Chapter Text
The first time Damian died, he was four years old and scaling up the side of a mountain. It was Ra’s Al Ghul’s idea of an adequate training exercise. At first, Damian had only tumbled, breaking his wrist at the mishap, but still pursuing forward. Unbeknownst to him, he had obtained a head injury that made itself fatal once he reached the top.
Talia, his mother, had found him dead and upon taking him back to Nanda Parbat, was shocked to see him come back to life. To Damian, it felt as though he was just waking up, albeit in terrible amounts of pain. Somehow, he was still able to realize that he had just died.
Even in the present, Damian was unsure of the science behind it. Mother made the very intelligent decision of keeping Damian’s ability a secret, however, that also limited her resources in seeking scientific help. She suspected it had something to do with prolonged exposure to the Lazarus Pit as an infant but it was only a theory.
Grandfather would have said that Damian’s ability was a blessing. Perhaps while Damian was still young and naive, he would have blindly agreed.
Now, Damian was eleven and convinced in every way that he was cursed.
The only person who knew about his infinite resurrection ability was his mother. Talia sent him to Batman in an attempt to not only keep him away from the League of Assassins but to also prevent them from discovering his power. Damian had made sure to keep the secret away from Richard and especially Father. He had to try hard enough to be worthy of receiving the title of Robin. If Father found out that he was a Meta, he would kick Damian out of Gotham like he had Superman.
That was certainly not an option. If Damian was not Robin, he was nothing.
Luckily, his ability was easy enough to keep hidden. All he had to do was not die. Everyone else living on Earth completed the task every day. Why couldn’t he?
Of course, it came with faults as well. Damian suspected that one of his problems was routed from particularly how many times he had died; it must have been a lot because he was unable to remember all of them. His time at the manor taught him that League training was cruel and Damian inferred that he had probably died from multiple training exercises before.
It was obvious that there were many things his mind protected him from. Sometimes Damian would scan his body and mull over every scarred line of white painting his skin. He found that there were enough scars he could count twice on his fingers that he did not remember obtaining.
It was notably horrible whenever Damian would remember a way he had died.
Once, he had gotten back from patrol, covered in dust and soot. A building had exploded, courtesy of the Riddler, and Robin had been in charge of digging for civilians. As a result, he was covered in the remnants of the crumpled building.
The most pathetic part of it all was that Damian was not triggered by the collapsing building, but instead terrified whilst in the shower once they all returned to the cave.
That was how he had discovered, in vivid detail, that he had drowned at five years old and met his fate at the bottom of the ocean. At least he didn’t have a scar from that one. Even still, he had a panic attack on the bathroom floor.
Afterwards, Damian looked so ghastly that Father had asked him if he was feeling alright. A worthy heir did not complain about such frivolous things, so he nodded and walked off with a quickly typed-out report. That had been weeks ago.
“Damian?” A knock on his door.
Damian was not startled by the noise. It was only Father.
“Come in,” Damian offered from his balled-up position on his bed. He felt safer when his knees were touching his chest.
Father slowly opened the door and peeked in. “Are you feeling okay?”
Damian furrowed his brows. He hadn’t had a new memory about death lately, nor had he fallen ill, so he was unable to deduce where Father had even come to that conclusion.
“I’m fine,” Damian assured.
“Is there another reason you’re not in the cave then?” Father asked, voice still gruff but not quite a growl.
Damian sorted through each file in his brain that stored away information and dreadfully realized that it was time to patrol and he was supposed to be suited up in the cave around twenty minutes ago.
“I–” Damain cleared his throat. “I must have lost track of time. I will get ready.”
Father absently nodded and followed him down to get suited up himself.
The wind threaded gentle hands through his unkept hair as he grappled to the next roof. Damian would never admit it, but he loved it when it was just him and his father during patrol. The rest of his intolerable allies always found ways to insult him. When it was just Batman, it was peaceful. Sure, the work was harder but Damian would never complain when fighting enemies.
