speeds, surpassing every speed limit that has ever existed, you tried to tell him the name of a hospital to take you to that already had experience with this type of altercations in your field. Your voice barely came out, his face turning sharply towards you with tear streaks across his face and fear carved in every inch of his face while he stared at you dumbfoundedly. His jaw was clenched in a way you had never seen before except that one time you ragebaited him so hard that he almost threw you out of his first-floor window from the manor (it wasn’t something new, you had already launched yourself multiple times in a giggle fit trying to escape his ridiculously freezing hands).
You could physically see, through all the smoke hazing your vision, his gears turning inside his head as he calculated the damage level to your body, the distance to said hospital, and his eyes darkened when he came to the realisation that there was only one possible choice that would ever work for this occasion.
Tim moved through street faster and faster now as he saw your skin whitening each second, only coming to a stop when the hidden entrance to the manor through the batcave got in sight. Tires screeching loud, so loud that you were sure had woken up the residents that lived in the huge home, he left his side of the car and ran over to yours as he lifted your body the same way he had before.
In his mind, he knew he could try to stitch you up himself in any other occasion, but his shaky hands and blurry vision told him that he had to do the one thing he promised you he wouldn’t.
Let’s set things clear. It wasn’t that he didn’t love you, or he was afraid of you getting hurt because of him and his vigilante work, but rather he just wanted to keep you for himself. His family and closer friends were nosy, so, so nosy. When you two met, he decided not to tell his family he had a new vigilante friend, and he also didn’t tell them when your relationship started. As for you, you understood him, and wanted him for who he was, not because of his family and others, so being a secret wasn’t an issue at all. It did cause an argument long time ago, but that was before he cracked his heart open and confessed how much he wanted to keep you with him; not to make you his, but because you belonged with him the same way fire belongs to the earth.
You were truly happy in your relationship, spending countless days and nights together under the pretence of long and arduous missions that mysteriously took too much time, that period spent tangled up, sharing secrets, confessions and your love for your partner. You understood each other, the struggles of vigilante life, the ups and downs of your life, the constant strive to be better, to help more, to be more. Furthermore, arguments were rare with the two of you, only being important the time he opened up about himself as a person and when you revealed your identities to each other, but that is a story for another time when you aren’t actively bleeding out in the batcave.
The hideout was covered in every type of weapon imaginable, screens and areas with panels dedicated to specific missions (“Colour coded, thanks to me” Tim told you when he first described the cave). On the sides, there were couches and doors that seemed to lead down long corridors to medical areas and training facilities.
Now this was a Tuesday at 3:46 am, so you didn’t really expect people there: in and out of your consciousness you came to the conclusion that you would probably meet some family today, and even if that was the least of your worries now, you were a bit sad at not being able to make a good first impression. Maybe you could try to slip in a “Hi, I’m sorry for bleeding out all over your floor, by the way, I’m dating your son/ brother” depending on who you found, if your voice doesn’t give out.
Tim arrived in a frenzy, entering the room with measured steps when he completely froze up. You tried to turn in his arms to look at the situation at your hands, and if you weren’t already white as a ghost, you could’ve turned several shades paler. Tragically for everyone involved, there was, in fact, a lot of people in the cave. Jason and Damian were arguing about a case on the side of the hideout, Dick was talking with Bruce about something you couldn’t distinguish properly, and even though your senses were completely weakened, something told you Cass was hiding somewhere.
You managed to make a joke, something about dirtying the marble and how hard it is to clean out when you finally passed out, resting your head with a weak thud on Tim’s shoulder. His eyes, hollow and empty from everything that had just happened in the span of 30 minutes, were silently pleading and he just looked at his family, eyes brimmed with tears again, and just whispered “Please, I need help”.
No one said anything but everyone got up. Now it wasn’t the time for explanations, now it was the time to save whoever their Tim had brought, completely trusting his intuition with whoever he considered to be important enough to bring to the batcave. Moving with military efficiency, each member began either set up the medical wing, call Alfred or prepare something that might be needed after.
Bruce moved quickly across the floor of the hideout and took you from Tim’s arms, taking away the burden of carrying his pain alone. Looking at him directly in his red eyes, he nodded and took you to the room prepared already.
Once you were resting, fixed up from the wound but still unconscious, his family surrounded him, yet nobody dared say anything. It was Dick who went right in front of a sat down, face in his hands Tim, crouched down, and pulled him up for a hug as the boy you call your boyfriend, now looking more vulnerable than ever, began to sob uncontrollably on his brother’s shoulder. He felt another hand dragging across his back, the owner of it unknown, but it brought him unmeasurable comfort as he tried to catch his breath to explain to his family what had happened and who you were to him.
song | everlong- foo fighters
a/n: this was my first ever request! at some point writing this i reached actual flow state and started yapping uncontrollably
summary: landing in an alternate dimension—you're certain this version of damian who finds you should hate you as much as your damian does. but when he pulls you in so tight as if he's experienced losing you before.. you realise he isn't so willing on letting you go.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
content: alternate dimension damian who finds you which makes the yearning 1000x worse, 'ill choose you in every lifetime' trope, angst-comfort
It's been twenty minutes since you ended up in another dimension. A stupid argument. An accidental trigger. Of course, none of that comes close in comparison to the complete shock of Damian Wayne crushing you with his embrace.
No. Embrace is too soft a term for how tightly squeezed you are—the lack of space making it easy for you to detect how his body is physically shaking.
You're covered in soot, dust particles still emanating from where your form had materialised—from where your first instinct had been to press the emergency contact on your comms. Damian had found you not long after. You still remember how quickly your fury had been extinguished the moment you caught sight of his pale expression, the sheer disbelief in the open gape of his lips.
