Huh, what do you know. I did manage to get this out today instead of tomorrow. Amazing how much easier writing is when I actually take my ADD meds. Being able to concentrate is helpful for writing. Who would have thought.
The ransom video was short and to the point. If they stuck to same M.O. as in the past, more detailed instructions would be written down and delivered along with the video. What they wanted from him was to tell Father he was unharmed and would remain so as long as the amount requested was paid. He was even made to repeat the line about how his loss of sight was temporary but could be made permanent. His idiot kidnapper probably thought himself clever with that line.
That thought was the fault of his temper. The longer he was awake, and the further he got from the sedatives' sleepy grasp. The more furious he became. He was supposed to be playing scared child. Fearful and helpless at the hands of his captors, but the sheer pointlessness of this whole situation prevented him from playing the character.
He didn't have to be here, blinded by fools-Only fools would kidnap a Wayne, his family had never once paid ransom despite multiple kidnappings. He could have easily beaten these men in the garden earlier. Broken their limbs and handed them bleeding but alive over to the police. He knew he could have. He could replay the fight in his head with the exact steps it would have taken to disable every last one of them, but he wasn't allowed to! He had been forced to break and run. Forced to look for adults far less competent than himself, when there had been no need. All to maintain this useless cover.
Damn Father and his insistence on maintaining a double life. He'd never been required to pretend to be less than he was under Mother. He pulled his knees up, pressing his forehead to them hiding the way he was gritting his teeth, decidedly not cowering in fear. It wouldn't do to make his departure from the norm obvious. He knew why the secret identity was necessary. Too many of Father's assets were legally owned to flaunt the law so blatantly, and the quiet security of the manor could never be maintained if any one of Father's numerous living enemies could merely Google his address. He knew why it existed and he understood, but sometimes, he just hated it anyways. He wanted nothing more than to work his arms out of their bonds and then to beat his captor within an inch of his life. He couldn't do that though. He needed to sit here and wait to be rescued. Pretend to be normal. Just like in the garden.
He seethed in silence. Going round and round in his mind. Coming up with some violent satisfying fantasy, only to remind himself of the reality preventing its implementation, then thinking up a new more creative one. Rinse and repeat, for what felt like forever.
His latest fantasy was interrupted, when someone banged on the door to the room. He hadn't even been aware the room had a door until that point, but judging from the noise it was both wooden and reasonably thick. He heard his captor scoot his chair away from the table. The movement sounded scratchy. Chair was lightweight. The information was most likely useless, but gathering it was both second nature and something to do beyond glaring into the blackness.
He could hear his captor walk across the room to where the knocking had emanated, then paused. Checking a peep hole or a security camera, perhaps? Next, he heard the sound of a deadbolt and a smaller handle lock being undone. That was an interesting combination. It most often seen in residences. The deadbolt would be on top and would not have a keyhole on the outside. The door could only be unlocked from the inside, preventing anyone from picking the lock and breaking into the room. Ideal for sleeping homeowners and rooms with guards already inside.
The door was opened, and Damian was struck by the lack of noise or rushing air. There was a very slight influx of cooler air, but nothing like what could be expected from opening up into a mostly abandoned building or outdoors. This room had to be connected to a larger building that was in use. It was the only reasonable explanation for the parity in temperature, when he knew it was freezing outside. Yet, he hadn't been gagged to prevent neighbors or helpful stranger from hearing him scream for help. He hadn't tried to, but they couldn't have known he wouldn't. They must be certain that no one who would call the cops if they heard anything. That or they were worse idiots than he thought.
