Chapter Text
With his upbringing and training, which almost felt like they had been one and the same, Damian Wayne al Ghul should have known better than to react the way that he did.
His first instinct should have been to assess the situation, recognise the state that his body was in, and move slowly and methodically to extract himself from beneath the rubble in a way that not only minimised worsening any injuries that he may have sustained in the initial building collapse, but also to not alert any possible enemies that were still in the area.
Instead, Damian woke with a start, realised something was pinning him down, and lashed out.
Pain erupted throughout his entire body and he was unable to bite back the scream as warmth pooled beneath him. He was bleeding. He was beneath half a building and he was bleeding and he was alone and he was screaming again and Damian should know better and just calm down already but he couldn’t because he was bleeding and he could barely move.
When Damian let off another agonised sound, this one more like a whimper than a scream, he could hear his Mother’s voice at the back of his mind. He must be aware of everything at all times, and he must always be in control of the situation.
Control.
Damian just had to control himself, then he would be able to think clearly once more and move on from the blood blood blood trapped blood thoughts and actually do something more useful than just lie there and scream.
Control.
Damian always has control over not only himself, but the wider world around him. He simply needed to regain that control.
He focused first on his breathing, choosing a Mantra he used to mediate with alongside his Mother. The words that were usually meant to be so calming and relaxed were jumbled with the pain blood trapped pain but he kept trying anyway, desperate for his lungs to stop screaming out for oxygen that wouldn’t come.
Settling dust fell on his face and Damian lashed out again to clear it away only to find that while his left arm was pinned, his right arm refused to move completely.
Damian shuddered as he fought back yet another pathetic scream, trying and failing to remind himself that he was supposed to better than this. He wasn’t just Robin, but he was his Grandfather’s Heir. He could not be reacting this way, he could not be screaming like that so often less he attract the attention of any near by enemies. He could not be embarrassing his name and his lineage in this way, nor could he waste any time longer than necessary beneath this unknowable weight.
He needed to calm but Damian simply couldn’t because he was bleeding and he was trapped and his arm especially was not moving and there was more warmth beneath him now and he was going to die.
Control.
Damian needed to control himself.
The mantra was obviously not working so he needed to move onto another technique. Perhaps he should forgo trying to calm himself and simply move onto his self assessment to see what he was working with. Yes, that was a good plan. He just needed to assess the blood pain blood trapped blood and fuck his eyes were burning.
Focus. Damian needed to focus.
Feet. They were only slightly away from each other, both tilted to the left. His right ankle in particular ached, possibly broken. If he could remove himself from all of the weight pinning him down, he may still struggle walking out of here.
Lower legs. Like his right ankle, his right lower leg was hurting too even if the left one felt mostly normal. He could move his left leg, if only a little bit, but his right was either not responding due to breaks or dislocations or it was unable to shift because of what was pinning it down.
Knees. Right knee was sore but manageable. Not dislocated, not broken. Good. He may very well be able to bear weight on his right leg after all, and his left was feeling even better. Upper legs were the same, right tender but not so sore that his femur was damaged.
See, Damian could calm himself, he was already feeling much more steady because he was not thinking about blood blood blood and oh how the world was spinning around him.
Focus, Damian. With so little movement, it was difficult to assess any damage he had to his hips though once more it was as though his right side had taken the brunt of it. Unlike his knee though, his hip did feel distinctly off.
Okay, back to the possibility that he would not be able to walk. That shall be a bridge that he will cross when he comes to it however, there was very little he could do to stabilise his leg right now with the rest of him trapped.
Trapped. He was trapped. There was half a building on top of him and there was more dust falling to his face as if the weight above him was still shifting and he was trapped and he was going to die and he couldn’t afford to die because he was supposed to achieve great things as the son of Batman but he was trapped and he couldn’t move and Damian gave off a broken sob.
Control. He needed to regain control.
The majority of the now cooling warmth beneath him was focused near his torso. The bleeding was coming from there, though with the unending pain focused in the area he struggled to distinguish what exactly was bleeding. The torso contained a multitude of organs, many of which were necessary for continued life.
He knew from Drake’s experience that the loss of so much as a spleen could be debilitating, let alone what else Damian could have injured beyond repair.
Drake.
Drake had been there right by his side, Damian was certain of it. Where exactly they were, Damian couldn’t remember, but he did know that Timothy Drake had been there but now he was gone and Damian was alone and trapped and if Drake wasn’t still near by then he could be either dead or dying and Damian was never going to know because he couldn’t move.