Damian hates you. That fact is precisely the reason you ended up here, in a whole other dimension. That instinctive reminder is what forces you to push yourself out of his embrace, and his own hands go slack as he stares at you wordlessly.
"Why'd you follow me in—you idiot!" You snap, trying to brush off how taken off-guard you are. "I can't believe we're both stuck here."
He blinks once. "Stuck?"
"You should've pieced this together faster than I did." Gesturing to your surroundings, your arms still ache from having crashed through a construction site. "We're stuck in another dimension all thanks to you."
He blinks again, slower this time. Processing. "Where exactly did you come from?"
"Did the fall injure your head?" Your impatience brims over your exhausted features. "Isn't it enough that you had to start something in the lab? We wouldn't have ended up here if you hadn't been so insistent on triggering the portal."
His features remain stoic, but there's a familiar calculation in his gaze. His lips part after a moment. "Portal."
It's infuriating how long he's taking to catch onto the reality of what's just happened. You give a short nod, your growing panic stuck between your teeth. If Damian's here with you, there's no telling if you'll be able to make a connection back to your dimension.
"I suppose you are right." His brows remain furrowed in consideration. "But there is one thing you're missing."
Leave it to him to counter every point of yours, needing to be right as always. A heavy sigh leaves your lips. "And what is that?"
"I'm not your Damian."
Those words still ring hollow, a repeating drone of his voice as you watch the familiar city pass by the windowpane. It is Gotham, but not. Unfamiliar stores fill the streets, similar roads but not quite, small inconsistencies that are enough to remind you that this isn't your home.
That the person in the driver's seat beside you is a complete stranger.
"Who am I to you?" You question, casting your glance back to that stiff, perfect posture of his as he makes a turn towards his apartment.
That hug from earlier, if you could even call it that, still lingers like a shadow, casting goosebumps over your skin whenever the memory overstayed its welcome.
You spot the whitening of his knuckles, the pads of his fingers squeezing into the steering wheel before the colour returns, as if his composure never faltered.
"You were my assigned partner." He answers briskly.
Were. There's finally one consistency, at the very least. To your relief, the version of you here didn't seem to get along with him either.
Your small amusement is quickly diminished at the rise of another concern of yours. If there was another version of you running around this city, you can't even begin to fathom the potential fractures of reality if an encounter truly happened.
You're already playing a huge risk in letting this Damian assist you. Still, you had no one else.
Your comms had contacted him, not that it was to any surprise of your own once the initial panic died down. It wasn't likely that you still had a connection to your own world, much less an existing channel with your Damian. It was pure luck that you still had use for the device at all. Or at least, you hoped you could consider it luck.
Your gaze lingers over his features. The likeness between him and your Damian was uncanny. The same nose bridge, freckles, and even that faint scar running down his jawline. It was all so familiar that you had to snap yourself out of it when you found your body conditioning itself into safety, as if forgetting he's a stranger.
"Well, I hope you'll let bygones be bygones." You answer wryly. "There wasn't anyone else I could contact. If you can help me find a way back home, I'll be out of your dimension in no time."
The silence grows terse. A shift has occurred, even if you're unsure on the why. You had only stated the obvious. Perhaps his moods were in line with what you were familiar with after all, and that is no soothing relief if it meant having to face that same temperament that landed you here.
"I'm already offering my help." Damian answers after a moment, as if he's finally settled for a response he was satisfied with.
"I hope so." You mutter, eyelids falling shut in your exhaustion. The sight of the city was making you nauseous. "It's kind of your fault I ended up here. The other you, anyways."
He hums, finger tapping once against the steering wheel. "Typical."
This Damian has an apartment akin to a serial killer's. The barest necessities, minimal decorations—it's as if every surface has gone untouched. If you hadn't seen it with your own eyes when he unlocked the door with his thumbprint, you would've assumed no one had ever stepped foot within these walls.
"Ever heard of decoration?" It lands wrong, and you internally wince. It's difficult, to not fall back into that same push-and-pull when you see Damian's figure in your peripheral vision. To not be mistaken with familiar company.
He watches you for longer than he should. He keeps doing that, the staring. "There's no reason for me to do so." He answers eventually.
Your brows furrow. Something about his responses from the moment you met him unnerved you, as if he's leaving his words purposely vague. Clues buried within that mask of his, where an unanswered story that didn't belong to your reality lingers in his.
"Where am I currently in your dimension?" You decide to settle at the sofa, stretching out your limbs. "If she's still in Gotham, I need to be careful not to be seen."
Ever since you arrived, your body has been aching horribly. It hadn't been this obvious when you had arrived, but now, it's stinging down to your nerves. Maybe the adrenaline had finally worn off, and you're left to deal with a body unequipped to the frantic mess your mind is trying to sort out.
"It won't be a problem." He answers, lips pursing into a thin line. "She's gone."
Your head tilts questioningly to meet his gaze, but he avoids yours. Pulling open his kitchen drawer, there's a taut tension in his body as if he's been expecting your question and dreading it all the same.
Gone could mean anything. Out of the city borders or—
Your eyes flicker down to his disappearing hand, and find his reappearing fingers gripped around pain ointment. Your stretch pauses halfway, the strange alertness of being noticed without your permission sending a chill down your spine.
Forcing your hands down back to your sides, you eye him warily as he makes his way round the couch, stopping before you. His hand extends, lifting his offering silently.
It's unfamiliar, and even if you try your hardest to reason to yourself, that this isn't the Damian you know, it doesn't make it any easier to allow him to assist you. You half expect mocking, a glimpse of his smirk when your gaze flickers to the ointment held out in front of you.
A low breath escapes his lips, and you expect him to give in. To understand that you don't require more of him other than his specific assistance to send you home—only for him to lower himself.
