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preciousthingsareprecious · 4 years

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Put On Display

Because apparently it takes an event to make me write these days, I’m participating in the 12 Days of Winter Whumperland challange! Thanks @amonthofwhump for putting this on!

Today is day one, Deck the Halls: used as a decoration.

Even thought the themes are holiday related, I’m trying to keep most of these fics more general in their timeframe.

Characters: Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson

Rating: Teen because it gets a little dark and Damian swears at least once

Words: 8,808

Summary: When an obsessed fan of Robin gets a hold of Damian he must do everything he can to escape, or end up just another thing in his collection.

AO3 Link

Damian ducked under a burst of flames as Firefly shot wildly at him. He rolled into a crouch, and slipped a handful of batarangs from one of the pouches on his belt. Damian waited a moment for the villain to shift a little in the air, revealing one of the thin tubes supplying fuel to his jetpack, and threw them, one after another.

His aim was true, and they sliced through tubes and cables. The jetpack on Firefly’s back sputtered and died, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Taking his eyes off the villain for a moment, Damian looked over to where Batman was just now getting up after being thrown back into a stack of boxes. Content his partner had not been taken out by a mere fall, Damian turned back to Firefly.

The man had landed, and was holding the remains of his jetpack in his hands. He gave Damian a menacing grin, and threw the pack straight at Robin, holding his arm with the flamethrower up the next second.

Damian threw himself to the side at an all out run, but wasn’t quite fast enough as the fire caught the remaining fuel in the pack, leaking out from Damian’s disarming of it, and the whole thing exploded.

Fire caught his back, shoving him forward as metal sprayed around him, stinging where it caught and tore his uniform. Then something slammed into the back of his skull and Damian’s whole world blacked out.

When he came to, his head felt like it had been cracked open. Everything ached and his ears were ringing. Someone --a man? Was helping him up, arms hooked under Damian’s armpits to haul him to his feet. He was saying something, his mouth moving, but Damian couldn’t figure out what he was trying to say. And then he was out again, head nodding into his chest, the pain too much to keep his eyes open any longer against.

The next time Damian woke up, things hurt less, but only marginally. He was on something soft, and in...a room of someone’s house? A tv rested against a far wall on a stand, pictures lined a fireplace, and in front of him was a coffee table, with a first aid kit opened up on it.

His head was still pounding, and Damian tried to reach a hand up to feel for a bump, but he couldn’t. Cuffs, he realized, were holding his hands behind his back, and when he tried to move his feet, he found they’d been tied together with rope.

“What?” he asked, the word not quiet coming out clear.

He should have kept quiet, closed his eyes again and feigned sleep until he knew what had happened, but he wasn’t thinking straight. The pounding in his head had his thoughts all jumbled. Before he could make an attempt at feigning sleep again, he heard footsteps hurrying on a hard floor, and then a man was stepping into view.

Damian couldn’t clearly picture the guy who’d helped him after Firefly’s explosion, but he had a feeling it was this guy. He was roughly the right build. An adult, probably in his forties, with greying blond hair and a soft face.

“You’re awake!” he said, as he set a small wicker basket down on the table beside the first aid kit, “Good, that’s good. I wasn’t sure how long you’d be out for, that blast sure was something!”

Everything about his demeanor read not a threat, but innocent people didn’t typically tie up the vigilante’s they’d rescued, so Damian stayed on his guard as he asked.

“What am I doing here?”

“Oh! That’s easy, I picked you up after the attack, you’re pretty banged up and I thought you might need some medical attention.”

“And I am bound because?”

The man smiled sheepishly, “Well I couldn’t have you trying to get up and leave. You might hurt yourself.”

“I assure you, I will be fine.” Damian told him, “Now if you would release me, I’d like to return to Batman.”

He shook his head, “Sorry, but I just can’t, I’d hate it if you were hurt worse. Just give me a few minutes to get you patched up and we’ll get out of here.”

Damian narrowed his eyes, but nodded his head. He didn’t trust this man, not his casual kindness nor his refusal to let Damian go or specifically say he could leave. However, it seemed best to play along for the moment while he worked on his own escape. His head still pounded, and his vision was somewhat blurry at the edges. He needed to take care in escaping.

His gloves were equipped with lockpicks that popped out if he tapped them just right, so he could get the cuffs off rather easily. After that it would be a matter of quickly slicing the ropes off and then he could get out of here. The man was larger than him, and even built bigger than Richard, but Damian could take him out and escape, he just needed his hands and feet.

He’d have to be careful however, and not get caught in his escape. He was pressed into a couch, almost cornered in a way. It’d be tough to get free if the man caught on and he was missing the element of surprise.

“Good, I’m glad you understand.” The man said.

He reached down and opened the first aid kit, rifling inside to pull out bandages, antiseptic, thread, and a curved needle. Damian frowned, that wasn’t typical for a first aid kit.

“Some shrapnel caught your arm, so we’ll need to take care of that first.” the man said, and reached back in to pull out a syringe and small bottle, “I’m going to give you a local anesthetic for the pain.”

Damian wiggled a bit, pushing himself into the couch, “I would rather a doctor look at it.”

“It’s alright, I’m a nurse over at Gotham General. I do this all the time.”

