Chapter Text
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Forty-Five Minutes Earlier…
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Damian’s world was fuzzy— a beautiful fuzzy amalgamation of blacks, yellows, and grays. Damian had never seen anything so beautiful.
Damian could register someone yelling at him. Loud and unruly, but Damian couldn’t find it within himself to listen. The lights were dancing. Why wasn’t this voice watching the lights?
Damian could hear the voice getting louder as if the person yelling had taken to screaming directly into Damian’s eardrums.
Damian didn’t mind. He was sure the words were important, just not more important than the lights. Damian felt the voice grab at his shoulders and shake violently. He could feel his body getting whipped into the wall behind him. His head hitting the concrete at odd angles each time.
Thump. Thump. Thump. CRACK.
Well, that's not good. Damian could understand that his head had just cracked against the sheer force of the wall and the voice shaking him, but he just continued to look at the pretty blur.
Damian just wished the voice would leave him be. Everything was so beautiful here. Damian would stay here forever if he could. Maybe he could convince the voice to look at the lights as well? Then they could both experience the-
Someone was strangling him. Damian may have been slightly out of it, but after years of assassin training followed by Bat training, Damian had been strangled his fair share of times.
Damian blinked repeatedly to get a good assessment of his situation. What the hell was he doing earlier? Damian should have been focusing on his surroundings. The hands around his neck were unnaturally strong, and Damian could feel them pressing into his carotid arteries as well as his jugular veins.
Damian could feel his eyes bulging out of his head. Damian couldn't hear the voice anymore, only a ringing in his ears. Damian’s vision was cutting out dramatically, almost as if he were ushering a black curtain to close over his eyes every time he blinked. He was dizzy. He was in pain. He was dying.
Damian couldn’t even remember who was killing him, but he was dying. An uncommon feeling began to claw at his chest. It felt like a being had found a way to rip Damian’s soul right out of his chest. Increased heart rate, dilation of the pupils, and Damian assumed that if he were permitted to breathe, he would be taking in quick, rapid breaths.
Fear. Damian was afraid. Petrified, horrified, terrified, frightened, scared. Damian was scared. Scared that these were his last breaths and all he had to show for his life was an immeasurable body count and a collection of deadly artifacts.
Who would care for Titus? Who would care for Alfred? Batcow? Goliath? The seven ducklings Damian had snuck into the house a couple of days ago?
What would people say at Damian’s funeral? Damian had seen the recordings from his first funeral, but he could only assume that people’s opinions of him must have changed from when he was ten. Damian was seventeen now. He had made new friends. New enemies. He was lucky enough to have a lifetime of experiences people could talk about at his second funeral.
Todd always said that when he dies again, he would want his funeral to be a party. A huge gathering of people celebrating his life with the title on the invitations reading, “A Funeral for Jason Todd: The Sequel” or “A Funeral for Jason Todd: Let’s Hope He Stays Dead”.
Richard never found Todd’s jokes about death funny, but Damian supposed that if anyone was allowed to joke about Todd's death, it was Todd.
Damian didn’t joke about his death often. Todd must have found that odd. Most people who the Bats know who have died joke about their deaths quite often. Damian just didn’t. Damian almost wished he had told Todd why before he died again.
Todd could joke because he had gone somewhere better after dying. Todd said that he didn't remember where he ended up after he died, but based on his lack of memories alone, Damian could assume that he ended up somewhere good. After all, Todd was good.
Damian remembered every moment he spent in hell. It was, well, hell. Todd must have gone somewhere better because Damian would never forget a single moment he spent in the fiery pits. Damian knew that he had only been dead a month, but according to his internal clock, Damian surmised that he had spent at least fifty years in hell. Time moved much more slowly down there.
Damian didn’t want to go back to hell. He understood that he would. After all, that’s where he went the first time. Ten-year-old Damian Al-Ghul Wayne was sentenced to an eternity in hell. Now Damian was seventeen, and he wasn’t sure he was much better than the first time he died.