Damian Wayne—even if he isn't the one you're used to—is kneeling down to meet your gaze. Your breath stops, your chest seized tight as you stare at him, unable to hide your surprise.
He doesn't falter, his fingers mindlessly dipping into the ointment before placing the jar by your side. His free hand goes to grip your wrist, tugging gently to expose the bruises trailing along your arm from your fall.
"If it is me you have come to for assistance." He mutters with a click of his tongue. "Then, I expect you not to be stubborn."
You swallow, your jaw ticking as you find your tongue heavy with a lack of an adequate response. His unwavering concern, this intensity can't be tied solely to you. There has to be a reason for why he is looking at you this way.
"What did you mean?" You ask quietly. "By gone?"
His fingers, still coated with the ointment, brush gently over your thudding pulse. His gaze finally lifts, but you can't read him. There's a pull to his gaze, and the answer reveals itself by the time you recognise what is held within his eyes isn't irritation or indifference. It was grief.
"She's dead."
It's a strange feeling to know you're stepping into a world where a version of you used to exist. A sick form of good luck, a technical elimination of complications.
Except that it's only made everything more complicated. You had no idea on how to deal with the Damian in front of you now that the truth's been revealed.
When he first admitted that he wasn't the Damian you knew, you had quickly assumed that whatever dynamic he shared with you from this dimension was a parallel to the one you shared with your Damian. Forced tolerance, a begrudging partnership. No, you had needed to assume it so. Anything different would have shattered this fragile alliance you had with the stranger sitting across you, because despite everything you felt about your Damian—you relied on him as a partner.
Now, you weren't sure if you could trust the Damian in front of you. You had assumed that if he answered your questions, you would have cleared the air—but it has only raised more.
You can feel his attention while you're thinking. You swear with the intensity of his gaze casted onto you which you pretend not to notice, it's as if your existence only materialised when his eyes are on you. There's a strange urgency in his unblinking stare, as if to remind himself that you're still in front of him.
It's too much. It was the same back when he first saw you as well. Damian hasn't mentioned his strange reaction since, and his lack of an explanation for why he had embraced you clues you on nothing still, on what you meant to him.
"I'm not her." You mutter after a moment. You don't know why, but you feel you have to say it.
There's some form of attachment he must've had with you, and you couldn't let yourself be tangled into the mess of what's been left behind. This isn't your world, and the last thing you needed was a blur of that line.
"I know." He answers quickly. Without pause, as if he's been repeating it to himself before you had even verbalised it.
Your hesitance must be palpable because he lets out a sigh not long after, heavy from his chest.
"I didn't offer you my help because I think you're—" He swallows, pain etched into the lines of his grimace. "I understand that you are alone in this world. That some mistake of mine from your end caused this. I am taking responsibility for it—to bring you back. There is nothing more to it."
You watch him as he did to you, noting a delicate fragility to him you've never seen before. You had been so wrapped up in your situation, that you failed to notice the frantic quality of his gaze or the exhaustion plaguing his features. As if being around you—drained him from the impossibility of seeing you alive and breathing.
"Okay." You answer eventually. "I believe you."
His shoulders, tense and taut, finally loosen slightly at your response.
"Do you—" Your voice is plagued with exhaustion, and you struggle to find the words, the composure to hide your desperation. "—have any idea on how I'll be able to get back?"
Relief flickers briefly in his gaze, replaced with a familiar efficiency that slots over the dark pool his eyes held mere seconds ago. This, you were used to. Whenever he was asked to perform a duty, that was when you both cooperated the easiest.
"If it were me, I'd predict that there will be a two-way mechanism." He suggests automatically. So, he had been considering his own theories this entire time.
Leaning in, his elbows pressing against his thighs, he continues. "An entry will not be possible without a tunnel. To find the connection and restart it as you had before in your dimension, it should trigger an opening."
"I also considered the possibility of a tunnel." You frown, your fingers drawing a thin, edged line across the sofa's fabric. "The only problem is that when I arrived, before contacting you—I looked around the premise. I really tried."
"There was no opening." You admit, dread digging slowly into your bones.
"Perhaps it will only be activated if it was triggered in the same process as before." He suggests.
"...Doesn't that rely on Damian—" You falter, meeting his gaze. "—my Damian restarting the trigger on his side?"
He nods, even as his lips purse slightly at the mention of the other him. "Your only chance depends on him coming to the same realisation we have."
You draw a short breath. "Shit."
Damian doesn't hesitate when you ask by the third hour of silence—to accompany you back to the construction site when the passing hours has done enough in driving you insane.
You hate waiting. Your Damian knows that. This Damian seems to know too.
He follows you like a silent shadow, tracing your steps and overlooking the same rubble caused by your fall as you try to find an anomaly. Anything that proves to your stubborn anxiety—that you are actually doing something to feel less trapped.
"There is nothing here." He states.
"You don't know that." You wish your voice sounded stronger. "I wasn't in my right mind when I landed. I might identify something I missed."
His jaw ticks once, but he doesn't stop you. He doesn't argue—and that unnerves you. The Damian you know doesn't hesitate when picking a fight, and frankly—you miss that. You needed something to distract you—and he was merely standing there like he was watching a phantom.
"I thought you said you would help." Your voice breaks.
Fuck. Swallowing back your revealed fright, you finally slump down onto the dust-covered concrete, pressing your palm against your eyes.
You hear a shuffle, the fabric of his coat landing heavy next to you. You uncover your eyes, catching him as he crouches beside you. His gaze meets yours head-on—and you nearly drown in the weight of it.
"There's no relief in digging through a dead-end." He mutters, peering over your features. "It'll only worsen the thoughts."
You grow quiet. You didn't need a verbal confirmation, not when just his gaze alone tells, that he wasn't only talking about your situation. Your chest heaves, the scent of concrete filling your nostrils.
