Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You truly find it  beneficial to leave our allies ignorant?” Jason stalked forward, eyes not even sparing a glance at the little assassin. “You know them, they’ll be no help.” Damian couldn’t help but lift a brow; his hands were behind himself, holding onto his lithe right wrist.

“Plus, Dickbird would try to stop me anyway.” Though he’d never admit it, Damian was extremely proud to have been chosen as Todd’s confidant. Even if that meant being dragged on a mission to his previous home. 

Yes, he knew it wasn’t much of a choice - Todd didn’t want the Bats to know his location, he didn’t trust Bruce, Grayson would have one-hundred percent tried to stop him, and Tim would have ratted on him immediately. ( At least, that’s what Jason thought ) 

Alfred would have alerted B or given him some long speech and guilt-tripping words that would have convinced him enough to stay. 

… All in all, Damian knew he was the only option for Todd’s rebellion. Or, more so, his rebuff. It didn’t hurt, is what he would say, maybe deep down, Damian was unwilling to acknowledge that he was used for nothing more than convenience and his skill. But that’s all he’s ever been anyway, back in the League and out of it; he will always be a tool, a weapon for someone else to wield. 

Which is why, as he watches Todd put on his helmet, he makes no comment on one for him, when Todd gets on the back and starts revving it alive, he doesn’t scream to wait up, he only dismisses the thought and jumps onto it as quickly as he can. 

Damian holds all of his and Todd’s supplies and allows himself to be tossed around; he will be a tool - but unlike his past, Damian will succeed with whatever Todd’s use for him is. He, son of the bat and heir of The Demons Head, will sharpen his edges and break his mind just a little more. 

One of the Batplanes would be waiting at the edge of New Jersey, they would take it to the desert and drop about an hour out, then they would travel on foot until they arrived at the base. Damian kept quiet, giving minor input that would help his mast— Todd’s plan, succeed. 

Damian’s job would be to watch Jason’s back and take out assassins alongside Todd, but the Red Hood would focus on getting into the servant tunnels. From his time ( “-barely fucking conscious.” ) in the Leauge he could still pinpoint how to get in - Damian hadn’t spoken when Jason began to struggle with himself verbally on if he remembered or not. 

He didn’t say he knew, for at the end of his frenzy, he’d been adamant he remembered. 

The ride in the plane was quiet. 

If there was noise, besides the low hum of the machine, it was Jason cursing to himself, deep in thought. 

“Todd-?” He began, “Shut the fuck up, demon brat .” Damian furrowed his brow, crossing his arms with a silent huff. It wasn’t that he was taking the disrespect, but Todd didn’t seem in his right mind, when was he ever? Something whispered, Damian ignored it. 

He wasn’t scared either, just- he didn’t see the point in arguing; he’d agreed to come, Todd had not dragged or forced him. ( He’d just yelled and spat venom ) 

So yes, the ride in the plane was quiet, and any noise was either the engine purring or soft rebuttals from Jason Todd to himself, no, to the pit yelling inside of him. Damian wasn’t scared, he’d grown up with pit-drowned men all around him. He was trained for this - for what? Why do you tense for a battle you walked into? 

He wouldn’t tense when Jason stood, and Damian would not track him with his eyes when he was out of sight. He wouldn’t allow his past to curse him; the training he’d undergone to be able to exist with such intensity would not define him. 

Damian would trust Todd, keep his back to him, and focus on the light sky in front of them. Jason Todd was fighting with the pit, and Damian wasn’t scared that he was going to Nanda Parbat for the pit instead of the intel he won’t stop yelling about. 

Damian has not been dunked into the pit yet, he’s never bathed in vibrant green, unlike his brother, who stood pacing behind the control panel. But he knows maybe more than Jason himself of the effects. Not… rage, per se, that was Jason Peter Todd himself, but madness wasn’t far off. 

Not for the first time, Damian pushed away the thoughts that he was following his brother into a suicidal mission that would achieve less than nothing. 

“Out. And don’t forget the bags.” Todd’s voice was strict and snappy. Damian listened down to the like. Two backpacks, Damian hadn’t commented on the impractical colors, tan cloaks would have been better than the black they arrived now. Damian wasn’t scared that Todd would yell at him for ‘correcting’ such mistakes. He would follow orders and allow himself to be used to Todd’s utmost disposal. 

Batplane hovered slightly too high above the hot sand. Jason did not struggle out, and therefore neither would Damian. He would follow just as quickly and not allow his ankle to hurt when he slipped. “You know the plan, kid?” Of course, he wanted to snap, something wanted to snap, but he was mannered and respectful. “Yes.” 

The desert stretched on for miles; that much was clear. Countless memories of this same sandy plane washed over him: training, punishment, missions, massacres. Todd didn’t falter, continuing forward as the batplane covered itself in a sheen coat, not making itself invisible, but to keep sand out of it. 

His ahki didn’t even yell at him to keep up; he’d expected him to be more chatty, but it seemed the closer they got, the more closed off he became. It was nearly hard to believe he’d responded to him at all in Gotham. More so that the man hadn’t kicked him off the motorcycle for just being there. 