He filled the syringe with a measurement of liquid from the bottle and tapped the side to remove any bubbles. Then he leaned down and pulled Damian forward so his injured arm was within reach and injected him.

Damian winced, and tried to pull away, but the man’s grip was strong, and kept him in place. Once he’d emptied the shot into Damian’s arm he let go, smiling.

“There, I know that probably stung but it’ll feel better soon.”

While he waited for the medicine to kick in, the nurse cleaned off the cut on Damian’s arm, and frowned at the tear in his uniform.

“We’ll have to patch that up too, can’t have you looking all torn up.”

Damian pressed his lips together and shifted a bit so his hands weren’t quite stuck under his back and digging into his spine. Working on his arm would put the guy too close to his hands, and make attempts at picking the lock visible. But when he moved to check Damian’s head he probably had a chance.

“Why did you bring me back to your house?” Damian asked, as he watched the man threaded a needle.

The man hummed, tying off the end of the thread, “It was dangerous out there, Firefly could have killed you.”

“And was your house simply close?”

He leaned over, and slipped the needle into Damian’s arm at the wound. He winced, the medicine had numbed it but that didn’t make the experience pleasant, plus his head was still throbbing.

The man chuckled, “No, no, that would be far too dangerous. I needed to keep you safe. You’re Robin after all.”

Damian’s stomach twisted. There was something in the man’s voice that wasn’t quite right. Something not wistful, almost like awe instead . Richard would call it 'hero worship'. The emphasis on safety, of Robin, the worry about him looking good. It made his skin crawl, the attention wasn’t normal, not this way.

Not that anything about this was normal. But it was even more concerning than a simple bad guy with a thing against Batman and Robin.

The cut in his arm wasn’t bad enough to warrant too many stitches, and soon the man was snipping the thread.

“Excellent, now that I am out of danger of bleeding out, you can release me. I’m sure Batman is concerned about my whereabouts.” Damian said.

“Oh we haven’t looked over your head yet.”

Damian pressed his lips together. Fine if he could not convince the man to simply release him then he would take matters into his own hands. He was Robin, and did not have to worry about hiding his skills.

When the man pulled away to replace the needle and thread, and retrieve whatever he was going to make use of next, Damian fiddled with his gloves releasing the picks.

Handcuffs were pathetically easy to pick, and Damian had released them before the man had even looked up. He reached in his belt and found the first hiccup in his plan: his batarangs were gone. Assuming the other pouches had equally been emptied, Damian instead sat up and reached into his boot to slip a hidden knife from there.

His next mistake came with focusing on his feet instead of his captor. He blamed it on his headache, making him rush in his need to get away.

A hand grabbed him awkwardly by the head and shoved, pushing him sideways and back down into the couch. Damian jerked to get away, and raised his hand with the knife but a knee slammed into his side, irritating an injury he hadn't realized had been there and forcing the air from his lungs with a whuff.

The hand on his face shifted, grabbing his hair to jerk his head up, “Now now, I know it’s all very frightening but you need to calm down.” The man said, his voice eerily calm for such a violent moment.

Damian squirmed and roared, trying to get away, but he was pinned. The best he could do was lash out with the knife at the same time as he felt something prick his neck. He heard a satisfying grunt of pain even as his world tilted.

The man staggered back, into the coffee table. It scraped across the floor with a painful scratching noise that had Damian raising his hands to his sensitive ears. He tried to sit back up, but whatever the man had given him worked fast, or maybe that was the concussion making the world shift funnily.

Damian swallowed back the pain and tried to blink away the shifting ceiling above him, and pushed up with his elbows again, but his whole body had started to feel heavy. He couldn’t get his arms under him, let alone find the strength to heave himself up.

His head fell back against the cushion, confused. He had a feeling he should be upset, but he was tired.

“There we go.” a voice said, from above him, “Now that you’ve calmed a bit, lets get to taking care of that head injury.”

Someone was tilting his head, turning him so his cheek was pressed into the fabric of the couch. It was more comfortable this way, something was wrong, but Damian couldn't remember what. After a moment he gave into the sleepy feeling and let his eyes flutter closed.

When Damian woke next, he was no longer in the same room. His vision hadn’t quite settled yet, but the colors were different. Yellow and red blurred together somewhere in front of him. He squeezed his eyes closed again against his still pounding headache, and moved to figuring out the rest of his situation.

He was furious at himself for screwing up his original chance at escape. Especially now that his hands weren’t cuffed. Whatever he’d been restrained with had no give when he tried to pull his wrists apart. It might have been duct tape, but as he slowly tested it’s strength he couldn’t hear the tell tale squeak that came with tape. Whatever it was, he could feel the pressure through his gloves. He didn’t think the rope on his legs had been replaced, at least. Especially since he hadn’t even had a chance to start on it with his knife.

He’d been laid down again, though on his side on carpet now, instead of a couch. Once again, his back was to a solid surface, this one a wall. He hated feeling so cornered.

Nerves bubbled up in his stomach. This wasn’t good. There was something very wrong with the man who’d taken him. He needed to get away. Or at least notify Batman. If he could hit the distress signal in his Robin insignia he’d at least know help was coming soon. Whatever was around his wrists was only around them, so if he could get his arms in front of him, he’d have access to it, he just needed to make sure no one else was in the room.