The silence stretches, an uncomfortable sensation of helplessness filling the air.
"...Do you like pizza?" He asks after a moment.
Blinking once, you must've misheard it. You can't help the snort that escapes you, the sound broken and unsteady. "What?"
"I dislike it." He mutters. "The ones in Gotham. It's too much grease, and lacking of any true nutrients."
That... sounds very Damian of him.
You raise a brow, and his lips purse together. Letting out a regretful sigh, he gestures with a tilt of his head. "There's an adequate franchise down the street."
Lifting himself off the ground, he holds out his hand towards you. "Since this dreadful day has been awfully unproductive, I suppose a meal like that is befitting."
Your gaze flickers between his hand and that unfamiliar, warmth in his eyes. Of how you had been in a similar position mere hours ago when he had offered you pain ointment. Of how he has been consistently extending his hand towards you, accompanying your side—ever since you entered this dimension.
This time, you take his hand.
Strangely enough, the fluorescent lights of 'Gotham City Pizzeria' and the smell of floor disinfectant—combined with the peculiar sight of Damian lifting a soggy pizza slice with a grimace did lift your spirits. If this was your dimension, you would have bothered with taking a picture to capture the sight of him clashing with an environment so strongly, but you couldn't afford to let this rare moment of normalcy be dimmed by that reminder.
"Should I be concerned that the Damian Wayne in this dimension consumes Gotham pizzas?" You murmur, wiping a streak of tomato at the corner of your mouth.
His lips quirk up slightly. "Even I have my faults."
Clearing his throat, he murmurs. "Your turn."
You raise a brow, confused.
He leans back, dusting his hands against the napkin. "I haven't learned anything about you since you arrived."
Oh. You had assumed that he didn't want to. Outside of the boundaries of your circumstance, he hasn't really pushed much further other than details he needed to have, to piece a solution together.
"What do you want to know?" You shrug.
His lips tilt upwards again, more intently this time. "Do you like pizza?"
Your smile lifts instinctively. "I do, detective. How'd you guess?"
His smile strains a little, and you realise why.
"Ah." You murmur.
"No." He stops you before you can retreat. "Don't stop on my account. I want to know what you like."
You swallow, fingers running over the crust flakes coating your thumb. You suppose you could answer, there wasn't any harm done. "I do like pizza. It's the only thing that's comforting enough after a long night of patrol. I think when I enter a familiar place at an hour like this, when there's no one else around, it's like the world closes in to exist in just this spot, y'know? I get to forget about my worries for a little while."
He nods, listening to you speak as if he intended on memorising every word. Like he may miss the chance to do so ever again.
"So, why'd you pick this place?" You return the question.
"...As I told you before, I'm not fond of it."
"So, why are you here?" You push.
A slow exhale escapes his mouth. "I suppose, it was like you said. Comforting—in a sense, to be surrounded by something familiar."
You can see him struggling, on what to say and what to keep buried. This provided company of his—it's like you're digging into a wound he's openly showing you.
"What else do you like?" He reiterates.
Your smile reappears, almost easing. "Need a full catalogue?"
"Yes." He answers almost immediately. It takes the breath out of you, the humour still stuck on your tongue with the way he looks at you, all-consuming. "I would."
"I suppose... I could tell you things I never told anyone." You whisper almost conspiratorially. "Something tells me you'll keep quite a good secret."
His lips lift, curving a small dimple by his cheek. "I swear."
"I guess..." Leaning your cheek against your palm, you take your time in truly looking at him. "I always did like your eyes."
He blinks, not expecting your answer. "My eyes?"
"Yeah." Your grin comes easier to you now, seeing him uncharacteristically flustered. "Made me unreasonably jealous at times. Green eyes like that, and you spend half the time glowering."
He scoffs lowly, but it holds no bite. "I wasn't aware there was a way to utilise them."
"No, you do it right when you're not thinking too hard." You murmur, lost in thought. "When you don't pretend to be strong, your eyes go soft. Just around the edges."
The moment those words leave you, you realise you're pushing too far, saying something so intimate, it should have never been verbalised.
He watches you, and to your dismay, he does it right then and there. The sharpened edges around his gaze softens, and so does Damian.
"You're direct." He mutters, almost fondly.
You swallow, averting your gaze. "So I've been told."
"I like that."
You shift your focus back to him immediately, a soft thudding in your chest. He has never averted his gaze. Rarely, you realise, does he pull his attention away from you. It's like he's treasuring it, the small impossibility of this conversation, of your presence in this pizzeria illuminated by the neon lights.
"Do you feel like you're dreaming?" You ask. "It feels like I know you even though I shouldn't."
His lips quirk. "It is a fair exchange for reality, if I get to meet you."
Your heart is thudding louder now, and you don't find it instinctive anymore to avert his gaze, no matter how much the depth feels like drowning.
"A once in a lifetime phenomenon." You declare. "Let's not waste it."
Gotham's cityscape takes a less intimidating turn in the weeks following your exploration with Damian, as the hidden beauty within begins to reveal itself. The confusing streets become interesting puzzles, a guessing game on what road could be an alternative to the ones you frequent in your dimension. When night falls? That's when this Gotham truly sings, coming alive.
Without the late nights being reserved for the sole purpose of patrol, Damian guides you within the ins-and-outs of alleyways, leading you through slot machines, bars that still had the hum of human company despite the late hour. Eventually, you both land on a rooftop that lets you oversee the entire city.
It's terrifyingly easy to enjoy his company when you're not busy pretending otherwise. There's a symphony to your shared steps, the trailing of his shadow that plays out like a familiar, comforting rhythm.
"It's different." You mutter almost excitedly. The faint buzz of exhaustion from the late hour leaves you increasingly lax, your hand tugging at his sleeve towards the Wayne Tower in the distance. "Ours is all red hues and sharp angles. I like yours more."
