I wasn't expecting to have this done until this weekend. Oh well. Anyway idk what's even going on anymore this stuff kind of just occurs so yeah. The next two chapters have at least 900 words each already done so you guys should be happy ;)
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He woke three times.
The first time his vision was distorted, and he felt the odd weightlessness that told him he was suspended in some type of liquid. A blurry hand appeared in his line of sight, and with a start he realized that he was in some to of translucent tube. He felt like the main attraction in a sideshow and he felt irritation flare up, and he welcomed the chance to feel anything.
Darkness embraced him again.
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The second time he returned to true consciousness, it was to the distinct scent of his Father's aftershave. There was a tube shoved down his throat, needles in his arms, and he was most definitely in his own bed. He knew this because of the comfort it provided him and the fact that when he looked to his left, he was met with features so like his own.
Blue eyes widened as his Father started, quite obviously surprised to see him looking back. Before anything else could happen, Damian tried to take a deep breath… And promptly choked on the tube in his mouth.
His Father immediately pitched forward to support him with a sturdy hand on his back. Damian pulled the tube out himself and took careful, steady breathes until the simple act no longer made him feel as if he were swallowing needles.
When he reached that point, he licked his dry lips and met his Father's gaze.
"Hello," he said.
Fingers tightened against his spine and Damian saw the anger in his Father's eyes, the almost madness.
"What happened?"
Bruce Wayne offered no greeting, no question of health. Instead the set of his features screamed sorrow and promised retribution.
'A knight indeed,' Damian thought offhandedly as he tried to find a way to answer his question.
"I-" he started, tongue feeling like lead in his mouth.
Trying to recall anything before that moment was like dragging a stone from the depths of a marsh, as he still felt rather sluggish.
'What had happened?'
"What happened to you?" his Father repeated again.
Damian grasped at his hair, searching for answers for the one man he couldn't stand to displease and found-
Tim lying broken-
"Damian-"
A silver sword shining crimson in the light-
"-what's-"
The taste of copper on his tongue-
"-going-"
Tim would be fine he had to be-
"-on?"
Where was Rowan she was always there but now she's not where-
A large hand grasped his shoulder and he flinched away.
"Darkness then his features above him on a feminine face-"
"Alfred!"
Where was his Father where was Jason where was Dick where was Tim-
"Sir? When did he awake? What hap-"
Where was Rowan-
"-pened?"
Everything hurt so much pain so much so much-
"I asked what was wrong and he-"
Tim lying on the ground bloody he'd left him he'd-
"-did this!"
Bright lights and whispered words it was all his fault all his-
"Sir, I believe he may be having-"
'This is the depth of a Mother's love' she whispered and he was submerged and his pain was no more-
"-a panic attack."
But Rowan had been crying, where was she-
"If he's having a panic attack then we need to give him space!" Tim shouted and Damian wondered when his Soul Mate had entered the room-
-lying bloody broken all his fault-
"I believe he may hurt himself-"
-he wasn't strong enough fast enough-
"Sedate him then!" his father said and hands where on him again-
-good enough.
His body felt heavy, and everyone around him seemed to be talking at once. Tim, wherever he had come from, was within reach and so Damian took solace the only way he could and reached out, placing his hand directly over Tim's heart.
The erratic beat lulled him into a false sleep because it meant Tim was alive.
'I wish I didn't love you,' she whispered. He wished the same, because maybe then she would have let him be. Maybe then he could have kept them safe. Maybe then, he could have had time to find everywhere he went wrong and fix the mess he'd made.
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When he woke for the third and final time, he almost wished he'd stayed in the comfort of oblivion because there, his thoughts could not find him.
There, his guilt would not consume him.
There, he was not a failure.
(There, his family did not feel shut out by a broken boy so lost in his mistakes that he would not even acknowledge their presence.)
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He didn't breathe for weeks because when he'd woken up Damian hadn't been there. Tim had passed out on the battlefield to the sight of Damian on the ground and practically swimming in his own blood as Talia Al Ghul stood over him, stroking his arm. Then he'd woken up a day later in Gotham wrapped up and feeling like he'd just taken the last step off of the world. He survived, but he could not take a breath because truthfully, he was drowning in himself. He could hardly function and he was ashamed because he'd never wanted to get that low.
