Chapter Twelve

It was a lie, it was a lie, it was lie, Damian's thoughts raced. Demetrius had lied to him. He had looked straight at him and lied to him. He'd lied without batting an eye. He'd lied so effortlessly. Damian would have believed it if not for his pause.

Then what was the truth?

Damian swallowed a lump in his throat. His heart rate doubled and he didn't think he could grip his handle any tighter. His head swam through murky waters, muddled with no particular emotion, only it's power evident as it surged chaotically.

If it was a lie. . . then how did Demetrius know. . .?

Damian had never told a soul. He'd kept the shameful truth under lock and key. He had never admitted it out loud. He would never shame himself like that. He would never shame his family like that. Complaining that he'd rather live at home with his family? Admitting he would prefer that? How disgraceful. He was a Desmond. He could handle it. He was just as good as his older brother. He wasn't a weak link, he wasn't some second-rate son. He could handle it.

He had never told anyone.

He had never let it show.

So how. Could Demetrius possibly know?

But looking for any other explanation than the one he refused to see was fruitless and empty. It shouted and waved from the corner and he turned a blind eye to it. It made his heart race, it made him freeze when it called to him as he turned over every piece of furniture in the room that he searched; under each table, he threw a rug aside, he opened every drawer. But nothing he found was substantial. His frantic search yielded a handful of sand spilling between his fingers. There was nothing solid. No answers. Nothing logical. None it if made sense.

Another call from the corner of the room.

His chest shook with his next breath.

No! No! It wasn't true! It was ridiculous! It was impossible! It only existed in comic books and tall stories!

Damian blocked it out. There had to be some reasonable explanation! There was an explanation for everything! Maybe Damian was overreacting, maybe he was making something out of nothing. Maybe Demetrius was. . .maybe he was. . . maybe he paused because. . .

Agghhh! It didn't make sense!

Another call from the corner of the room.

No! That wasn't—it just wasn't that!

Damian franticly searched the room again, double checking he hadn't missed anything. He tore open the cushions and looked behind the curtains. The call from the corner seemed to follow him wherever he went and it had become louder, making it difficult to concentrate.

Demetrius was just intuitive! Damian repeated to himself, though it carried less and less weight every time he thought it and jitters tingled in his fingers. Demetrius and Damian may not have spent a whole lot of time together and Demetrius was able to read him like an open book, but he was just good at picking up on things!

You'd still be wishing to live at home with that monster.

The call had become a scream. It yelled in his ears, it waved wildly about for his attention. It had grown louder and larger and rampaged around the room. It threw the furniture to the walls, the rug, the drawers. Everything else was shoved aside until it stood alone in the centre, trying to force Damian's attention on it. Damian cringed at the noise and he couldn't shirk away from it. It infected every thought. It shadowed his line of reasonings like a looming, thundering cloud that he couldn't escape.

No! There had to be some other explanation! Demetrius was just intuitive. He couldn't—

His nightmare.

Like a kick to his chest, his memories were attacked. Poked and sliced, pieces dripped onto the floor. His unwanted guest dissected them to scatter their painfully obvious contents. It pointed out two little words in the mess. Damian didn't want to see them but they were screamed at him.

A hunch.

It was an affront to his ears. Two, little insignificant words that felt heavier than before. Two, little words that shouldn't have bothered him. Two little words that had faded quickly when Demetrius had originally spoken them. He'd said them as if it was normal and moved on so fast, so smoothly, that Damian had barely processed it had happened.

Demetrius had answered immediately.

When had that happened? Damian suddenly realized with another uptick in his heart. This innate feeling? The expected sound of his voice after Damian's? The certain amount of time between when he spoke and when Demetrius responded? Like the beating of two drums in perfect consistence?

The beat had missed this time. Demetrius had failed to hold it. He was never tripped up and the pause had felt so unnatural. Like trying to use one's fingers before remembering they were bandaged together, or forgetting a schoolbag.

The amusement park.

Damian had stopped breathing.

There had been a rhythm and it was so subtle and casual that he hadn't noticed. There had been expectations because Demetrius had put them there. Because he always had answers.

The ice cream.

Or were they lies?

Damian's muscles were stiff. Pressure crammed his throat and tightened his stomach and he couldn't tell if his heart was still beating or trying to strangle him.

