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The first time Dick saw Damian get hurt, he saw red.
He saw hatred and fury and punishment. He had tunnel vision for the perpetrator. He glimpsed death and murder and pain. He felt someone deserved that. The one who hit his partner deserved that. Every ounce of it he could personally give.
And he’d felt that before. But not for an incredibly long time.
But after a lighter sentence was given – only broken bones, some internal bleeding, missing teeth and an ambulance reluctantly called – all he saw was his brother. All he saw was this little boy who shouldn’t exist, shouldn’t be out here, limping towards him on a bruised and swollen ankle, claiming he was still okay to fight. That he was fine.
Dick swooped him up into his arms anyway, and ignored all complaint. Let that fresh yellow cape disappear within the inky depths of his equally new black one. Found himself running as fast as his armoured legs could carry him. To get his bird – his bird – help before he was grounded for good.
The first time Dick saw Damian get hurt, he realized he loved him.
Not just that – he already knew that. Already accepted Damian as one of his little brothers, one of his successors to the mantle of Robin. He was family. He was Bruce’s son. But in that moment, he realized he adored him. Unconditionally. It wasn’t just that Damian reminded Dick every second of the father they lost, it was that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for this kid, for his safety. Would never hate him, could never hate him, no matter what happened. No matter what he did, even if he went back down the path his mother set for him.
Suddenly, Dick thought he might have understood Bruce a little bit better. Might have understood why Batman was known to be so violent, so protective, when it came to all his little shadows called Robins.
(Or maybe it was just a dad thing. The dad instinct Damian brought out in him. But it’d be another few years for Dick to get that part.)
And it broke his heart that he only realized it now, when the kid was injured. Not when he just existed, oh no, it had to be potentially life or death. Had to be when he might lose him forever, just like Jason.
“Batman.” Damian whined, still pushing at Dick’s engulfing arms. He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand. “I’m fine.”
And Dick – Batman – almost let out a sob, because he wasn’t. He so absolutely wasn’t, and Dick loved him so much his soul hurt. Loved him so much he didn’t know if he could do this. Could let this boy be Robin, could let him potentially get taken away from him, in any form.
“Batman.” Damian kicked again, as they reached the car. “Did you hear me? I said I’m-”
Damian’s voice cut off as Dick suddenly stopped and squeezed his shoulders. Shifted so Damian was wholly held in one arm – and god, how had Dick never realized how small he was before either?! – and gently held the side of his head in his newly freed hand.
“We’re calling it a night early.” Dick grumbled, still trying to be Batman, Bruce’s Batman, despite everything crumbling inside him. “Let’s get you home.”
Damian just watched him curiously as they got in the car and disappeared into the night.
~~
The first time Tim saw Damian hurt, he was shocked.
And he doesn’t know why. Doesn’t know why his logic suddenly stopped, why he was suddenly confused.
Why he was suddenly feeling guilty.
But he couldn’t stop staring as Damian sat on the gurney in the cave, looking in a mirror while poking at a bleeding gash below his collarbone, and the blooming bruise around it. Couldn’t stop staring as he winced in pain, and hissed through his teeth when Bruce pressed a wet cloth against it.
Damian noticed him in the mirror, and narrowed his eyes as he sarcastically snapped, “What, never seen a kid get stabbed before?”
And he had. Of course he had. He’d seen Jason as Robin get stabbed. His friends get stabbed. Himself get stabbed. He’s seen innocent kids and less innocent teenagers get stabbed.
But he’s never seen Damian get stabbed. Never seen Damian get hurt, or feel hurt.
And why was Damian in a different category? Why didn’t he see Damian as a kid?
Because he saw Damian as an enemy, that’s why. Because he’d called Damian ‘the son of Satan’ after he’d met him, and that title stuck in his mind. In his perception.
Because he never saw Damian as a human, as a child, in the first place.
The scene became surreal, then. It was like kids who see their parents as invincible, and the world crumbles when they realize they’re not. Tim felt panic rush through his system. Sorrow ooze through his veins.
Damian was a kid. Just a kid. And they let him get hurt.
(And why did they let him get hurt? Why did they protect other children, made it their mission to protect other children, but not this one?
Why not this one?)
“Tim?” Bruce asked softly. Tim looked at him, but felt like he didn’t really see him. Already felt his eyes dragging back to Damian’s wounds. Damian stared back at him in the mirror, looking just as confused as Tim felt.
“Maybe he’s injured as well.” Damian hummed thoughtfully. Not maliciously, and that was a first too. Or was it? Was it just Tim’s perception? He watched in near horror as Damian took the wet cloth for himself, pressed it to his own chest. “You should tend to him first.”
