Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Damian’s been gone for two whole days since his com and tracker went dark.

The night had been calm; the sky for once clear. The early Autumn chill had settled over the city, leaving the air feeling crisp as it chased out the smog that made residence in Bruce’s lungs. With the hazy moon finally visible through Gotham’s near omnipresent clouds, Batman found his city subdued. 

“Sky-glazing” Tim had coined: the hypnotizing quality the visible sky has on Gothamites. Simply put, the moon entrances. Fear and violence vanish under its soft glow. Nights like these leave Batman as a silent sentinel, a guard over his people, rather than a dark knight of justice. 

It’s with this phenomenon that Batman wrapped up his patrol with Robin; however, Bruce didn’t want to return to the cave quite yet. These nights of minimal crime remind him why he dawns the cowl. He wanted to revel in the peace for a few moments longer, so when Damian asked for extra time in the field to gather additional evidence for a new case he had been working, Bruce didn’t argue. He’d let his son have his way tonight, so that he could also have his.

They had parted ways.

This is the moment Bruce looks upon with regret.

Not an hour later, Oracle informed him Damian had become unreachable. 

Now, coms can be jammed. The earpieces have been forgotten, dropped, and destroyed in a manner of countless ways, some too ridiculous to be believable and most of those accomplished by Dick. But the trackers built into their suits… those do not simply “blip” off the map. And for not one but both to go offline immediately has Bruce rushing to Damian’s last known location.

The unremarkable building laid hidden off an unlabeled dirt road on the outskirts of Gotham. No street lights lit the way, not even an entrance lamp near the front door. Without Gotham’s rare clear sky, it would’ve been near impossible to find–if not for the emergency lights dancing through the building’s minimal windows. 

No sirens could be heard and no one exited the building. This far from Gotham proper, her constant hum was imperceptible, leaving Bruce in utter silence. With all his restraint, he forced himself to pause at the treeline before the building.

Fifteen minutes it had taken Bruce to arrive at this location. That’s a quarter of an hour, 900 seconds, the length of Sunday morning cartoons Dick had introduced Damian to when he first arrived at the manor–that is to say, it took fifteen minutes too long to reach his son’s location, if he even remained in the building. As much as he desperately wanted to simply rush in, he couldn’t, not if this was a trap and especially not if Damian’s life was on the line.

Suddenly, a shade of neon green flashed above him; the rooftop bathed in its soft light. Only a moment it lasted, then the glow launched towards the city, flickering before snapping out entirely. 

A low rumble revved. Instinctively Batman stepped into the shadows just as armored trucks exited the building, speeding down the road kicking up dust in pursuit of the glow. 

His fists clenched, fighting the insistent urge to follow. Deep in his gut, he knew that glow was related to his son’s disappearance. But without evidence, he turned back towards the facility. 

Damian could still be inside.

“Oracle,” he spoke into his comm. “Six armored vehicles inbound to Gotham in pursuit of an unknown, glowing green.”

“On it, B,” she responded.

Only minutes later, Batman dropped in through a window. White walls, white floors, white ceilings; he could not find a shadow under the harsh, flashing fluorescent lights. Black ink on parchment, but as he suspected, few individuals were left on premises after the vehicle parade. 

Winding through halls and peering into rooms, he painstakingly began his search. Room to room he moved. 

“Batman, I’m looking at Robin’s case file,” Red Robin popped into the comms. Bruce nearly tutted–Tim’s supposed to have the night off. But Bruce admitted to himself that hearing his voice, knowing one of his sons was safe, tampered his nerves for a moment. “There’s not much here,” Tim goes on. “He was looking into an organization called the GIW–no name noted. Noticed some odd vehicles and advanced weaponry in the city that he traced back to this facility. Possibly a weapons distributor?”

“Odd of them to be so far out of the city then,” Oracle commented.

“Yeah, but maybe they sell to the high bidders then personally deliver. It would explain the trips into the city and armored vehicles.” Red Robin paused before sighing. “It’s clear Robin needed more information to flesh out their organization. This is bare bones, early case work. Sorry, B. Not much info.”

Batman grunted in acknowledgement before ducking into the next room. 

It appeared the same as the last few: walls lined with metal filing cabinets with tables at their centers. These must be archive stores, though it didn’t escape Batman’s notice that not a simple one contained a computer or tablet. Every file must be paper.

Even just one of these cabinets would hold enough evidence for convictions if Damian found them; Batman, while acknowledging this, didn’t waste a moment reading over any files. His mission was singularly focused: Find his son.