That walked for a while, hot and over-packed. Until familiar begging did the base enter in sight.  For Damian it was like, one example he could think to give was like Todd walking into the Joker's cell in Arkham.

Damian was no fool, he knew what the League did. Right now was no time to be thinking about where he stands, which side he stands on. 

“Going in.” He suspected Todd didn't even mean to say it, muscle memory from missions, and Damian only nodded curtly, hunching forward just as the other was doing. If they were lucky, it might be a good mission day, one of those months even where most were sent out. When his mother was sent out, maybe even Ra’s would be at another base. 

Swiftly, they took out the front guards, using unfamiliar fighting styles. Damian snuck up behind one heavily guarded assassin and knocked him out, hiding them in the bushes safely. Todd didn’t wait for him, and Damian didn’t speak, only performing the best he could. 

Damian wasn’t scared of the coldness, not of Todd’s clearly fuzzy mental state, or of the tone he took when he ordered something. 

They were stealthy in their infiltration, focusing more on being undetected than taking enemies out - and when they did, Todd would blindly trust Damian to take care of it. He did not know this at first and barely made it in time to prevent an assassin from slicing his ahki up. 

Damian was not scared of Jason Todd. He was not scared of his silence. 

They left a trail of bodies - soon enough, they would be ambushed, and Todd was not going nearly fast enough. Damian had to risk it, if the two of them did not pick up the pace to the servants' tunnels, they would be found out. 

“Ahki - we must make haste.”    Slap! 

Next thing he knew, Damian was left in the empty hall, cheek burning red, if he could see it, maybe it would already be bruising. Todd had never… at least not anymore—suddenly he was beyond embarrassed. Suddenly, he couldn’t tell if the burning was from the hit or embarrassment. 

Damian was shifting, catching up; he had probably already made it into the tunnels. A quick push against the wall confirmed his suspicions. Todd’s back was just turning around a dark corner. Todd’s footsteps, unlike his, could be heard. It was nearly confirmed, Jason was not taking this mission seriously, and if he were expecting to be a casualty, Todd had dragged him down with him. 

No. Damian would just make sure that didn’t happen. His ahki wasn’t in his right mind anyway, he ducked around him in the small tunnel, taking up in front and leading. He’d be the first line of defense against—grunting sounded behind him. 

He was on the attacker before he’d even turned, using the assassin's blade against him and slicing his throat. Ahki, or the assassin. He would not allow his heart to race. 

Todd only grunted, shoving past him and into the security room. Damian had to get there first, but he hadn’t though. Jason had picked up his pace, and Damian was still under the last assassin's body. If he spoke, it would alert their location - but if he didn’t… 

He pushed the body off, not caring about the blood soaking all over him now, and rushed forward. Refusing to slip on the dirt and sand he picked up, Damian saw the two assassins strike Todd’s knees, only saved from bleeding out by Damian’s push on his back. Adjusting his grip on the dead assassin's knife, he wielded it professionally and engaged in battle. Sliding to the left and tackling the first one. 

He was swift, tiny, and agile, but these men were no goons, trained heavily to keep their positions. With a barely held back scream, one landed a slash on his side, a superficial wound he allowed so he could stab the man in his heart. A lesson not taught by the League. Damian had taught himself this: sometimes to take out an opponent, you must let yourself get hurt. 

Here, failure of any kind was not tolerated; blood was seen as weakness. 

He’s panting, Damian realizes, and quickly controls himself, stepping over the body to take down the other guard. No doubt Jason could take him, but he’d waste no time being quiet. And they needed to be quiet as can be. 

To his surprise, the other was suddenly on top of him, stabbing a long blade into his stomach, but just in time, he contorted his waist. The knife stabbed into the ground, and he took that minuscule moment to use his one unbound hand to stab into his attacker's eyes. 

They made no sound but lifted, with them still sitting on his lower body, Damian had no ability to stand; he’d have to take him out on the ground. Todd was already at the computer, hopefully downloading the actual data they needed and not researching every available pit. 

“Demons Heir.” A quiet whisper caught his attention; another assassin from the servants' tunnels was rushing towards him smoothly. Gritting his teeth, Damian dislocated his wrist and stabbed the assassin's hand holding his. Then he relocated it and punched hard. They fell off of him, clutching their face. He’d definitely broken something. 

“Todd!” He whispered. Red Hood did not respond, but it did look like he was collecting the correct information. Good, the mission was going well enough - it was Damian’s job to take out these threats. A few League assassins were nothing, he’d taken many down before. 

A few bleeding wounds and a sore wrist would not hinder him. 

Another assassin showed up in the tunnel. 

Damian wasn’t scared. He was son of The Bat, and Heir to The Demon's head. He was league trained and ready to kill for his and his ahki’s life. 

“Keep it down over there.” Damian was split in two; one half flabbergasted that Todd had the gall to say that to him while he was fighting. The other half, the half he was listening to for some stupid reason, mocked himself for having such trouble against these few enemies. 

He took them out, an embarrassing amount of time later, and only suffered his head slamming into the floor, two more superficial wounds, and a probably bruised rib from the first member's foot to his chest. 