He hums, sounding amused. His gaze is still trained on you, not focused on your pointed finger towards the building at all. Letting out a huff, your hand, numbed by the freezing wind, lifts to cup his cheek.
He blinks, a rare vulnerable expression crossing his features at your touch.
"Stop looking at me." You gesture, trying to tune his head towards the cityscape. "You're missing out."
"No, I'm not." He answers honestly.
You blink, hand faltering over his cheek, but he raises his own to cover yours.
"Sorry." He murmurs, lashes lowering with his gaze as he closes his eyes momentarily. "Allow me to be a little selfish, just this once."
Your fingers shake in response, but you don't remove your hand.
"That's not very fair of you." You mutter.
"I suppose I have never practiced that trait well." Opening his eyes, you're faced with that tenderness, the one that leaves you breathless. "Does it make me hateful?"
"No." You answer honestly. "You've always been bad at that."
"At being fair?" He asks.
"Making me hate you." You admit quietly.
His gaze softens imperceptibly. "I suppose we're both not very good liars."
The touch of his cheek burns your skin. This is dangerous, your mind faintly warns you. You promised yourself to never hesitate in your decision, not even after meeting him. You were always meant to go home.
He spots your hesitance, and his warmth falters. His lips set back into that familiar, distant line as he lets your hand go.
"I apologise if I over-stepped." He says before you even have time to clear the air.
"No, that isn't it." You wince, drawing your hand back to scratch at your cheek. "I was just thinking. Maybe—it isn't so bad if I could stay a little longer. There's no guarantee on when the portal will open again, so it's not a ruled out possibility."
Your suggestion is a toss into the wind. A complete silent, interpretation that maybe that's what he'd like as well.
You don't even have time to process the slight hope in his gaze, the consideration of your words before something—no everything seizes. Your body collapses to the ground, the pain of your atoms glitching, seizing to exist, and reforming again, is nearly indescribable.
A near howl escapes your bitten lips as you crumple towards the floor, only for Damian to catch you in his arms, down on his knees in front of you. Your fingers grip tight around his wrists, steading yourself as your vision blurs in and out. By the time you've strained your neck to look back up at him, you see the pain contorting his expression, wiping it loose of all composure.
"I—I'm okay." You breathe out, even as you can feel how cold and clammy your skin has become.
He doesn't answer. He merely stares, a rush of emotions flooding too fast through his mind for you to read, before it falters. His grip is your only anchor, but he's trembling too.
"This isn't a good sign." He states, dread falling over his features. "You must return, soon."
"So, you're saying—" You recall his words faintly. "The longer I stay in this dimension, my body will begin to disintegrate?"
Those technical words, theories that sound ridiculous on paper, thread thinly in a reality where your body was now a self-destructive timer. He gives you a short nod, his dark circles illuminated by the hologram of his research. Despite it being your life on the line, he looks wrecked.
What had started out as a happy night, ended with the reminder that you're not only endangering yourself but him. He's faced losing you once, and your existence in this dimension that should have never happened—he might go through it all over again if you don't find the portal in time.
"Damian." You call out, spotting the weak composure he's trying to display. "Look at me."
He refuses to listen, or maybe, he's completely blocked everything out with his gaze trained on the coordinates and running calculations. Standing up from the couch, you move slowly towards him to not startle him. Your hand briefly touches his arm, and he flinches.
"Damian, we've been over this." You speak as calmly as you can. "There's no opening unless it's opened from my side."
"Then, why hasn't he done it?" He snaps.
You blink, taken aback by his reaction.
"I can't—" He swallows, jaw clenched as he stares at you with a raw agony. One he's been hiding from you since you arrived, that you had caught a brief glimpse of when he first embraced you in his panic. "I won't fail you again. I refuse to."
"Damian." Your brows furrow, hands intertwining with his to force him to feel your touch. "I need you to breathe."
His chest heaves, and you recognise a panic attack before he's even verbalised it. Pulling him towards the sofa, you force him to sit, hands still connected with his.
"It isn't fair." Damian shakes his head. "Nothing ever is. Either way, it feels as if I'm losing you all over again."
Your breath trembles in his admission, and you can do nothing but sit here and listen.
"It was my fault." He confesses, grief-stricken. "A mission gone wrong—and my arrogance. I had overestimated the ambush, and we were cornered."
His body goes still as he drowns in his memory. "You hadn't hesitated stepping in the way. I could do nothing but watch."
"I am unworthy for many things." His voice lowers, with such an encompassing belief in his words. "But not being able to save you? That is a punishment I will never recover from."
"To lose you again." He mutters, broken. "I won't know what to do."
"Damian." You whisper. "I'm scared too."
He looks up at you then, and tears are welled in the corners of his lashes.
"But I'm glad." You emphasise, squeezing his hand. "That it's you, that you're the one here with me."
He blinks, barely able to process your words. "Why?"
"Because you have been by my side, from the moment I arrived." You answer genuinely. "Even if it hurts you, and I know it does. You stuck around, and you got to know me. You didn't have to do that, not when it costs you everything to do so."
He swallows, his expression shattered as he listens.
"I would have never known this side of you, if you hadn't found me." You push forward. "And no matter how terrifying it is to be in a whole other dimension without knowing if I'll make it home, it doesn't change that I'm glad I met you."
He breathes out, as if your words were a sucker-punch to his gut. His eyes trace over your features, a hidden longing unravelling the longer he carried out his intent focus, wanting to capture everything.
"Can I be selfish one more time?" His voice is a quiet plea, and you don't resist to how weak it renders you.
You nod gently.
Leaning in, his fingers tremble as he reaches up to brush away a stray strand from your cheek. His warmth lingers over your skin, eventually brushing over your cheekbone as his gaze pours into you. He looks at you the same way he had countless times before, and you had never been able to put it to words. Till now.