The scream, the one explanation that Damian couldn't believe, that seeded chaos and disruption through his mind, had all but reduced the discarded furniture to splinters. The curtains and cushions were in shreds. The sand Damian had found was dashed uselessly across the broken floor.

The scream was the only thing left. It's existence was absurd. It's presence in Damian's mind was absurd. It reverberated against his skull and consumed the last of his thoughts. It wouldn't leave him alone and harangued and clawed for his attention so much so that he couldn't think straight. It was loud and wild and he couldn't ignore it any longer. He couldn't pretend it didn't exist.

Damian looked at it and it finally went quiet.

In a rush of silence, it came to a standstill. Damian stared back at the beast that had come to fill the room, it's overwhelming presence blocking anything from coming in or going out. It was just there and Damian looked at it. He looked at it and his logic and deductive reasoning balanced precariously like a see-saw on a log. His other thoughts were numbed, his good senses were questioned and he looked at it.

It was ridiculous.

It was the only thing left.

He felt the rattle in his ribs when he breathed and his nerves jumped and raced uneasily.

It was insane.

It was the only thing left.

Demetrius was watching him intently now, his kite forgotten as it landed. He was unnaturally still. His face conveyed very little and his apprehensive eyes betrayed him as they bored into his little brother.

The wind was near dead as lasting vestiges breezed gently through the grass and Damian found his breath again, inhaling sharply.

Forger.

Her name played like a gong through Damian's skull, the startling ram of a hammer hitting it over and over, as if forcing him to recognize couldn't refute the similarities that came racing to mind, as if they had just been waiting for him to take notice. Memories and thoughts slowly began to meld into a horrible picture that he hadn't had the tools to put together before. It was just like Forger and someone's hands reached into his chest, clenching at his heart and lungs.

That sixth sense. While Forger would catch Damian looking at her, Demetrius' was more subtle. He picked up on Damian's moods, his anxieties, and seemed to understand him by the most tiniest, indiscernible little tics in his face. It was like they were both attuned to him.

Demetrius mentioned the nightmares before Damian could. The ice cream. Guessing when Damian was hungry. Suggesting the amusement park before Damian could say he wanted to go.

And Forger.

All the little looks she gave him. The times she offered her help with whatever was stressing him out. How insanely calm she was on the bus before anyone learned the bombs were fake. How she knew the animals were sad at the zoo.

. . .

. . .

. . .How much she avoided him when he was trying to uncover her secrets.

As if she knew.

Like Damian was just now noticing a moon-sized meteor that had been on a collision course with the earth for a week and ripped through his world, he was stunned into petrifying realization. His brain had stopped sending signals and his mouth parted, unable to form the words.

The experiments.

Damian knew what they were for.

"Demetrius?" A hoarse, shaky whisper lodged in Damian's throat and he barely heard himself speak it.

Nothing. Demetrius had become a gargoyle, frozen and quiet. It didn't look like he was breathing. Damian hadn't even said it and Demetrius had stalled.

It was every bit a confirmation.

The little, wooden handle dropped from Damian's hand as the wind died on the ground. The warm colours filtering through his kite had passed when it fell, and the sun's rays, though warm in the beginning of it's descent, cast fingers of dark shadows across the expanse of open grass. The sun had begun to set along with what remained of Damian's sense of the world. It had all but been destroyed.

The remnants of his perceived reality were disintegrating the longer Demetrius' gaze stayed locked on his and Damian wasn't all that sure that Demetrius could look away. Or force his body to move or operate. His legs remained stout, his fingers hovered motionless in the air, and his face was schooled into nothingness. With a sudden turn of his head, he came back to life and turned to the handle in his hands. As if he were unaccustomed to using them, he slowly wound up the string of his kite.

"Deme—" Damian began and failed.

Over and over, Demetrius wrapped the thin cord until all the slack was taken, the grass softly rustling underneath as it gently scraped in small, repetitive increments. Demetrius crouched to pick it up and wrapped the tail loosely around two opposing sides. He stared at.

"Demetrius. . ." Damian tried again.