Damian sob was as wrenching as it was physically painful and he squeezed his eyes shut as the world spun around him.
He couldn’t breathe. If he couldn’t breathe then he was going to die and if he died then no one was going to know that Drake was supposed to be close by and if no one knew that Drake had been there then Drake was in danger.
Damian was Robin, he was meant to keep people safe and yet he was going to let his fathers son die because he simply could not calm himself down.
Control. Control himself and he could control the situation and he could control Drake’s safety too. He tested the range of movement of his torso only for pain to rock through him as something shifted.
He felt ill, breathing hard, wondering if the white in his vision meant that he was going to pass out.
Damian steadied himself, testing his hypothesis one last time that something was physically stabbing into him only to find himself most definitely passing out.
He came back to within only a few moments but Damian still felt worse for it, exhaustion hitting him hard. Swallowing roughly, Damian decided to ignore his torso for now and moved onto his arms. They were both pinned, though in a similar vein to his leg, it was his right arm that had taken the brunt of the damage. His right shoulder especially was what was hurting, the familiar feeling of a dislocated joint making him a little dizzy all over again.
Right Clavicle might also be broken because of course it was, making his whole right arm tingle.
Damian had always known that he was a high achiever and apparently his current predicament was no different. His neck was sore, but not terribly so, and he could feel a little bit of dryness on his forehead.
Blood, most likely, though miraculously it had been minimal despite the propensity for head injuries to bleed excessively.
Okay. This was okay. He was okay. He was trapped, and yes he was bleeding, but it could have been worse. A few broken bones and dislocated joints should be manageable, though whatever it was sticking out of his abdomen could be another case entirely.
If he shuffled just a little bit, he may be able free his-
Damian roared in pain, his whole body shuddering as tears poured down his face.
He couldn’t move. Even if he could twitch just a little bit, he couldn’t move without the debilitating pain and especially not with all the weight pinning him down and now that he was crying, he found that he couldn’t stop.
Each sob just made his ribs ache and while he felt foolish, he simply couldn’t settle.
Damian stilled completely.
He wasn’t in his uniform. The realisation should have been one of the first facts that he focused on and yet he had somehow done most of a self exam without once realising that the clothes he was wearing were not armoured. If he had been in his Robin attire, he might have been able to get away with significantly less damage.
There was nothing he could do about that now though, even as hazy memories slowly made themselves known.
Drake had in fact been with him because the older boy had been not only his ride, but his company as they went through the newest art exhibition. It hadn’t been a rogue attack, he realised dimly, but an earthquake.
It was still possible that the earthquake could have been caused by a rogue outside but for some reason Damian doubted it. For some reason, not being able to blame someone else for his pain except for himself irked Damian but at least he had finally stopped crying.
If it was an earthquake then it wasn’t just the art gallery that would have been affected, but the whole area, which meant that any rescue was going to be long and arduous. As trapped as he was (blood blood blood don’t think about the blood), he was simply going to have to wait for someone to find him.
Perhaps he was going to have to try to mediate once more. It would hopefully pass the time more quickly, as well as mitigate his risk of going into shock. Though, from how cold but fuzzy everything was he might already be in shock.
All he could do was lie there, trapped and bleeding and hurt and dying, until it was time for him to be rescued. That is, if there was ever going to be a time to be rescued. The whole of Gotham may very well have been affected, with emergency personal overrun and understaffed.
Robin should be out there helping people, and yet all Damian could do was lie here in his own blood.
Damian’s right arm was hurting worse now that he was aware of it so he flexed it a little, hoping to sooth it. His breath caught, nearly bursting into tears all over again like some pathetic child, and he bit his lip to keep himself from making a sound.
Even if rescuers were near by, Damian would need to be quiet to make sure that all of the general public were tended to first. It was hardly Robin-like behaviour to prioritise his own rescue over the rescue of others, even if he was covered in blood.
Blood blood blood trapped he was trapped he was trapped he was going to die and his Father could not lose another son and he was trapped and he was hurt and and and-
Control.
Control your reaction. Control your breathing. Control your life.
His Mother had raised him well and his Father would expect more of him than this needless panic.
“Dd... Dami?”
Damian must have imagined the voice, just like he had imagined the cough that came after it.