When his lips touch yours, it feels like a goodbye. A wish made impossible, fulfilled for only a mere moment. It's softer than you ever expected, gentle in a way you had never been treated from anyone else before.
When you open your eyes, you watch his expression carefully draw back into his composure. He's doing it for you, picking up the pieces that's broken so you won't have to face it.
"Let's get you home." He promises, and you believe it.
As the days pass by, with your body experiencing more frequent glitches, Damian's kindness runs a deeper wound above your heart. Whenever you insist that you're fine so he can focus on his work—he merely accompanies you by your side like some personal torture he inflicts on himself. Whenever your body seizes into another episode, split between the fractures of reality—he's there, waiting for you to reach for him so you can feel real again.
He listens with a seared focus now whenever you tell him stories, of yourself—of your world, like he's running out of time. You both are.
It's the seventh day, when the daily scans of the construction site run by Damian finally begin to detect increasing abnormal activity from where you landed.
"The debris movement seems to reverse every time I run the scan." He mutters. "As if there's a disruption in the space."
You swallow dryly, eyeing the replay he's showing you. "Do you think it could mean.."
"Yes, I'm certain." Damian nods firmly. "The portal is being triggered on the other side. The only concern now is when we should be at the site."
This... is it. Despite everything you've prepared and anticipated for, the obvious fact that you should be relieved you have a chance of making it home—the realisation comes with a bitter-sweet note.
Damian doesn't comment further past the facts. He merely focuses on the hologram screen, inputting commands to verify an estimate window to make rounds at the construction site. Despite calling himself selfish, you had never seen him so composed, silent on his true thoughts of this discovery.
"In two days." He answers, staring unblinkingly at the figure. "We won't miss it."
That settles it. In two days... you're going home.
"I hate waiting."
"I am aware." Damian murmurs.
"Stop agreeing with me." You sigh.
"Alright."
Your head snaps, an unamused expression taking over your features.
His gaze flickers from his device to meet yours briefly, and his lips quirk up slightly. "Sorry." His voice doesn't sound apologetic at all. "You've made it too easy."
You can't help but scoff, chin leaning against his shoulder. "This is worse than the glitches."
"Have I mentioned that you're a horrible liar?" He mocks.
"Numerous times." You hum, eyeing the scan with a narrowed glance. "What if your calculations are wrong?"
"I ran over them one thousand and fifty-three times." He frowns. "The chance for error are near zero."
"Wow, from the looks of it—you seem rather eager to get rid of me." You tease.
"Was I that obvious?" He shrugs.
"Who's the bad liar now?" You tease.
He opens his mouth, ready to produce some quick retort—but something catches his eye.
Shifting your gaze to follow his, you catch movement from where the ground had been stagnant. The rubble—is beginning to move in an anti-clockwise direction.
"Now." Damian stands abruptly, a hand wrapping around your waist to lift you to your feet.
The shift in the atmosphere as a distant rumbling occurrs beneath your feet, it's much more aggressive than you expected. Damian tugs you back, just in time before a fracture cracks in the ground.
"The portal." You recognise, eyeing the glow beneath the fissure, something dreadfully familiar.
Your breath is almost winded, coming up short as you stare at the formation in trembling anticipation. Your gaze whips to Damian, your heart slamming against your ribcage—only for your words to fail you when you meet his expression.
Broken, that's all you saw. The same way he had seemed when you first met him.
"Damian." You call out, hesitant, but he shakes his head.
"I never got to tell you." He starts.
Your brows furrow. He had been nothing but honest since you got here. There isn’t a wound that he hasn’t uncovered in front of you, no vulnerability he hasn’t revealed. You know him, because he had let you.
"I want you to know that I am glad." He confesses, his voice picking up in pace. He sounds terrified that he won't be able to finish what he's started. "That I got to know you. There wasn't a moment where I regretted it, not even for a second."
"I must tell you." His voice cracks. "That I'd choose you, in a hundred lifetimes, no matter what reality, I'd always choose you."
The words are lost on your tongue. I'd choose you too. He has to know, even when the tears well up in your eyes.
He holds you tight, as if he's trying to sear this very embrace into his memory. "At least, I'll know now that somewhere out there, the person I am in your world was able to bring you back. That a version of me didn't lose you."
"I know it's selfish." He whispers. "But I wish I could keep you."
Contrary to his words, he lets go of you the moment he says it, his arms parting from your frame to remain firmly at his side. He's restraining himself, you realise. Damian, the very image of self-control, is barely keeping himself together. He’s letting you go, and in doing so, he’s saving you.
"Thank you." He murmurs in goodbye, casting you a solemn smile. "For sparing me the mercy of meeting you again."
"I hope he understands just how fortunate he is." A bittersweet smile graces his lips. "That he'll cherish you, and protect you always."
You think you ask him to wait. For more time. You remember briefly on how your hand extended towards him, before the portal had pulled you in. It was silent after that, and the loss of something indescribable hits you by the time the world comes back—roaring to life.
Tumbling onto the ground, you choke out a breath, saliva coating your lips as your fingers press numbly into the ground.
You're home. A quick glimpse of your surroundings is enough to confirm the familiar machinery, the abandoned lab. Yet, flashes of Damian's unmoving gaze before his frame completely disappeared, staring at you like he wanted to commit you to memory.
How could he have called it mercy, when he was so shattered?
Your tears slipped, and you feel a strange gap in your chest.
A rushed call of your name echoes before you can even name the emotion that consumes you. The syllables barely forms in your mind, as your head whips up in a daze. Your tear-stained expression is broken, completely unhidden—when you see Damian. Your Damian.
"Damian." Your voice croaks out. The name sounds strange on your tongue.