After a long stretch of hall, a door stood ajar. A badge scanner lay adjacent to it. Clearly only authorized personnel had access, but it seemed that in the rush to pursue the green glow, this room had been left unsecure. Slowly Batman pushed it open. 

Unrecognizable weapons lined the walls, each slick silver with glowing neon green or blue accents. Some obviously were guns, but others he couldn’t discern their use. Unknown weapons never foretold anything good. 

Initially, Batman believed he stood in an armory, but, no that’s not quite right. Along with the weapons display, a long firing range made up most of the room and in the corner, a sparring mat. This was a training or weapons research facility. Damian may have been on the right track regarding the GIW being involved with weapons, but not only do they potentially distribute but develop these devices. 

Without knowing their uses at a glance, Batman decided to collect a few smaller items to analyze at the cave: handcuffs, a white cube, and though he loathed holding it, something resembling a pocket pistol. Each fit neatly into his belt. These samples would greatly help him understand how to neutralize any previously distributed weapons in his city. They would also progress Damian’s case. Once Bruce got him back home. 

With a final glance, he exited and continued his search. The remainder of the rooms in this hall required badge access. He traveled further into the building and up a flight of stairs. 

Nothing visually changed from one floor to the next, but the air tasted sterile on his tongue–near medical. The implications set him on edge. Why would a weapons distributor require a sterile environment? 

Again, no personnel patrolled this floor. His presence should’ve been noticed by now, but the facility had no cameras and presumably, no security room. The lack of comparatively primitive technology in an advanced weapons research and distribution center seemed counter-intuitive, but at the moment, Bruce was grateful for the additional time to find his son.

As he walked peering into various medical rooms, he nearly missed it–a dab of green creeping along the edge of a door, the first color to grace the white halls. Upon closer inspection, the substance glowed ever so slightly–Like the flash on the rooftop. The hue turned his stomach, a near shade of Lazarus water.

Carefully he opened the door.

What he witnessed brought him to a standstill.

At the center of the room, the green substance completely soaked a table with glowing fluorescent blue straps, fitted to completely immobilize. It actively dripped off of the table's edge, pooling on the stark white floor. Smears of it stained surgical tools dashed to the floor from a tipped tray; Splatters painted the walls and unrecognizable machines. 

The sickening green glow covered the room in the same likeliness of a massacre. However, Batman’s stomach roiled for another reason. At the center of the chaos, a single splash of crimson blood intermingled with the oozing green. 

Bruce took a needed breath. The blood was likely Damian’s.

Another moment and he was moving. He knelt and took a sample of blood and the unknown green substance to be analyzed at the cave.

Standing, he noted an observation window looking down upon the table. He exited the room before finding the entrance to the observation bay. It was sparsely furnished. On one of the few tables, a cup of coffee, still steaming, sat beside an opened file with notes. Batman flipped the file closed; Subject ECTO-0007 File 048 printed across its center.

Re-opening the file, Batman scanned the information. 

“Oracle. Red Robin,” he stated. “Call everyone. Robin has been kidnapped.”

Everyone available had been dispatched.

As Batman exited the facility, he launched right into a report of the night over comms, not wanting to waste a second returning to the cave.

A week ago, Damian began tracking nondescript armoured vehicles manned by agents in all white carrying advanced weaponry. He trailed their vehicles to their base of operations outside of Gotham in a near-hidden facility. He’d been able to identify them as the GIW, an acronym that neither Oracle nor Red Robin were able to decipher, but only had a working theory of their business: a possible weapons manufacturer and distributor. 

Shortly after a routine patrol, Robin had returned to the facility for reconnaissance; however, his comm and tracker deactivated. Batman had then been dispatched by Oracle to the scene. Upon his arrival, an unknown at the time had escaped the facility via the roof with vehicles in pursuit, which allowed Batman to infiltrate and search the premises. 

One room confirmed Robin’s suspicion of the organization being not only a weapons distributor but potentially a developer and manufacturer. A few items were taken by Batman and are currently being tested. 

However, concerning Robin’s disappearance, another room in particular was most relevant. A surgery or test room. 

Batman had collected blood, which he confirmed belonged to Damian, along with another substance that deteriorated prior to analysis. A particular file had been recovered regarding the presumed escapee and test subject ECTO-0007. Unfortunately, the file was one of many and had been incomplete, but still provided useful information.

This subject was labelled as an ecto-entity; however, the definition of which is unknown. It is unclear if the subject is a meta, alien, or something else entirely. It does have powers, multiple, in fact, including invisibility, matterphasing, and shapeshifting, though this is not presumed to be its full range of capabilities. 