The blood lost must be getting to him, so once more he would need to refocus himself and control his juvenile reactions to just a few minor injuries.
“Dd…” Came the sound again.
There was a groan as if someone was waking close by him.
“Damian… Dd… Damian he… He was near me.. Damian…”
That was Drake’s voice, slurred and quiet as it was.
Damian stilled, listening closely. Drake’s voice was coming from his right side but when Damian carefully turned his head towards it all he could see was rubble.
“I gotta… I gotta…”
“Drake?” Damian called out.
Damian’s chest flared in pain but he bit back his sob, not wanting to wrongfully concern Drake.
The weight above him shifted a little though and he cried out anyway as concrete dug into him.
“Damian!” Drake said sharply. “Fuck! I’m right here, okay? You’re going to be okay! Just… Just hold on okay.”
“Of course,” Damian wheezed back. “I’m a Wayne.”
“Y…Yeah.” Drake’s voice was still wrong. “Yeah you are… So just… Just hold on, alright?”
“Drake?”
When Drake’s only answer to his name was a weak sigh, Damian’s concern grew exponentially.
“Report.” Damian said.
Drake’s laugh was abrupt and wet, ending with a cough.
“F… Fine.” Drake said. “Are you okay? You hurt? I’m su… I’m sure help’s coming…”
“Drake.” Damian said more firmly. “Report.”
“Told you…” Drake’s voice was somehow even weaker than before. “Fine… Can you move?”
Trapped blood trapped blood blood blood trapped.
“No.” Damian said.
“Damian?” Drake said. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine.” Damian barked.
Trapped blood he was bleeding he was bleeding and he was dying and Drake could be hurt too and he was trapped trapped trapped blood trapped.
“If I…” Drake had to take a moment to regain his breath. “If I tell you what’s with me… Will you tell me the truth?”
Damian swallowed roughly.
Trapped blood trapped blood blood blood there was so much blood.
“That is…” He said. “Acceptable.”
Even though it had been Drake’s idea, Drake didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just as Damian was starting to suspect that he may have once again lost consciousness, he finally spoke again.
“Ribs hurt like a building fell on me.”
“It did.” Damian said mildly.
Drake’s laugh was loud, echoing across the rubble, but this too ended with a fit of coughs that made Damian’s heart race. The couches sounded wrong, painful, wet.
“Yeah.” Drake said. “Guess it did. I… I think it nicked a lung. I can’t… I can’t breathe. But I’m fine. Promise. So what’s wrong with you?”
“That isn’t all.” Damian said.
If Drake thought that Damian had just sounded like a petulant child, then he had the grace to not mention it. Instead, he simply coughed again, then gave off a weird exhale of breath.
“I’m pinned.” Drake said.
Trapped trapped trapped trapped.
“I’m on my side and…” Drake continued after a moment, out of breath. “And I think there’s rebar or some shit stabbing into me. But I’m fine Brat, I promise.”
Blood blood blood there was so much blood and Drake was hurt and Damian could do nothing to assist him and he was coughing again and with each cough he sounded weaker.
“Drake.” Damian said.
“I’m fine.” Drake said. “So tell me what’s up with you.”
Damian didn’t want to. If he did, then the pain was going to come crashing back and Damian really couldn’t stand the thought of screaming again now that he knew that Drake was so close by. It would be annoying and embarrassing.
It was more than that; Drake was severely injured. He needed to conserve his strength and yet he was now wasting it asking if Damian was injured.
But then again, Drake had been honest with him, more honest than Damian had thought he was capable of.
“I’m trapped too.” Damian said.
Trapped trapped trapped blood blood dying he was dying and he was trapped trapped trapped.
“It’s going to be okay.” Drake told him. “Just take… Take slow deep breaths… You’ll be right.”
“Ironic.” Damian huffed. “An idiot with a lung injury telling me to take deep breaths.”
“Dd… Dd…”
“Drake?”
“Dd… Dames…”
“Drake.” Damian’s voice did not crack because he was not panicking. “Drake, talk to me. Drake.”
There was no answer.
Trapped trapped trapped alone trapped alone alone alone.
Damian whimpered, his chest tight.
“It’s okay Damian.” Drake said. “I was just…”
For someone as adept to lying as Timothy Drake was, he couldn’t seem to come up with an excuse.
Damian needed to get Drake out of here, he needed immediate medical intervention before he once again lost awareness. Spurned on by his self imposed task, Damian tried to shift the weight above him.
