etrayalogs | ( closed ) bred, born, and raised to kick your ass

( he watches everything that plays out before them — makes mental notes of things he sees and doesn't see while he stands there. letting everything unfold as it does. this is damian's mind. his dreams. there's not much he can do but let him guide them to wherever or whatever he does. not... exactly trusting him, but. letting him guide them.

when everything shifts and they're in the cave again, he takes a moment to look around. notices the green glowing pit and looks for damian's reaction to it — to being here now. steps slow, he comes up beside him, hands there in his pockets as he does. )

Why are we here?

( something he keeps asking him. to try and gauge damian's current state of mind. )

It's neutral territory.

( the batcave is his and bruce. it belongs to the rest of their family, it's a shared space. even if the pit here in the middle isn't supposed to be here at all. damian's shoulders are tense as he eyes the pool, and he's - taking a step forward and towards bruce, to stand in front of him.

best to avoid any pit incidents, he'll use his own body to block bruce's from going into it. )

You didn't specify where when you said elsewhere, I assumed this would be reasonable.

I'm letting you guide us.

( he looks to damian as he comes over to him. lets his gaze slide past him to the pit there that seems... out of place. even here, in these... dreams. it feels and looks off.

with damian there in front of him now, he can't help but look to him and just... take his presence in. even here, within a dream, he carries himself in a way that feels so similar to how he often carries himself. a resemblance he sees through actions, through body language. where he doesn't necessarily need physical evidence to tell him otherwise.

he still wonders if this all might be a hallucination as a result of a psychotic break. it would... somehow make more sense if it were.

a look around again, he hums. )

No bats?

( at the mention of bats, a significant amount of bats start floating to the top of the green compound - some bodies missing pieces, some whole but clearly full of holes, some crushed.

damian takes a step back, raises a hand to shove against bruce's abdomen. pushing him back and away from the pit. )

Guide us to what? I told you, there isn't--a lot of good in here.

( he's working on it. has been for years, fighting back al ghul instincts, memory, trying to be damian wayne rather than the grandson of the demon's head. )

( guide them to whatever it is damian's subconscious may be trying to tell him. trying to tell them. or him. maybe wanting to but... hesitant to. the display of distorted bats above the green pool making him think that. add to that the way damian pushes him back from it and he looks down to him. gaze soft. )

What is it with the green there?

( what are you trying to keep me from? )

It's called a Lazarus Pit.

( he's still - testing the waters. seeing how far he wants to go. what he should tell bruce, what he should leave for him to discover on his own. damian's history is a mess to untangle, and while he chooses not to try to not focus on the unpleasantries, he acknowledges they are there. the pit will always be part of him.

so he chooses his words carefully. )

A restorative pool that can heal injuries, even fatal ones, as if they had never occurred. It's also known to drive those who bathe in it to madness, albeit usually temporarily.

( mildly concerning, if not entirely supernatural. something one would consider steeped in myth and legend… not to truly be anything tangible yet possible to exist. brows furrow. gaze resting on the swirling green. something about it… bothers him. though he’s not sure what, exactly. )

This is beneath Gotham?

No.

( he says it - carefully, words measured. it's not a lie, but it isn't the whole truth either. )

Batman's legacy is only one half of what I have inherited.

( his own look is measured. silence filling the space between them for only a moment. )

And the other half?

If I tell you, I can't take it back.

( it's - an offer. he said he wouldn't speak of them, and he'd meant it. for bruce's sake more than his own. it - doesn't seem like bruce is connecting the lazarus pit to ra's al ghul, he didn't recognize it, which is . . . both good and bad. )

( it's a conundrum. to know or not. he knows damian has kept his lineage close to his chest for a reason — a reason he figures is partly for his own good while another is possibly due to how strange this all is. to suddenly be here with some alternate version of... a father... who doesn't recognize or know you... he has to commend damian for how well he's handling it. or pretending to, at least. if they're really anything alike outside of blood, he's likely to be handling this about as well as bruce himself is. which is just barely but not letting it show.

he glances off to the green pool— to the lazarus pit. lets it linger there for a moment before he's dropping his gaze down to damian there in front of him. hesitation fleeting, he lifts a hand. rests it there on damian's shoulder. offers a very gentle squeeze. )

Maybe when we're both ready.