While the facility houses high-tech machines, certain technologies are absent, such as cameras and computers; therefore, there is no way to confirm how the ecto-entity escaped, but based on its file, it is extremely proficient at mimicking human shape and behavior. Possibly Damian released the subject believing it to be human. And due to the lack of blood trail from the test room, it is likely the ecto-entity took Damian as its hostage, using its ability to phase through matter to directly remove Damian from the room and straight to the roof where it launched its escape.

Oracle attempted to track the green glow associated with the ecto-entity inbound into Gotham, but among its ability catalogue, invisibility made it impossible. However, the GIW with their armored vehicles and advanced technology may be able to lead them to ECTO-0007 and therefore, Damian. 

“I found them,” Nightwing radioed.

Two days of searching have left the group ragged. It’s been particularly tolling for Bruce and Dick who’ve barely allowed themselves a moment to rest, much to Alfred’s displeasure, but they refused to stop until Damian returned home safe. 

The group had constantly monitored the armoured vehicles, but it quickly became clear their tracking capabilities lacked precision. Often the GIW would converge on a location only to fan out and ultimately be unable to find the entity. While this narrowed the bats’ search, clearly the entity knew when to disappear as the vehicles approached; but Batman believed the entity must be weak. Based on the sheer amount of green substance–or ectoplasm –present in that medical room, it must tire soon. 

And that time was now. 

Batman appeared at Nightwing’s side within minutes.

“We go now.” Any other time, Dick would’ve made a comment on his tactless greeting, but as it is, his eldest stares at him with such severity he nearly doesn't recognize him.

“Agreed,” Nightwing says before speaking into his com. “O, Batman and I are going to engage. We don’t know this thing’s full power set, so I want anyone else inbound to stay up top until we give the go ahead.” 

“No one will be happy about that,” she sighs.

“Inform the group,” Batman says, backing up Dick. The file he grabbed was incomplete; only a partial profile could be created for ECTO-0007, which means they have to be cautious, and he wouldn’t lose another child. “I don’t want anyone else in danger unless absolutely necessary. And ready the med-bay.”

Barbara let a long pause settle over the line, clearly conveying her disapproval. “Fine,” she says. “Bring him back. Oracle, out.”

The comms cut. A familiar silence lingers between Nightwing and Batman, the quiet prior to battle. It’s only a moment, but Bruce feels the adrenaline-filled calm settle over him, muscles buzzing. Failure is not an option. They will bring Damian home.

Dick breaks the reverie with a shrug and says, “You heard her. Let’s bring our boy back.” 

He removes the man-hole cover before him and silently drops in, Bruce close behind.

Though damp, the tunnel only spots occasional pools of water, leaving Nightwing and Batman dry as they land on the floor.

Dick tilts his head toward one of the tunnels before them, a soft green glow emanates from it. Bruce gives a nod of his head and they cautiously approach. In the darkness of the tunnels, the eerie light grows stronger and far more intense than the ectoplasm found in the bright white facility. It easily guides them to a large cavern.

The entity is huddled in a corner, startled eyes glancing between them, before it crouches low. 

As expected, it’s humanoid. ECTO-0007’s file revealed that the entity mimics human appearances and behavior as a camouflage and stalking tactic; however, despite knowing this, Bruce is disconcerted by the form it chose: a young teenager, thin and wide-eyed, though clearly not human. 

The sickening green glow emanates completely from the entity with an extra touch of intensity shining through surgical cuts in its skin. As its head swings back and forth between them, wisps of white hair float unnaturally through the damp air and light catches on a metal muzzle glinting across its face, which doesn’t hinder a deep growl that echoes through the chamber; grating, it sends a sense of dread through Bruce. 

Damian’s prone body lay beneath it.

The sight cracks something within Bruce.

“Release him,” Batman snarls. The entity only cements himself more firmly in front of his son, nearly blocking him from view. The growling grows. Nightwing unsheathes his escrima sticks.

Thick tension settles among them. The entity’s glowing green eyes flicker and in that moment, Batman acts, throwing a flashbang, as Nightwing charges and lands a hit. The entity’s head snaps down but immediately it swipes out an elongated limb, throwing the man into a wall. 

The entity sways after Nightwing’s hit and Batman doesn’t give it one moment to recover. He lands a punch to its face, muzzle glinting off his gauntlet, before grabbing a limb and tossing the creature over his shoulder and to the ground. It lands with a groan, skidding away and leaving streaks of ectoplasm on the damp floor.

Batman pointedly places himself between the creature and Damian. 

It will not be taking his son again. 