He hadn’t heard anything else yet, so he risked opening his eyes again.

Everything was still blurry, but it was coming into better focus. He blinked a few times to clear away whatever lingering drugs wanted to pull him back under, and finally got a look at the room.

His stomach dropped.

The room was filled top to bottom with Robin memorabilia. Everything from toys released by fast food restaurants, to real Batarangs and Birdarangs filled shelf after shelf hung on walls, and display cases. Pictures hung in places that were free, of various Robins over the years. Damian recognized Grayson, Todd, Drake, and even a few shots of Brown. Pictures of Damian as Robin seemed to outnumber the others though, along with newspaper clippings.

The most concerning thing out of the whole room were the two large, glass, display cases in one corner. One held what looked to be a mishmash of lost pieces of Damian’s uniform and hand crafted replacement pieces. There was a cape he’d thought he’d lost when he’d been knocked into the bay once, an R medallion from when Scarface had torn it from his uniform, and parts of gauntlets broken off in various fights. The rest was carefully created imitations of the rest of his uniform. Like the man was replacing what he’d made with what he’d collected.

Case number two was totally empty. Just a big glass box that Damian didn’t like the look of at all.

He needed to get out of here.

When he tried to shift and get his arms down, under his legs, he realized there was something more holding them behind him than just the binds themselves. Pulling forward immediately gave him resistance. He tried to yank, and only ended up hurting his wrists.

Alright then. So he’d been hooked on something. Fine. He could at least get his legs free and try working with them. He curled, arching his back so he could get his legs to bend up towards his hands. After a moment he caught on to the rope there and started picking around it, looking for the knot.

He’d just found it, and started pulling at it when the door to the room swung open and the man walked in. In his arms he carried a white structure that looked like a really tall stand for action figures. Damian was happy to note the man had a bandage wrapped around his leg.

The man raised a curious eyebrow at Damian and set the stand down by the door before crossing his arms and shaking his head.

“I see.” he said, sounding a bit sad, “You’re going to be uncooperative the whole time then?”

“Of course.” Damian spat, “I have no intention of letting you--” he hesitated looking from the stand to the case, “lock me up like some prize. I am Robin, and you cannot--”

“That’s right, you are Robin.” The man interrupted him, “Which is the whole reason you need to stay here, safe, and protected.”

He shook his head again, stepping towards Damian, “But I cannot keep you safe if you don’t understand what waits for you out there. I’m sorry, but I think you’re only going to learn through experience.”

The kick was obvious before he made it, and Damian braced himself as a boot caught his gut. He winced, but didn’t cry out. The man kicked him a second time, then a third, and a fourth, his toes catching a new spot every time with increasing bruising force until Damian felt something in his chest pop and snap.

He yelled when the boot caught that same spot again, making his vision go white with pain. Instinct had him trying to curl to protect his chest, but the man just bashed his legs instead, kicking at his raised knees until Damian shifted again.

Damian couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as blows rained down on his middle and legs. Part of his mind wondered why the man hadn’t gone for his face, with the other part supplying the answer: he didn’t want a visibly broken toy.

A sob broke through his cries, and at last the kicks stopped.

The man knelt beside Damian, and cupped his face, turning him to look up, “See, that’s what I’m protecting you from.” his thumb brushed against Damian’s cheek, catching a tear that had slipped out from under his mask.

“You’ll be safe soon, I promise.”

He stood, and moved without another word back to the stand he’d left at the doorway. Damian ignored him, and focused on trying to breathe. His chest was on fire, at least one rib had been broken , and he’d be lucky if he’d only gotten away with deep bruising in the rest of his sternum.

The tears that had fallen were less from fear and more out of pain, and Damian sniffed, blinking them away. He was tougher than that. Mother had taught him better.

Mother had also taught him not to end up at the mercy of psychotic nurses with an unhealthy obsession with him too, and yet here he was. He was so frustrated he could cry again, instead, he tried again to pull his hands free, maybe he’d just been connected to a hook or something.

His hopes were dashed as he pulled to no avail yet again. Fine . He’d escape when the man inevitably was forced to untie him so he could--Damian glanced up at the man as he was busy setting the stand up in the case, and attaching it to the floor so it wouldn’t fall.

He was getting away before he ended up in there.

His whole body ached, but Damian couldn’t focus on that. He needed to plan a successful escape. The door had been left open, meaning Damian had a clear path out. He would need to wait for the man to lift him before he could do much, and would have to be fast if he wasn’t going to get pinned again but Damian could manage it. He just had to keep from being shoved into that box.

So far, he hadn’t seen any syringes on the guy, but he’d be wary of them. The last thing he wanted to do was get knocked out yet again. He was getting tired of being unconscious, and wanted to avoid having any more drugs forced on him. His stomach was still churning against the last one.

He hated the thought of it, but acting meek would probably give him the best luck at getting away. If he let the guy think he’d been beat he might still win.

When the man stepped away from the case, Damian couldn’t help but stare at it. The stand was set up so that it looked like a stick figure, arms at its sides, legs relaxed. But now that no one was obscuring parts of it, Damian could just see clear straps hanging off various parts, and joints, like it was poseable.