He still had blood on his hands. He was still selfish, still greedy, still cruel, still… Damian and in every lifetime Damian Al-Ghul Wayne went to hell. It was an unfortunate but very true fact of the universe.
Richard once forced Damian to watch a movie titled “All Dogs Go to Heaven.” Damian assumed that applied to all pets.
Todd went to heaven, Richard would go to heaven, Drake, Cain, Brown, Pennyworth, Jon, Kent, Lane, Maps, Prince, Alfred, Batcow, Goliath, Titus, Father. Damian was sure that even Mother had done enough good in her deeds to join the rest of them in heaven. Just not Damian.
Damian would be forced to watch as everyone he ever knew got on with their lives after they accepted his absence. They would grieve, but then they would understand, and maybe they would even be better for it.
Damian wouldn’t ever see them again, but he promised, as his vision started to cut more frequently, that he would try his hardest to look up at them until they made it up there.
That’s when the squeezing stopped. Immediately, Damian reached up for his jugular, scratching and pushing himself impossibly backwards away from whatever or whoever was just strangling him.
Damian tried to stand, fight, run, anything, but he was immediately seized by a hand on his jaw. His neck was correctly at an inhuman speed, where he was forced to meet the eyes of his attacker.
Jon.
Jon had strangled Damian within an inch of his life. That's when it all came back. The restraints, the cave, the anger, the jewel. What was going on? What the hell had happened to Damian? His emotions had been running rampant, and the only thing that snapped him out of his haze was his best friend- close acquaintance, almost murdering him.
“I won’t say sorry. I had to do that. For us, well, for you. Damian, you will be safe because I care about you so so so so so so so so much, and you care about me too. I know you do, and if you don’t, you will. I have to keep you down here, Damian. If anything were to happen to you, I think I might go crazy. I would find whoever hurt you and watch them choke on their own blood as I rip out their tongues. I would take what was left of your body and tuck it into my bed at night, so I could keep your soul close. Damian, I don’t think you understand what I would do for you, but you will.”
What was Jon talking about? He sounded fucking insane?! Damian was not safe. Jon was not safe. Gotham was not safe, not with Jon running around in this state of mind. Damian needed to do something, but what? What would get Jon to snap back to it?
Maybe… maybe if Damian took the jewel. If he hid the gem or even destroyed it, maybe Jon would go back to normal.
Damian continued to mull over this plan in his mind when he heard something curious.
“Damian, I love you. I have never not loved you.”
Wait, what the actual hell? Jon is in love. In love with Damian? There is absolutely no way. Maybe the jewel was twisting Jon’s feelings of friendship and turning them into something more… carnal?
“You did this to me. You made me love you. Every thought in my head is about you, and you can try to run, but fate brought us together. You have no choice in this. There is no Damian and Jon. There is just us.”
Suddenly, Damian couldn't focus on his plan. He couldn't focus on anything other than the words tumbling from Jon’s lips.
Jon couldn't be in love with Damian. Damian was flawed; he was cruel, narcissistic, selfish, blunt, Damian was… bad. Jon wasn’t bad. Not like Damian. Jon was kind. He was bright. Jon was radiant, like the sun he sourced his power from.
Damian was the moon. He could only ever reflect Jon’s goodness. He had no light of his own, and even though he needed Jon to shine, Damian understood that in the end the sun’s light was only reserved for the earth. Damian was just… in the way. A crude imitation of the radiance that Jon brought to the world.
Jon couldn't love Damian. The sun couldn't love the moon. The light couldn't love the dark. The day couldn’t love the night because they lived in opposition to each other. They could never exist at the same time. They could never share the sky. Not as they were, and Damian was okay with that. He had to be okay with that. He could admire from afar, but Jon could not love Damian. Not the way Damian loved Jon.