“Nightwing,” he orders, but the man is already by Damian’s side. He hears a gasp and his knees grow weak, fearing the worst.

Then Dick cries, “He’s alive. He’s alive, ” 

Bruce nearly collapses in relief until the entity screams. Though muffled by the muzzle, the sound strikes discordantly within him. Wrong and unnatural, it leaves him off-kilter as the entity flies through the air, aiming for him. The collision sends them both to the ground. Batman delivers another blow and kicks it off, but as soon as it’s out of his grasp, it doesn’t retaliate but pounces straight at his sons. 

Immediately Batman moves, tackling the creature out of the air and to the ground once more. His fist meets its face, snapping the entity’s head back where it impacts the stone floor with a nauseating smack. The entity groans, pushing at Batman’s chest feebly, sharp claws catching on the kevlar. Wide, scared eyes peer up at him, but Batman will not be tricked. The entity attempts to claw at his face but in a flash, Batman grabs its wrist and snaps it. 

The entity releases a sickening wail around the muzzle, tears gathering in its glowing eyes. The sound rattles Batman’s head and he is forced to release his grip to instead grab at his own ears as they pound within his skull. Incapacitated, Batman can only weakly struggle as it hooks a leg around him and flips their positions, but instead of using its momentary advantage against Batman, it launches itself off him and at Nightwing’s back instead.

Dick doesn’t see it coming. Kevlar tears under its claws, eliciting a scream, but the entity goes no further than to toss Dick to the floor away from Damian.

“ No, no, ” Batman mutters, struggling to his feet.

The entity approaches Damian, reopened wounds dripping ectoplasm steadily. Reaching his son, it takes the boy up into his arms before weakly floating up a few feet and drifting towards a tunnel entrance, away from both Bruce and Dick. 

Nightwing roars. His escrima sticks activate in his hands, electricity visibly pulsing along their shafts. The entity flinches back dramatically, cradling Damian to his chest, as its flight stutters. Its back hits the cavern wall before weakly dropping back to the floor and attempting to scramble away from an enraged Nightwing while pulling Damian along with it.

Batman takes advantage. One punch and the entity drops Damian. Another kick then they are separated before Nightwing jams his escrima sticks into its chest. It wails again, visibly twitching on the ground. A white ring appears around its waist before it flickers out. Batman jumps to subdue it before any other attempts of attack occur. 

Once, twice–a third time Batman’s fist connects with the entity’s face. Weakly its arms attempt to block the onslaught, but Batman knocks them to the side, a whimper sounding as the broken wrist is jostled.

Then the entity stutters in his hold. The white ring appears again and in a flash, it shifts. No longer is a glowing humanoid beneath his hands. Batman startles, flinching away. 

A teenager collapses to the floor. One that looks exactly like Damian.

Without the green glow, the cavern falls to darkness. Only the moonlight streaming through the grates light the sight before him. Instead of the entity, he sees Damian at his feet, bloodied and weak, a fucking muzzle digging into his cheeks. It groans, crawling weakly away from him before collapsing on its side with its crushed wrist cradled to its chest. Teary eyes flicker to Damian–the real Damian–who Dick is holding so gently in his arms. It reaches out desperately with a broken whine.

Damian then begins to stir. Dick brushes back his hair, “Robin, hey. ”

His youngest groans lightly. 

“I’m right here. You’re safe.”

The boy stirs a bit more, wiggling in Dick’s arms.

“No, where’s…” he struggles, his speech slow. Dried blood coats his hair, likely from a headwound. His mask lost, the boy’s bleary eyes take in Dick and his father but widen when they land on the entity curled up a few feet away. He starts squirming in his brother’s arms. “No, no. ”

Dick tightens his hold, unsure about Damian’s reaction. “You’re okay. It’s–”

Damian elbows him directly in the gut, not hard but unexpected enough to loosen Dick’s grip on him. He scrambles up and toward the creature, but Bruce catches him in his arms, supporting his weight. Tremors shake his son.

“Let go, Father,” he croaks.

“Robin, you may have a concussion,” he says softly, rubbing his hands over his shoulders. “There is no need to worry. The thing that took you is now subdued. Let’s get you back to the cave and checked out. It’s been two days.”

“ No, ” he spits vehemently before pushing his father away and stumbling to the creature. His knees hit the floor hard beside it. 

“Robin,” Batman warns, taking a step towards him, “ Robin .” 

But the boy doesn’t seem to care.

His shaky hands hover over the entity, before placing a hand in its black hair. It flinches back, tense, before Damian under his breath whispers, “ Akhi.”

Bruce’s heart stops. He swallows thickly as Dick comes to stand beside him.