Head angled at his kite, Demetrius' eyes shut closed, his entire face tightening and clenching as he inhaled deep and long through his nose. He exhaled and his shoulders sagged, his disposition turning to accepted defeat in an instant. A hand covered his eyes.

"Demetrius!" Confused emotion burst in angry, broken, fractures through Damian's chest and his voice cracked.

With every bit of oxygen he had, Demetrius sighed heavily at his kite and dropped his hand. "Yeah. . ." The construct of red, framed paper was tossed carelessly to the ground.

"Uh—" Damian said and his face tightened in indignant frustration. It built and built until it pressed painfully at his chest even as it leaked from the cracks. He forgot to breathe, his stomach clamped as if it could help him deal with it. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, "YEAH"!?" It hurt, the emotions ripping out of him and bursting tempestuously from the fissures that were torn open in a flood. It was hot. And burning. It stung his eyes and choked his throat. It filled his lungs with anger and he couldn't keep it down. How was Demetrius so calm?! How could he keep something like this secret from him? Had he been reading Damian's mind this entire time?! It felt like he had been sliced open, his entire contents laid bare and he hadn't even known! It was the most disturbing thing he had ever felt! This was—! How did—! WHAT!? "YOU CAN REA—!?"

Damian didn't get it out. Demetrius' head snapped to him wide-eyed and panicked and lunged for Demetrius with the speed and jumpy-ness of a cat on catnip. It was the fastest Damian had ever seen him move and his eyes went wide when Demetrius' hand clamped over his mouth before he could jerk away. Demetrius breathed deep and fast through his nose as he tried to get it under control. His head whipped at the area around them, but there was barely anyone left and no one paid them any heed. With wary eyes reticent to stop scanning the area, Demetrius slowly lowered onto one knee in front of his brother. His face was taut, his jaw feathered from clenched teeth, and his eyes were a little wild. His tensed muscles ran up his arm to the very tips of his fingers that clutched Damian's jaw and cheeks and sent a streak of adrenaline heaving in Damian's own shoulders. The hand covered nearly the entirety of the bottom half of Damian's face and Demetrius hardly noticed how tightly he held it. Demetrius was freaking Damian out.

Demetrius finally looked at him from the field he surveyed. "Not." The intensity was a near snarl and oddly shaky. "A word." It came low and husky, raw in Demetrius' attempt to keep himself contained,

Damian nodded, a sort of fear of Demetrius' fear coming over him.

After a steadying breath, Demetrius slowly released him and slumped on the ground with another sigh of utter exhaustion.

Damian's anger had compacted in his chest. It was still there, it was still urging him to express it, but it was stuck. Damian didn't know what to do with it. He was unable to move and he watched Demetrius cradle his face in his hands as his shoulders trembled in a way Damian had never seen before.

Feeling like his entitled moment of shock and outrage had been hijacked, Damian dazedly settled in the grass as well. He had no idea how to proceed, how to process, how to feel. His head was home to a cyclone of confusion, disbelief, a weird sense of violation, and reflection. Every conversation they'd had. What had Demetrius said!? What had Damian thought?! What had Demetrius heard?! The comfortableness he'd had around him was suddenly gone, replaced with a feeling of constant, imminent attack. He had no shields or armour to protect himself, he was vulnerable and he chafed against the helplessness of it.

It made him angry all over again.

"Why are you angry?" Demetrius asked quiet and cautious.

Why was he—?! Damian sprang up, astonished at his naïveté, and stood over him, though Demetrius was still taller even sitting. "That!" He pointed at his elder brother. "That's why I'm angry! How can you be so dense!?"

Demetrius blinked at him, taken slightly aback. "That I read your mind?"

"YES! That is not okay!" Damian's fervency, manic and driven by a storm of indistinguishable emotions that crowded his throat, played liberally with his impulses and faculties.

Demetrius continued to stare at him dumbfounded. "What do you mean it's not okay?" He said. Demetrius had adopted a strange attitude, a strange face. One Damian hadn't seen before. His posture was closed and his hands hung off his shins that partially stretched before him. He often spoke calmly, but this time it was softer. Weaker almost. He looked at Damian with quiet shock, as if he had just doused the campfire that was keeping Demetrius alive. It threw Damian off and sent his anger off-kilter.

