CHANDELIER

.

.

.

Damian woke up to his own cry of pain.

He flinched and held his head tightly, turning from side to side on the bed.

The darkness of the room made him doubt whether he managed to open his eyes or they were still closed due to such pain.

A lightning bolt that illuminated the room made him sure they were open, however. It also made him sure that it wasn't a monster that attacked him while he slept or something, that the loud, repetitive noise wasn't that beast scratching the floor with its claws: it was just that annoying ringing in the ear, worse than than every other time, reminding him of an unreasonable desire to end it.

— ... Pen-nyworth? — called almost in a whisper, forcing himself to stop the sobs of crying to be able to speak.

Silence.

And with the silence, the child tried to wrap himself in the blankets and sleep again, but that buzz just made it worse: it scared him, afraid of what he might be able to do to end it...

— ... Mr Pennyworth! — he called again, forcing himself to speak louder.

In addition to the silence in the mansion, there was thunder outside.

After a few minutes writhing in bed, Damian forced himself to get up and go search for someone. When he put his feet on the ground, he could feel like everything was moving around him. It took seconds to get up the courage and take a few steps - always leaning on something.

— Mr. Pennyworth! — he insisted, this time calling the butler at the door. For some reason still unknown to him, being alone seemed to be the closest to torture.

There was no sign of Alfred.

There was nobody.

The mansion had all its lights out, save the one in Tim's room.

Damian cringed, pressing his hands against his head and allowing the tears to flow. He was already starting to get irritated by that pain, mainly because it made him cry. He cried, cried a lot and for anything, but that pain... he knew somehow that he had already felt worse pains than that...

— Dick...! — he whispered to himself, interrupting all thoughts. He walked with his slow steps to his older brother's room — Dick? — he called after knocking softly on the door, giving himself the freedom to open when he received no answers. He wasn't there, he probably went on a date with his girlfriend.

The child tried to remain calm and walked to the next door, the other brother's room, and called:

— Jason? Jay...? — He opened the door, being disappointed that the rebel brother had not yet returned.

Desperate, Damian used what little strength he still had to go to his father's room, the only one with the door ajar. The little one simply dropped on the floor when he saw that it was empty too - he was exhausted.

— ... Dad!?

He called, even though he knew it wouldn't do any good. It was no use when he begged for his father during the examinations that that damned doctor forced him to do, it would not do now with Bruce so far away from him - in those secret meetings.

— ... Mom...?

He whimpered, unsure whether she wanted Selina to show up to hug him or whether she wanted her real mother to show up so that he finally knew who she was, however troublesome.

— ... Someone... — whispered — ... Anyone...!

No one came.

Even so, the pain gradually eased and, with that, he felt extremely relaxed on the cold floor of his parents' room, all he had to do was close his eyes to sleep again. But he didn't want to sleep. Not there, not alone, not in pain being able to return to sleep anytime.

The child got up, exhausted, shuffling his feet to get back to the room. The room he slept in, by the way, was his old room - the little one never understood why Dick always took him there.

He was not sure what to do there other than sleep or draw, because they were the only two things he was allowed to do there. That is until he saw the promised toy lying next to the bed - a small gray bird with an orange spot on its chest.

— ... It seems to be real... — he whispered to himself, taking the small artificial animal and looking more closely - it made him want to remember something, something important. After carefully analyzing little Robin, he took the remote control - he wanted to prove to the irritating brother that he knew how to use that toy.

It took only a few minutes for Damian to learn to use that unsuccessful little prototype. Even without understanding how, he knew how to use that remote control as if he had been doing it for years - maybe he did and he just didn't remember.

He was so amused by the bird flying around him around the room that he didn't even remember the pain, how late it was, let alone the storm outside, however much the rays helped to illuminate the room. But suddenly, Robin stopped obeying the controls and flew out of the room, rising and falling like a wounded bird.

The boy did the best he could to try to reach the toy, but still could not take more than two steps without leaning on something - the leg remained in constant numbness, out of his control just like the little bird. Once outside the room, he scanned the corridor and was frustrated to find nothing, especially because he knew that the prototype could only be on the first floor, fallen and broken.

— ... Tim will be angry with me... — he murmured discontentedly, clinging to the railing of the stairs to get down and thanking mentally for his brother not having opened the door of the room until now.