“It can… It can mimic humans,” Bruce weakly provides, but even as he looks upon the entity, he begins to doubt his own words. Morphing to look exactly like Damian did garner sympathy. It stopped Bruce’s attacks. But if it were really to mimic Damian, it would’ve made its brows slightly sharper, its frame a bit thicker, and its eyes green instead of pale blue. 

A shade that exactly matches Bruce’s blue eyes. 

The entity– no , teenager slumps, exhausted. Already fresh bruises begin blooming across his face, clashing with the reddened skin of the bridge of his nose and cheeks from the muzzle. Reopened surgical wounds leak blood into the dirtied pyjamas he dons. He’s barefoot.

He’s just a kid.

Bruce takes a step forward, but Damian swiftly slides to his feet, katana out in a moment. He places himself between the teen and his father, the weapon held between them.

“ Stop, ” he hisses. 

“Woah,” Dick says, “Robin, what’s–”

Bruce cuts him off with a look before raising his hands placatingly at his youngest, green-stained hands. He holds the weapon steadily at his father’s chest despite the exhaustion cutting through him.

Bruce asks, voice wavering, “Who is he?” He knows. He knows who’s unconscious behind Damian, head resting on the dirty, hard floor; knows who put him in that position. Dread, fear, and regret pools heavily in his gut, bringing him to his knees. The katana follows.

Damian stands above his father.

“Akhi , my twin. Your other son, Danyal. And you will not touch him. ”

Chapter Text

Nightwing’s and Batman’s trackers and comms are offline.

“Damn,” Tim curses. He lands on a rooftop, rolling to the floor before sprinting to the next one. Faster. He needs to get there faster. 

Bruce and Dick shouldn’t have approached the entity alone. At least not without Tim. He had been the one to study ECTO-0007’s file dozens of times; He put together the partial profile, knew intimately every detail recorded on those pages. He should’ve been there.

“I’m three minutes out,” Tim informs Oracle over the comms.

“Don’t go in alone, Red,” she warns. He frustratedly huffs. 

With the powers inferred from the file, the entity would be on par with Martian Manhunter: flight, invisibility, phase shifting, and shapeshifting. Such an incredibly powerful set of abilities made ECTO-0007 dangerous, even more so with its penchant for emotional manipulation–at least according to the GIW. 

“Yeah, sure,” Tim scoffs. “I’m going to wait on the sidelines while B and Nightwing are down there getting beat to shit.”

“C’mon, you know what I mean.”

The thing is… As dangerous as this entity appears to be on paper, Tim can’t shake the feeling they are missing something. Not just the missing files for ECTO-0007, but the GIW facility itself left something to be uncovered. Why would a weapons research, manufacturer, and distributor have a medical wing with advanced equipment and machinery set up to the tune of a mad scientist? 

Obviously the GIW had been studying ECTO-0007, but the purpose of which escaped Tim; The file only contained observations with no additional analysis and their experiments varied too widely for Tim to discern any specific pattern that would indicate their end goal: biological weapons research, metahuman or alien genome study, advanced cellular regrowth…? Despite the amount of times Tim reread the file, he couldn’t quite put the pieces together and it’s been absolutely driving him insane. 

Ignorance is truly not Tim’s bliss. 

Regardless, without the whole story, Tim’s been cautiously wary. Again, ECTO-0007 has great potential to be dangerous, especially if trauma at the hands of the GIW induces a volatile mental state; Plenty of Gotham rogues had similar stories. But being a victim doesn’t excuse the crimes they’ve committed. 

The entity kidnapped Damian and potentially hurt Bruce and Dick. 

No matter the circumstances, Tim will stop at nothing to save his family. 

As he approaches the location, he grapples down to floor level in an alley and immediately spots the opened manhole. It’s a sloppy mistake that alerts Tim to both Batman’s and Nightwing’s mental and emotional states. Bruce would’ve berated him twice over for leaving a trace of himself if he had done the same.

Fuck their order to stay out of the fray.

“Red, I know what you’re thinking,” Babs pops in, “but don’t–”

“Too late,” Tim interrupts and then promptly mutes his comms. He descends into the sewer, pulling the manhole cover after himself, and drops to the floor silently. Voices echo in the empty tunnel, which he follows until it opens into a larger room that smells of ozone.

In the dim lighting, there Dick stands, gesturing with hands outstretched to a defensive Damian, who holds a katana steadily over a kneeling Bruce. The sight pulls him up short.