"Wh—it's—I don't like it when you do that!" Damian exclaimed, his anger shifting more into intense bafflement and fluster. Demetrius was making it difficult to be angry at him and Damian very much needed to be angry at him. If he couldn't be angry at him, what did he do with this disgusting vulnerability he could do nothing about and the fact that Demetrius had not told him?! His mind had been invaded, trespassed, like all it took to enter was pushing aside a curtain door and it infuriated, disturbed, and frustrated him to no end.

"Why?"

Damian stared at him. Shouldn't it be obvious?! How could Demetrius read minds and not know the answer?! "They should be private! It's—WHAT DO YOU MEAN "WHY"?!" Damian abruptly straightened away from Demetrius who looked at him with surprising and confused innocence. Like a kid who didn't quite understand why their parents were upset at them. His gaze drifted lower until it reached the ground and stayed there for the longest moment. Then slowly, as if Demetrius' head were a tensioned door, it returned back to it's natural position, facing front. He considered the grass at his feet.

Damian watched him watch the grass, speechless. His brother stayed that way and Damian growled, turning away as he grabbed at the back of his head.

What was wrong with him?!

When Demetrius spoke, his mind sounded elsewhere. Faint. "Okay. . ." Demetrius accepted, subdued, and Damian turned back to him. His brother sounded off. "I'll. . .stay out of your head." Demetrius promised.

Damian let go of his head, hands tensed into claws on either side and his mouth pursed frustratedly. He sighed and let his hands fall on his scalp. Then held them over his face. "Okay. . ." His voice muffled, Damian fought to keep himself composed. He didn't know what to do, he was angry and not angry. His fingers slipped away and he considered his brother another moment as they fell to his sides. He grumpily came to settle in the grass next to him. "Why didn't you tell me?" He demanded.

Demetrius opted to pick a blade of grass off his pant leg rather than look at him. "I. . ." Demetrius seemed reluctant to say it and huffed a forced laugh. "I guess I didn't want you to hate me." A small smile that he couldn't hold flickered and passed, washing Damian in guilt, more anger, and something aching he couldn't name.

That might have made sense if Demetrius hadn't already expressed confusion at Damian's anger.

". . . what?"

"What?" Demetrius said, looking at him. "Oh." He removed another blade of grass. "That's. . .um. . ." Under Damian's accusatory glare, Demetrius faltered when he realized he'd read Damian's mind again. "Something. . .else. . ." He muttered near unintelligible.

"So? Tell me!" Damian issued with unintentional emotion. Though unused to this side of Demetrius that was nervous and suppressed, he was more concerned with getting answers.

Demetrius inhaled deeply. Exhaled. "Um. . ." He swiped futilely at a grass stain on his knee and crossed his legs. "It's not safe. And being different makes us. . .um. . .people would hate us."

Us. It was spoken like any other word, but to Damian it popped out amongst the others. Us. As in including Forger. A reminder as if Damian could have forgotten. Demetrius had said it so casually.

"I thought you would too." Demetrius added.

". . .what?" Damian didn't understand his logic. Demetrius didn't think Damian would hate him because of the telepathy, but purely because he was different? That made no sense.

"What do you mean?" Demetrius asked and Damian inhaled tersely, setting another glare on him.

"Would you stop that?!" Damian exclaimed, immediately feeling bad for yelling at him when Demetrius looked away, his knee bouncing anxiously. For the first time, Damian noticed Demetrius' white hands laced tightly in his lap.

". . .Sorry. . .it's not on purpose. . ." Demetrius mumbled somewhere that wasn't in Damian's direction.

Damian hadn't realized quite how freaked Demetrius was until that moment.

"I shouldn't have yelled. . .sorry. . ." Damian mumbled back. Both of them looked away from one another.

Damian glanced back at him. Glanced again. He wet his lips, Demetrius' nerves passing onto him. "I don't hate you." He said, bringing Demetrius' attention back to him. Demetrius kept his gaze for a brief moment, and nodded subtly as he turned away, face twitching. "I don't." Damian thought it bared repeating.