“No.” Tim breathed as he stepped forward, and Damian twisted now, to look at him. Not through that mirror. “No, I…take care of Damian first.”
Bruce looked between his boys, before furrowing his eyebrows, and asking again: “Tim?”
“Please just save Damian first.”
Both Bruce and Damian’s eyes widened, and their resemblance was almost laughable. But Tim couldn’t laugh. Too focused on that blood. Too focused on that gash.
Too focused on the realization that Damian is a child. Too focused on the fact a child got hurt. A child he knows, and could have protected, got hurt.
His brother got hurt.
“Tim.” Bruce repeated, though not a question this time. Tim once again ignored him, rushing the gurney to stand in front of Damian. Damian leaned slightly away, defensive and unsure. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry.” Tim whispered quietly, ignoring Bruce completely. Damian glanced to Bruce for just a moment. “I’m so sorry, Damian.”
“For what?” Damian demanded. “You weren’t even there.”
“For everything.” Tim countered. “Everything.”
And Damian had no idea. Was confused and concerned and on edge. But his features seemed to soften slightly, and god – that just made it all worse.
“Drake, go get some rest.” He murmured, looking down at the cloth dotted with his blood. “You’re clearly exhausted.”
And Tim didn’t want to. He wanted to stand here. He wanted to fix the wound. He wanted to hug the kid – fuck, he wanted to hold him and rock him like his dad used to rock him. He wanted to keep apologizing. He wanted to cry.
But Damian was right. Of course that little shit was right.
And all this time, because he felt spurned himself, Tim was so, so wrong.
“I’m sorry.” He repeated, shaking his head. “I’m…I don’t know.” And he couldn’t stop himself. Reached out and put his hand on Damian’s head. “Feel better, little brother.”
If Damian or Bruce were going to say anything, Tim ran towards the manor steps before either of them could.
~~
The first time Jason saw Damian get hurt, he saw himself.
Kid took a hit to the face, then a swift kick to the gut. Blood ran from his mouth as the thug just kept coming. Slammed his head to the pavement with his combat boot, stood on him for a minute, before spitting on his face.
And Jason knew what that was like. Jason felt that so many times himself, before he ever even saw that yellow cape he’d eventually wear.
It wasn’t Damian lying on the ground then. It was him, in jeans and a red hoodie. Getting beaten by another street rat, getting beaten by his father. Getting beaten by anyone who looked at him. Just like the good old days.
He’s saved himself in dreams and visions before. He could save himself now, too.
The gun was up and shooting in a blink. And it was almost funny. The image of him on the ground was morphing back to Damian, and the more it did, the more his past self left him once more – the angrier he got.
What a bunch of fucks, getting their rocks off beating up a kid. He didn’t care if it was Robin. The kid was three feet tall, less than a hundred pounds. Anyone who found enjoyment beating up someone that size was a piece of garbage.
And he was happy to be the one to take out the trash.
He shot without mercy, uncaring about any repercussions from Bruce. After all, Bruce should be grateful. He was saving Batman’s son, like Batman should have in the first place. Like Batman kept failing to do, over and over.
But even if Bruce wasn’t grateful, Jason knew Dick would be. After a moment of initial anger, anyway.
As Jason walked forward, still shooting, Damian immediately curled into the fetal position, protecting his head with his hands and arms. Jason only slowed for a second, to lean down and gather Damian into his free arm. Held him half tenderly, like he was an infant crying for his parents in the night, and half like a sack of potatoes, slung partially over his shoulders.
He didn’t kill the thugs like he should have. They might still die, from blood loss, but he wasn’t waiting around to deliver the final blow himself. Just lowered his gun, and kept Damian held protectively against his chest.
“This is your one warning.” He sneered. “Get near this kid again, and I’ll put a bullet through your skull, no questions asked. Got it?”
The men whimpered, and that made Jason feel a little bit better as he holstered his gun and turned away.
“I didn’t need your help.” Damian grumbled over his shoulder, though the fact he wasn’t fighting to get out of Jason’s hold said the opposite.
“Yeah, sure you didn’t.” Jason hummed. Didn’t coddle him, didn’t raise his other arm to hold Damian’s back. Just kept his one arm looped under his butt, shifted him downwards so he wasn’t so slumped over his shoulder, and the other hand in his pocket, next to his holster.
“…Why did you do that?” Damian asked, a lot quieter, a lot more unsure. In his periphery, Jason saw Damian reach up and feel his own head, his fingers coming back with blood on them.