His stomach went cold at the thought of being put in that thing and posed or puppeted. It would be humiliating, more so, he’d be at the man’s full mercy.

“Alright, we’re all set up, at last.” The man said, stepping back to Damian, “I can’t tell you how excited I am to finally have you here. I’ve been waiting so long for this. I hope you're excited too.”

Damian bit back a snarl of defiance, instead schooling his features into something open and afraid.

“Why don’t you just leave me right here? I’m sure it’s easier than all that.”

“Well you won’t look at your best here!” the man said, sounding surprised that Damian even asked, “If I’m going to show you off, you need to be in action, not curled up on the dirty floor. Now wait a minute alright?”

Damian watched as the man left the room, closing the door behind him. The moment it was shut, he quickly got back to trying to get the tropes around his legs untied, wincing at the pressure on his chest.

He had no idea how long the guy would be gone, so Damian rushed his work, fingers slipping on the knot once, then twice, before he got it loose. At last, something seemed to be going for him, because he got it untied, and loosened the ropes enough he could slip out of them when the time was right, but still have them look tied.

Once he was sure he wouldn’t end up tangled, he straightened, and not a moment too soon. The door opened again, and the man entered, another syringe in his hand. Damian grimaced, really not wanting to deal with that.

“Now then, I want you to understand I don’t want to have to use this.” the man told him, “But I will if you don’t behave. Will you behave?”

Damian nodded quickly, eyes never leaving the needle or the liquid within, “I will be good.” he added, hating how meek he sounded, but thinking of just how much he’d enjoy knocking this guy out and maybe even sticking him with that stupid drug.

“Fantastic. Honestly, I think it’ll be better this way. You can help me make sure you’re comfortable.”

He didn’t think he’d be comfortable at all until he was safely out of this place and back at the penthouse with Richard, but Damian only nodded.

The man bent down and reached behind Damian to fiddle with whatever he’d cuffed him to. After a moment he heard something click, and Damian felt the pressure holding his arms back loosen just a bit. Then hands looped under his arms, and he was lifted.

Being lifted was altogether a terrible experience. His head spun with the movement, and his stomach lurched, and that wasn’t even counting his chest screaming at him as his body shifted from where he’d been not comfortable, but at least settled.

Damian blinked away double vision and hooked one of his feet up to make sure the ropes didn’t slide off his legs yet. Otherwise, he stayed limp, and ready to burst into action when he got the chance. He just needed to see if the guy was going to release his wrists yet, or if this would be harder than he wanted it to be.

He was hefted close to the man’s chest and then turned, and walked to the other side of the room. Fear twisted in his stomach that the guy wasn’t going to untie his wrists.

“What about my arms?” he asked as they walked.

“All in due time.”

Damian didn’t want to wait. And maybe it was dumb, but he didn’t want to be in a corner again, or worse that case . So he let the ropes drop off his feet, kicking them wide so they might have a chance of tripping up the man, and shoved his head forward, slamming it into the guy’s chin.

The man yelled, and his grip slackened enough Damian could twist, haul his legs up, and kick out at him. He launched himself back, and looped his arms under his legs as he did so, at last getting them around his front.

He landed heavily against a different case, hearing memorabilia clatter and ring as the whole thing shook. Now that his hands were in front of him, he could see the thick --maybe plastic-- cuffs locked around his wrists. They were clear, with the green of his gloves distorted but visible below them, and snapped together with a lock that didn’t allow for much movement. His stomach twisted seeing them, but he didn’t really have time to worry about that. He’d get them off soon enough, and get out of this creepy place after that.

Damian ducked as a heavy arm came swinging his way. Adrenaline helped him ignore the pain in his head and chest long enough for him to plow forward, headbutting the man in his own stomach.

His renewed double vision was worth the oof of pain the man released. Damian used the distraction to dart around him, ready to head for the door and get to an area with more space than this horrible trophy room.

He made it two steps before he choked, his cape snapping tight around his neck as the man grabbed it and pulled . Damian stumbled as he was dragged backwards. He reached up to try and unlatch the cape, but another jerk dragged him into the broad chest he’d just escaped.

“I told you to behave.” the man’s eternal patience seemed to be waning as he growled in Damian’s ear.

Damian ignored him, finally grabbing at the latch of his cape to unhook it. Just as that pressure released, an arm wrapped around his middle, and he felt that stupid needle jabbed into his neck.

He thrashed and kicked against it, the hold, and the whole world, but the man’s grip was iron. Damian finally bent over and bit down on the guy’s arm, but despite a yell, he didn’t get the results he wanted. Instead, the man’s other hand slapped him across the head, palm impacting the same spot he’d hit earlier.

He gasped as pain lanced his head, and his own grip slackened.

The man wasted no time hauling Damian up, and dragging him over to the case. As they moved Damian tried to regain his bearings, but whatever he’d been given had started to work, and his whole body was fighting him. It wasn’t pain this time, but just an absolute lack of the ability to do anything.

Raising his head was hard, curling a hand into a fist seemed an insurmountable task, his chest was so tight it felt like a vice had been clamped around it.

By the time the man set him on his feet, and leaned him up against the stand Damian was a ragdoll. The best he could get his body to do was breathe, and his eyelids blink.