In the last of the yellow sunlight before it turned orange and red, Damian had no idea how to proceed other than to just sit in the grass. Any stragglers were gone, the gentle breezes had acquired a cold bite, and the powerful silence in between the wind, rustled grass was nothing but stillness. Demetrius apparently thought the same, fidgeting uncomfortably every now and then. There was more to discuss, there had to be, though neither of the boys knew what to say. What did they do now? They were left with an awkwardness that neither of them could dispel, leaving Damian with plenty of space to spiral.

He had the answers he'd been looking for and they were bigger than he had ever expected. Harder to accept than he had ever expected. In what world would Damian ever think his brother could be a telepath? In what world would he even think it possible? He grappled to absorb the truth of it and it wouldn't let his mind rest. What did he do about this? Was there anything to do? His anger had all but melted away, leaving a myriad of emotions all tangled up.

Hatred wasn't one them. Demetrius had been worried about that. Damian didn't hate him. A plethora of feelings were directed at him, maybe a touch of indignance, but it was mostly due to not being able to protect his own mind.

Hatred wasn't one of them. It felt wrong to hate him for it.

Damian started. Is that what Forger thought? That Damian would hate her? Was she afraid the same way Demetrius was?

That was right. Damian began to sweat, the thought brought to the fore-front. Forger was a telepath too. He'd been wondering what was up with her for months and he finally knew. She was a freaking telepath! How did this change things? How did he approach her!? As soon as she saw him, she'd know that he knew! He had to see her at school tomorrow! There was no way he'd be able to not think about this! He was around her for most the day, it was impossible to keep this from her!

. . . . . . .

It was going to be a painful conversation. How would she react? He didn't want her to avoid him anymore than she already did! He didn't want her think that he was angry—

. . .

. . .

Was he angry? He didn't think he was which surprised him. He definitely was before, but now any anger he might have had for her was gone now too. He couldn't be mad at her, either, it turned out. Not after the lab, after what he'd learned. After being kidnapped. Not after seeing how much it had scared Demetrius. He'd wished she'd trusted him enough to tell him, but he kind of understood.

Kind of.

How long had they known each other?! How often did she read his mind?! It was the same thing with Demetrius, but worse!

Damian groaned, wrapping his arms over his head and dipped it between his knees.

All the answers he'd been searching for lately were double edged to hit back at him twice as hard.

"She won't be happy. . ." Demetrius mumbled and Damian's head peeked back up to give him a stink-eye.

Demetrius cleared his throat and looked somewhere off into the sky.

"Tch." Damian reached for his wooden handle and began to wind it up. The motions were mindless and gave his hands something to do. It made him realize they were a little shaky. When he was done, Demetrius collected up his own kite and stood.

"I should get you back." He said quietly, still having trouble looking at him for more than a couple seconds, clearly uncomfortable.

Damian got up to leave. He wasn't ready to go. It meant the moment was over and he had to return to everything else. He wanted another moment to process, to think without worrying about all the other stuff. He felt so crowded in on all sides and didn't want to return to that box.

Well. . .

At least he knew what else that box contained now.

—

Demetrius' hands shook terribly.

His thoughts had frozen and the only working part of his body was his heart when it had jumped into his throat. He had become too relaxed. He'd let his guard down. It had been awful, objectively terrifying, one of the worst moments of his life. As the Desmond brothers walked silently down the side-walk, he still couldn't get his heart rate under control. His mind wrestled with the enormity of what had just happened and the twin thoughts of wishing to go back and un-say what he said, and glad that Damian finally knew. Having his secret out was like dropping a glass bottle of milk. When it was broken with shards scattered around the floor, the milk wasn't going back in. It spread across the floor where anyone could step in it. Demetrius was pretty sure Damian wouldn't say anything, not intentionally, but the thought sent him to the edge of a panic attack all the same. His heart became tight, his breathing uneven, and his hands shook so hard, he had to fist them and shove them in his pockets to hide it. Unfortunately, he had to use a hand to carry his kite and it wobbled slightly between his fingers. What did this mean now? Damian was reeling and confused about how he felt about this. But after that? What if Damian decided he did hate Demetrius? What if he eventually came to fear him, fear being around him? Damian had said he didn't hate Demetrius and he meant it, but how long would that last? Demetrius didn't think he'd ever have to worry about this. He'd planned to take his secrets with him to the grave. If Damian decided he did hate him—What would Demetrius do? He'd come to care for Damian more than he thought possible. He was the one person he had a real, positive relationship with. The one person he had ever let himself care about. An exception from the the rest of his life. What was the point of letting himself have this bit of normalcy if it would just be taken away from him?