Once he was done, Damian stumbled over to Todd, lifting a hand to settle it on the counter. His ahki’s hands moved swiftly over the keyboard. Damian wasn’t scared of Jason. So he didn’t expect to see his forearm coming in contact with his wrist and knocking his support out from under him. 

Quickly, he recovered and backed away, Todd did not want anyone around him, simple as that. It was a smart move, Damian should be keeping watch, it was only a simple reminder, a familiar reminder. 

Forty-eight seconds later, Jason stood abruptly and pulled the drive with him, folding a few papers ( more like crumbling them into a ball ) and stashing them away in his pocket. Great, now all they had to do was make it out as simply as they made it in. 

From experience, though, Damian knew how hard that would be.

The tunnels were empty, but the same could definitely not be said for the hallways. Todd seemed only slightly more… aware. He didn’t rush out immediately, but instead of waiting for them to pass, he seemed to make a plan in his head and then engage. “Ahki!” 

The fight began, four or five taking after Todd, and two tanks coming towards him. He had only a small blade to protect himself and Todd, cursing quietly, Damian gripped the blade harder and pushed forward. 

He was truly the best for this mission; he had to be. Swiping at the assassin's legs, he was met with a few kick attempts. The one that was not his target tried to body slam him, but was only met with the ground. Damian on top of him in an instant and slamming down his previously dislocated wrist into his chest. 

It sent white hot pain through him, but his stronger hand reached for the man’s belt, slipping a larger blade out and moving the small blade into his mouth. He now had a bigger blade, one that, as he sank it into the member's throat, caused damage. 

He didn’t have nearly enough weight to kick out the other man’s legs, but the blade did wonders paired up against two Achilles tendons. Another throat slit. Then Damian hustled over to Todd’s battle and saw he was not faring well. In fact , Todd was about to fall off the balcony- pushed by two League members dressed in the same all black all his previous enemies had worn. 

“Red Hood!” His cape was grabbed from behind, another member - he didn’t have time for this! Unlatching his cape, Damian rushed forward and fell with Todd. Curling his body carefully around the head that only wore a domino mask. 

His back hit the ground, softened only barely by half sand and half stone. Jason sputtered and gasped. Robin was already heaving him up, the exit wasn’t too far away, if they could make it out- 

But of course not, why would it be that easy? Eight, eight members guarded the front, rushing from either side, four from the west and four from the south side. “Ahki, up.” As much as he’d love to take them all on, he can’t, and Todd is not that wounded yet. He’s had no time to assess completely, but the pit should help him with healing and pain. 

The first few were taken down semi-easily. The fifth got a hit into Todd’s head, the same one turned its attention onto Damian, when a sixth took over, beating his brother ruthlessly. This one was different though, it wasn’t dressed in the same black, instead it had hints of red, it was different than a blade welder - which he learned quick enough when hundreds of small needles shot out in his directions, only one or two managed to land and he recognized immediately the feeling of no feeling. 

Numbing darts. His left arm would be useless in under a minute. His right was only grazed but that was enough. He had to end this quickly. Surging forward, the blade in his mouth long gone from the fall, his stolen blade connected with a back, jutting in and dragging flesh out and away. This member actually screamed. 

Ra’s was not here; if he were the Demon's head would have been the first out; little mercies, Grayson would have sighed. Damian does not, the League of Assassins was formidable, hence why the entire Wayne family would have kept Jason from barreling head first. 

No matter, Damian was here and had to keep his ahki from getting killed in vain. Six down, he flung himself at an oncoming attacker, stabbing his neck swiftly, before his left arm, thankfully only holding him up on the woman’s top half, gave out, and he headed for the sand. 

Two arms or no arms, Damian could still fight. He wasn’t scared, not of the two figures rushing towards his stumbling partner. He could take them on, Damian did, throwing the obviously not throwing blade at one and taking him out only halfway. He was on the other before he could punch Todd’s face for the nth time. 

Bloody and bleeding all over, droplets mixing with thin sand and caking them both, Damian ended the attacker's life. He dropped to the floor, one knee holding him up while he caught his breath. Todd was trying to sit up, his face lighting with fear towards Damian, and the little boy wasn’t dumb enough to misunderstand that there was a threat behind him. 

The assassin he’d only half killed. 

Damian’s legs refused to move, though he nearly blacked out when he felt a hand push him to the floor, and then a scream- followed by the sound of a blade sinking into flesh. Sand clouded his eyes, making each open moment painful from being literally tossed into it, but his brother had been stabbed. 

And it was Damian’s fault. 

“Hands fucking off!” Scrambling to his feet, he could see the blade still stuck in - oh thank God - it didn’t seem to have hit any organs. Clearly a blunder on the assassin's skill, but Damian had thrown that sword into his face earlier. Todd knee’d the man’s face, smashing his skull open with newfound pit strength and dropping him dead. 

Damian made it to him quickly and didn’t waste a millisecond that could have cost them their life. Guiding his injured and more talkative brother out of the base and into damning sandy hills. 

“My arms have been hit, they will be of no use to me soon enough.” It’s painful to grit out, the hit to his jaw ( well-deserved hit ) disabling something important. “Tch, demon brat.” Jason’s tone is hoarse, even tense. He’s leaning heavily onto Damian, who must keep himself upright. 

