You kids are too precious. And now I feel like I kind of bullied y'all into reviewing. I'm terrible. D:
To make up for being horrible, here's another one for you. That, and the next few weeks are going to be ridiculous, and even though I have no set time between updates, I'll feel bad for being away for a while.
This is another one of the dream stories (like chapter 5). Based a bit on the Batman Annual 2, and while writing, I realized this kind of mirrors what went on in Batman&Robin 17.
Bruce cringed, slamming his eyes shut as he crumpled to the ground. It wouldn't stop, it just wouldn't stop.
"Father…? Why didn't you…didn't you come for me?"
He threw his hands over his ears, but it did nothing to stop the noise, the voice thick with tears. He began to cry himself.
"Wasn't I…worth it?"
His breathing became short. Good, that's good. Surely if he passed out, it would stop, right? His heart wouldn't have to be torn out over and over and over again. He wouldn't have to see the blood pouring from his son's chest, matching the tears falling from his face. Wouldn't have to see that fear, that betrayal. The sight of a scared little boy, whose father, the one he looked up to, didn't get there in time.
"Father?"
"I was, Damian, I swear. I was coming for you. I was on my way." He was shouting. Maybe if he was louder than the voice, the voice would stop. It would leave him alone, stop tearing through his soul like a runaway train.
"I never believed you weren't," the voice changed. There were no tears in this tone, no fear. Very little pain. Footsteps moved towards him. Bruce hiccupped and opened his eyes, staring at the dark ground for a moment before looking up. Damian was striding towards him. Not Robin, not Brucie Wayne's bastard child, just Damian. Jeans, a red hoody, sneakers. He seemed genuinely surprised at his father's state as he continued forward.
Bruce didn't hesitate. He lunged, taking Damian in his arms and squeezing him, almost as if the world would stop if he let go. The boy was limp for a second, confusion overtaking his muscles, before he returned the gesture. He cried into the boy's hair, mutterings completely lost.
The voice was still there, but quieter now. And every time it sounded off, Bruce hugged Damian tighter. Damian was concerned, patting his father's back every few seconds, but otherwise did nothing. "You hear it, don't you, son?"
"Afraid not, Father." Damian returned. "But…whatever it is, whatever's happening, whatever you hear, it isn't real. Okay?"
"It is. Oh my god, it is…" Bruce continued, his shoulders beginning to shake.
"No, Father, it's not. You're in a dream," Damian responded, lightly attempting to free himself from the hold. "A nightmare."
"A…what?" Bruce loosened his grip, but not by much, and stared down at his child. Damian was leaning against his chest, staring up with owlish blue eyes.
"A nightmare." He repeated. "And it's only logical. You've barely slept since your return from Arkham four days ago. That mixed with overexertion, small amount of food you've eaten and the alcohol you drank at that museum opening last night? Bound to happen, I guess."
"Arkham…?"
"What happened to you in there, anyway? Pennyworth told the Kryptonian that it was a routine test of some sort." Damian said, slowly unwinding his father's arms. "No one seemed concerned, and Abuse and Batgirl were going to bust Poison Ivy, so I opted to go with them instead of you. When I returned, Pennyworth seemed fidgety, the animals were nervous, and you had already locked yourself in your bedroom."
Damian's other voice was filtering in and out, in the background, still getting mixed with the sounds of Lincoln March, of Thomas, making it hard to concentrate on the here and now, on this Damian and his words. This Damian had escaped the hug, but kept his hands firmly on Bruce's arms, demanding all attention. Any time Bruce began to look away, to get distracted by something in their surroundings, Damian would shake him slightly, until his focus came back.
"It…she…was in my mind. Reliving…everything…" Damian watched as his father failed to make a complete thought. Bruce was looking straight at him, but seemed to be seeing, or looking for, something else, his eyes sweeping up and down.
"Who was?"
Bruce opened his mouth to form a response when a loud sob echoed through the air.
"Didn't I…wasn't I good enough?"
Damian watched as his father's eyes widened as he began to shake his head. Grief flowed from him as his knees started to buckle. He leaned forward, grasping Damian's shoulders, trying to keep himself upright.
"Wasn't I worth it?"
"Of course…you are, Damian. You are. I was coming. I swear, I was coming for you. If I had known beforehand, if I hadn't been caught, I…" Bruce looked up, gaze landing on something behind Damian's head. All the color drained from his face as tears began to fall from his face again. "Oh…no…please, no…!"
Damian turned. It wasn't hard to see what his father was painfully focused on. In the blackness of the nightmare, his colorful body stuck out like a sore thumb. He seemed to be suspended in the air, stabbed through with a sword once more, only this time from the back. Blood poured from his chest, running down his leg and dripping into oblivion. The hood of his Robin costume covered his head, but his face was still visible, contorted into a look of agony and fear.
"In the end, why didn't you…didn't you…come for me?"
"Ah. That." Damian muttered. Bruce had all but collapsed on him at this point. Damian watched as Robin continued through his pattern, saying the same phrases over and over, both blood and tears never ending. Before Bruce could react, Damian pulled away completely, watching as the older man sunk to the ground. Once he was sure his father wasn't going to follow, breakdown or tackle him again, he moved towards himself, watching his dying muscles spasm and twitch.
"Fa…ther…"
"I'm coming, Damian. I…I'm coming…" Bruce called from behind him.
"Didn't I…wasn't I…" Damian walked up to himself, locking eyes. Robin couldn't see him though. He wasn't looking back. As expected, Damian mused, it was just a figment of his Father's worst thoughts.
"Oh, shut up." Damian snapped, waving his hand through Robin's torso, the body instantly fading away around his fingers, the voice along with it. Damian turned back towards his father, sighing as he moved. "Annoying thing…"
Bruce looked up as Damian neared him. "You heard it?"
"Yes, I'd just tuned it out. It'd been going on like that for hours." Damian crouched in front of the man. "It's gone now, though. You'll be alright."
Bruce glanced around, as if he didn't believe him. Satisfied that there was nothing else hiding in the darkness, he sat up a little, reaching a hand out to hold Damian's face. Damian permitted the touch.
"I miss you," Bruce said, running a thumb over Damian's cheek.
"I miss you too, Father."
"The others…don't come by anymore." He sighed, dropping his hand.
"I'm aware," Damian nodded, shifting to sit at Bruce's side. "It's regrettable, but not unsurprising."
"I know." Bruce agreed. He let out a breath that was shaky and uncertain. Damian looked up at him as he leaned into his side. A smile appeared on Bruce's lips as he put his arm around his child. "You are, you know."
"I am…what?"
"Good enough. Better than good enough. More than worth it," he sighed, resting his head on Damian's. "You are worth more than the world, Damian, and not a day goes by that I don't wish I could go back in time, find a way to save you, to keep you safe."
"Interesting way to spend your time. I hope Gotham isn't jealous," Damian smirked. Bruce chuckled, giving the boy's shoulder a sharp squeeze.
"I don't think I ever thanked you," Bruce muttered after a short pause.
"For?"
"For finally pulling me out of the dark."
"It was the least I could do, I suppose. After all, you did that for me and then some." Damian grinned. Suddenly he looked off to the side and his grin grew wider. "Now you might want to wake up before Pennyworth gets to your door. He'll be very cross if you don't at least attempt to eat the ridiculously large waffle breakfast I believe he just made for you."
Bruce turned to look in the direction Damian was and found himself staring at his bedroom door, sounds of Titus scratching and Alfred scolding filtering through the wood, smells of maple syrup and eggs accompanying them.
How…?!