“Stop.” he ground out, “Do-n’t.”

But the man wasn’t listening. He was already looping a plastic strap around Damian’s chest, lifting his arms over it so they wouldn’t be caught under. Damian couldn’t do anything as he wrapped more around his legs, and ankles. Then he unlocked the cuffs and moved one arm, then the other to the sides of the stand. Finally he pressed Damian’s head back against the rest and snapped a strap around his neck, and forehead so he couldn’t drop his chin into his chest.

Damian was no longer afraid to admit he was panicking. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his heart racing, and his stomach a sour mix of terror and humiliation. He tried to fight, but he couldn’t move . He was terrified of whatever he’d been given. He should be able to figure out what had been in that syringe, he’d been trained to understand hundreds of poisons, toxins, and medications, but his mind whiting out as he tried to figure out what it was, what could have acted so fast, how long it lasted, if it would ever go away--

“There we go!” the man said, voice happy again now that he’d gotten his way, “Now just to get you posed and we’ll be good.”

“No.” Damian managed, but it was hardly above a whisper. He wanted to argue more, demand he be let go, say anything at all, but he couldn’t get his throat or mouth to comply.

He wanted to scream, and instead all he could manage was his chest hitching against fear.

The man moved to raise Damian’s injured arm and frowned at his sleeve, “I forgot about that tear. I’ll be right back” he turned to leave, then paused and glanced back to smile at Damian, “I’d say be good, but you don’t really have a choice in that anymore do you?”

With that, he strolled out of the room, leaving Damian all alone.

He wasn't gone long enough for Damian to really come to terms with his situation, or do more than just try to struggle against the drug’s hold. And he kind of wished the man had been gone a little longer, just so Damian could--he didn’t know, center himself or something.

Everything was moving too fast. He was exactly where he didn’t want to be. Unable to move, unable to even yell, and he couldn’t think.

The man was carrying the little wicker box he’d put by the coffee table earlier, and set it atop one of the shorter cases. He removed a small needle, threaded it with black, and turned to approach Damian again.

Damian couldn’t do anything but stand there as the man stitched up his torn sleeve with care. The man didn’t stop with Damian’s sleeve, he kept finding torn parts of his uniform, and for over an hour the man fiddled with Damian’s uniform.

During the whole thing Damian’s skin crawled. He hated this. Hated being fussed over and fixed by some stranger obsessed with a version of Robin he’d never be. It was humiliating to stand there frozen and do nothing. To have his eyes trace the man's movements as he flittered around Damian like he was patching up a favorite toy a dog had gotten ahold of. Shame twisted in his stomach, hot and acerbic.

“You’re my favorite.” The man said, standing.

He set his needle and thread aside and moved to reattach Damian's cape. Then he fixed Damian’s hair. At last he started moving Damian himself. Angling one of his arms forward and bending it ever so slightly, before moving to pull one of Damian’s legs back as if he were running forward. He tried to fight it, but Damian couldn't get his body to do anything, his mind screamed as he watched limbs moved without his consent. After every adjustment Damian heard a click as the man locked the stand in place.

“I like all the Robins, but you?” he said, reaching up to tilt Damian’s face.

His cheeks burned under the man’s touch, his chest catching.

“You’re different. I’ve been watching you since you arrived, and I knew I had to keep you from whatever fate befalls other Robins.”

He moved to shift Damian’s other leg, and Damian squeezed his eyes closed. He wanted this to be over. He wanted--he didn’t want to be here, wanted to be home, and safe, and not--his eyes burned with unshed tears.

“Too often they get hurt, and then disappear.”

Damian wouldn’t cry. Not while this man was in the room posing him. He would not give him the satisfaction to see him show his shame. To find him as weak as he believed him to be.

He tried focusing on something else, letting his mind wander so he didn’t have to be here. Tried to escape if only in thoughts. Then hands on his chest made a cry catch in his throat, that released in a slow, high whine.

“Just a little longer.” The man’s voice was gentle as he reached out and adjusted Damian’s cape.

He stepped back and looked over Damian with pride, “Perfect. You look amazing. Now, you’re safe, safe and sound. No one is going to hurt you again.” He closed the glass door and turned the latch down, locking it in place.

There was something about that that made Damian’s panic rise up again. His stomach churned, head feeling light, breathing was hard enough and now he couldn’t even catch his breath.

“I’ll be back later to take some photos. My group chat is going to lose their minds over this.” he said, and left, closing the door behind him.

That click, paired with the door closed in front of Damian was the last straw. Hot tears slipped from his eyes. He couldn’t scrunch his face up in any kind of way that was comfortable or normal to cry in, and that made the tears run faster. His chest hitched, and his breath came out in panicked whines.

Damian wanted to scream. Wanted to pull away. His chest hurt. His arms were tight. Every strap pressed in to him like unwelcome hands holding him back.

Crying only seemed to make everything worse, and once Damian started he couldn’t stop. He stood there silently sobbing, his face fire, his chest full of sharp pain with every reluctant hitch.

Mother would be so disappointed with him. He was captured, bound, at the mercy of a mad man, and instead of using every moment to plan an escape or fight, he was crying like a child. A helpless baby who couldn’t do anything for himself.

