Chapter 3


He mulled Alfred's words and paced as he did. He tried hard not to think the worst, but ultimately arrived at the same conclusion every time. The same words he'd said before.

Bad..

This was bad.

His nervousness continued to mount, brewing deep inside him, until he couldn't stand it anymore. The door flew open under his quivering hand. Antsy and a little queasy, with a slightly uneven step, Tim Drake marched down the hallway.

Company?

Just what in the hell did that mean?

Trouble, that's what..

Tim's throat tightened at the thought, causing his pace to increase.

It didn't matter, whatever, whomever it was, it certainly didn't bode well. For any of them. Whatever poor soul the dark Devil had managed to ensnare, Tim could feel nothing but pity for them.

Darkness filled the walls around him, Tim's feet echoed against the floor, the only sound in the dark hallway. The racing of his heart pounded against his temples with every step. He felt the flow of blood with each beat, felt the rising of ice, sharp and painful against his pale skin. The deep coldness, the bone biting chill Tim could never shake, no matter how hard he tried, filled him right to the deepest part of his being. The unnatural iciness that no amount of clothing or heat could ever fight against, the frozen chill, the icy pain was all he knew anymore. The darkness, the cold, the dead quiet, it felt like the inner depths of a tomb.

Not far off..

Tim's jagged nails snagged against the skin of his palms as he tried to keep his hands from shaking. He gulped as continued on with growing uneasy, feeling the unseen eyes of the house following his every move. He didn't know how, if it was the years of practice with Bruce or his own personal instincts, logically it had to be a bit of both, but Tim always knew when he was being watched.

And Tim hated it.

Hated being watched by those cold, unforgiving eyes. Blue like his father's, but nowhere near the same.

The same..

Nothing was the same anymore. Nothing. It hadn't been for years and never would be again.

Changed. Everything had changed.

Survival was an unfair, ugly, ugly thing. It brought out desperation, a shameful desperation in even the strongest of people.

Tim hated to admit how easy it was to think about doing the unthinkable. The one thing he'd always been told they were never supposed to do. Killing Damian as he slept, just to grant them some kind of peace, it would have been too easy and Tim knew that. He knew he couldn't and wouldn't but the idea was never as far off as he would have liked.

Tim remembered the shock and terror, the first time Damian wound his fingers in his hair and pulled, brought Tim to his knees like he was an object and nothing more. It was so easy for Damian, too easy for Damian to overpower him.

Tim hadn't fought back, too scared and unsure to do anything and eventually Damian had decided against it and let go, but the feeling burned Tim to the core. He stopped any future chances of it happening again, immediately chopping his hair too short to ever be grasped like that again.

Damian didn't seem to care, forgetting, or simply realizing he'd never wanted Tim to begin with.

Whether it was fortunate or not remained subjective, but Tim knew he wasn't the true victim, the real victim of Damian's advances. He felt Damian's anger and bitterness, but, aside from that one time, not much else. Damian saved those feelings and selfish desires for another. Another he'd broken and battered worse than either Tim or Alfred.

Broken, Tim often worried, beyond repair.

A part of him sometimes wished he were the target of Damian's selfishness. Maybe then Tim could fight him better, have some kind of leverage. As it was, he had nothing over the younger man. Damian had all the cards in his deck. He had the upper hand in ever way and he never failed to remind Tim of that.

Tim felt utterly helpless most days and it crushed him to know Alfred, one of the most resilient men he knew, felt the same. It was all but painted on the lines in the elder man's face. Old and worn, like a sheet pulled too thin, tearing at the seams.

Sadly, Alfred wasn't the only one. Tim wondered, feared how long it would be before one of them finally ripped, not just tore slightly, but actually ripped in two.

How long could they survive like this? Surely not forever. Despite what Damian seemed to think, what he was doing, hiding them away like this, trapping them like they were his to do with as he pleased, this wasn't any kind of salvation.

They were Damian's pets.

Damian was playing with them for now, but what about when he lost interest in them? Tossed them away?

What then?

Damian Wayne was nothing like his father. Cold, uncaring and downright selfish, Damian cared about no one but himself. He'd proven it over and over again and eventually, his interest would waver. Like the spoiled child he still was, Damian would soon outgrow his toys.

Till then, they had to endure.

Endure the cold, endure the pain.

The scars Tim had acquired, the scars he'd seen on the others, he would never, could never trust, never forgive, Damian again.

Never.

Just the thought of Bruce, the mentor, the leader, the father brought a sadness, a deep emptiness that only seemed to further spread the agony Tim already felt.

