Wounded Birds, a Batman fanfic by Raberba girl [rough draft]

Part 3 (Damian)

I'm terrified. Not for myself, but for Grayson, because there's no good reason they would drag us before the Court like prisoners. I can handle myself, but I refuse to let my brother be tortured again.

"It has come to our attention that Bruce Wayne survived the attempt on his life last night."

Good news overall. Bad news for the short term.

"We will not tolerate failure. We expected better of you, Ibn al Xu'ffasch."

My mind hums with tension as I run through every response and countermeasure I can think of. I have to be ready for anything. At the moment, I need to convince them that my performance isn't slipping, that it was someone else's fault (other than Grayson's) that the mission failed. "You underestimated him. I told you to let me handle the prep."

Grayson speaks up in a voice that's too hesitant, obviously (to me, anyway; I hope it's not so obvious to the Owls) trying to keep us within Father's reach. Perhaps fortunately, they dismiss him without even bothering to consider one way or the other.

"Xu'ffasch, we've indulged you long enough. It's clear that this 'partnership' of yours is detrimental to the Court's goals."

No...no, they can't-

"You were warned what would happen the next time you allowed your judgment to be clouded. The two of you will be reassigned to separate quarters, effective immediately, and all communication between the two of you is forbidden without our express permission."

Rage floods my body. "NO! No, you can't do this! Richard Grayson is MINE!"

The voice thunders, "Both of you belong to us. Take them away."

I slaughter the first three men who attempt to lay hands on me, but then I'm distracted by the sight of my partner being dragged from the room. He's resisting sluggishly, but he's in the grip of another episode and simply moving on autopilot; he doesn't have the consciousness or reflexes to fight for real.

"GRAYSON!"

It takes six more men and a tranquilizer to take me down. Even when my limbs stop working, I curse the Court until the darkness clouding my mind is complete.

o.o.o.o.o

I'm in pain when I wake up - they were not gentle when they carried me here.

'Here' turns out to be a cold new apartment, halfway across the city from our old quarters and God knows how far away from my brother.

Two mission briefs are waiting for me. My first impulse is to ignore them, but then I decide to send a message. I complete the first assignment in record time and then track down two Talons to kill. The Court of Owls does not own me, and even when they punish me, I have the power to punish them back.

My second mission isn't an assassination; it takes me two hours to complete, and by the time I'm done, I've also hacked my tracker for the day. I make it think that I'm heading to the Hiding Spot, then set to work searching for Grayson instead.

Maybe they know what I'm doing, or simply anticipated my moves beforehand, because I'm inundated with missions. A third one comes in that evening; there are two more waiting for me when I wake up in the morning, then a long-term assignment, then yet another two the next day. Both of them are busywork, though...they're running out of ways to keep me occupied.

Still, between the missions and my own work and creating clues to send into the void of the Internet for Drake to find if he happens to look in the right places at the right times, it takes me four days to find Grayson. I'm starving and grimy and my apartment's a mess, he really did look after me more than I thought he did...

His apartment's even worse. Dirty clothes are strewn all over the floor (along with streaks of green paint, for some reason); the place is littered with insect-infested pizza boxes and ramen cups; his laptop is sitting in a sticky patch next to a fallen bottle of soda. He himself, barely clothed and even grimier than I am, is huddled between the end of the sofa and the wall, his eyes vacant as he buries bloody fingertips into the awful wound he's scratched into his own neck.

"Grayson!" I'm afraid to touch him, but I have to get him to stop hurting himself. His eyes snap to life sooner than I expected.

"Damian." He throws his arms around me and hugs me so tight I can hardly breathe (a small mercy, since our combined unwashed odor is strong). His hair is soft and greasy as it presses against my cheek. I don't mind that I can't move. I close my eyes and relax a little for the first time in four days.

He doesn't cry, just trembles for a long time as he holds me. At last, when he seems to have recovered a little, I pull back and get to my feet and haul him to his. "You're a mess, and you're still bleeding, you idiot. Get to the bathroom."

