Journey

A small huff of annoyance filled the room as a disgruntled Damian entered with loud, irritated steps. He flopped down on to his bed, not bothering to switch on the light, and growled into the sheets: he had screwed up on this evening's patrol and that annoyed him to no end. But what really got under his skin, was the lecture he had received after.

It had all been going rather smoothly to be honest. The moon had decorated the sky in it's light and the air had been cool and pleasant. There was barely a crime on the streets and he and his father seemed to be getting on very well this evening. Things had been tranquil between them and a discussion on the history of Gotham that would have usually irked Damian had in fact caught his interest.

Yet this all changed when the sounds of a mugging had echoed from a nearby alley. Of course, the dynamic duo had leapt into action faster than a lightning bolt, stopping the two petty thieves from making off with the young man's laptop. It would have been an easy fight: it was an easy fight... until Robin noticed that one of them had stabbed the poor boy.

What happened after that, he could remember in precise detail. He lost control of his anger in the blink of an eye. Suddenly his punches became more forceful, and he felt bones quake under his fists. He was quite sure in fact, that some damage had been done to his own hands in the attack, judging by how they ached right know as he lay on his side, glaring at the wall.

But the look on the man's face, after he had broken his nose and then kept on beating... there was terror there. Sheer terror of the highest form. It had stared up at him before falling unconscious and then suddenly, Robin had truly recognised his act.

It had been wrong to go that far. He was a petty thief, nothing more. Probably just looking for enough money to survive. Yet with the threat of that man's life at stake, he could no longer control his most violent impulses.

Batman had been less than forgiving after the GCPD and ambulance services had arrived. Robin knew that the storm was brewing during the whole ride back to the cave. He knew because his father was silent, like the grave he had deserted.

However he did not receive the worst of his wrath when they had finally made it home. His father had even seemed understanding, and that he knew of the compulsions that he had acted on: the man had even said so during his lecture. But he had also reminded Damian about the consequences of his fury and how he would have to learn to control it. Thus, his youngest son was now banned from patrol for the next three nights.

Yet right now as he lay on his bed, Damian could hardly be more infuriated with himself. He had screwed up badly and his father had absolutely no right to let him off the hook this easily.

His fists scratched and bundled the soft sheets beneath him and Damian drew in another breath that shook in his chest: coming down from the adrenaline that still pumped through his small system was proving a difficult task.

After a while he just lay there, soaking in the rage that soon turned to misery. He closed his eyes, hoping to find some calm in true darkness.

Suddenly, his door brushed open and a light was flicked on. He heard quiet padding footsteps pace his carpet before a corner of his bed dipped with a familiar weight. He took in a deep breath, knowing that this would have come sooner or later.

"Damian?" Came the voice of his eldest brother, leaking with concern.

He did not reply. He only grew irritated at the intrusion. But not for any of his usual reasons: right now he hardly deserved to be in the presence of his calm, forgiving and kind brother.

"I heard about what happened," Dick continued, "it's okay-"

"Stop," Damian ordered, opening his eyes to look at the furrowed brow of the older man.

The acrobat sighed, "I'm not here to lecture you. I just want to know-"

"Stop," the younger one commanded again, his eyes settling on the window once more, "I don't deserve your sympathy or to be in your presence right now. Leave."

His words were harsh, and though he felt what he said was true, he did not want his eldest brother to go... not truly. It seemed that Dick had also picked up on that, because he did not even twitch.

"You're my brother, Dami," he heard him say, using the nickname that he usually detested with every fibre of his being, "of course you deserve my sympathy. I want to help."

There was no reply, so he continued, "I know you lost control for a while and you may have crossed the line a bit-"

"Understatement."

"What I don't know is why." Dick finished.

Damian paused in his response, "it's a stupid reason. I'm not telling you." He said stubbornly.

He felt his heart tug a little as his brother's brow furrowed again in concern. They sat there for a while, enjoying the silence, though no peace came with it. All the while Damian could still feel his limbs shaking with leftover adrenaline and he was sure Dick could as well.

He buried his face in his pillow, wishing that he could right the wrongs he had committed this evening. His mind clouded once more with anger, directed purely at himself. Damian got so caught up in it that he almost did not hear his brother speak.

"Come with me."

Damian turned to look at him, "what?"

Dick stood up, a calm smile touching his face, "come with me."

"Why?"

"I have something that might help."

The youngest raised an eyebrow. While he was not surprised that his emotionally perceptive brother could sense his anger, he was curious at the request. With a sigh, he decided that whatever Dick had planned could not possibly be any worse than what he had been doing for the past hour or so.

"Fine," he said moodily.

He tagged along as the acrobat strolled down the halls and stairs with that usual spring in his step, though it seemed to be more calm right now than anything. They eventually came to the den.