The legacy, Bruce's legacy was tarnished.

Tarnished and torn.

Destroyed by the man's only living blood.

The devil dressed in the handsomest of faces..

Tim felt him. Felt the suffocating change in the air. Felt the temperature drop even more. Felt the tension rise. Felt the hatred boil inside him.

Felt it all in the flash of a second.

"I assume Pennyworth informed you of our new arrival."

The cold voice was sharp as a thorn and cut twice as deep.

Tim's reply was curt. "He did."

Tim didn't dare say more, even as the questions lingered on his tongue. Something else caught his attention at that moment.

Damian's face.

The bruise and split lip were a bit of a shock. The purple mark against the tan of Damian's skin took a moment to recognize, but once Tim did, it was all he could see. The sympathy he should have felt turned more to worry about how Damian had acquired such a thing. Who or what had done that to him?

"You're concern is touching," The corner of Damian's mouth lifted the slightest bit.

Tim didn't say anything in reply and didn't intend to. The sarcasm was obvious, but if Damian thought Tim felt anything of Damian's well being or that Tim was supposed to feign concern for the taller man, Damian was severely mistaken.

"Trust me, this will never happen again."

Tim nodded, though he didn't quite know what Damian meant.

Damian continued regardless, "Pennyworth could use your help. Our guest may prove a bit volatile when he awakes and I'd rather he not hurt the help."

"He?" The possibilities made Tim's heart race and mind whirl. Just who had Damian brought back with him? And better yet why? More than likely he was the culprit of Damian's injury. Not that Tim dared to hope he was anyone worth meeting.

Damian sneered, but didn't seem apt to share anymore, content with Tim's confusion, "I'd hate for something to happen to Pennyworth. We all know how abysmal your cooking and housework skills are."

Tim's eyes narrowed. Was that supposed to be a joke? Damian hardly spoke but a few clipped words at him anymore, much less threw quips, cruel as they were, so casually. Damian had been so focused on something else of late, Tim felt like he never saw him anymore. Not that it was a bad thing, the furthest thing from it actually, but that also meant Tim never saw him anymore either.

Damian saw Tim's bewilderment and instantly his posture changed. His eyes darkened, "I trust I don't have to worry about allowing this. That you won't do anything that might cause any," His teeth clicked, "problems."

Tim shook his head.

Damian was happy enough with that. He waved him off dismissively, "Be quick about it then. I have some things to attend to," It was a brush off, clear and concise, as usual.

As if Tim didn't know what those things were. It made his stomach sick just to think about it. "Is?" Tim croaked, shocked at how weak he sounded, "How is he?"

Damian's back was to him as he said it. The man stopped, but didn't face him. Tim could see the tension, anger no doubt, mounting in Damian's shoulders.

Tim knew it was foolish, but he continued, with a desperation he couldn't stop, "Please Damian, what you're doing, it's not fair. He's not.."

"Don't you dare to tell what's fair in my own home!" Damian seethed. Face half turned and furious, his tone held no room for argument, "Pennyworth is waiting and I suggest you go meet him. Now." Despite his words, it wasn't a suggestion.

Tim didn't argue that technically the home, if it could still be called that, nor the people in it were actually Damian's. Despite how Damian treated them all like his property, they weren't. Tim knew better though. He knew what a statement like that would get him and it would cost more than his pride.

Much more.

He had no further argument and it hurt, hurt more than anything that Tim knew he would do what Damian asked.

He had to.


Deeper down the wing, the wing of the manor he never allowed Drake nor Pennyworth to step foot on, Damian found his way, determined and resolute. Found his way toward the largest room. The room that had once been his father's, but was now his. The room that held memories, held everything Damian refused to let go of.

..not fair..

What did Tim Drake know of fair?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

If he knew half of what Damian had done to keep his imbecilic head attached to his shoulders, how many sacrifices he'd made to keep him, keep them all safe, Drake would realize just how much he owed him.

His wretched life, for starters.

Tim was more often than not a problem, nothing new there, but any anger he felt at the shorter man's audacity quickly evaporated once he was out of sight and for that Damian was actually grateful. Tim Drake wouldn't ruin this day, this staggering success, Damian simply wouldn't allow it.

This was his victory and Damian would savor it. Savor it to the fullest extent.

And damn Drake to hell anyway.

Damian pushed the double doors open and immediately he was struck with a feeling that something wasn't right.