I look through his cabinets as he bathes, but he hasn't bought any medical supplies; all I can find is the standard first aid kit that must have already been here when he was assigned to this place. It will have to do. When he gets out of the tub, I try to tug him down so I can start bandaging the wound, but he smiles and takes the gauze out of my hands. "I can handle this. You take your turn; I'm okay now."

I've been focused for so long on finding my brother and resenting all the Court's interruptions, I forgot how nice it feels to be clean. Grayson's done a decent enough job, and after I've inspected the bandage on his neck, he tugs me to the couch and start combing my hair. That feels nice, too. For a little while, it's just like old times, the TV playing and Grayson cheerfully rambling and the two of us looking after each other and just being together...

"I missed you so much, Dami~" He kisses the side of my head.

I look at the clock and sigh - it's nearly 10:00 p.m., I've got yet another mission waiting and I've fallen behind on my work. "Grayson..."

"Geez, I'm starving! I- Er, got nothing in the fridge, but hey, I'll have a pizza delivered and then tomorrow I'll go grocery shopping, okay?"

...He thinks we can just go back to living together like nothing happened. "Grayson, listen-"

"WHAT KIND OF PIZZA DO YOU WANT, kiddo? Supreme? You like supreme, right?" He's already dialing a number. "I like it, too, it's got so many good bits and this place I found makes the best crust, you'll love it...!"

He's in denial again. "Grayson, please."

"OH HEY RICARDO HI, it's Dick! What's up, man? Yeah, the usual, but two of them this time, because I've got company tonight~!"

This is going to be difficult.

I give him another hour or so, letting him snuggle with me as we watch a movie and eat dinner. Finally, close to midnight, when he's half-asleep with his arms around me, I whisper to him as I start to get up. "I'll see you soon, Grayson. Please be strong."

His grip on me tightens. "Don't leave."

"I have to. But now that I know where you are, I'll come back, I promise."

Without a word, he sits up and produces a pair of handcuffs and links our wrists together. His face and voice hold no expression as he wraps his free arm back around me, this time in restraint. "Stay."

"..." He knows perfectly well that I was trained to escape handcuffs long before I met Batman. "Grayson."

He hides his face against me. "I'll die if you leave me."

"You won't." I still wait until he falls asleep, even though it takes three hours. When, at last, it's safe for me to slip the cuffs, he stirs and mumbles my name, but I stroke his hair and murmur to him until he goes quiet again. I set a robin's feather into his hand as a promise, and then I leave. I have work to do, but I will come back.

o.o.o.o.o

It's 36 hours before I'm able to get away long enough to see him again. I find him curled up in bed, and he doesn't respond to me for at least thirty minutes - I can't even tell whether he's having an episode or just too hurt to let me in.

I came more prepared this time. I still don't really know how to cook, but I can make sandwiches. I bring a plate of them to his room and tear off a small piece and push it against his mouth, and after a moment, he eats it. I try another. He lays his hand over mine for a while, then he sits up and we lean against each other and finish the sandwiches together.

It's a very long silence, and he's the one who finally breaks it. "This is killing me, Damian."

"No."

"I've only done one mission in the past week."

"...Oh." I knew something was wrong. I've been doing my best to find his mission briefs and stay on top of our trackers, but I know some assignments have slipped past me, and he never showed up even to the ones I found and completed for him. I don't know how long we can get away with this when he won't even go through the motions.

"Even if I don't die of...I dunno...heartbreak, or whatever this is... They'll kill me. What's the use of a Talon who can't even get out of bed, much less get any missions done?"

I slam the empty plate on the bedside table and jump up, whirling to face him. "Get up. We're going to spar."

"..."

I strike him across the face. "Get up!"

He curls up, burying his face in a pillow so that his words are muffled. "Don't hit me, Damian." There are tears in his voice.

I am seriously alarmed now. "Grayson!" No response. "Grayson, get up! You can't do this!" He's not just broken, he's crumbling. Unless Batman comes swinging through the window in the next few minutes, there might not be much of a Richard Grayson left for Father to rescue. "GRAYSON GET UP."

"..."