Damian’s bare face shocks Tim, not only because of the deeply ingrained reaction to pull out a spare mask for his brother but because of his expression, which is reminiscent of when he first came to Gotham: defiant and untrusting, feelings Damian never truly relinquished but that had simmered with years of hard love from their family. Looking at his brother now, all Tim can see is that ten year old kid again, as if all those years together had… vanished. 

Dried blood cakes Damian’s hairline. A headwound, though the severity of is always hard to determine at face value. Tim contemplates the idea of amnesia before Damian seethes, “Red.” His sword glints in the low lighting, sharp and menacing, held with solid intention despite the weakness in the boy’s stance. It twitches towards him. “Are you here to deal blows as well?”

Bruce flinches as though struck while Dick huffs angrily moving to stand between him and the katana. “That’s not what happened. If you’d put that damn sword away, so we can actually–”

“No,” he growls. “I will not let you near him.”

Bruce remains silent on the floor. The silence isn’t uncharacteristic but the kneeling…

There are very few things that can bring the Batman to his knees. 

“I just want to make sure he’s okay.” Damian meets Dick’s plea with icy silence. Tim takes a few steps out of the shadows and a body comes into view, lying curled up on the floor behind Damian, but ECTO-0007 is nowhere in sight. Dick begs again, “He’s hurt, Robin.”

“And who’s fault is that, Baba?” Damian spits the name like a curse, all venom and poison on his sharp tongue. It slashes through Dick, deep and painful. Tim nearly steps in then–Dick is more than just a brother or mentor to Damian; Their bond is strong, forged when Bruce disappeared to the timestream, and cemented in their relationship as Batman and Robin. Using a familial name, one earned through months of work and trust, in such a way would greatly upset Dick. But Damian wouldn’t abuse it unless warranted.

What happened before Tim arrived? He can only assume they’ve been arguing over the body–the teen–Damian guards.

“We didn’t know,” Dick solemnly says, but Damian’s sword doesn’t waiver. 

“You won’t touch him,” he repeats. 

Dick wants to argue; Tim can see it in the set of his jaw. But then he turns to him instead. “Then let Red at least check him out. Make sure he’s okay.”

Damian’s gaze passes over him. Cold and calculating, evaluating Tim like a threat.

But after a few moments, he curtly nods. 

Cautiously, Tim passes his youngest brother and approaches the unconscious teen, acutely aware of the tenuous peace between his family and the trust being placed in him by both parties. Behind Damian’s back, he finally sees the teen clearly: the ripped and dirtied pyjamas, bloody incision wounds, and a metal muzzle strapped around the majority of his face; The very same muzzle described in the GIW’s file. 

“ECTO-0007,” Tim breathes.

“That’s not his name,” Damian bites, sword twitching. “And he’s hurt. You will be cautious when handling him.”

Tim nods despite Damian’s back facing him. Damian is choosing to trust him. And not just him, but the entity–the teenager. 

Tim reminds himself of the warnings from the GIW file: The entity excels in emotional manipulation via humanoid appearances and false expressions. But looking down at the bloodied teen, it’s clear regardless of his intentions he needs help.

He kneels and performs a quick medical check. Low heart rate and body temperature. Possible head trauma. Multiple lacerations, some bleeding. Injured wrist, potentially broken. Scars varying in age. The teen unconsciously twitches as Tim runs his hands lightly over him, checking for any major pain. He’s a teenager as tall as Damian but not quite so filled out; He should be fine to carry. 

He’s familiar, somehow. And human as far as Tim could tell.

As he describes all this to Damian, Bruce begins to move, swaying slightly. He drops his hands to the ground in front of him. They are startlingly covered in glowing green ectoplasm, the view of which triggers something within the man. “My son, that’s my son,” Bruce brokenly mutters, barely loud enough for Tim to hear. “Danyal,” he tastes on his tongue.

“What is he talking about,” Tim demands of Damian. His eyes bore into the back of his brother’s head, but he’s ignored. 

“Is there anything else we need to be aware of? Any other injuries?”

Tim scowls at the lack of response. He heard Bruce, the desperation in his voice. He looks back at the boy and suddenly his eyes are clear: he sees Bruce in the set of his brow and Damian in the curve of his ears, their resemblance blatantly obvious if he had just looked, but despite all the contingencies Bruce plans and drills into them, he could never have predicted this. 

Bruce has another blood son. Tim looks at the ectoplasm covering his fists. 

A son who’s not fully human. One he had hurt. 