The room was still and cold, but more than that, it was empty. Empty save for a deep breeze and a dim light. A dim light coming from far across the room, coming from..

Damian moved in and felt the breeze hit him as he did. The questions, where the light and air were coming from were quickly answered. Answered as plainly as he could see them.

The balcony doors were open.

A swallow of fear and more than a little fury filled his step as Damian all but charged to the open doors, gripping them so hard he might have taken them off the hinges. He stopped short of exploding in rage when he finally saw the figure standing, back turned away from him.

Not gone.

Damian breathed a sigh of relief.

Here, he was still here.

The light glistened against the man's dark hair, still damp from the rain and while Damian had been anything but quiet in his approach, the man remained still and silent. Unmoving.

Damian ventured forward. He stopped just behind the standing man and gently touched the side of his face. The skin was cold as ice. It wasn't the chill of the skin, but the flinch his touch caused that truly burned Damian's hand.

Why? After all this time. Why did he still shudder like that?

"You're cold." Just how long had he been standing out here?

The dark head of hair shook the slightest bit. "It feels good."

"You shouldn't be out here."

"I like it," A murmur that seemed lost in the breeze, "I like the rain."

Damian frowned. He glanced at the sky, the fog was too thick to see any stars and the color was downright dreary looking. The rain had stopped, but only just, and he hardly saw the appeal of staying out here any longer. He grabbed the other man's elbow, "You're wet. You need to get inside." His voice and pull weren't overly forceful, but firm enough to make his point.

"No," The man yanked his arm away and shook his head, "Not yet."

Damian restrained a growl, he was fast losing his patience.

"I said," Damian's grip returned, this time to let him know he meant business, "Get inside."

Wide eyes turned to him, Blue and finally realizing, as if he'd awoken from some kind of daze, "Damian?"

Dick Grayson looked pale, yet flushed. From the cold or something else, Damian didn't know. His features where pulled in worry and while Damian could appreciate the way the light reflected off Dick's skin, still somewhat dewy from the rain, it wouldn't do well for him to get pneumonia.

Damian led him inside, shutting the door and switching on the lights. He breathed a deep breath to calm himself from asking Dick why he'd do something so stupid. It was behavior like that, being reckless when he should have known better that had Damian a bit worried, but also a bit miffed.

Damian didn't take well to being disobeyed.

"I told you to stay inside." Damian tried hard not to make it sound like an accusation, but it was. He didn't allow Dick to reply, knowing whatever the other man said probably wouldn't be of any value anyway. "Take off your clothes."

Somehow the request became a command and though he hadn't meant for it to be so harsh, Dick's eyes immediately flashed to his. Wide and impossibly blue, his voice cracked as he asked, a bit too hurriedly, panicked even, "What? Why?"

Damian's lips pursed at the reaction, "Because they're wet and if you stay in them, you'll get sick," he explained.

Dick remained uncertain, still sopping and now dripping on the hand stitched silk rug, leaving a small pool of water at his feet. He didn't so much as shift a muscle, nor did he make any inclination he was going to remove any of his clothing. His lack of response and apparent readiness to stay right as he was, forced Damian's hand.

Dick shuddered again, but this time Damian blamed it on the chill from the drenched clothes and nothing more. Although Damian tried to be somewhat gentle, his attempt to remove the clothing was made harder by the fact that Dick's shirt and pants were almost completely stuck to his body.

Damian was forced to peel them off slowly, showcasing the golden glow of Dick's skin as he did so. Dick didn't fight him, but his shoulders tensed and his eyes remained set on the damp carpet below him.

He upturned Dick's jaw lightly, to meet his gaze. Dick's eyes went from dull to alight when he noticed the color and cut on Damian's face. Dick lifted a hand in what looked to be fascination and horror and gently caressed it. "What happened?"

Damian turned away, "Nothing."

Damian grabbed a nearby throw to shield Dick's nakedness, draping the thick fabric over his shoulders. Dick pulled the rich texture closer and let Damian, in turn, pull him closer. Dick didn't tense or shudder, but Damian felt if he didn't hold him, Dick might just disappear. Like a shadow.

Like a ghost.

His grip tightened and Damian found the feeling of Dick's form a sudden comfort. He didn't want to let go. He was almost afraid to.

"Where were you?"

Dick's question reverberated against his chest and Damian felt an all too familiar worry rising. He'd explained it to Dick several times already, but as it was of late, nothing seemed to stick with the man anymore, "I told you earlier, I had someone I had to meet."

"Someone important?"

