Sunday, July 29th: Vacation or Separation
(Why not both? Also, warning attempts at angst (not actually sure if I’m doing it right?) and implied character death(s). Because I am a cruel individual.)
Come on vacation, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Damian mentally grumbled to himself as he pushes himself to keep moving. He had to keep moving. If he stopped- don’t think about it, keep moving. He could worry latter. They even convinced Father to allow the leaguers to handle Gotham for a week… how naive to think trouble wouldn’t find me- find us like it always does.
“Come on twerp, it’ll be fun.” Was Todd’s input on it.
“We want you to come with us. Please, Little D?” Grayson’s plea.
Cain, Brown, and Thomas all had similar sentiments.
“It might do you some good to have some sun, Master Damian.” Pennyworth’s advice, which Father shared.
The former assassin… the child that he could never truly be, wonders… would they of wanted to go this badly if they knew this would happen?
Of course, they had no idea that the league of assassins would be there on an assignment, though Father- Batman- The Caped Crusader- couldn’t help but snoop… though for whatever reason, he didn’t feel inclined to warn anyone other than Dr-… An aching tug at the boy’s chest, nearly causing him to trip and drop his load, but he catches himself, and the… thing that is on his back at the last second…
“…. you’re going to be fine…. I’m…. going to get you to the others, and you’ll get better…. you’re going to be fine….” Damian wonders where that broken voice of a child is coming from… in a tone of denial specifically for situations where they won’t accept a person is dead. His brain refuses to acknowledge that it is his own voice. Because to do so would lead to wondering who’s death he was denying…. and he cannot take losing his family again.
His back feels sticky… as if it was covered in blood… but it’s his limbs that are injured, not his back…. maybe it’s just sweat? Yes….. just sweat….. That coppery smell is coming from his arms, not from behind him….
“You’ll be fine, and… and I’ll let you pet Alfred…. and Titus… and Batcow… and not complain about it… so you have to be fine…” The boy, clad only in a pair of trunks and sandals, continues speaking, until the injuries he himself carry, combined with the weight of his older brother’s body corpse finally causes him to collapse. As his vision blurs and fades, he remembers one more voice… the one that ultimately convinced him to go.
“Would you just stop pretending to hate us and just accept the invitation, Demon Brat?” Drake’s pitiful attempt at affection mixed with an insulting nickname…
Damian would give anything to hear him say it again….