( it's weighty. damian remembers how bruce had reacted to him when his mother had first revealed his existence. remembers how hard those first few months had been, but how that's all it had taken for damian to stay. that his brief time with his father before his untimely 'death' had shown him a better way. he worked hard to suppress numerous parts of his upbringing. relearned how to fight, how to land blows that weren't meant to kill. he remembers the time he had spent learning to work off of richard grayson, how difficult that had been for all of them. damian's attitude against grayson's patience, how young he had been while managing a small, well-trained assassin, coping with the death of his father and addition of a younger brother no one had been prepared for.

how hard damian had to work after bruce had come back, to learn how to work off of his father rather than the older brother who had taught him to be robin. damian's death at his mother's hands, the lingering scars over his chest from being impaled, from the organ and spinal replacements that had happened before that. the pit, and damian's ties to it.

he doesn't want to ruin this. doesn't think it would, explaining, but it complicates things. bruce reaches out for his shoulder, and damian lets his loosen in response. wills away the tension in them. )

I'm Damian Wayne. I chose to take on my father's last name, three years ago.

( that's what matters. )

( this is new. for both of them. for different reasons. and while blood may bind them together, there needs to be more than that. for both their sakes.

navigating this is sure to be difficult at times. not just for bruce, but for damian as well and, again, for both similar and different reasons, but. there's a measure of— an attempt to be made? small, slow steps taken for the moment, cautious and curious with where they'll lead. and while there's clearly so much he doesn't know and will, inevitably, want to know, for now — right here within these dreams they slip in and out of, it can... wait. it can wait and he can try and recognize this as being just as awkward and difficult for damian as it is for him. in so many different ways.

glance dropping, hand still there on damian's shoulder, he lets it slide up to press against the curve of damian's neck. rests it there for just a moment, then slowly drops it away. )

Can you wake us up from this?

( it's acceptance, as best as he anticipates getting it from his father. bruce doesn't want to know, not yet, which he knows is. . . a lot for him to accept, too, given bruce has a need to know everything. he's drawing lines and keeping already set boundaries.

bruce is young. damian's beginning to see just how young he is. it's not necessarily bad, it's just different. )

No, not intentionally.

( but he is tipping his head back towards the pit. damian has had similar dreams before - dreams that have shifted into nightmares, his mother's voice whispering behind him, taunting him. this isn't the same. but he's assuming the same thing would wake him up. )

Throw me into the Pit.

( the look on his face says it all when damian goes and asks that of him. )

What?

Throw me in. I'll wake up.

( he'd jump in, but damian has a sneaking suspicion it wouldn't work as well. )

( he understands the logic behind needing a sort of kick to wake one up, but. )

I'm not going to throw you in there.

Fine.

( he'll try jumping in. his jaw clenches tight, but damian's - turning himself away from bruce, running off towards the pit to jump over the edge and straight into it. )

( there's something about seeing damian take off like that. the way he runs towards the edge of the pit to jump— to throw himself into it, that has bruce feeling a conflicting set of emotions all within the span of a few short seconds. he doesn't even realize that he takes a step forward — that he lifts a hand to reach out for damian. it's more instinct than calculated and he... doesn't know what to make of that. just that it's there. as he stares after the disappearing damian. )

( the pit has often been a central character in damian's nightmares. he's been on the brink of death numerous times, brought back by his mother's medical advances that she's invested in rather than the pit itself. he's died, and came back via chaos shards, not the pit. but the pit is as much part of him as the name al ghul is. damian was, after all, born to be a new body to allow his grandfather to cheat death once more. at least by his intentions. his mother's. . . were never quite as clear.

damian leaps in, regrets it the moment his feet leave the ground because this has never ended well for him. his body breaks the surface of the pit, and he sinks in to join the mangled bats already present deep within it. a scream leaves his throat as he thrashes, numerous sets of hands raising out of the pit to grab hold of him, dragging him down, deeper, as green begins shifting to red and -

he's lurching up from where he'd fallen asleep, gasping and sucking in breath after breath as fingers grip hard onto the duvet of the bed bruce had settled into. )

( the moment damian jumps, the feeling of regret is mirrored within bruce and he takes off the second he hears that scream. the same fear strangles him from within that he'd felt with alfred. not fast enough. having hesitated — been distracted and lost within his own thoughts that he'd missed the potential for things to go horribly horribly wrong. his heart pounds, threatening to burst through his chest, seeing the hands grabbing at damian there in the pit. )

Damian!