Demetrius took an involuntary, unsteady breath.

Damian wouldn't come to hate him, would he? His little brother was literally the only thing that had kept him from throwing his entire life away multiple times. If only because he couldn't abandon him to their father. If Damian wanted nothing more to do with him. . .

Demetrius didn't want to go back. After letting himself get close with Damian, he didn't know if he could go back to being without him. But he knew he wouldn't be able to leave Damian to deal with their father on his own, either.

Damian didn't like Demetrius reading his mind. If he could learn to stay out of it, would that really be enough? Damian had become the only thing left in the world to light his way. He'd become a candle illuminating his dark path and if it was snuffed out. . .What else was left for Demetrius? He couldn't go back to stumbling about, lost. With nothing to compel him to keep going. He wouldn't want to. Nothing else was worth it. He couldn't deal with finally having a bit a light, only for it to be extinguished again. He'd rather let the darkness crush him like it had been trying to do since he was a kid.

He couldn't do it again.

Not after being free of it.

Not again.

"Demetrius?" Damian stopped, a hand reaching for him. "Why are you crying?!"

"Wh—" Demetrius touched a hand to his cheek and it came away wet. He quickly and aggressively swiped them away. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it." His voice was surprisingly strong. Neutral. But when he moved to continue walking, Damian grabbed his forearm.

"Wait! Demetrius! What's wrong?!"

"Ha." Demetrius huffed, forcing his usual disposition, his usual confidence to override his awkwardness and insecurities. "Nothing, it's nothing." He chuckled and ruffled Damian's hair, but he still didn't buy it. Damian held tightly to two of his fingers, a concerned and fearful, but somehow also irritated glare emanating from his eyes.

"No." He said firmly and Demetrius' easy smile wavered. "If it has something to do with me, you have to tell me! You can't—" Damian's voice caught. "You can't block me out too!" Damian wasn't an esper, but he was a lot better at picking up signals than Demetrius was without telepathy. Demetrius thought Damian was maybe overreacting, but his fears stemmed from a valid place. Anya had blocked him out after what happened at the lab and he was worried Demetrius was about to do the same thing. He was paranoid. No matter if it was Demetrius' insecurities that had caused him to keep secrets, Demetrius could decide that it was better to cut Damian out of his life. Demetrius was the only family Damian had contact with at the moment. If Demetrius kept him at arm's length, Damian was alone again. He had Ewen and Emile, but it wasn't the same.

Relief. Consuming assurance flooded Demetrius like jittery nerves after surviving an attempt on his life. The block in his throat was gone, the pressure building under his skull lessened, and his hands shook and chest rattled for a different reason.

Any negativity Damian might harbour for Demetrius would be heavily overshadowed by his desperate need for him.

He couldn't afford to hate Demetrius.

Demetrius had to keep it this way, he thought with frantic intensity and he repressed a shudder of raw nerves. He repressed the shake in his voice when he sighed, deceptively calm, and crouched in front of Damian. "You have nothing to worry about. Everything's fine." He said as convincingly and reassuringly as he could and he thought it could actually be true if it convinced Damian. "I was just happy. That's all." He lied with a soft smile and he felt his sincere attitude immediately quelling Damian's worries. "I'm not blocking you out. We're brothers after all. Nothing is more important to me." He said. Hopefully, Damian would take it to mean it should be the same to him. That he should rely on Demetrius more than anyone else and the thought took root in Damian's head like an ant making the beginnings of it's new home.

Demetrius' smile grew. Fondly and warmly.

Damian sighed and his hand slid from Demetrius' fingers, feeling reassured. "K. . ."

Demetrius stood once again and Damian's hand was enveloped in his own. They had stopped shaking. He felt in control again.

He would keep it this way, Demetrius thought. Damian would never want to leave him.

Ever.

Authors Note: Hey guys. So unfortunately, I have run out of buffer chapters and I have found I like having them. I'm gonna take a break to build 'em up again and I will be back as soon as I can. Thanks for following my fic to this point, I'll have some more for you soon. :)