“An h-hour to go.” Damian stares out into the expanse and wants to cry. 

Dick was fine.

That’s the issue! That’s the issue; he’s fine, but Jason and Damian are missing. Only conveniently seven hours and forty-three minutes after they all fought about the LoA case. 

Dick and Tim hadn’t missed the way Jason had scoffed after being told that ‘no you cannot infiltrate the League of assassins on your own’ oh no, it might be the end of Jason’s world. 

Damn it. Not funny Dick. 

He hadn’t told anyone yet, Bruce is at work - even if he was home though, Dick doubts he’d even notice his two sons gone. Tim was in the library typing away last he checked. He’d go check again, all of his brothers can’t be gone. If they’re not back when he gets down here again, he’ll have to tell Bruce. 

God knows how long they’ve been missing. Dick had only woken up an hour ago. 

He sighs, rubbing his right hand across his face and turning away from the batcomputer. His brothers would be fine, and if they truly weren’t, then Dick will save them, but first he’s going to check on his second youngest brother. 

Jason Peter Todd was the heavy. 

And the more time that passed, the heavier he got. Damian’s arm had given maybe ten minutes ago, it would be fine - Todd was still conscious, if barely, and Damian was doing fine. He’s fine damn it! He’s fine! 

“Brat,” Damian’s focus broke at the wheeze. Jason was hanging on his shoulder, deep crimson blood seeping all over Damian, and he wasn’t scared . 

“Batplane… get, the plane.” The next thing he knew, Todd was dropping. He had to turn completely, like he was hugging Jason, but… chest to chest, no arms, only his training kept the limp body from completely falling. “Do not die on me, Todd!” Of course, his ahki did not respond. Damian tried his hardest not to look at Jason’s half-lidded unseeing eyes. 

It was unnerving and—and it- it was scary. In a way he’d never felt before. Jason dropped to the side in his moment of shock. The younger called his name desperately and fell to his knees. Desperately trying to reach out with arms he knew would not respond. 

The feeling was crippling, it made his heart clench and his throat clog up. His arms would not respond, his arms would not respond. His arms! He needs his arms, damn it! 

The plane will still be at least forty minutes away. He had to get there before the blade in Jason’s stomach kills him. 

So he does the one thing he realistically can, and uses his teeth to button the first few buttons of Todd’s oversized jacket, and then bundles the fabric behind his neck with his tongue, shoving it all the way in his mouth. If he can untie a rope with his tongue, there is no question he can do this. 

The sand burns beneath him, it only spurs him faster. The sun is beating down, no less than an hour ago - no sign of anyone in sight, but they’re only ten minutes out. Surely, assassins would be sent after them. 

Damian could hit the emergency beacon, he thought, but they’d get here after longer than it’d take him to get Jason to the Batplane. So he grits his jaw around the fabric and starts to pull. 

He pulls Todd through the sand, dragging, and dragging, for so long that the pain is blinding. It’s crippling but Damian can not cripple. He must save his ahki who saved him. The shade his Robin suit gives him is appreciated from the beaming sun, but the black is helping in no way to shield it away. 

Sometimes his vision gives, and he comes to an undetermined amount of time later with Todd’s body on top of his. Once he stopped and just listened, felt for his brother's heartbeat, and nearly cried out in relief when he felt it. Faint, but there and alive. 

Thirty minutes in, he guessed, Damian coughed up blood, but with the cloth in his mouth, he only choked on it. He didn’t have the choice to be careful as he dropped Jason, and no doubt jostled the sword. He gagged and vomited all over the sand beneath him. 

Damian’s face hid the sand, mixing with blood and covering him in a gross feeling. I have to get up. 

Damian blacks out. 

But he doesn’t stop; standing with much difficulty, Damian reconciles the fabric now soaked in spit and blood and begins his backwards walk. Their footsteps are no longer visible, but Damian memorized the way to and from on the way there. 

His mind was on autopilot, and Damian wasn’t really there. 

He didn’t really feel his wounds pulse from the sand coating them. Nor did he see the stray glass that somehow lodged in his foot. If he had really been there he would have cursed someone at his fucking luck. Instead, his green eyes were glazed over, half lidded as all kinds of liquid poured from his mouth. 

Anyone near would say they heard something akin to growling, maybe grunting, from the force it took to drag a fully grown, pit-enhanced man with only his teeth, with only his jaw that was no doubt bruised. 

It’s only later, when Damian’s back hits a tall object, that he presses his head hard behind him and triggers the defense off, sending a ramp down. He does not unclench his jaw, he will not let go until they are safe. Instead, Damian drags Jason’s heavy body up the cold metal ramp and has trouble getting him past the slight incline. 

Batplane begins cooling the moment they’re inside. Damian almost drops before he’s even gotten Jason up. 

-

“The mission is not over until you are safe at base.”

-

Damian Al Ghul Wayne grits his jaw tighter and yanks two hundred pounds up and into the cockpit. 