Worse than Mother’s disappointment, Damian was furious at his own actions. He’d been sloppy, he’d rushed into things. This was all his fault.

How had he’d missed being stalked by this creep? How had he allowed himself to be so dumb as to get caught in the blast, and then not escape when he had a chance? He wasn’t fit to be Robin. Wasn’t fit to even hold the Wayne or Al Ghul names. He had failed.

He had failed, and he deserved his fate, whatever that might be.

The thing Damian hated the most in the world right then was that he couldn’t move. His body wasn’t his own. His body he’d worked years to control was under someone else’s power, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Not until the drugs he’d been given wore off. And he had no idea if he’d be allowed to even regain control before the man drugged him again.

Was he going to be a figure in a box until he died? How long would that even be?

He choked on another sob. Days? Weeks? Would he starve to death? Or would he be faced with that madman coming in to feed him?

He--He wanted his brother. He wanted Richard. He wanted Batman to crash in and save him even if it meant he was weak. Even if he was a failure.

Richard had promised him he’d always come. He’d promised Damian that failing didn’t mean he lost Richard’s love.

But--was this too much? Was being captured and taken by a civilian as Robin too much for him? This was a failure he had not had before. He had put Batman and Robin’s identities in danger through this kidnapping even if the man hadn't bothered to check his mask. He had left Batman in the field.

His heart stuttered, was Batman even alive? Had the fight with Firefly gone wrong? Was Richard dead because of Damian’s failure? Damian didn’t think he could live with the idea that Richard might have been hurt because he’d messed up. He couldn’t even imagine his brother’s death.

No. Richard was better than that. He would not let a pathetic villain like Firefly kill him. He would be on his way to save Damian soon. He had to have gotten the distress--Damian’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t hit the distress beacon on his uniform. He’d forgotten. He had a chance and he’d--He was such a fool.

The door opened again, and Damian’s self loathing was interrupted by the return of his captor. The man held what looked like an expensive camera in his hands.

“Still looking good.” he said, smiling.

Damian surprised himself by managing a growl of fury.

“Calm down.” The man told him, “It’s not going to be forever, just until you’ve settled into things. It’d be dangerous to keep you on that stuff for too long, and it’d be silly to hurt you when all I care about is your safety.”

That was somewhat of a relief. It meant Damian might have another shot at escape. It also meant he’d have his limbs back, even if they ached and screamed from being held in one position. He’d at least be able to move.

“I’m sure you’ll get used to this all soon. It’s really for your safety after all.”

Damian wanted to tell the man how wrong he was. How twisted his logic had become. How could he keep Damian safe and trapped at the same time? Gloat over pictures. Over having a Robin?

Light flashed in his eyes, making him blink furiously.

Anger had briefly made him forget the utter shame of this whole situation, but the photos quickly brought that back to mind. Damian’s stomach twisted. He felt naked. Seen in a way he didn’t want to be.

And now his photo was going to be online. Shared with who knew who. His face burned. He wanted to disappear. His whole world felt like it was tumbling around him.

Damian tried to squirm under the unrelenting gaze of the camera. He wanted to rip himself away from the stand and crash the glass of the case and get out of here. The most he got was a finger twitch.

“Fantastic.” The man said, dropping his arm with the camera, “You look great on film you know, and this is way better than all those blurry newspaper photos. I’ll let you know what the guys think later.”

This time, the man flipped the light out as he left, leaving Damian alone and in the dark.

His chest hitched again, but Damian didn’t want to cry. Not that he could do much else. All he could do was wait. Wait on his captor to return or the drugs to wear off.

It was unbearable.

Damian had waited many times in his life. He’d waited on Grandfather’s punishment after failure. On Mother to assign him his next task. On the stupid Riddler to give him the next clue so he could rescue Batman from a fish tank filling with water. He had even waited in dark rooms, bound and gagged waiting on his brother to pay a ransom.

None of that was as bad as this.

It dragged on forever. And the longer he stood there, held in place by plastic straps, the more his whole body ached for movement. His raised arm was yelling at him, shaking from the effort of being held in one direction too long. His hamstring was stretched awkwardly, and his neck was starting to ache from where it’d been twisted.

Even the ache of broken ribs and his concussion faded behind the monotony of being forced to hold a position so long and being unable to even wiggle.

He counted in his head. Then recited plays he’d memorized. Chapters of textbooks he’d once repeated for hours in front of tutors. Ticked away time to keep himself going mad in a room so dark he’d started to see flickering dots of light.

It was of course, his mind trying to make sense of a room with no light, but even knowing that didn’t help.

At some point Damian fell asleep. His dreams were plagued by visions of his body on strings being marionetted around a stage for the whole world to watch. Father, Mother, Pennyworth. And Richard, there front and center, shaking his head in disappointment that Damian had allowed this to happen.

He woke with a gasp, blinking at a still dark room with no idea how much time had passed, or what was going on outside his confined space.

It must have been a while, because his chest didn’t feel as tight, and when he tried to work his mouth to shift his jaw he managed it, slowly, but there was movement made by him. By Damian.

Encouraged by it, Damian kept moving his jaw, and pursing his lips, happy to have something that was his for the moment, especially something that distracted him from the painful tingling and heaviness in the rest of his body. He wanted to think it was feeling returning but a part of him knew it was from being immobilized so long.