Jon had started to laugh. It was a dark, wicked laugh. It sounded alien escaping from Jon’s chest. Damian moved back further. Scrambling on his hands to get away from the sun. Jon was too bright, and Damian needed to focus. He needed to cure Jon, so he could get back into his right mind. So he could tell Damian that he didn't really love him, that the gem had made him say those things. Damian could pretend he had never hoped those words to be true, and the two could move on with their lives.
“You don’t have to be scared because soon you’ll realize that you love me too.”
Damian saw now how Jon was interpreting this situation. Damian wasn’t scared that Jon loved him. That wasn’t the issue. Now Damian was scared because he knew Jon didn't love him, and this sick, perverse version of Jon, the one in front of him telling him these lies, was only making the eventual rejection hurt more. Because the only thing worse than Jon not loving Damian is Jon pretending to love Damian.
Jon reached down, upping Damian’s cheeks before placing a chaste kiss on the boy’s nose. Damian could feel the redness creeping up his neck, but it was definitely not the time. Jon placed his forehead on Damian’s and stared deep into his eyes with a look of pure adoration.
Then Jon got up. He said something else, but Damian could not be bothered to listen. His breathing had started to quicken, and he pulled his knees in so he could find some semblance of safety.
Damian didn’t know how long he had been panting in the corner when he heard voices in the cave again. Wait… voices? Damian looked up and made eye contact with someone he never thought he would see in the Batcave.
Talia Al-Ghul was glaring at Damian.
“داميان، ما الذي يحدث هنا؟!” (Damian, what is going on here?!)
The sharp pierce of his mother tongue gave Damian back his constitution. He was focused, and Damian understood that Talia Al-Ghul would never come down here without a foolproof plan. Damian just had to follow her lead, or at least that’s what Damian thought, because as his mother approached, she paid no mind to Jon in the chair. She looked only at Damian, and the look on her face screamed sheer disappointment.
What had he done?
“I send you off to fight with your father, and this is what I get!”
What was she saying? Why was she here? Why was Mother yelling at Damian? Damian knew that this position certainly did not befit anAl-Ghul, but he thought that maybe his mother was here to help.
“Each night you would beg me to tell you great stories of your father as you stared out that solitary window in your room back in the League, and I gave in. I told you stories of your father with hopes that you could achieve greatness such as him, but no, you were unable!”
Damian wanted to sob violently and uncontrollably. Why would she say these things to Damian? Especially now? Damian knew he was disappointing, but he never thought that his mother would display this much hostility to him in this situation. Damian clutched at his heart as he felt the build-up of hot tears gather behind his eyes and-
Wait.
“Each night you would beg me to tell you great stories of your father as you stared out that solitary window in your room back in the League, and I gave in.”
Wait.
“Father, as you stared out that solitary window in your room back in the League.”
Wait.
“Stared out that solitary window in your room.”
Wait.
“Solitary window”
That wasn’t right…
Damian turned to his mother as he focused on those two words.
Solitary window, solitary window, solitary window, solitary-
Damian had two windows in his room in Nanda Prabat. He remembered because one provided him with a view of the mountainside and the other housed a small bird’s nest on its windowsill. Mother was mistaken. No, Talia Al-Ghul was never mistaken, but she was sending Damian some kind of message.
She was lying. All the things she was saying were lies. She was serving as a distraction, but there was no one else here? How would Talia get the gem if there was no one to grab it off, Jon?
Damian had to act. He needed to act defeated, depressed, accepting of the words his mother was saying. Damian was trying not to listen, but every once in a while, Damian would catch a few words.
Each word falling from his mother’s lips was in direct contrast to the things Jon had told Damian just a couple of hours before. It was almost poetic, but Damian didn’t have time to dwell on that because just then Jon pounced.
Jon jumped onto Damian’s mother, knocking the pair to the ground. Damian watched in horror as Jon’s fists made contact with his mother’s body at breakneck speed.
That’s when the idea came to him. Damian wasn’t bound anymore. Damian took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to act once more.
Then, he screamed.