He wasn’t really there; if he had been, Damian would have felt his jaw crack and break, forcing itself open with the painful weight of Jason Peter Todd. The man dropped, and his trained eyes focused on the blood seeping all around them both. Damian, on his knees, jaw hanging open, and blood, vomit, spit, and tears streaming out without ceasing. 

Damian wasn’t really there. He wasn’t scared. But he knew he had to crawl to the control panel and hit autopilot. He knew he had to because the plane wasn’t moving. It was like moving a mountain, throwing one leg up so he could stand, and it didn’t even work. Damian collapsed back onto the floor, face first, sending another excruciating wave of pain throughout all his senses. 

He crawled forward. As far as he could reach, and he pulled himself, hiding every single cry of pain, because - the mission is not over until you’re safe at base-”

Finally, years later, he reached the panel and slammed his forehead onto the big black button, flopping onto the chair halfway and wheezing at the pain it inflicted on his ribs. The plane began to move, but Damian wasn’t done; he reached forward and pushed the blue lever up all the way, full speed. 

Then he flopped back down, willing, willing with nothing but sheer will, to stay awake. He had to get Jason Todd back to base, safe back at base. 

Tim hadn’t been busy, not necessarily. 

He’s always busy, but just makes time; no one ever seems to get that. Red Robin duties, relationship duties, CEO duties? Guys? 

He wasn’t doing something life or death serious, just answering emails, no, hell no, he didn’t want to, but if they weren’t sent to him, he should really read them.

So not really, Tim wasn’t busy when Dick barges in, slamming the library door open so hard it hits the softener so hard it bounces back and hits Richard “Dick” Grayson in the nose, resulting in a cry of pain and two tan arms reaching up to his face. 

“Jeez, what happened?” Dick, rubs his nose ever so lightly and steps forward, around the door this time. “Damian and Jason are missing,” comes the muffled and nasally reply. Tim grimaces at both, moving his laptop off his lap and standing, stretching his arms high above his head. 

“Jason, sure, but both of them?” Dick nods, stopping arms length away from Tim. He watches his big brother reach and and just lightly tap his shoulder. The older only sighs, finally moving his hand when Tim raises a brow. 

“I jus’ had to make sure you’re real.” He nodded. “Yeah no, I don't really want to go on a hellish vacation with two demons.” Dick snorts. Then suddenly his expression sours, “Well, I’m going back down to the batcave to track them down, you’ll be okay up here?” He'd be lying if he said Dicks overbearing and overprotective nature didn’t piss him off sometimes, but right now was not one of those moments. 

And the look his big brother was sporting made it no easier to be optimistic for the man who’d done so so many times for all of them. ”I’m sure they’re fine, or, well… alive, they’re definitely alive.” Tim slapped a hand onto Dicks left shoulder and attempted a comforting smile. “I’ll be fine in my own house. Once I shower, I’ll come down and join you.” 

Tim’s comfort seemed to work a little, Dick relaxed under his hand and grinned at his comment. But he shrugged and then sighed, lifting his arm to pat Tim’s outstretched one. “Yeah, thanks, Tim, you’re pretty great.” The praise did not go straight to his head. 

No. 

“Yeah, I know, now go find our brothers.” 

They both exchanged one last smile before heading their separate ways. Dick went left towards the cave entrance, and Tim to the right, he’d use the guest shower to be quicker. He only felt slightly bad about putting more work on Alfred’s shoulders—

When suddenly the smoke alarm was going off - but it wasn’t for a fire, no, this was the ‘smoke alarm’ for the batcave emergency. Tim turned on his heel to look at Dick but the man didn’t even spare him a glance before taking off down the hall. 

“Come on, Tim!” He didn’t have to be told twice. Not as fast as Dick, who’d had a head start, but he made his way down to the cave, fearful that this alarm could only mean bad things for Jason and Damian. 

Oh, how right he was. 

Three minutes out of the manor, the Batplane began to speak about their arrival, shocking Damian out of his glazed state. 

He gasped in pain. Nearly toppling over Jason, who was still limp under him, it looked as if he’d been just sitting on his knees beside Jason and staring. The extent of damage was impossible for Damian to tell with his own condition, but he could check for a pulse. 

As the Batplane dropped into the cave, landing with a low purr and then silence, whooshing air, the ramp opened. Damian’s pulsing cheek pressed against Jason’s warm chest. 

.

..

…

Nothing. 

Damian was scared. Still, his arms wouldn’t cooperate, his fingers twitched when he tried to move them, begging to be able to pick his ahki up and get him help. Compressions were not an option; all he could do was bite down on the revolting cloth and pull like he’d done for so long before. 

It was a losing game, Damian’s jaw gave every few seconds, but he somehow made it without dropping him or blacking out onto the floor beside the batcomputer. Tears rolled down his bloody face, wails escaping as each second he couldn’t do anything passed. 

“Ahki!!” Damian wailed, slamming the emergency button with his face and dropping to Jason’s side. His limp arms swung and hit the limp man’s right arm as Damian lifted himself over him. Pressing his useless mouth to Jason’s and trying desperately to give life-saving breaths. It wasn’t working, it was  - nothing would work his mouth wouldn’t cooperate! He knows how to preform CPR! Why won’t his body listen?!