"Deliver this, then get out of town. We'll call you when it's time to pick up your share." His captor said to whoever was at the door. There was a rustling of cloth, the sound of something being passed, then the door shutting and the locks being re-engaged. He wished he could see. Something as simple as being able to see what material the ceiling was constructed from, could tell him if this room had been specially built for holding things that required guards or if it was just being re-purposed. He suppressed the urge to stamp the ground and pressed his forehead harder into his knees instead. Where was Father? They must have had him for at least several hours. There had been enough time to transport and secure him here. Plus the time to make the video. Surely, Father must have noticed he was missing by now. He had a tracker sewn into his clothing for this specific situation. It should be child's play for Batman to locate him.
Unless he wasn't looking, a small traitorous part of him whispered. It was a silly thought. Father had long ago accepted him. Bringing him back from the grave proved that. He was no longer the unwanted child. The one Father was looking for an excuse to get rid of. Drake may feel he had just waltzed into the family, but he remembered too well how hard he had to work to cement his place in the family, how much of himself he had to change to gain Father's love, to ever go along with that delusion.
Why was he thinking about this? All these things had happened long ago. He knew better than to dwell on them. It must be the sedatives. Anxiety and depression were known side effects. His mood was the drugs fault. It had nothing to do with him. Unfolding from where he was pressed against his knees, he tried to clear his mind of the dark thoughts. Focus on the here and now, open his eyes and replace the unwanted images and thoughts with the appearance of the room…The room he couldn't see…Because he had been blinded. Open or closed the sight was the same, nothing but darkness. Nothing to distract or take the focus from his thoughts. Nothing to see but images conjured by his mind. Images of the father who hadn't wanted him.
He squeezed his eyes shut tight. He wanted to go home now. He'd wanted to go home since the party, but now, he really wanted to be home. He wanted to be back with Titus and Alfred. He wanted to be drinking Pennyworth's hot cocoa with Father, while Grayson promised to come visit him over the phone. Grayson liked to visit him when he was injured. He never told him, but Grayson fretting around his cot in the cave's medical lab was one of his favorite memories. What he didn't want was to be here, in the dark, with a stranger that couldn't be bothered to do enough research to realize he was never going to see a dime.
This time when someone banged on the door, Damian jumped. He wasn't the only one surprised. There was a third smaller bang, as his captor hit the table with one of his knees at the sound. The man muttered a few curses under his breath and then tromped back across the room to door. There was a second pause, trying to see who was there, then "Shi-" and the sound of the door shattering loose from its locks. The sounds of violence were as familiar as breathing. He could easily pick out the difference between the thump of his captor being thrown against the wall, to the snap of his wrist being broken, to crack of his head being bounced off the concrete floor. Father was here, and contrary to the voice of doubt in his mind, he was not pleased at Damian's kidnapping.
When he heard the zip ties being pulled tight, he knew the fight was over. He wanted to run and hug Father, but one, his arms were still bound behind his back and, two, he couldn't be certain the thug was unconscious. Starting rumors of his familiarity with the Batman would defeat the entire point of not taking the men down himself. He settled for using his legs to push himself up the wall into a standing position instead.
Father's cape whooshed as he turned and crossed the room to Damian. A quick cut with a batarang and his arms were free. He felt a heavy gauntleted hand rest on his shoulder. "Are you injured?" Father asked, he used the familiar growl he always did when wearing the cowl.
"I can't see," Damian replied, he felt the hand on his shoulder tighten, "They said it wasn't permanent." Father didn't move for a moment. He was undoubtedly putting together the facts and coming to the same conclusion as Damian had earlier that night. The file on this group had been put together by him after all.
"Okay, let's get you home." Father said quietly. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around Damian, then lifted him up. Damian wrapped his legs around Batman's waist automatically. He disliked being carried on principle, but he was unaware of the terrain outside the room or even how far away the Batmobile was from their current location. He would make an exception this once, and it had nothing to do with how the action showed the light to the thoughts he had had in the darkness.
End Notes:
Bruce took Damian home and Alfred did make him some hot chocolate, while Alfred the cat and Titus cuddled up around their master. Dick did come to visit him, which is why he was around for the doctor's appointment.
And that is how Damian lost his sight.