It's so frustrating….It's not fair….why…why..WHY!?
Damian breathed in through his nose, smelling the smog of the city below him. He had done this numerous times, always above the city-scape of Gotham. This time it was different. He wasn't in uniform. He wasn't side by side with the Dark Knight or Nightwing. He had no grappling hook in hand. All he had, was a shaky grasp on rusted metal.
Damian looked down from the Penthouse Apartment his father owned. The man his mother told him stories about. The man he called father, is Batman. When he was younger, he heard those stories and hoped. Hoped he could be an equal to his father's eyes. Now what hope was left, was lost to the wind. This feeling inside of him, knowing that he was a disappointment, both to his mother and father, made him want to throw a tantrum. The frustrating feeling like he wanted to breath, save himself from drowning but failing at that too. He closed his eyes, something heavy was starting to well up inside them, something he didn't want to let flow. His clammy hands, his rising heart rate, his labored breathing. He took one last sigh, before steadying himself. His eyes opened up the to the city below him, calling his name, mocking him to jump. He let go of the bar, ready to go into a free fall one last time.
"Damian, what the HELL?"
"Tt."
Great, the last person he wanted to see. Damian flashed a snarky smile, catching his intruder off guard with it.
"Drake. What brings you here this evening? Don't you have patrol tonight? Or is too much for you to handle?"
Red Robin stood dumbfounded by the scene before him. The 10 year old boy who crashed into his life was now ready to crash out of it just as quick. Tim removed his mask, looking over at the boy, watching as the tears fell from those empty blue eyes.
"Damian, what are you doing?"
The boy gritted his teeth, frustrated by this, this annoyance. Since day one, the two have been at each other and now, now "he" was here.
"Nothing!"
"Says the boy who's on the ledge of a building."
Damian turned around, giving Drake a full growl of his disapproval in the situation.
"What do you care anyways what I do or don't do. You'd be happy if I was gone."
There he went, snapping and going off like a rocket. His heart skipped a beat as he watched Tim's eyes grow in shock to the realization to what this situation really meant. Damian was going to kill himself this was no show. Tim stepped forward, making his way to the younger boy. Damian leaned back a bit, heals now on the edge.
Damian could hear his heart beating in his head, his mouth growing dryer as Tim walked closer to him, bridging the gap in quickened movements. He knew if he jumped now, Tim would go after him. That was something he did not want. To be saved by Drake, his father's favorite child.
"Stay away! Don't come near me Drake. You are not wanted or needed here. Leave me be and it will all be over."
"Is that what you think? It will all be over? What are you talking about, it would never be over. For you yes, but what about the people you would leave behind. It would be far from over for us."
Tim's outburst shocked them both. The anger that he snapped at the boy, was not that of malice nor of disappointment. Tim took a deep breath, calming his own nerves as he watched the boy's uneasy actions. Damian fell forward, leaning on to the cool iron bar. He was shaking all over.
"Here I am ready to take my own life and you care all of a sudden? You're such a joke. Always hounding me, never trusting me, putting me on that damned Hit List…I try so hard and it's not fair. I never asked for any of this."
He clenched onto that bar, causing his cold hands to turn white. His tears now muddled in his speech with hiccups and a pitched voice. He was too distracted to notice that Tim had bridged that gap between them. A warm hand held over his own. The shaking seemed to be amplified with that touch. Damian glanced up to look at Tim, who like him, was crying as well, shaking just as bad as he was.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that I would make you feel like this. But Damian, this isn't the answer. It never is. If you jumped, do you really think it would be better for me? For Dick? Jason and Alfred? And Bruce, oh God. Do you know what your death would do to us all?"
"What would it do?"
That question was racked with deep meaning, wanting to know what would happen. Would he be remembered or forgotten? Was his life worth any meaning?
"It would break everyone. Dick would lose his smile. I would lose myself. Alfred would never forgive any of us. Bruce, Bruce would never love anyone again. He would go mad at losing you."
Damian never could comprehend his actions, always second guessing, over analyzing, to make the right move to please those he wished to gain acceptance from. Here and now, on top of a windy roof he reflected on what his death could mean to those he was going to leave behind.
The bars between the two, the barrier of a literal life and death moment, was an anchor holding them both in place. Tim's arms snaked through the gaps of the bars and pulled the boy closer. The pounding heart beat seemed to echo even louder in Damian's head. He just wanted it all to go away, this pressure, this feeling that was smothering him beyond his limits. Tim's voice chased away the rising pressure, almost lulling him into a slumber. He felt so tired, his mind was slowing down. Before blacking out, his mind realized he had just been injected with a sleeping sedative. He welcomed the warmth that held him as he fell into the darkness.
"Please….Damian….Come back from the ledge."
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Tim sat in the medical bay, next to a sleeping Damian, his head resting in his hands. Bruce walked around the room, papers in hand. His eyes, heavy with the current knowledge that his son was in a dangerous situation that he had no idea had happened. Bruce breathed in heavily, reading over the blood test results.
"It's been confirmed. Damian had gotten in contact with one of Poison Ivy's chemicals. It accelerates the heart rate, causes dry mouth and irrational thought. If not properly taken care of…"
Tim leaned back into the chair, almost tuning out Bruce's monotonous voice.
"So basically you are saying Damian was like a shook up soda can ready to burst."
Bruce placed the paper down, before grabbing an antidote from the fridge. He made his way over to the soft breathing boy, tilting his head gently and placing the glass vile under Damian's nose. With a quick break of the glass, a green vapor escaped and doing what it was set out to do, heal. Bruce laid his sons head back down on the white pillow, before taking the other the seat on the other side of the medical bed.
"Thank you Tim."
Tim glanced over at Bruce, watching as he held the sleeping boys hand, being the father like he should be. A smile fell on Tim's face. His mind wondered to Damian's question. What would his death do, if Damian wasn't here now? In that moment of silence, Tim understood now more than ever what Damian would be missing. A worried father, hovering over his child's bed. Waiting in anticipation for those eyes to flutter open. For a father to tell his son. "Everything will be ok." And Tim believed that in the end, everything would be ok, because Damian was here.