“Because I know what it’s like, fighting by yourself and feeling like no one’s coming to help you.” Jason said. “You remind me of myself sometimes, the shit you go through. And I don’t like it. Hits too close to home.” Stopped to look both ways across the road. It was empty. “So, why wait for someone else to take care of something when I know I can?”
And from Damian’s silence, he knew Damian knew what he really meant. Why wait for Bruce to save his kid when he didn’t save him the first time? When he didn’t save me?
“The plus side about my bad childhood is I know how to stop it from happening to other kids.” Jason continued, walking slowly across the street. “And I hate to tell you, but not only do you fall into the category of ‘kid’, you also fall into the category of family, and that means you get the perk of me giving an extra shit about you.”
He felt Damian tense in his arms about the basic declaration of caring about him. Let him have that. After all, he wasn’t Dick, he didn’t need to reassure or feel pity. Again, he knows how the kid’s life has been, it’s been too similar to his in the worst aspects, self-worth and lack of belief in true family included.
Eventually the kid scoffed. “Don’t expect the feeling to be mutual.”
And that clearly said that it was.
“I don’t.” Jason laughed. “Want to grab some ice cream before I take you back to Alfred to get patched up?”
Damian nodded against his neck. “As long as you’re paying.”
~~
The first time Cassandra saw Damian hurt, she realized she loved him.
It was the first time she saw him as a little brother, as he laid resting in his bed, surrounded by his pets. It was the first time she properly saw him as family, as he scratched at the stitches on his bicep, squirming in the sling encasing the same arm.
She’d always understood him, they were cut from the same cloth. She’d always cared for him, he was a child. He was Bruce’s child, and that made him special.
As she moved into the room, she smiled. Smiled wider when he glanced up at her and frowned grumpily.
Because this was the first time she realized she loved him for himself. The first time she saw what Dick saw in him from practically day one. Yes, he was special, but not because he was of the League of Assassins, Talia’s chosen. Not because he was Bruce’s blood.
Because he was him. Because he just existed at all.
“What?” He snapped as she sat next to him on the bed. Defensive and harsh, just like they were both trained to be. But finally, she could see his heart underneath, even though he clearly didn’t want her to.
He’d gotten this injury protecting Tim and Jason after all. Jason had been knocked out, Tim had his back turned tending to him. Damian jumped in front of them both, taking the blow meant for Tim’s jugular.
“You’re cute.” She replied, wrapping her arm around his neck and pulling him into her side as she leaned back on his pillows. Only Dick was allowed to do this, she observed, and only sometimes.
Oh well.
“Am not.” Damian pouted. “Father sent you, didn’t he?”
“No. I came myself.” She promised. “To check on you. I was…worried.”
Damian snorted, but didn’t pull away. And if that wasn’t a testament to how far he’d come since he’d joined their brood, nothing else could be. “…How is Drake?”
There’s that heart again. He was doing a terrible job at hiding it these days.
“Fine.” She said simply. “Guilty. Wants to apologize.”
“To who?”
Now she snorted, glanced down and poked his nose. “You, silly.”
Damian looked confused, then disgusted, then rolled his eyes. “Unnecessary. I was doing my job. Just like father would have.”
“He is proud of you.” Cassandra whispered, squeezing his shoulder. Damian didn’t say anything to that, but seemed to relax a little. “I am, too.”
He hummed thoughtfully at that. Then quietly said, “You shouldn’t be. This did not make up for any past crimes.”
“Maybe not.” She agreed, knowing exactly how that felt. “But still good. Very good.”
He didn’t hum this time. Just silently tilted his head hesitantly against her shoulder. Half thoughtful, half attempting to accept the comfort. But she wasn’t their eldest brother, and she wasn’t their – their – father, so accepting it fully was still impossible for him.
But maybe not one day.
And now that she knew she loved him, maybe it would be a day not too far off.
“Go to sleep. You need your rest.” She decided, leaning deeper into his pillow. He didn’t fight her, or maybe convinced himself that he couldn’t. (Not that he, in fact, actually could.) Just repositioned his sling across his chest and sighed. And she remembered, from all the books she read, how mothers put their sons to bed, and the things they always said. “Goodnight, little baby. I love you.”
“Not a baby.” He retorted. Though her heart swelled when he didn’t refute anything else she said. Is this how Dick felt all the time? No wonder he enjoyed this child’s company so much.
“But still little.” She whispered.
Damian just humphed, and closed his eyes in defiance. Cassandra just giggled.
~~
The first time Bruce saw Damian get hurt, his life flashed before his eyes.