( he's nearly there, seconds from jumping in after him... and then he wakes. startled. breath sucked in and blue eyes snapping open. he can still feel his heart there in his chest. the erratic way it beats with fear. can still see damian jumping into that pit and those hands grabbing at him, dragging him down.

searching for him, when he sees him there next to him at the edge of the bed — sees the way he clings to the sheets, he pulls himself up. reaches over without so much as a second thought and wraps an arm around him. his own heart and mind simultaneously racing with far too many things he can process at the moment and acts, instead, on emotion and instinct. )

I got you. ( the words leave him, breaths heavy. ) I've got you.

( it hurts. not a physical pain, but - it feels like his soul is being ripped in two, like what makes damian damian is being torn from him; the moment of weakness when he'd met goliath, the strength when he'd told his mother he was going to stay with grayson, and not come back with her. it hurts so bad and damian--he wakes up, and still feels that pain. he wants to curl up tight and take a few moments to breathe through it, to try and pull himself together.

bruce wraps around him, and damian sucks in a deep breath through his mouth. lets it out, and--shutters down. he's still wearing the mask which blocks the way his pupils have dilated, but it doesn't take long for damian to will his body to cease its fear responses.

he doesn't move from under bruce's arm, but his body tenses. his breathing evens out, the pounding heartbeat in his chest slows to something significantly less - erratic. )

I'm fine. ( his voice is even, as if he hadn't just awoken in a panic. damian's fingers have released the sheets but he hasn't pulled out of bruce's hold. ) Sorry.

( like at the funeral — like with the mayor's kid, he'd run after him. grabbed him. pulled him away from unexpected danger that had reared its ugly head. like then, everything had happened so quickly that he'd only had time to react. unlike then, however, he doesn't know whether or not he would have reached damian had he jumped in after him. everything had slipped away before he could.

the way his arm keeps hold of damian there... you would think he were terrified those hands would suddenly return and pull him under the bed. it's a sight that's somehow burned itself into his mind's eye — one he doesn't think he'll really come to forget now. he doesn't even realize the strength his hold has on the other and it's only when damian speaks that he allows himself to look down some. allows damian to pull away if he wants to. )

No. ( the word is soft, followed with: ) You don't need to be.

( sorry or fine? bruce could very well mean both in all honesty. )

Edited 2024-04-15 13:59 (UTC)

( he's small. alfred has brought up how his nutritional habits may stunt his growth, and damian had shot back a comment on how he's the perfect size to throw off his opponents. it's true: no one expects a child to be as capable as damian is. it took him time to earn the ire of gotham's rogue gallery, to make sure they knew they should fear robin just as much as they fear batman. but they're all older, used to how the adult form moves, and damian's - significantly more flexible than that. what he lacks in brute strength he makes up in other areas, a great partner to balance off of batman. he'll complain when his brothers tease him for being small, get defensive over his stature, but damian knows it's worth.

like right now, when he presses a knee against the mattress and fits himself into the small space made by bruce's arm around him. maybe a little overly still for a boy who'd just awoken in a panic, but bruce may be able to pick up on how careful his breathing pattern is. a counted three seconds in, five seconds out. one he maintains for several breaths, before he opens his mouth, )

You feel less warm. The fever must be going down.

( of course he picks it up. it's why he continues to keep that hold on damian. to reassure him that he's here. that's he's safe. that the only one reaching out for him is right here on the bed with him. just them. no one and nothing else.

his hand slowly lifts. holds the back of damian's head gently. he's not even all that aware he's doing such a thing. almost as if it simply comes to him naturally. through instinct. when he's not thinking about it. he stays like that — quiet — until damian brings up his body temperature and he blinks. a quiet look to his arm where the injury is, he notices the inflammation of the cut has gone down a bit. )

Yeah. ( again, word soft. ) Doesn't feel as heavy in my head either.

( closed ) bred, born, and raised to kick your ass

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)