All he'd wanted was to help; that's all he'd ever wanted.
Then, they found Damian in the one place they'd never thought to look: home. Damian had been left in his bed, looking perfect as ever save for his slightly overgrown hair and the various medical equipment still hooked to him.
Tim had been angry for sure; angry that Talia had been able to take him, angry that she'd made them think Damian was dead, angry that she'd put him back. He'd been angry, but even though Damian had withdrawn into himself, he was at least with them physically, and faced with the choice of absolutely nothing, even having half of him back was better.
Even having a Damian who refused to leave his room or talk to anyone gave Tim the part of himself back that he'd thought he had lost.
When he found his mentor, hero, and second father in his study, head bowed and face shining with moisture, Tim knew that there was a possibility that they wouldn't be okay.
The harsh truth was that no one knew exactly what had happened, Bruce was crying, Dick was nowhere to be found, Jason looked haunted, but for the first time in weeks, Tim took a breath. The air tasted of sorrow and his own guilt, but it was sweet none the less because even if he was broken, Damian was back.
More importantly, broken things could be fixed.
Feeling lighter than he had in days, Tim left his hurting family to find his equally hurting Soul Mate. Damian was, of course, where they'd left him. He was far too still, far too quiet, but he was Damian and so Tim entered his room without asking and situated himself on the side Damian was curled up at, and waited.
"Damian?" he asked, not daring to touch him.
He hadn't responded before, and Tim couldn't stand it. He'd have done anything for the younger boy to lash out at him, whether it was with his acid tongue or his fists. It would have been better; it would have been normal.
It would have meant that he was coming back to them, and more than anything, that was what the family needed. Not knowing where he was had been hard, but it was just as difficult to have him with them but not with them.
It hurt that Damian refused to do more than stare silently whenever Tim tried to talk to him, but it was better than the vacant looks the rest of his family got. It hurt, but it was something so he'd take it.
But even if he couldn't do anything, he thought he knew someone who could. The only problem was that before, he'd been too scared to approach her, to bare his mistakes for her to see. He'd been scared, and he was more so now.
He was scared of a little girl who'd never shown him anything but kindness, and it was all because she, with all of her soft edges, could probably break him.
She could break him, and he'd never be able to fight back because in a way, he was sure he'd already broken her.
The difference between them was that she could pull through; he wasn't so sure about himself.
When a rough hand cupped his cheek, almost as if to see if he was real, Tim knew he'd have to swallow his fear.
Heart heavy, Tim reached out and let the rough stumble on Damian's cheek scrap against his palm.
"Do you want me to go get our girl?" he asked carefully.
Damian was possessive, and Tim hoped his choice of words would penetrate whatever walls the younger boy had used to block everyone out.
He knew his gamble had paid off when Damian's green eyes cleared, for just a second, and he took a shuddering breath.
"She's not ours," he rasped.
Tim wanted to laugh, because even this was a step forward.
"You can't tell me you haven't realized by now."
"I didn't… I'd never thought of it like that. She's always just been… Rowan. " he looked ready to try and deny it, he really did.
"Exaclty."
"I'm not good for her…" Damian said after a while, turning away.
"When has anything like that ever stopped you?"
He almost smirked, and Tim took that as a win. One had to revel in the little victories.
"We fucked up," Damian pointed out, and Tim wanted punch himself because of course they did; of course he did.
"You're right," he said instead," but she'll forgive us. She always does..."
Damian finally graced him with a familiar smirk, and then he was gone, but Tim felt himself begin to loosen. They'd be all right; they'd pull through. This was just another rough patch for them, and Rowan would help.
He and Damian were opposing forces but Rowan was their neutral ground and she'd help them because it was in her nature. She'd help them because they were a mess, and she was too. They'd pull each other apart and build each other back up because that was their way and it made sense because it didn't and that was everything they'd ever be. It was just a matter of bringing their separate disasters together again to form one chaotic purgatory. That was where they thrived.
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So they have some stuff to work out next chapter, they all do. They're tired, and hurting, and they're hormonal teens so angst is strongly felt. I wonder if Damian will talk to her? I wonder why he didn't want to talk to anyone? Hmmm what's our boy thinking? Arent yall glad we got Tim here to find all the right words?