The quiet around him was such, that when he heard footsteps approaching the door his breath caught. He snapped his mouth shut again, hoping to conceal the fact that he had something he could move when the man came in again.

Nothing could stop the way his heart raced as the door opened, and his breathing sped up again in renewed fear. He hated it. Hated that he was already terrified of every entrance this man made because it meant being seen again.

The door opened, with light from the hall filtering in, Damian could just see it from where he was. Then the lights flickered on and he slammed his eyes shut against them. Too bright. They were too bright.

Any traces of hope Damian had that maybe the person coming in was Batman were dashed when a familiar voice said, “Rise and shine.”

He opened his eyes and blinked at the man, hoping they’d adjust to the return of light quickly. He squinted at the guy, he’d changed his shirt, so they must be into the next day by now at least. Damian’s stomach grumbled at him at the thought.

“I’m glad you got some rest, you had a hard night.” The man smiled, “You’ll be glad to know the pictures turned out great, and everyone’s pretty jealous of me.”

Damian rolled his eyes, happy the mask hid the movement. Jealous. Of a man who’d kidnapped a child. They should all be arrested.

He stepped towards the case and lifted the latch to swing the glass door open. As he did so Damian spotted another syringe in his hand.

“No!” he cried before he could stop himself, “Stop! I don’t want anymore. Leave me be!” he yelled.

If he had control of his limbs he’d be trying to fight with everything in him. As it was, all he could do was scream and hope the man decided against drugging him again.

“Stop!” he screeched again as the guy grabbed his chin, tilting his head up, “Stop it, now!”

The needle pressed against his skin but didn’t pierce flesh. Instead, it clattered to the ground and the man jumped back, away from Damian. He couldn’t turn his head, but he heard a roar as familiar to him as his own voice.

Batman.

His brother came into view a second later, barreling into the man with a fury Damian had never seen before. He couldn’t catch the whole fight. Not that it was very long. Figures and pictures scattered to the floor as one of the cases shattered under the man’s weight when Batman threw him into it. Damian could see Richard’s arm raise to hit the man, again and again.

As much as he wanted the guy to get what was coming to him, he also couldn’t let his Batman go to far. He was Robin, and Robin kept Batman safe.

“Batman!” he yelled, “Stop.”

Richard froze, then stood, and Damian heard the guy’s body land against glass. He paused long enough to cuff the man then stood again. Any attention Damian had left for his captor was gone when Batman turned to him, fury fading to worry, and then flaring up again as he saw Damian’s state.

Embarrassment, hot and sudden flushed his cheeks and Damian wanted to look away.

“Robin.” Richard breathed, and hurried forward, “Hold on while I get you down.”

Where the man’s touch had been unwelcome, Damian wanted to lean into Richard’s as he ever so gently released each strap, and caught Damian as he fell forward bonelessly. The relief at his arms being released was almost painful, as was the rest of his body finally relaxing.

Still, his face burned with embarrassment. If he could have thrown himself backwards to hide, he would have.

As it was, Richard collected him in his arms, cradling him with care Damian didn't deserve. With a last glance at the man he turned and carried Damian out of the room, perhaps suspecting he didn’t want to spend any more time in there than he had to.

“You’re okay.” Richard said, squeezing Damian lightly, “You’re okay. ”

When Damian didn’t return the hug his brother frowned, “Robin?”

“I can’t.” Damian swallowed, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, oaky. Hold on. I’ll set you down, and get those weird cuffs off.”

Richard moved to lay Damian on the couch and Damian couldn’t stop the yell from slipping out.

“No! Don’t.”

“Dames?” Richard whispered.

“No, he had me there earlier. Just, I just want to go home.” So many words were hard to say, even with feeling coming back, but he needed to be clear, “Please.”

“Alright, but, tell me what’s wrong.”

Damian didn’t want to admit he’d been drugged. It was obvious something was wrong, but he was embarrassed. Embarrassed of the whole thing.

“Robin.” Richard’s voice was stern, but not angry.

“He drugged me. I cannot move.” Damian answered.

Richard’s grip on him tightened, “He did what ?”

Damian winced, his throat aching with all the movement, “It’s getting better.” he added, like that might help.

Richard’s jaw was tight, his hands on Damian’s arm and leg gripped a little too tight to be comfortable. Damian could feel the rage coming off him in waves. He was angry--angry at Damian. Because he’d messed up, been caught, pasted online and put on display like a prized doll.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered, “If you wish to send me back to Mother I would not blame you.”

“What?!” Richard almost yelled.

Damian couldn’t flinch, but he felt something inside him attempt to.

“Sorry, sorry, I--” Richard released a slow breath, “We’re going to talk about this when we get home. You are not in trouble. I promise. I’m just--”

Richard stopped talking and leaned over to press a gentle kiss against Damian’s forehead, “I was so worried about you.”

“But you are angry?”

“Not at you.”

Damian wasn’t sure if he could believe that. This whole adventure had been one terrible thing after another. Who knew if Richard was even aware of the photos? Worried or not, Damian had put them in serious danger.

But he was too tired to argue further. Richard had promised him they would talk at home and Damian just wanted to be home. He would be selfish, just this once.