To Damian's surprise, however, Robin was circling around the entrance, swirling, increasing the flight area while hitting what was in front - jars with flowers, pieces of armor and even hanging pictures. The boy tried to grab the toy out of control, but it wasn't fast enough.

— ... My father will be angry with me... — he said almost without a voice, watching as the bird broke another expensive item of decoration — ... Mr. Pennyworth too! — He even had tears in his eyes.

Desperate, he started to press all the buttons that were in control: he tried to press them in sequence, with more or less force, he even tried to shake, but it was no use. The only thing he got from Robin was a low, timed noise, like a little mechanical pule.

— ... Please...! — he asked between his teeth, getting as close as he could to that runaway bird - which was going towards a contemporary piece, apparently very expensive and probably given by Selina since it clashed with the rest of the decoration — No, damn it! — he growled irritably, giving up and throwing the controller to the floor.

Unexpectedly, the bird changed its route.

Damian, delighted to have managed to save at least one of the objects, took the remote again and tried to guide the toy back to the room. Robin obeyed each of the commands, continuing with the mechanical peep - now with shorter spaces between one and the other.

Still, when the little animal was approaching the banister, it stopped obeying controls again. The child watched him fly aimlessly, scratching himself against the mansion's high ceiling, until he stopped moving and fell - luckily or badly - getting stuck in the chandelier.

— ... Please... — he whispered trying to make the bird move, unsuccessfully — ... Please, get out of there...! — The only thing that Robin did was to release his peeps, weak and in a row, as if it were a bird dying — ... I'm sorry... — he asked, running a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the tears. He was tired, frustrated, and now he felt guilty for having lost the toy that way.

A strong beam illuminated everything and left the destruction caused in the decoration completely exposed, in addition to the little Robin trapped between the crystals of the chandelier. The thunder that followed soon, loudly, drowned out the last few hoots of the toy.

Damian took a few slow steps closer, forcing himself to keep his balance. He didn't even look at the ground, he was glazed at that bird and how much he wanted to remember something important related to the animal.

— ... Robin died — he found almost without a voice.

It was the only thing the child managed to say before he dropped to the floor, writhing in pain as he held his head again. If earlier he didn't want to cry because he had already felt worse pains, now he wanted to scream until he had no more breath, since that was surely the worst pain he ever felt: lascivious, acute, like the sting of an ice pick in the head.

As much as he tried to call for help, the voice just didn't come out.

He felt like his head was going to explode at any moment.

However, it was not his head that exploded, but the bird with the problem of overheating - after the warnings, pules, were neglected. The crystals tumbled first, sending small pieces like rain, and then the chandelier chain began to sag - weakened by the explosion.

Damian had no idea what was going on, he couldn't hear anything but a deafening creak echoing inside him. When he finally managed to open his eyes, feeling pebbles falling on his face, he saw the great chandelier coming down towards him.

Everything was clear thanks to lightning. The nearby thunderstorm drowned out the sound of steel crashing to the ground, as did Damian's cry of despair.

No one heard the poor child begging for help or death - whichever came first to free him from the writhing, heavy iron that held him.

No one would know that Robin died and that Damian was now dying too.

No one would watch him in his last moments - already disillusioned with his own end, fulfilling the noxious desire that came to his mind whenever that unbearable pain in his ear appeared:

Damian took one of the metal pieces, the only one he managed to reach and which - luckily or badly - was loose; he lifted that cold, heavy piece, watching the potential; he used that to hit himself in the head with the strength he still had while he managed to move.

He wanted to break his own skull and stick his fingers inside, just to pull out that monster that kept scratching and hurting him, even if he had to die for it - because he would die in peace.

And so, a few attempts later, everything was in absolute silence.

Visceral silence.

.

.

.

NOTE

.

The decoration of Wayne Mansion, as well as its architecture itself, always has touches of the Medieval Era, like sleek armor and even the old chandelier. Batman's stories and his entire universe almost always have a touch of that period, including for some titles:

Bruce Wayne is the Prince of Gotham;

Batman is the Dark Knight;

Robins are inspired by Robin Hood (12th century is close, right);

Joker is Prince Clown of Crime or Jester of the Genocide Court;

And so on... there are several heroes and villains that have some connection, it would be impossible to list them all here.

Note of Note: the fanfic continues!