Tonight, Batman and Robin were working on finding three children who had been kidnapped by their father. Just by glancing at his criminal background, he was a horrid man. Father found a lead earlier in the day and Damian had agreed that it was worth investigating.
They arrived at the man’s workplace. It looked halfway toward decomposition and Damian partly wondered why the people of Gotham didn’t put buildings like that out of their misery. The building was used as an illegal weapons dealer. It wasn’t serious enough to warrant Batman’s intervention but still very much illegal.
Damian loomed behind Father like a well-trained dog and waited for his release command. Batman didn’t bother glancing back at him, instead crashing into the window. Damian deftly followed.
Two men were inside and guns were instantly aimed at them. Batman threw two Batarangs, successfully causing the guns to backfire. The men faltered, not surprised in the slightest. One of the men lunged for Robin, probably under the assumption that he was an easier target as opposed to Batman.
He was pathetically wrong. Damian was not only a trained assassin but quite literally immortal.
He pivoted to the side, grasping the perpetrator’s head and roughly slamming it into the adjacent wall. There was a sharp sound at the impact but no crack. Damian was smart enough to not kill him.
The man still cried out in shock and brought out a knife he had tucked away in the inside of his jacket. His arm flailed as he swiped for Robin. Damian thought about faking a yawn just to be petty but then instantly pictured that as something Todd would do and the appeal was gone.
After a well-practiced jab to the shoulder, the man was disarmed and the knife clattered to the floor. Damian kicked the weapon away, grabbing the man’s jacket and throwing him beside his comrade.
Batman loomed over top of both of them, looking so intimidating that even Damian would have gotten chills.
“Where is Ronald Young?” Batman growled.
The men flinched back and Damian smirked.
“I’ve no idea w-who you’re talkin’ about!” one of them gasped.
Batman threw a Batarang that impaled itself right beside the perpetrator's head.
“ Where, ” Batman ground out once again, much more aggressive than the last.
“The–the warehouse on the edge of Crime Alley!” the other admitted. Damian wouldn’t have been surprised if he wetted his pants.
Father only grunted and Damian interpreted that as their cue to leave. The men were left trembling on the floor while Batman and Robin grappled off into the night.
It seemed Father fully believed that they had told the truth, proved by the speed at which he was flying toward the warehouse. Damian dutifully followed. On the way there, he prepared himself for whatever condition the children were in. They would probably need medical help. At the very least, some comfort.
There was one singular glow coming from one of the warehouse windows. How the building had power, Damian had no idea. Father glanced at him and Damian nodded. The sight was promising.
Batman kicked down the door closest to the window and stalked in. When they both arrived in the well-lit room, they caught sight of two malnourished children. They didn’t have any obvious visible injuries but both had tears streaming down their faces.
Damian could see the relief on Batman’s shoulders but the only thing he could think about was the lack of the third child. The room had nothing in it, therefore nowhere to hide. Nor was Robert Young there, meaning he had taken the last child and ran.
As Batman crouched down and inspected the children with gentle hands, Damian eyed the exits available. There was a strip of plywood leaned up against the wall, sloppily placed. Robin carefully examined it and found an opening behind it.
The perpetrator had escaped that way and it was Damian’s job to save the last child. Without telling Father, he slipped through the exit and began the hunt.
“Robin!” Father yelled, effectively startling the children. Damian knew that his father would not leave two victims alone so he was able to proceed alone.
The ground was muddy due to the copious amounts of rain Gotham received. The idiotic man had left footprints, leading Damian to his location. They were fresh. Perhaps his comrades at his workplace had warned him that Batman was on the way so he took one of his children and ran.
The path led to a graveyard of storage containers. A quiet clang echoed across the space and Damian bounded toward the sound. As he got closer, he could hear distressed whimpers coming from a child.
Robin found Robert with a knife to his child’s neck. He crept as close as possible until the man flinched and the knife drove deeper into the child. There was not enough pressure to elicit blood but Damian had no way of knowing if it would lead to that.