He freezes, unsure on how to process this version of you. Whatever he expected when he got you back, he must've never anticipated this. The version that has just lost him, and a part of you always will.
Pushing yourself to your feet, you stumble in your steps before collapsing into him. You're convinced he'll push you away, as he always does.
What you didn't expect was the steady warmth of his arms wrapping around you. Tense, but protective—as if he were trying to fend off the inner turmoil that's consuming you.
"It's alright." He mutters, voice stiff but his grip doesn't falter. "You're safe. I am here."
That breaks a silent sob out of you, and you bury your face into his chest. He doesn't push you for answers, nor does he distance himself. He remains planted exactly where he is, grounding you with his presence while you mourned for something that should have never been yours, and what you should have never lost.
He is embracing you so tight, it gave you a violent sense of déjà vu. The lines are blurring, and you can't find it in yourself to be angry when you know you should be.
"I am sorry." He mutters, voice breaking in composure. "I did this—I am sorry. I failed you."
"No, you didn't." You answer, your voice hoarse. "You brought me back."
It was the truth, broken into a hundred pieces.
In time, you will tell him. Of how he protected you even in another dimension. Of how that version of him will forever know that in another reality, he had saved you. That there was a Damian who didn't experience losing you.
Of how you'll never forget him. Even when he's out of bounds, but forever engraved into your existence, a memory that should have never existed.
But for now, you'll let yourself rest, knowing that you're home.
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
[extra pov] - alt! damian + reader’s damian after her return
divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto
word count: 1.9k
synopsis: Damian would do anything to bring you back, no matter the consequences.
a/n: Am I back from my hiatus? Not sure, but I wrote this at 3 am and figured I might as well share it. This is angsty and dark, so don't say you weren't warned.
You had died in his arms.
He held you long after the warmth of your blood had cooled, his fingers sticky where they pressed against your red stained skin. They hadn't stopped trembling, Your final words—a fragile whisper of love that had barely reached his ears—now echoed endlessly in his mind, looping through the hollow silence.
He had been trained since birth not to weep. Taught never to yield, never to break, no matter the cost. But that night, all those lessons meant nothing, all of it fell away as he faced the consequences of his arrogance.
He hadn’t thought the criminal would go through with it. He’d thought he could stop it—that he could protect you, as he always had. But in a single, earth shattering instant, his certainty turned to horror and you were crumpling into his arms, your blood soaking through his gloves, warm and slick.
The man lay dead only a few feet away, his vacant eyes fixed on nothing. But Damian didn’t care. He could hardly remember killing him—the moment had passed in a blur of instinct and rage. All his focus, all his trembling desperation, was on you. On keeping you from bleeding out. But he was too late.
Damian’s tears slipped silently down his cheeks, falling to the marble floor where they mingled with the spreading pool of your blood. For once, he made no effort to hide his grief. The discipline drilled into him since childhood shattered in the face of loss, leaving only a boy broken open by love and the unbearable weight of that realization that he had been too late to save you.
It was unacceptable. You weren’t meant to be gone. Not you.
So, against all reason and every ounce of discipline beaten into him since childhood, he chose the unthinkable.
He went first to his mother. Talia’s lips thinned at his words, her gaze flickering with something between pity and pain. She had seen her son determined before—unyielding in battle, unflinching in blood—but never like this. Not with desperation cracking his voice and tears shining in eyes too much like her own. For a moment, she wavered. But even love has limits, and she knew what he asked would damn him far more deeply than loss ever could.
She refused, ignoring the way something in his eyes broke at her perceived betrayal.
So he went to the devil himself.
Damian knelt before Ra’s al Ghul—the man he had sworn never to bow to again. Pride, that sharp-edged armour he wore so fiercely, had been stripped from him. Damian’s voice trembled, cracking as he pleaded for access to the Lazarus Pit, for a chance to bring you back. He would give anything. Trade anything. His soul, his honour, his legacy—it meant nothing without you.
Gone was the arrogance that once laced every word, the cold composure that made him his father’s son. All that remained was a boy choking on grief.
And so, Ra’s granted his grandson what he desired. Not out of mercy, nor familial affection, but because he knew well the price of defying death, and he saw in Damian’s grief an opportunity—a chink in the boy’s unyielding armour. Love had made him weak, and weakness could be molded. If the consequences of seeing you brought back through the Lazarus Pit did not destroy him, it would remake him into the heir Ra’s had always envisioned.
The pit seethed like a cauldron of emerald fire, steam curling up the stone walls and clinging to the air like a living thing. Damian’s arms trembled as he carried you forward, his steps unsteady, his breath shallow. The heat rose in waves, the scent of brimstone and decay thick enough to burn the throat.
He hesitated at the edge.
“Al-mawt lā yastatīʿu an yaḥtafiẓa biki. Sa’arāki ʿāidatan ilā al-ḥayāh, walaw iḍṭarrartu an amzaqa as-samāwāt bi-yadayya.” The vow left his lips in a trembling whisper that echoed through the cavern’s hollow dark. Then, gathering what remained of his strength, Damian sank to his knees and lowered you into the pit’s churning depths.
The waters hissed when they touched your skin, swallowing you whole with a greedy, bubbling fury until there was nothing left—no body, no shadow, no trace of you at all. The pit had claimed you, and now he could only wait, praying it would choose to give you back.
He pressed his forehead to the cold stone, his voice breaking as he repeated the vow again and again—no longer a command, but a plea. Time lost meaning. The air grew thick with steam that burned his eyes and stung his lungs, yet still he did not move. His heart pounded in his chest, every beat a desperate call to yours.
Then, at last, the water broke.
Your body burst through the surface with a ragged, violent gasp, air tearing into your lungs like fire. Steam clung to your skin, dripping in rivulets of green-tinted water. For a moment, Damian could only stare—his chest caving with a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. You were alive. He had you back.