Upon arrival, Damian was ordered to take a seat on the sofa. He did so quietly and without a word, knowing that this would send off alarm bells in his brother's head.

He fumbled with the soft material beneath his fingers, not paying attention to what the other was doing. It was a couple minutes later that a PlayStation controller was placed under his nose. He looked up questioningly, "that's your solution?" he asked more harshly than he intended.

Dick moved out of the way, and suddenly the soft sounds of music reached his ears, "trust me," he said, placing the controller down in Damian's lap.

"This is stupid."

"Just trust me," came the words once more.

For a while Damian just sat there with his arms folded, not adhering to his brother's wishes. But once he noticed that he was free to retreat back to his room and his misery, he realised that this session was completely optional. With a huff, he decided not to disappoint Dick and begrudgingly picked up the controller and faced the TV for the first time.

He had been expecting to see the title of a violent game like Swordwalkers or The Last Of Us: games that he usually used to quell his anger. Instead, he was met by a title he had not seen before.

Journey.

Damian wouldn't admit it, but his interest did peak slightly. He started the game with a bored expression, half expecting this to be another of the silly indie games that Dick loved to download and try. Yet after about half an hour of doing nothing but walking over sand dunes, he began to become absorbed by the game, determined to make it to the mountain in the distance.

The music was mesmerising and it sent him into a tranquil state. It was almost like meditating. The little chimes soothed his anger and the puzzles helped him to accept the events of the night. He soon focused only on the game and heard nothing of what was going on around him. He did not even react when his father poked a head into the room, wordlessly leaving his sons to continue their activity.

It was about an hour into the game that he first met another player whose character was clad in similar robes to his own. At first, Damian was unwilling to accept help and tried to walk away. But as the nameless person followed him, he begrudgingly decided to co-operate. Though no words were said between them, only soft chimes, Damian found himself feeling indifferent to this other player's aid, feeling that their earlier act of sticking with him reminded him of his eldest brother.

Another two hours passed by and he met only two other players in this time. He had also encountered a sandstorm, which had panicked him at first, until he realised that he was still only playing a game.

By the end, he felt calmer than he had before, his limbs no longer shaking now that the adrenaline completely gone. That stirring anger in his stomach had been quelled and as the credits began to roll, he felt as if he had truly been on a journey, not just in the game, but in his mind.

Noticing that Dick was not saying a word, just sitting there quietly and that he himself was now calm enough to talk about what had happened, Damian spoke, "...he looked like you."

Dick turned to him, "what?"

The youngest sighed, trying to find the courage to speak. He swallowed and let out a shaky breath, "the man who got stabbed: he looked like you. That's why I lost it. For a second I thought-" he cut himself off and looked down.

"That it was me," Dick finished.

Damian did not need to nod to confirm it, but he done so anyway, "it's a stupid reason I know, but I couldn't help myself."

"Damian," he was suddenly gathered in to a reassuring hug, "what you did wasn't right, but you're not the only one who has ever done that, and you won't be the last."

"I find that hard to believe," he replied without returning the embrace.

"I've put guys in hospital in worse condition," Dick explained, watching his younger brother raise an eyebrow, "and they were just some street punks looking for a quick break. Bruce has done it, Jason, Tim. We've all been there. And it hurts for a while: you feel like every night is going to turn out the same: that you'll lose control and maybe you'll end up killing someone. But you move past that fear. You don't forget what you've done, but you don't let it drag you down either."

Damian contemplated this seriously. This was one of those moments when he felt closest to his oldest brother and his wisdom in such times was hardly ever flawed.

There was a minute or two of silence and the pair just sat there wordlessly, watching the credits come to an end until finally, Damian spoke, "Drake put someone in the hospital? I don't believe you."

"It happened."

"How? And why did you do it too?"

"I'll tell you those stories another time. It's late."

"I don't want to go to bed," Damian grumbled.

Dick sighed, "it's four in the morning. You have to, or Alfred will have both our heads."

The younger one sighed heavily, knowing this to be true. After switching off everything in the den, they made their way upstairs and prepared to go to bed.

"Richard," Damian said, just as Dick was about to enter his room.

"What?" The older one asked, turning around.

Damian shuffled in his spot, unsure of what to say, "the game... it was enjoyable." It helped. It really helped... thank you.

"Glad you liked it," was the reply. You're welcome.

And the house became silent and tranquil.

Okay, so this is the first fic I have posed in months and it's just a short little thing I thought of the other night while listening to the Journey soundtrack. This is also my first Batfic and in a way, the start of my own journey into writing for this fandom.

I would also like to announce that this is the first of a series of stories which will be both one-shots and multi chapters. Stay tuned if you like what you see.

Thanks for reading. Please review and tell me what you think!