Damian had never screamed like this before in his life. Not during torture, not when Father died, never. Damian was shocked by the sheer volume of his voice as it rippled across the cave. It was shrill and high-pitched and nothing Damian had ever heard before. Instantly, Jon came to Damian’s side.
“What’s going on?! What is wrong with you?!”
Jon didn’t seem as concerned with Damian’s safety as he was angry to be pulled from his battle with Talia.
Damian decided to start laying it on thick. He sobbed, loud and unrestrained. This was what finally napped Jon out of his anger. Damian could tell the boy was still under the influence of the gem, but Damian could see pieces of the real Jon poking through the gem’s mask.
Damian opened his arms slowly and looked up at Jon with the most pitiful look he could muster.
“Oh, Damian. I-I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over be, but-”
Jon cut himself off in favor of collecting Damian into his arms. With Jon’s arms securely around Damian, the boy allowed himself to bask in the comfort of being held. It wasn't often that Damian was held like this. It was his own fault, but sometimes in the back of his mind Damian knew that he needed a hug. He would never ask, but maybe this hug from Jon could be enough to fix Damian permanently.
Damian allowed himself exactly 3.27 seconds to enjoy the hug before reaching up and violently ripping the pendant housing the jewel off of Jon. Jon's eyes turned from tender love into unabashed rage in an instant, and before Damian could come up with a solid plan, Jon had already begun to reach back for the gem.
Time moved in slow motion, and without thinking, Damian tossed the gem into the only place he knew Jon could not reach.
And within a fraction of a second, the pendant that had caused Damian so much grief these past few hours had been tossed over the railing of the cave, making a faint whistling sound as it approached the waters below.
Jon threw Damian off, but before the boy could go after the gem, Damian pulled him off the railing and threw him back towards Mother.
It seemed that in the time it had taken Damian to successfully confiscate the gem, Talia had understood what he was trying to do, and Damian rejoiced at the sight of a small glowing gem in his mother’s hands. This one looked almost identical to the jewel Damian had just thrown over the edge, but it did not hum, and it was a beautiful bright green in color.
Damian thanked whoever was in office in the sky at the moment that the Bats had the carelessness to just leave kryptonite wherever.
Damian watched as the color drained from Jon's tanned skin.
“You stupid bitch! Do you understand what you’ve done?!”
Jon was screaming at Mother now, but he was unable to fly down to get the gem because of the kryptonite in his near vicinity.
Damian then heard a sound he would think about fondly for the rest of time.
A gentle splash.
The gem had finally reached the bottom, and now Damian could only hope that his theory was correct. That maybe, due to its distance away from Jon and the water between the boy and the rock; the gem’s powers would distort.
It seemed Damian was right, as the second after the splash of the gem all of the tension fell away from Jon’s frame. He barely had the energy to turn back towards Damian before he fell onto the cave floor.
Damian could only attribute this outcome to the enhanced emotional state that Jon had been in for the past couple of hours. He must be experiencing an insane adrenaline crash.
Damian stood and walked over to his mother, who was now crouched over Jon’s unconscious form, still gripping the green kryptonite.
She raised her gaze at the sound of Damian’s footstep fast approaching.
“Ibn…”
Talia looked at her son with pure dread in her eyes. Sure, she looked relieved that the threat was dealt with, but Damian could tell that she felt guilty for the words she had said earlier.
“I had two windows, Ummi.”
Now knowing that her son understood her coded phrasing, Talia pulled her son into a hug that could only be rivaled by Richard.
Damian prepared himself to speak more with his mother, maybe explain what had happened or ask what she was even doing in Gotham, but then Damian felt his world going dark.
Oh, yeah. The kryptonite had probably affected Damian too, and as the boy collapsed into his mother’s arms because of a severe crash of adrenaline from the emotional rollercoaster he had been on for the past couple of hours, Damian could smile and think of the safety of his mother’s grasp.
Damian was not worried about potential enemies taking advantage of his weakened state because his Ummi was there, and Talia Al-Ghul would do anything for her son.