It was useless, useless! Useless useless useless useless! Damian was fucking useless! 

“Damian!” His big brother's voice cut through his screams, blue eyes dropping from the littlest to Jason with a gut-wrenching cry. Yes, they would be safe, Dick would help Jason! To Damian’s distress, Dick went to him first. 

Damian couldn’t help but scream and tried to speak uselessly, pushing Grayson back and - “Ahki!” - wailing.

It seemed that was all Dick needed to scoop up the larger man and sprint faster than Damian’s ever seen him go, towards the medbay. “Clark!” Someone yelled, and then there was air whooshing, but he didn’t hear it. 

They were safe at base. His ahki was being treated and, and he would make it, even if Damian had to pull himself together again and turn the batplane right back around to the Lazarus Pit. 

Tim came into his view from rushing down the stairs, reaching his arms out to Damian before he was even in reach. He didn’t process the look of utter horror on his face, or his knees hitting the floor as everything just gave out. 

He fell forwards as green eyes rolled into the back of his head, the lullaby of his own name being screamed, accompanied him into deep darkness.

Jason came to first, by some miracle.

Really and truly, he should not have been the first to wake up. Surprisingly to him, though, it was in the Batcave medbay, not the hospital. 

Don’t get him wrong, he’s beyond glad for that, but he’d expected… wait - what the fuck? 

Abruptly, he sits up, groaning out in pain as his side screams louder than he ever could. “Jason! Down!” Unmistakably Alfred’s voice, a very Alfred thing to say to Red Hood. It works, though, Jason curses and lies back. 

Only for a few seconds does he close his eyes and regain some control. When he opens them, he sees his entire family in the room staring right at him. Each of them, without fail, has tears either building in their eyes or streaming down their face. 

What’s most telling is Bruce’s face, evidence of many hours of crying clear on his face and tears rolling down it again. “Jayson…” he gasped, sinking back into his chair that screamed ‘at my fucking limit’ with each movement Bruce’s bigass body made. 

“Uhh,” Jason just stares back at everyone, seeing Dicks sobbing face, Tim’s tearing up eyes, Cass the same as Tim, Blondie was full on crying as well, Alfred was crying over him, messing with something to his left. “I’m uh- guessing the mission did—” and then a thought hit him. 

Square in the chest, and knocked the wind out of him. 

“Damian!” Alfred was there to gently push him back down when he jolted upright angain, and then moved to the left. Motioning for Jason to look past where he’d been standing, the sight nearly made him want to vomit, or cry, maybe scream. 

Damian’s tiny form lay in the same bed he was laying in, a few feet away. bandages wrapped all around his head and jaw. Blood soaked the front like he’d woken up and coughed all over himself, surely Alfred would have… with the fragility of the injury, maybe he couldn’t. 

The blanket was pulled up to his lap, since he was sitting up elevated as much as the unconscious boy could be. A broken sound somehow escaped Jason, and someone’s cold hand rested on his right forearm. He couldn’t take his eyes away from Damian, though. 

So… he’s so small. Looking so hurt on the bed that Jason had no doubt put him there. 

He barely remembers anything from the mission, which could mean one of two things. 

1) his memory was wiped from the past… few hours? Highly unlikely. 

Or 2) it was a pit episode, on a mission, to Nanda Parbat. Fucking great! Jason! As if sensing his thoughts, Dick spoke up from beside him. “It’s… he will be okay, we don’t know what happened, but he carried you here.” 

Jason felt immense guilt washes over him, and instead of crying like Dick would do, he just wanted to hit something. It made him angry that the little demon brat that he’d dragged onto this stupid ass mission had saved his ass and gotten fucking hurt because of it! 

Wait. 

“What do you mean he carried me here? The kids arms were numbed.” Leslie took that moment to walk in, a grim expression painted over her face. Jason’s green eyes landed on the filthy jacket - his filthy jacket in her hands. 

“I might have some answers for that.” Her lithe fingers dropped the jacket onto Jason's covered feet and then dragged over their computer on wheels. Tim ducked his head and looked away, his shoulders rising nearly to his ears. 

“With the help of Timothy, I looked through the camera records and saw this.” She stepped in front of the cart and moved the mouse around, clicked something before pressing a button, and a clear view of the Batcave materialized. 

They all watched, excluding Tim, Jason assumed he’d already seen it. His heartbroken body language didn’t help Jason’s racing heart; he tried to calm it as the beeping was very loud, but as he watched, it only rose. 

The Batplane landed, and the ramp extended. Jason expected Damian to come running out with a limp and useless Jason over his shoulder. Spitting curses and threatening to tarnish his name forever if he dies again, because he detested that stupid thing they all say about killing you if you die. 

Jason can practically hear him saying it. If you’re dead, I cannot simply kill you again! 

Instead, he hears faint, but there, cries. Screaming, Damian’s screaming. Bruce inhales sharply. Seems this is his first time seeing this, too. Jason’s eyes don’t leave the Batplane. 