Robin reached into his utility belt, discreetly pulling out a smoke bomb. He quickly threw it to the ground and made his move in the confusion. He grabbed the perpetrator's wrist and bent it as far as he could. Damian heard a satisfying crack and kicked the man off to the side.
He grabbed the child who lashed out at the contact. Damian was not good with victims. Thugs, he could deal with. Helpless victims were not his forte. In his short-lived panic, Robert had gotten up without Damian’s knowledge. A sharp pain dragged across his arm, causing blood to instantly pour out of the wound.
Robin did not hiss at the pain, nor did he stop to inspect it. He let go of the child for a moment and knocked the back of the man’s legs down. He collapsed to the floor and Damian lunged. He whipped the man’s face, knocking him out cold.
When he turned back around, Batman was behind him with the three children who had hugged upon seeing each other. Father did not speak to him but Damian could tell he was not happy with his actions.
They returned the children to Commissioner Gordon with the hopes of them finding a nice place to stay. Batman minutely talked to Gordon but moved away just as fast. Robin followed obediently.
Damian did not get scolded until they had arrived in the cave. His arm was still dripping with blood, staining the most colourful parts of his suit. He wasn’t often scared by blood but the sight was unsettling.
Pennyworth grabbed his arm to treat it while Father glared.
“You could have died,” his father began, voice laced with fury.
Damian had to suppress a scoff at the irony. If only he knew.
“I didn’t,” Damian fought.
“You could have,” Father growled and Damian didn’t oppose the statement.
Damian stayed silent. Anything he said could reveal his secret or only make things worse.
“You are so reckless,” Father began. “I don’t care if you are a trained assassin. You are not invincible.”
Damian clamped his mouth shut, not only to stop himself from biting back a remark but also to quiet the whimper of pain from the needle running through his arm. His hand had a slight tremble to it and Pennyworth must have noticed because he paused to rub his shoulder in a soothing motion.
That seemed to cause Father to pause because his lips parted for just a moment as he stared at his son’s bloodied arm.
“Don’t do that again,” Father weakly threatened, ending the lecture.
He walked over to the computer to type out his report and Damian thought about writing his later as he thanked Pennyworth and stumbled up to his room after he had changed. Titus was on the floor next to his bed. He gently smiled at the sight of his dog.
He crawled into bed, patting the empty space to invite Titus on. The dog lept up quickly and lay down next to him.
Damian was glad he had never died from a dog attack. Or at least if he had, he didn’t remember it. Titus helped him tremendously when he discovered a new death.
His dog took up more space on the bed than Damian but he didn’t mind. Sometimes the large size of the mattress made him feel too small and helpless; it made him feel like a child. Despite the thought, he brought his knees to his chest and scrunched up even smaller.
Without knowing he had fallen asleep, Damian shot up from sleep, ridden with bone-shaking terror from the remnants of a nightmare.
One minute he was training with an assassin in the League and the next a sword was driven through his gut. He remembered the ear-splitting pain that spread throughout his body like a virus. There was blood; a lot of blood. At that age, he had certainly seen that much blood before but never his own.
Damian remembered freezing with his mouth open, dazedly eyeing the wound. It looked wrong, seeing the way the rest of the sword was hidden in his stomach. He was unable to look behind him but was sure it had gone all the way through his torso.
Damian remembered realizing he was about to die as soon as the pain stopped. At that point, Mother was there, cradling him in her arms. It was nice, finally being held. Sometimes, Damian wished he got hurt like that more often because only then did his mother hold him and quietly whisper comforting words.
Mother’s fingers grazed across his cheek, smearing his own blood across his face unknown to Damian. His world faded into black.
Damian was six when he died for the third time.
Damian, at eleven years old, lifted up his shirt to inspect where the sword had entered. There was a muted scar running across his abdomen.
It only confirmed that it was not a nightmare, but a memory.