But the joy curdled almost instantly.
Your eyes snapped open, glowing an unnatural shade of green—the same eerie hue that was permanent in his grandfather’s gaze, the same green that sometimes flickered in Jason’s when rage overtook him. A guttural scream tore from your throat, echoing through the cavern walls. It was almost inhuman from how raw it was.
You clawed at your own arms, nails raking through skin as if trying to tear something unseen away. Your teeth gnashed, bared like an animal cornered and feral. Damian moved toward you, desperate, whispering your name, words of comfort breaking apart in his throat. He reached for you pleadingly, his hands trembling as he tried to pull you into his arms but you thrashed violently, striking out with unnatural strength that was a side effect from the pit.
The Lazarus Pit had given you life, yes, but it had taken something precious in return.
Your sanity.
When he brought you back to Gotham—back to Wayne Manor—the family was already waiting. No one knew where he had gone or what he had done, only that he had vanished in the wake of your death, leaving behind nothing but the corpse of your attacker. But when Damian stepped through the doors, bringing the remnants of what you had become, horror rippled through the room at the sight of you.
Bruce was the first to speak.
“What have you done?” he whispered. The words were soft, but the tremor beneath them was unmistakable. It wasn’t anger that twisted his face—it was dread.
His gaze was fixed on you, watching the way you snarled and paced inside the reinforced cage you'd been forced in to keep you from attacking anyone.
You were no longer the sweet, smiling girl they had once known. The creature before them bore your face, but your movements were feral, your eyes glimmering with that unnatural green light. You hissed when anyone drew too close, teeth bared, fingers flexing like claws against the steel bars.
Dick stood nearby, his hand hovering near Damian’s shoulder—not quite touching, but close enough to offer comfort if it was ever accepted. His expression was composed, but his eyes betrayed only sorrow.
Damian’s voice cut through the heavy silence, steady but brittle. “I brought her back,” he said, chin lifting as if defiance alone could make it alright. “She just needs time to adjust.”
But the look on Bruce’s face said what no one dared to voice. You were gone, whatever was left was a shattered shell of who you once were.
Jason said nothing. He only stared, the horror twisting his features betraying what words never could. In your feral eyes, he saw his own reflection—the same rage, the same torment that had clawed its way out of the Lazarus Pit years ago. Part of him had always wished he’d stayed dead; contrary to what some believed, the pit was no gift. It was a curse. And now, it was a curse you both shared.
He remembered the madness that had consumed him, the way it had turned scrambled his thoughts, feeding off his pain and rage until it nearly consumed him. He had been lucky—if survival could be called that—to claw his way back to sanity. But the pit had never truly let go. Its effects haunted him still, lurking deep in the darkest parts of his mind. Through years he learned to push back the madness and he could only hope you might find a way to do the same.
Around them, silence settled heavily. Tim, Stephanie, Duke, Cassandra—all of them watched you with a mixture of shock and fear. Their eyes moved from the trembling bars of your cage to the anguish in Damian’s face, their hearts breaking not only for him, but for you—for the peace you’d been robbed of, and the mercy that had been denied you.
Yet Damian refused to listen to any of them, adamant in his belief that you could find your way back. The remnants of your mind were fractured, scattered like shards of glass, but he swore he could still see you within them
You weren’t the same. But there were nights where a glimpse of the old you broke appeared. He'd seen a rare moments of clarity—when your trembling hand reached out to brush his cheek, when his name shakily fell from your lips like a plea.
You begged him to help you, to save you from the madness before it swallowed you whole again. And though the everyone told him to let you go, Damian refused—clinging to those shattered fragments of you as if his love alone could save you from the darkness.
He would not give up. Night after night, he fought—not against you, but against the chaos devouring you from within. He bled for you, held you through your violent fits, his arms torn and scored by your nails as you screamed and thrashed against him. Still, he never let go.
He whispered your name over and over, hollow comforts spilling from his lips as he prayed—silently, desperately—to anyone who might listen. Bring her back. Please, bring her back to me.
But outside those walls, the family’s whispers grew heavier with each passing day. They watched the toll it took on him, the way the light had drained from his eyes. To them, his devotion had become cruelty—the act of keeping you alive, of keeping you like this.
“She’s gone, Damian. You need to let her go,” Bruce said, finally after months of watching his son unravel beneath the weight of his obsession to bring you back. His eyes, shadowed with grief, flicked toward you and then away, as if even looking was too much to bear. “This isn’t her,” he murmured, the words breaking under the strain of a truth Damian didn't want to face.
The mansion had grown dark ever since your death and resurrection. Like Bruce, the rest of Damian's siblings couldn't bear to look at you for long and face what the pit had turned you into.
Guilt consumed them all. They knew you deserved peace, that keeping you alive like this was an act of cruelty. Yet none of them could bring themselves to stop it—not when doing so would destroy Damian completely.
The only thing keeping him from spiraling into the same madness that had claimed you was the fragile, flickering hope he clung to—the desperate belief that somehow, against all odds, he could still bring you back.
Damian’s response came out as a snarl, his voice breaking beneath the weight of it. “You’re wrong,” he hissed, the words trembling with fury and grief in equal measure. “She’s still here. I will save her.”
He had been warned of the consequences, but he ignored them all. Love had blinded him to reason, to mercy, to the inevitable truth. Salvation had come with a cost and Damian was paying the toll.
Translations
Al-mawt lā yastatīʿu an yaḥtafiẓa biki. Sa’arāki ʿāidatan ilā al-ḥayāh, walaw iḍṭarrartu an amzaqa as-samāwāt bi-yadayya — Death cannot keep you. I will see you return to life, even if I must tear the heavens apart with my own hands.