Next thing they see is a figure, walking backwards down the ramp with his arms limp and dripping blood beside him. Everyone is silent, taking in the revelation. Taking in the scene before them, Tim’s eyes duck over to Damian in his lonely little bed. Amongst the chaos, he slips over undetected and grasps Damian’s left hand, pressing it up against his forehead in a rare and raw show of vulnerability and care. 

Damian has Jason’s jacket bundled up in his broken jaw, carrying his body out of the jet. 

“Oh my go…” 

“No,” 

“Master…” 

Back on screen, Damian stumbles and drops them both. Jason’s useless body slams hard into him and rolls onto his back. The image makes his side ache, but it’s Damian who has his attention. The boy forces himself up with nothing but his legs and head, just as Jason remembers in the desert. His arms had been numbed. 

And he’d carried me here somehow. 

Another wail, from Damian and his broken jaw. The sound is gross and sad and makes Jason’s gut clench, his stomach and throat clench like he’s drowning. “Ahki!!” All of them hear him loud and clear, only a few knowing what it means. 

It hits Jason hardest, “Habibi…” his tone is mourning.

Somehow, Damian gets him over to the batcomputer and drops him. “Thank God,” Jason exhales in relief for Damian’s jaw. His hallelujah is barely heard. If anyone had questioned how he’d hit the alarm, it was quickly answered when they watched him slam his head into the button and then stagger back. 

Dick has now gone too, away from his side. 

Damian stumbled over to Jason, and dropped down, doing something over him, when the camera angle changes and Leslie looks away, Jason spares her a long enough look to see a tear rolling down her face. She quickly tries to swipe it away. 

This angle shows Damian desperately trying to do CPR on Jason. Steph’s sob breaks the previous quiet spell. Cass is immediately there to comfort her, letting the blonde bury her face into the black haired woman’s chest. Rubbing soothing circles on her back. 

Everyone seems to be coping now, no one but him and Bruce is staring at the screen still. Damian calls his name - Damian calls for him - before Dickie comes into frame and Jason can’t help but think he’s one failure of an older brother and a younger brother the way Dick cries. 

He rushes over to them and attempts to help Damian, good, Jason thinks, before that thought is squashed when Damian screams, “Ahki!” And damn near convulses. 

Dick, to Jason’s disagreement, scoops him up and runs to the medbay. It’s quite a humbling experience to see his self dying with a sword in his gut. No doubt, the pit is the only reason he’s alive. 

Damian stands wobbly and then Tim is there; fuck, he’d really let everyone see his mess of a self. Leslie cuts off the video right as Damian falls into Tim’s arms. 

She speaks next, and he hates her just a little bit for it. 

“I… He carried Jason presumably for an extended period before his jaw broke. In this video, Damian’s jaw is already broken. Hence, the speech and inability to.. carry him ..further.” Jason's full body flinched. 

“If you… When you’re ready, I would appreciate a detailed explanation on where you went and what happened.” Leslie turned to look at him, but all he could do was turn away in shame. “I… I don't remember it all.” 

Steph spoke up next, her voice raw and ragged from crying so hard. 

“Look! I get you don’t like him, for trying to kill Tim! But don’t pull that shit! He needs you to tell us so Leslie can help him! Don’t be fucking selfi-” it wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell them. Or even that he only remembered a few things, Jason loved Damian Al Ghul and would do anything to keep him safe. 

Today, he’d failed him in more ways than he can count. 

“Shut up!” He heaved, and the heart monitor spiked dangerously. “I don’t fucking remember! Because I was having a stupid fucking pit episode! I was probably cruel as hell to him, and I don’t remember!” Bruce was at his side, a broken expression clamped down under a guise of worry. 

“Jay, hey, calm down.” 

“I remember snapping at him, I… brushed him off, a lot. ” He remembers bits and pieces but he knows, more than anything he knows that he gets so fucking angry under the pits madness. No doubt, he’d helped mess the kid up so badly. 

“We took on a lot of League members, he got- he got hit with numbing darts, in his arms- then he carried my useless ass an hour through the desert to the Batplane with his teeth.” No one made a sound, besides sniffles and whines. 

He didn’t know how long it’s been, but he was exhausted and just wanted to see his little brother, his - “…Ahki?” A small voice called out and both Tim and Dicks eyes shot to Jason, but he was already up and out of bed, making a show of how careful he was being with his wounds so Leslie, or one of his other overbearing family members didn’t scold him. 

“Habibi, don't speak,” his accent was no longer as thick as it used to be, but the words carried nonetheless. Damian’s eyes peeled open with much force and his clearly drugged-out expression landed on Tim and Dick before Jason laid a hand on his shoulder. 

Damian sighed. A thing of relief that made Jason want to claw his eyes out and feed them to Alfred the cat. Watch with his ears as the animal Damian loved so much devoured the damn things. 

“I’m here, Habibi, I’m so sorry,” Damian’s entire body hurt, his head was pounding to the point where he didn’t know if he’d be able to get his next muffled word out. Speaking hurt like he was being stabbed, but he could see his ahki alive and in front of him. 

“We-” the pain blinded him for a minute, he came too again with voices yelling at him to stop speaking, but he had to get this out, he was fine. He’d broken his jaw before, this pain was nothing compared to seeing his brother, dead. 