“No,” Tim shakes the thoughts from his head, “No, but we need to get him to the Cave. His heart rate and body temp are both too low and we need to check his head. And–And the muzzle…”

The muzzle is something else. The glinting metal melts into his reddened skin, running over the bridge of his nose, under his jaw, and around the back of his head. Claw marks decorating his cheeks and throat show where the teen had attempted to desperately remove it. Tim tilts his head slightly, following the metal from his nose to ear. The skin near the hinge of his jaw is nearly torn off, the indents revealing a couple of metal bolts continuing from the muzzle into his maxilla and Tim guesses there are more spanning across his lower mandible. 

Fuck, his stomach curdles at the view. It–It not only cages his mouth but pins it shut surgically.

Damian grimaces. “The safe houses–”

“Don’t have the equipment we need to ensure he’s properly taken care of,” Tim argues definitively. “If you want your–your brother to be okay, we need to go to the Cave.”

Damian practically snarls in frustration, then after a beat, addresses Dick, “You will remain here with Batman while the three of us exit the tunnels. You will not follow until we are out of visible range and you will not return to the Cave until we contact you. If you need medical attention, figure it out yourselves.”

“Robin,” Tim snaps. He’s deduced enough of what happened before he arrived. While Bruce and Dick may deserve Damian’s vitriol, their injuries still require care.

Damian’s grip on his sword tightens. “Go to Leslie,” he corrects. 

Dick has moved to kneel with Bruce, arm around his shoulders. He nods in agreement. “We won’t pursue and we won’t return to the Cave.”

Tim stands and sides up to Damian. He’s still taller than his brother, but another growth spurt and he’ll be surpassed. He fishes out a spare domino mask, quickly applies the adhesive, then hands it over to Damian, who releases his katana to grab it and place it on his face perfectly despite the shaking of his fingers.

“We should get going,” Tim says softly. “Penny One needs to look him over as soon as possible and you need to get checked out too.”

“I…” Bruce says softly. “I called the Batmobile.”

Damian’s brow twitches but he doesn’t lash out.

Tim nods then moves to retrieve Danyal as Damian continues to guard them. Carefully he secures the teen over his shoulders, ready for the upward climb out of the tunnels; he remains unresponsive, increasing Tim’s urgency. 

Once Tim stands, Damian prompts, “Let’s go.” 

Tim spares one last glance to Bruce and his green stained fists. He knows Bruce would never purposefully hurt one of his own. This had been an accident, one that will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, another stone to carry upon his shoulders, another lesson brutally given. He won’t forgive himself, not for a long while, but Tim hopes for Damian’s and Danyal’s sakes that he recovers before he loses them entirely.

Without a sound, the three of them disappear down a tunnel, leaving Bruce and Dick kneeling on the cold, hard floor.

Chapter Text

In the back of the Batmobile, Tim gently cradles Danyal. 

Damian only allows it after witnessing the care Tim took in transporting Danyal out of the tunnels and because of his own insistent need to check over Danyal himself. He trusts Tim and his years of experience, but Damian began his own studies under Alfred and Leslie at his own insistence. That is to say he’s more confident in his abilities, especially when it comes to his twin.

In silence, he begins to perform the same medical checks Tim had done in the tunnels but the rather clinical report Tim gave did not prepare him for witnessing the state of his brother. 

For one, he’s truly here and alive. Flitting his fingers across his neck and feeling the blood pulse under his skin–although sluggish and tepid –solidified his sanity. He had blamed his concussion for imposing his brother’s countenance on the creature while it hid them away in the tunnels. That creature couldn’t have been his brother and he refused to entertain the idea of him somehow escaping death, not after watching the execution with his own eyes seven years prior.

But then, instead of waking from a concussion-induced sleep in the creature’s arms, Dick held him close. Panic seized him immediately–The creature may not have been his brother but he saved and protected him. Taking in his surroundings, he saw him–Danyal, no eerie glow or otherworldly features, but alive and gravely hurt, more so than when he last saw him in the form of the creature. With Dick and Bruce present, he put the pieces together swiftly and he acted without regret.

Disgust coats his tongue as he catalogs the new injuries bestowed upon Danyal by his father and brother. He finds no shame in preventing them from approaching Danyal yet again.

His wounds ooze blood, surgical cuts reopened and new ones dripping, coating the seats below them. It’s too much–Somehow his other form must have been holding his injuries at bay but now–His breathing stutters under the muzzle. 

“Drake,” Damian hisses, voice sparking with emphasized anger to hide his panic. Even still, his voice nearly shakes. 

Tim seems to understand, “Few minutes out. We’re slowing to approach the Cave tunnels.”

Damian refocuses on his brother. He skims Danyal’s swollen wrist, a clean break, but doesn’t move it from its position across his abdomen. It’ll need to be reset, perhaps pinned. 