Because he never realized how small Damian was, until he watched the child get kicked in the stomach, thrown against a wall and collapse to the ground. Didn’t realize how downright tiny he was, until the child stumbled back onto shaking legs to keep fighting, to keep throwing himself into the line of fire.
Just because he thought that’s what his father wanted.
And for once, he was too slow to react. Too stuck in his head. Damian was kept from him for his whole life, Talia had hurt him, his child had gotten hurt. He didn’t know him well enough, never gave Damian a chance, never tried to get to know him, before he died and went off into the time stream. Before he dumped him with Dick, left him there even when he came back. Chose Batman over him, chose the Justice League over him, chose his business over him, chose everything over him.
Now he might lose his boy. Lose another son, lose another child.
Now he might lose Damian just like he lost Thomas and Martha.
His heart screamed, and he just couldn’t move. Transported in time back to when he was eight years old, watching in slow motion as bullets entered his parents’ bodies. Watching blood explode into the air, the light go out of their eyes.
Only now it wasn’t his parents, it was his son. Now it wasn’t a gun, it was a knife, stabbing far to close to Damian’s heart.
The blood was the same. The blood flying into the air, splattering onto the alley walls like words. Like a declaration of a long decided, long ignored fate.
He’s going to die and leave you all alone too.
But luckily – God. Thank god for Dick. Dick, who couldn’t lose another sibling either. Dick, who had the strongest bond with this wayward child out of any of them. Dick, who was smart and fast and skilled. Dick, who turned his fear and anger into action, and never let his traumas stop him from protecting those he cared about.
Dick instantly was there, jumping between this bank robber and his brother. Grabbed the knife and shattered the blade against the brick, then used the hilt to dislocate the bastard’s shoulder. Listened to him scream as he swept out his legs, then kicked him into the sharp corner of the nearby dumpster, and bounced the hilt off his temple for good measure.
Dick stood there for a moment, looming over his figurative kill for a second before spinning on Damian, asking him if he was alright. Damian grinned, blood staining his teeth.
And it was so, so wrong.
But even as Dick knelt down to check the boy’s injuries for himself, Bruce felt himself moving forward. Wasn’t a command he gave himself, his body just did it on instinct.
And what did it say, that both his boys flinched slightly when he got near them, both expecting some sort of reprimand of their actions before checking their safety?
Regardless, he ignored the movement, kept his eyes on Damian and the blood on his uniform, and enveloped his youngest in his arms.
Damian seemed confused. Bruce felt him glance towards Dick. Heard Dick shrug.
“I’m sorry.” Bruce whispered, though didn’t quite know what for. For their past? For their current? For not jumping in front of him tonight? For letting him out here at all? He felt his cape slip around Damian, hiding him from view almost completely, and gently laid his hand on the back of his tiny boy’s head. “Are you alright?”
“I won’t die.” Damian huffed, almost sounding annoyed. “That idiot just got a few lucky swipes in.”
“But he still hit you.” Dick reminded gently. “So excuse us if we want to check you out, and make sure it’s as minimal as you think.”
“Waste of time.” Damian hummed, but Bruce felt him shift, to put a hand tight over his wound. Apparently in his blood loss, he didn’t think anyone would notice. But Bruce did. Of course Bruce did. And the faint sounds of two gunshots echoed in his mind. “There’s more important things to deal with.”
“There’s not.” Bruce murmured. “There’s absolutely not.”
Please don’t leave me, he didn’t say. And Damian didn’t hear it. But he knew Dick did. Dick absolutely did. He could tell by the tired smile on his face. Don’t leave me like they did.
“The most important thing is your safety and your health.” Bruce continued. “So let us take you home and get you fixed up, okay?”
Because we love you, he still didn’t say. And Damian still didn’t hear it. Because I love you and can’t bear the thought of losing you, not to something like this. Not to anything.
Damian huffed. “Sure, but-”
Suddenly Dick’s hand was ruffling the boy’s hair. “Listen to your papa, kiddo.”
And Dick – always better with Bruce’s kids than Bruce himself was – pushed himself to his feet, turning towards the Batmoblie. He knew Damian would grumble about it less if they all went, not just he and Batman. He knew there’d be no guilt, that he couldn’t feel like he left someone behind or unguarded if no one stayed back for one last patrol.
Bruce didn’t wait for Damian to respond, just stood, with Damian still hidden in his cloak, clutched him like he was a newborn kitten he was trying to warm up. He’d let Dick answer any of Damian’s complaints. Distract him from Bruce’s shaking hands and ragged breath with jokes and annoyances.