He let Richard carry him back to the car, relishing the little remaining warmth from his brother’s kiss, and listening as his brother called the police about the kidnapping. Then feeling actually excited by the prospect of sitting when Richard opened the passenger's side of the car. As comfortable as he’d been cradled in Richard’s arms, he sighed when he was set in the car.

The little peace he’d felt at being rescued fled when Richard pulled his seatbelt over his chest. Damian gasped, and actually jerked his arm, and whined, “ No.”

“Just a seatbelt, Sweetheart. It’ll be off as soon as we get home.”

Damian felt panic rising up again, Richard’s voice was distant, Damian’s face warm again. His breathing sped up and he found himself babbling now that he could, a flood of pleas against being strapped down again.

“Okay.” His brother acquiesced, “but I’m going to keep an arm close to you, to make sure you’re alright.”

That helped still the panic, as did Richard letting the seatbelt slide back into place. He tried to nod, and couldn’t, so instead he muttered, “‘kay.”

Damian pressed his eyes closed, and waited while Richard moved around to the driver’s seat, and started the car. Once they got moving, he reached out and scooped Damian’s hand in his own, squeezing.

“This okay?”

Damian hummed.

The drive home was silent and Damian didn’t mind it. Control was starting to come back in his arm, and by the time they pulled into the bunker he was able to lightly curl his fingers around Richard’s hand.

Soon he was lifted again, and settled in one of the cots. Richard spoke with Pennyworth, and Damian was squeezing his eyes closed against Alfred taking his blood, and checking the bandages on Damian’s arm and head, and at last getting those stupid plastic cuffs off.

“I am glad to have you home, my boy.” Pennyworth said, as they finished up, “You gave us quite the scare.”

“That was not my intention.” Damian said.

Pennyworth smiled gently at him, “I am aware. Let me know if you need anything. I believe your brother is eager to talk with you.”

“Of course.” Damian swallowed.

The moment Pennyworth stepped away, Richard slipped into the chair beside Damian’s bed, “Hey.” he said.

He’d showered, and was looking more relaxed than he had earlier, still his brows were knit together.

"Richard." Damian replied.

“First of all, I think you need to hear this isn’t your fault again.” he said.

“I--” Damian opened his mouth to argue, but Richard shook his head.

“It’s not. I checked the security cameras in the area, that guy was waiting for the right moment. Research put him staking out our patrol routes for a month. This was planned.”

“I should have noticed that.” Damian said, “I--”

“Me too.” Richard said, “It was both our bads. We’re not going to catch everything the first time. Now, second of all, I was not mad at you, and I am still not mad at you. I don’t know exactly what happened, but what I do know is that you were hurt, and drugged multiple times.”

Damian pressed his lips together, “Even so I messed up. I missed hitting the distress beacon, messed up escapes, and--” his eyes warmed again with unshed tears, “I--he-- Richard ."

“Hey, hey now.” Richard whispered, “You’re alright, you’re safe now. He’s not going to hurt you again.”

“But he took photos. Those are my fault, those could--”

“Babs took care of those.” Richard said, reaching out to run fingers through Damian’s hair, “Didn’t you wonder how I found you? She used them to help track you down. Then wiped everything off the server. You’re good, no one’s going to find them.”

His face was still flushed, but this time Damian could at least turn his head away. Richard’s fingers didn’t stop carding through his hair, waiting for Damian to speak up again.

“Are you not embarrassed of me?” Damian whispered.

“Oh, Sweetest .” Richard sighed, “No, never. You had absolutely no control over that situation. When I saw those photos I was--” he paused, “You know why I was so angry earlier? Seeing those pictures made me more than mad, I was furious, that anyone would do that to you. For someone to tie you up like that, and treat you like a thing--I wanted to kill that guy. I couldn’t believe anyone would dare hurt my kid like that. So no, I’m not embarrassed.”

Damian sniffled. He wanted to argue, but hearing that Richard wasn’t upset with him. Hearing his brother admit he was furious for him? Damian let out the sob he’d been holding back for forever.

“Hey,” Richard’s voice was gentle, “Hey, it’s alright I’ve got you.”

Once Damian started, he couldn’t stop crying, again. He was sick of crying, but he knew Richard wouldn’t judge him. He’d just said as much after all. He sobbed, hiccupping, as Richard’s hand slipped out of his hair, and his brother climbed into the bed with him, to tug Damian into his arms.

Damian wanted to curl close, but he hadn’t regained quite enough movement for that. Still, he could tuck his head into Richard’s shoulder as he cried. Richard’s embrace was warm, and everything he’d wanted.

His brother pressed another kiss into his hair, “I’ve got you. I’m not letting go until you’re feeling all better okay? Will that help.”

“Yes.” Damian hiccupped, “Don’t go.”

“I won’t. I’m here.” Richard promised.

Damian believed him, and while he couldn’t snuggle back, Ricard was doing enough for both of them.

#Damian Wayne #Dick Grayson #Damian Wayne & Dick Grayson #whump #12wwday.1 #AMOW Winter Whumperland #injury #blood #dehumanisation tw #kidnapping #drugged #Damian needs a hug #he gets one #because I'm not that mean #this is not medically accurate #precious posts #fanfiction #long post

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