He then checks his other hand, not trusting Bruce to stop at breaking just one wrist. Rarely he’s seen his father act cruelly, but when his family is involved, he can be merciless in his need to protect them–It’s a thought he’ll reflect on later when he doesn’t want to wretch the man’s own bones from his body. Thanks to his time with Dick, he’s become introspective enough to recognize when he begins to lose composure, especially in the field, and it was lost the moment he saw his brother cowering on the cold floor of that tunnel.

Danyal’s other hand, while uninjured, carried shadows of pain. Scars spread like mycelium clustered at his palm, running up his arm and disappearing under his dirtied pajama top. Lichtenberg scars. Electrical trauma. 

One branch peaked out from his collar, skimming the bottom of the glinting metal muzzle encompassing half of his face. 

Frantic questions begin flooding his mind. What happened? How is he here? Where has he been? The only one able to answer any of these lay unconscious in his other brother’s arms, where he is dying again. 

Sudden regret slams into Damian: He should be holding Danyal through this, not Tim, a stranger to his brother. Damian should be comforting him, making up for the first time he had been unable to.

The slowing of the Batmobile interrupts his spiraling thoughts. 

Tim opens its door, fluidly carrying Danyal out and towards the med-bay. Damian closely trails, following the wake of fresh blood on clean floors.

“Alfred!” Tim calls.

“Master Tim and Master Damian, the med-bay has been prepped to your orders,” Alfred assures, opening the med-bay doors and gesturing to a clean bed. “Quickly now.”

As they had exited the tunnels, Tim informed Alfred of the situation and also ordered all Bats and Birds out of the Cave by threat of blackmail. Damian expected such an order to be ignored per usual–Curiosity trumped most consequences in a family of detectives–but Tim’s material must be substantial enough to keep the vultures at bay. Only the four of them occupy the Cave. 

Tim gently places Danyal on the bed and before Damian could approach, Alfred blocks his path. “Master Damian, I must insist you take the other bed there.”

Indignation flares in his chest. “I will not–”

“I assure you, Master Danyal will be in your sight at all times, but you need rest.”

“Don’t patronize me, Pennyworth. I am well enough to help,” Damian argues with false words. His consciousness has wavered since receiving a blow at the GIW facility, no doubt a symptom of his concussion. This has been the longest he’s sustained consciousness for days and despite his veins singing with worry, he can already feel the pull on his eyelids, the temptation to sleep. He’d be a liability doling out any medical care now, but Danyal is his brother. He can’t stand idly by again.

Alfred places a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You will need your strength when Master Danyal awakes. Let myself and Master Tim handle his care and you, his recovery.”

Damian loathes being benched and more so dismissed as Alfred turns his back to him, but for Danyal’s sake, he doesn’t interfere. He doesn’t go to bed either, too stubborn to acquiesce to Alfred’s orders but also too worried he’d collapse as soon as his head hit a pillow. He remains out of the way as Tim and Alfred begin their work.

Already Drake cuts away at Danyal’s pajamas. Blood and grime soak the fraying fabric. He peels back the t-shirt before freezing. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. “I knew he had scars but…”

Damian takes a step closer and nearly wishes he hadn’t to spare himself from the nausea. He sees the continuation of the Lichtenberg scars, racing from his shoulder to his heart, but other scars pepper his entire torso: methodical surgical cuts, warping burns, uneven claws. A nasty collection, but there is only one he cannot remove from his gaze. Directly over his heart, physically small in comparison to the others, lays the neat scar where his grandfather drove a blade into Danyal’s chest, the one that killed him.

His knees hit the floor.

“Damian!”

His throat is too tight to answer. He knows if he tried, the sinking pressure in his eyes would spill over, so he remains silent, hand over his mouth as his nose warms. This unbidden feeling of sorrow spears his own heart and shakes his shoulders in a way he’s never allowed. 

“Keep pressure on those wounds,” Alfred orders before appearing at Damian’s side, warm hands encompassing his shoulders. He nearly breaks at the gentle contact. “Young master, let’s get you to bed.”

Damian allows himself to be guided to his feet. He would typically argue, all righteous fury at being babied, but the flood of sadness within him holds no room for any other feeling. Alfred helps him sit on the bed. He places a hand on his cheek for a moment and Damian nearly whimpers when it leaves to gently pry off his domino mask. 

“Please, Alfred,” Damian whispers. 

He shushes him. “He’ll be alright, my dear boy.”

Damian nods as Alfred pulls away to help Tim, to save Danyal.

Like the first time Danyal died, all Damian can do is watch.