Despite it all, he felt Damian’s tiny fists cling to his neck in stabilization, and he felt the phantom fingers of his father on his back, leading him into an alleyway as a shortcut to their car after a day of fun. A day at the movies with just his parents.
He wondered if he’d let his son go, when they got home. Wondered if he’d hold him while Alfred looked him over, and stitched all the wounds he needed to. Would continue to hold him like he was an infant, or just hold him like he was Damian’s personal chair.
It didn’t matter, he decided. His gut was easing with every step out of the lane, back into the open air, into the cool night.
Because for once, he was leaving an alleyway without the bang of gunshots still ringing in his ears. For once, he wasn’t leaving an alleyway alone.
For once, with Damian still safe and alive in his arms, Dick at his back and the others all waiting at the cave or sleeping in their homes, he was leaving an alleyway with his family still fully intact.
~~
“I don’t get it.” Damian hummed thoughtfully. Alfred glanced back at the tired boy on the gurney. His vitals had been stabilized, but he was still covered in blood, despite the cloth he was using to clean himself off already being saturated with it.
“Don’t get what?” Alfred asked quietly, turning back to his workstation. Cleaning off the supplies he’d just used to stitch up Damian’s freshest wounds. His stomach was in knots, always was when his family came home injured. The knots were tighter, the younger the child, though.
“Them.” He waved in front of them. “I don’t get them.”
Alfred turned further, not to look at Damian this time, but everyone else. Tim and Cassandra were smushed into a chair together, next to Damian’s gurney. Jason was sprawled along another gurney, that he’d pushed up to be right against Tim and Cassandra’s chair. His body was turned towards Damian, arm hanging off the side, barely brushing Titus’s fur, who laid beneath him. Dick was curled up at the end of the gurney, his head resting gently on Damian’s knee.
All – including the dog – were asleep.
“They all get weird, in times like this.” Damian continued. Not annoyed, not by any means. Just curious. “Clingy.”
“Times like what?” Alfred asked. He glanced at the empty chair on his side of the bed, keeping his full attention on their youngest.
“Times like…” Damian waved his hand around again. His blood splattered off the washcloth. “When I make a mistake.”
And it was sad, that that’s what he thought it was. Not that he was injured, not that they were worried about him. But that he’d messed up.
“But why are they here?” Damian continued. “What’d they come here for?”
“Perhaps because they’re concerned for you.” Alfred tried to chuckle, but Damian’s thoughts still broke his heart too much. “Or, more likely, perhaps it’s merely because they love you.”
But before Damian could even scrunch his face in disbelief, Bruce appeared. His face was gray and eyes bleary, but he smiled in relief when he saw Damian anyway. In his arms was Damian’s cat, whom he’d gone to retrieve for him, despite Damian not specifically requesting him.
Bruce silently sat in the empty chair he’d vacated not ten minutes prior, and let the cat jump up to Damian’s side as he simultaneously reached for Damian’s hand. Damian allowed him to take it, allowed him to press a tender kiss to the back of it and hold it as he curled around his feline, careful not to disturb Dick in the process.
“In fact, I’m sure of it.” Alfred decided, amusement clear in his voice. “To the point I’d absolutely bet my life on the fact, sir.”
“…I think your age is starting to get to your mind, Pennyworth.” Damian whispered quietly, with that self-depreciating tone he was so good at, that he thought no one else heard. Their boy had come so far, but believing he was worthy of unconditional love by these people was something he still struggled with. Still could not believe. Bruce tilted his head in question at his words, but didn’t outright ask. Let the conversation remain between grandfather and grandson.
“Or maybe I’m just more observant than you, my budding young detective.” Alfred returned with a smirk. Without thinking, he reached out and smoothed his hand over Damian’s hair. Damian grinned up at him, warm and full of the life that they were all so terrified they might lose.
(Again.)
“Now get your rest, dear boy.” Alfred sighed, taking the washcloth from Damian’s hands. “The sooner you do, the sooner I will begrudgingly let you back into that colorful uniform of yours.”
Damian snorted, but it was jovial, as his cat purred in his face, and Bruce tried to maneuver a blanket over both him and Dick. “You’re just as much an enigma as the rest of these fools, Pennyworth.”
“Hope you’re not putting me in that category, son.” Bruce joked, retaking Damian’s hand. Clinging to it himself. Damian didn’t mention it.
“Well, love makes you a fool, as they say.” Alfred hummed, turning back to his instruments. “And if we are fools for loving you, Master Damian, than I can say with much certainty it’s a title your family and I will proudly take.”