Damian cried out as pain flared through his whole body.
“Damian, just focus on me Bud.” Drake said tiredly. “You’re going to get through this. Just… Just… I…”
When Drake coughed, it was barely had more force than a sigh.
Damian breathed quickly, ever more aware that he was trapped and he was just a few feet away from Drake while Drake could very well be literally dying and he was trapped and he was trapped and he was trapped and he was-
And he couldn’t breathe at all again. Damian’s chest stuttered but no oxygen seemed to reach his lungs and his leg shifted painfully and his arm was becoming numb and there was so much blood and Drake was hurt too and Drake was wasting what little energy he had on talking to Damian but Damian didn’t want him to stop talking again because then he was going to be all alone again and Damian didn’t want to be alone.
Trapped. He was trapped.
“Damian, breathe,” Drake said.
“I can’t. Please I can’t. Drake, I can’t, I-I I’m stuck and I’m bleeding and I can’t die because Father and Mother and and please, I can’t I-“
The tears felt hot but he couldn’t stop them any more than he could wipe them away because he was trapped and he was bleeding and he was being so pathetic and childish. He was meant to be in control, he needed to be in control.
“Degas.”
“What?” Damian demanded, voice high.
“Edgar Degas. What did he paint?”
“His main works were ballerinas.” Damian said. “But-“
Damian’s hands were tingling but when he tried to form fists his right hand refused to listen, only sparking more pain for his efforts.
“Monet?” Drake asked.
“Which one?”
“Claude.” Drake said. “And then Manet.”
Damian swallowed roughly. He had been stupid to mistake Monet for Manet, even if they sometimes sounded the same depending on who spoke their name.
“Drake, I can’t move, please I can’t move.”
“I know,” Drake said breathlessly. “What did Claude Monet paint?”
“Water Lillies. But I prefer Woman With A Parasol. I… I like that her son is there. Right there by her side.”
“You’ll have to show me it.” Drake said. “I’ll admit, I just know his Lily stuff.”
“Most well known artists have significantly more works than simply their famous ones, though Woman With A Parasol is hardly a rare piece to be spoken about.”
“Yeah…” Drake mumbled. “Sounds cool…”
Not wanting Drake to drift off, Damian continued to talk as it seems to be succeeding in keeping the older boy focused.
“As for Édouard Manet, he did many portraits. I am partial to Boy Carrying Sword, oil on canvas.”
Drake’s laugh was even weaker this time.
“Drake?”
“Yeah?”
“You are very injured.”
There was no laugh this time, not even a cough.
“Yeah.” Drake said simply.
Damian did not know why his eyes had started to burn again.
“Why do you take photos?” Damian asked.
It felt like an insignificant question, one that Damian probably should have asked before now, and yet Drake still took his time to answer carefully.
“I guess it’s because things stay with me if I take photos of them.”
“They’ll stay?”
“Yeah. Memories. People. Robin’s. I like the Robin’s the best. You know, just recently I took a photo of the current Robin. He was smiling, so brightly, because he found a whole litter of puppies around the back of a warehouse.”
Batman had not allowed Robin to take in the entire litter, though he did ensure that Robin got them each very good homes. It was important to find a good home, very important.
“Why do you like art?” Drake asked.
“Some people say that art is a way to express emotions.” Damian said. “I… I am not necessarily adept at expressing my emotions.”
Because emotions were vulnerabilities and vulnerabilities were to be exploited. He had been taught well to keep his emotions close to his chest by both Mother and Grandfather. Father understood, at least Damian thinks he does. Then again, Father also tries very hard to make Damian talk about his emotions even if Father himself is not very good at expressing himself either.
“So art makes it easy to say how you feel?” Drake asked.
“I suppose.” Damian said. “And it’s fun to do too.”
“How would you draw what you’re feeling right now?”
Blood blood blood blood.
Fuck Drake and fuck his attempt to get Damian to admit to every injury he had because just when he had almost forgotten that he was trapped that he was pinned that he was covered in blood, it all came rushing back.
Damian couldn’t stop his little whine which only made everything feel so much worse because he was being such a fucking baby about this. Drake was significantly more hurt than he was and yet Damian was the one whimpering and whining like a fucking child and not the Heir to not one but two important lineages.
“Damian,” The tone in Drake’s voice had once again changed. “It’s going to be alright. Just keep talking, okay? I’m right here with you.”
