Damian had come back to the world of the living to an extreme amount of physical affection that he felt was not warranted. But he endured it, because the look on Father's face, on Dick's face, told him what he'd put them through. They'd suffered because of him. And he felt strangely guilty even though he was the one who had almost died.

After a few days, when he'd finally gotten some strength back, and could stay awake for more than a few hours at a time, Damian woke to a room packed with every single member of his family. Alfred stood dutifully by the door, Father at the foot of his bed. Tim was sitting next to Damian's feet, patting his ankle absentmindedly. Steph was on the floor, leaning against Tim's legs. Jason was leaning against the wall and watching him closely. Cassandra had even come from Hong Kong, and was standing comfortingly close to Bruce. She shot him a look that said they'd talk later. Dick was where he'd been for the past few days, glued to Damian's side at all times. They were all staring at him.

"What?" he said irritably. "I didn't die, did I?"

Damian saw Dick flinch at the words, and instantly regretted them.

It was Bruce who answered. "No. You did not."

Damian let out a triumphant sigh, but Bruce arched an eyebrow in a way that said they weren't done with him yet.

"But it was close, Damian. Your heart stopped. Twice. You weren't breathing. You very easily could have died."

"But I didn't."

Dick gave an exasperated huff. Jason chuckled under his breath.

"Damian. I need you to tell me what you did. So I can make sure you never do it again."

The look in everyone's eye (especially Alfred, there was a particularly evil gleam in his eye just then) told Damian to hold back his true sentiments. He'd do it again if he needed to. They didn't need to know that.

"Well, Father. I casted a spell that saved my incompetent brothers."

The room was silent for a few heartbeats.

"You know how to do magic?" Tim butted in, unable to restrain himself. Steph slapped his leg.

"Obviously, or you'd be dead, Drake."

"How?" was all Bruce said simply.

"I grew up in the League of Shadows—"

"Yeah they're the League of Shadows and Assassins not the League of Motherfucking Magicians!"
"Jason!"

"Sorry."

"My Grandfather is over 7 centuries old, Todd. One does not survive that long without at least encountering the mystic arts. We of the al Ghul family have been studying magic for decades. There are many different types that come from different planes of existence. The key to defeating a magic user lies in identifying the type of magic they're using. And so I studied this carefully for years under the watchful eye of my Grandfather." Damian paused and took a deep breath. For some reason everyone watching him so closely was making him uncomfortable. "I had little aptitude for the mystic arts, about 5%. Which very low, but is common for assassins, who on average range from 0-3%. But the little aptitude I do have means I can act as a conduit of sorts for certain spells. All magic users have a connection, a sixth sense if you will, toanother force. Like gravity. And they can draw upon this force when they cast spells. The connection can vary, so some are stronger than others. But I am from this world. I can only exist here. So when I cast a spell, the price has to come from somewhere else."

"And where does it come from?" Dick practically growled.

"For people like me, who have no connection to magic, only certain types of spells can be performed, and the list is rather limited. Mostly wards, and defense spells," Damian hedged.

"How did you pay for the magic, son?"

Damian sighed. "With my life force."

The room was deadly quiet.

But then, exploded as everyone started yelling at him at once. Even Alfred had let out a betrayed, "Master Damian!"

Damian closed his eyes, exhausted. He knew they were mad, and he knew that he was in trouble but right now he just wanted to sleep.

"Please, can we talk about this—" he was cut off by a huge yawn. "tomorrow? I'm so tired."

At the rareness of their baby assassin using the word 'please' they all reluctantly agreed and filed out of his room, leaving him alone with Grayson. He was watching Damian intently, with an expression Damian couldn't place.

"You may never ever do that again, do you understand me?"

Maybe it was the sound of Dick's wrecked voice, or the tears glistening on his unshaven cheeks. Maybe it was the look in his eyes that promised unconditional love, or the way he gently embraced his little brother in his comforting arms. Maybe Damian was just as weak as his grandfather always claimed.

But he finally gave in.