Damian smirked at the question, "Could be," He answered honestly. He didn't know yet, didn't know how much help Todd would be, how much importance he might have. Damian was simply running out of options otherwise.

Dick hummed against him, "Is it," He hesitated, "is it somebody I should know?" He asked quietly.

Damian held his tongue at the obvious answer, of course Dick should know Todd, but the truth was he probably wouldn't. "It doesn't matter. You'll see him tomorrow and even if you don't remember him, he'll be staying with us from now on. You'll know him soon enough."

"Tomorrow?" Dick asked curiously, a look of hope filled his eyes, "Will Tim and Alfred be there too?"

Damian swallowed away the feeling, the dark edge of jealousy that was sharp in his throat. He wouldn't be jealous when he should be thankful Dick remembered them at all.

"They will."

He brushed the hair from Dick's eyes and a sudden look, a blank expression filled Dick's eyes. He knocked Damian's hand away and took a step back.

There was defiance in Dick's stance.

Damian was tired, slightly irritable and being brushed off by Dick, it wasn't sitting well. Damian had proven, shown, he was trying to make it right and yet he was constantly being shut out and questioned at every turn. By the people he'd sworn to protect, even. Todd wouldn't prove any easier he knew that, but Damian refused to lose anything or anyone he didn't have to. He didn't want to.

Damian refused to lose control.

Dick's eyes didn't leave his, but the color, the intensity was gone. Hollow, lifeless and cold. Dead, Dick looked...

No..

Dick wasn't..

With a fury, a sudden need to prove it to himself, to prove what he already knew, but needed to feel, Damian swept forth and grabbed the smaller man. Grabbed his wrists as if to secure him, though Dick didn't make it easy.

It was moments like these, when Dick wasn't thinking straight, when Damian's very touch seemed to cause something to snap, it was now that Damian's worry turned to anger.

After it all, Dick, Tim and even Pennyworth still fought him.

Dick squirmed and fought and Damian's blood boiled.

Damian was the master of this house, this whole damned City, and he made the rules.

Dick wasn't going to leave him. Not like Bruce, not like his damn father and his blind justice, Dick would stay with him. Always.

Todd could be the key, once Damian learned the secret, what his grandfather could no longer tell him, Damian could repair Dick. Even if it took that moron Jason Todd to help him, Damian was determined. The wild erratic behavior, it had to stop. Before Dick snapped completely.

"Enough."

Dick's struggles stopped and the color returned to his eyes, along with a look of trepidation, "Damian I.."

Damian silenced him. A finger to the lips and a sweep towards the bed. He didn't want it to be like this, to see that fear in those blue eyes, feel the panic Dick couldn't hide. Damian never wanted any of this. He wanted that smile, the bad jokes, the adoration, the Dick Grayson Damian had grown to care for. The man he trusted, loved more than his own flesh and blood.

Damian wanted more than this.

Much more.

Dick was stiff and still felt cold, but his skin was soft and smelled of the rain and the mixture of flesh as the blanket fell put a burn in Damian's stomach. The skin slowly warmed under the fire in Damian's touch and soon, like the passing of winter, Dick began to thaw.

Damian waited for the day Dick's touch was more than just thawed, but warm, comforting and familiar again.

Like it used to be.

Like Dick used to be.

The day he could feel Dick as he should be and not as the shell of a man Dick had become.


Tim wasn't sure what he was expecting, who he was expecting Damian would have found. Who the man had labeled so casually as company, but really could have as easily meant baggage.

Whoever Tim could imagine, it certainly wasn't..

..not this...

..not him...

Tim wasn't expecting him.

He knew there should be some kind of relief that he actually knew the person in the bed, but all Tim could feel was anger. Anger and a deep, deep sadness. Like the world was crumbling, falling apart all over again.

Suddenly everything and nothing made any sense.

How?

Why?

All Tim could do was hope his eyes were deceiving him. Depicting a person he'd signed off as dead long ago merely as some kind of cruel joke.

Why else would Jason Todd be here, alive and breathing, if not a bit worse for wear?

"Alfred, is that, is that really?" Tim had to ask, had to make sure he wasn't seeing things, "Is that really him?"

Alfred gave a stiff nod.

Tim wasn't sure how, but things had gone from the possibility of being bad to much, much worse.

"Why Alfred? Why would he bring him here?" It made no sense, any of it. Jason begin alive or Damian bringing him here.

"I'm afraid I don't know," Alfred shook his head, "But I fear we'll soon find out."

Tim sighed, "That's what I was afraid of."