“There’s blood.” Damian croaked. “There’s lots of blood. I should not be shaking but I can’t stop and I know you’re hurt worse than I am but I can’t stop.”
“Okay.” Drake said. “How about we keep talking about painters then? It might… It might…”
Drake coughed loudly again and again, then had to take a long rest before he managed to speak once more.
“It might help.”
“Drake you’re hurt.”
“Yeah.” Drake said weakly. “But I don’t mind so much.”
Damian didn’t understand.
“Do I need to contact a professional to assess you?” Damian asked.
Drake’s laugh was louder than his cough had been and it ended just as weakly.
“I’m not liking the fact that I’m hurt, you brat.” Drake said. “I like that at least I’m not alone in this. We’re together. Separated by fuck knows how much stone and shit but still together, you know?”
Damian considered his words very carefully.
“I suppose while the situation is not ideal,” Damian said. “It is a little more acceptable to have someone close by to speak with.”
“Just say you like me Kid.”
“You are acceptable company.” Damian said dryly. “Is that not enough?”
“You like me.”
Drake was grinning, Damian knew it. He was grinning and he was a pain but at least that meant that he was conscious and aware of things.
“There are many facets to you that are infuriating.” Damian said. “But I am told that that is what brothers are like.”
Drake fell silent.
Damian trembled, realising that he has overstepped. He must have been affected by his blood loss after all because he had been foolish enough to think that Drake would be alright with Damian considering him to be anything like a brother even if they did share a Father.
It was foolish, because Damian has done nothing but make Drake suffer since the moment they had met wether it be by outwardly attack him or by forcing him to come to the art gallery today.
Drake coughed weakly, but only once this time.
“You can be infuriating too.” Drake finally said. “Little brother.”
When Damian felt significantly warmer at Drake’s words, he decided it was because there was new blood pooling beneath him.
Blood blood blood.
He was the blood son of Bruce Wayne but here he was, a few feet away from his Fathers other son. His brother. Only child Damian Wayne al Ghul had brothers. He had brothers and right now one of them was putting aside their own pain in order to try to keep him calm.
Silence came over them, but Damian did not feel too uncomfortable in it.
With his own breathing at last settled, Damian tried to concentrate on Drake’s in order to see if he can asses just how bad Drake’s injuries were. While he had been able to hear the wet coughs easily enough, as well as Drake’s voice, they must be too far apart for him to hear Drake’s breathing.
So he laid in the silence, trying his best to ignore the wet beneath him, trying his best to ignore how he could not longer feel his right hand or right foot, trying his best to ignore how he was trapped trapped trapped.
Recognising that he was starting to panic a little again, he decided that speaking to Drake was extremely helpful after all.
“Drake?”
Drake did not answer him.
“Drake.” Damian said again.
Drake did not answer him.
There were new sounds now. Voices, near by and yet still a world away.
“Drake. Drake answer me. Drake.”
Trapped trapped trapped.
“Drake please.”
Blood blood there was so much blood there was so much blood trapped trapped trapped there was so much blood.
More voices. Shouts. Machinery, shifting rocks.
Damian didn’t care about those voices, he only wanted to hear Drake’s.
“Drake?” Damian whimpered.
Blood blood blood.
“Drake please, I can’t breathe.”
Trapped trapped trapped he was going to die. He was going to die but he wasn’t ready to die but he was trapped trapped trapped and he couldn’t breathe and he was shaking but he couldn’t make himself stop.
Damian’s vision was fading but he refused to give into the darkness, not until Drake started answering him again. It didn’t matter that Drake’s injuries were significant, he has gotten through significantly worse before. In fact, while Damian did not partake in the jokes, he was well aware of all the cases where Timothy Drake should not have survived and yet somehow did.
Richard liked to say he was immortal.
Todd liked to say he was a stubborn ass.
Damian would like to say that he was both because that meant that Drake was not going to succumb to these injuries. Drake was not going to leave him alone, not now and not ever.
“Tim?” Damian whispered. “Please… I Can’t… Can’t…”
Control. He needed to control himself, his breathing, his heartbeat, his reaction to the fact that Drake wasn’t answering him.
He needed control and yet he still felt that very same control slipping away as the blood pooled beneath him, his brother long gone quiet even as the other voices were coming ever closer.
The weight above him shifted and Damian screamed.
Blood blood blood bl…