"...Play with me. We're just going to play." I drag him out of bed and push a couple of escrima sticks into his hands and finally coax him into sparring with me. It's like sparring with a five-year-old at first (an ordinary five-year-old, not a properly trained one), but gradually he warms up until his attacks become actual attacks. He's still pathetically weak if I was trying to beat him for real, but at the moment, I'm just relieved to see him at least being able to hold his own against an intoxicated mugger. I'll worry about getting him back up to actual Talon level later. "That's it. Hah. You going to let your 'baby brother' get away with that, Grayson?"

"Heh...I'm gonna take you down a few notches, amateur..."

Afterward, he seems far more exhausted than he should be from a simple practice session, but at least he's not crying in bed anymore. He lies quietly on the couch until I bring over two mugs of tea - I know it's nowhere near as good as Pennyworth's, but brewing tea was one of the few domestic things I learned how to do before we were taken. Grayson sips at the tea and keeps the fingers of his left hand curled into my shirt. "Damian...don't go."

"I'll come back soon."

"Pieces of me die whenever you leave."

I don't know what to say. I feel a little like crying with frustration. "...Grayson." I touch his face so he'll pay attention. "I can't. If I stay here with you, we'll be punished again. You saw how badly they can hurt us, even without bruises or blood."

His breathing grows unsteady for a moment, and then his eyes go blank.

"Grayson...! Dick, stop that! Hey...hey, I meant to tell you, I saw a cat the other day - she was so beautiful, ink-black with a really fluffy tail, she was shy at first but I was patient and she warmed up to me..." I babble at him until he comes back five minutes later.

"You're still here," he breathes.

"Don't check out every time I say something you don't like."

He slowly gets to his feet and trudges across the room, absently dragging his palm across every piece of furniture he passes. He pauses by the window and gazes out, arms wrapped tightly around himself. His eyes finally meet mine. "Damian...I'm sick." He points to his head. "In here."

"I know."

"...I've never been like this before. I've been depressed, but...not like this. Never this bad... I need help. I'm going crazy, really crazy, Damian."

I stand up. I try to speak clearly, without any judgmental tone. "Grayson...I need help, too."

A dry sob escapes him, and he claps a hand over his mouth. After a moment, I go over to hug him. He wraps his arms around me and whispers fiercely, "Where is he?"

"He's coming."

"We need him. We NEED him- But no, he's always put everyone else before his own sons, hasn't he. Why should things be any different this time...!"

Now I want to cry, because it feels too true. "Please."

He hears the tears in my voice and tightens his hold. "Dami."

"I'm tired."

He kneels down and grips my arms so that I look into his eyes. "We'll survive."

I draw in a deep breath. Not long ago, I would have been putting on an act to get him to be strong for me, but now it's not an act anymore. "We are the sons of Batman."

"We'll get through this."

"We are heirs to the greatest legacy in the world."

"He'll come for us. And you'll come back to me. And I'll still be here when you do."

"I've sacrificed everything to protect you, Grayson. Don't waste it."

"You know I'd do anything for you, Damian."

"...Better?"

"Yes. You?"

"Screw the Owls."

He laughs a little. "Yeah. Jerks."

I feel stronger. He looks stronger. I leave him curled up in front of another movie with a bowl of ice cream, and I head out to do my mission for the evening.

o.o.o.o.o

I hate it when the targets are minors. Even though they're usually older than me, they still seem like children. At least this mission is an abduction rather than a killing...

The girl cowers as I fight her bodyguards, though she's not a complete waste of space - at one point, she hurls a pot at me, and later a pair of gardening shears (misses both times, but I commend her efforts). One guard is unconscious, I'm about to drive my sword through the heart of the other-

Something clangs hard against my weapon, knocking it out of my hand.

A batarang.

A sound escapes my throat, something between a gasp and a shout, though even I don't know what I meant to say before gas is sprayed in my face. I see a flash of black, hear the whisking sounds of capes. I'm coughing, my lungs burn and I'm too dizzy to identify the dark figures surrounding me. I don't remember falling, but suddenly realize I'm on the floor. I feel hands on me, but the first tug triggers a fresh wave of dizziness that leaves me too incapacitated to think. "Got it," says a voice that I think is Drake's, but that's all I have time to process before I lose consciousness.

To be continued...

A/N: My friend Medli (breezy-cheezy) gave me permission to share her sketches; I've included them with this story on AO3.