“Did… it, ahki.” Jason nodded, real tears rolling down his cheeks, clean cheeks, and Damian reached a hand out, not to punch, or stab, or block from a hit, but to trace his cheek. “Yes,” Jason breathed, clasping his hands over Damian’s. 

“You did it.” 

Damian had very nearly died, otherwise, Ahki wouldn’t be crying. He’s barely ever seen Todd cry, but the way Tim and Dick were beside him, Tim gripping his left hand like it was keeping him alive, it’s clear he almost lost his life saving his brother. 

Damian wasn’t scared of death, if it meant completing his mission and bringing Ahki back to base safely, then death was a blessing. 

Damian was really there, otherwise, he would have missed Jason’s soft squeeze and his quiet “I'm sorry.” 

Chapter Text

He was still in the pure white bed when Bruce scolded both of them. Damian’s swelling was long gone, but it still caused faint pain whenever he tried to talk, he was still pretty far from completed healing. 

Jason could barely look the boy in the face, guilt and shame raved at the edge of his soul, desperately trying to pull him away, into a place where he’ll never come back from. Damian, in his own silent ways, kept trying to reassure him it wasn’t his fault, but… it literally was. 

Every day that passed his memory returned, he knows he’d punched his fucking face—he can see the bruise still?! Damian was… he was so kind for being so bratty. Dick would taunt him, saying some shit like ‘are you now the head of the protect Damian club?’ Fuck yes. He was, actually. 

At night, he curled Damian comfortably into his arms and kept him safe till he woke, neither of them mentioning that it was because he was trying to keep him safe for all the times he’d hurt him, or caused him to be hurt. The littlest Wayne was not very fond of being solely vulnerable, even around his brother, for in the mornings when Alfred and or his father would come check on him, they’d be caught, each time. 

Weeks passed and Damian was allowed out of bed, supervised of course, Dick never let him out of his sight, Tim was more talkative with him, not in a pressuring way, but the sight of him that night must have shaken his ( reluctantly ) brother to the bone. No one had mentioned the footage, and tonight, Damian was going to review it. 

He was bored, really, Jason was forced to go back to his home to take care of his job, he’d basically had to be ripped away from Damian, he did feel bad, he wanted to make sure his brother was healing well from the injuries he’d suffered, but Damian is not so dumb as to not know he was the most injured. 

It’s… quite embarrassing, not being able to speak for the first few days, weeks, even. Being coddled and cuddled by his brothers, and the constant overseeing of his existence by his father, not allowed on patrols, which he sadly understood, and the yelling that was taking place right now. Jason had come back, and Bruce, his father, took that as a sign to begin his scolding. 

“Jason, you know this could have killed Damian.” Not pulling any punches, Damian watched the eldest brother flinch and turn his head away. This blunder would not magically allow Bruce to ‘parent’ Jason after years of tension, but he did understand he’d directly endangered the man’s blood son; and while he was staying at their his house, he’d let the man scold him. 

For old times' sake. 

“Damian. You… you’re smart, and you saved your brother's life, but next time you should know to call for backup, you knew Jason wasn’t in his right mind, and still went alone. That was stupid and selfish; you both could have died.” Damian hung his head low, father was not saying anything that wasn’t true, even if the truth made Jason want to punch Batman, it was the bluntness that pissed Red Hood off the most. 

“Yes, father.” There was a pregnant pause before Bruce spoke again. He looked up at his two sons, one big and bulky, bare of any bandages, sitting with an ankle to his knee, and one looking so small on the couch beside him. The father sat in a lone chair in front of them, the family room was empty at this time, adding to the scornful atmosphere. 

“But,” the man began. “I am glad you are both safe… and we do now have the information we need.” Jason had to work double time to not grin like a madman, smirk, and spit in Bruce’s face: ‘Hell yeah, we got that, I got that all on my own, ’ but he’s no longer a child, so. 

“Tim got to work on that the night after you got back. We can move on to the next part of the plan, thanks to you two.” In hindsight, Damian and most of all Jason should have seen it coming, a sandwich, you have to sandwich the bad with good, his therapist's voice echoed in his head. 

“Damian, you’re benched unless I decide you're specifically needed, Jason, since he is on medical leave,” the glint in Bruce’s eyes hinted at the sly plan. Batman was the greatest detective after all. Jason wanted to groan. 

“I’ll need someone to watch over him, and I’m afraid Alfred is just so busy with me and the manor,” so you’ll need to stay and watch him, goes unsaid, but does it really? 

Damian huffs, as much as his pain allows, and crosses his arms. Bruce looks smug, hiding it amazingly well, but Jason can tell this. “Of course, Bruce. I’d love to babysit your kid.” 

“Perfectly well, then we must make haste to the dining hall, it’s an exciting day for master Damian.” Alfred pops his head in through the door, clapping his gloved white hands and smiling in a sly grin that the two little Wayne’s parallel to their fathers. Like father, like son. 

“Today, Master Damian will eat mashed potatoes on his own!” Humiliating. Damian thinks, wishing he could bark out some reply, but his face feels like it’s going to explode. He is… quite ready to graduate from soft tube-fed food or protein meal replacement drinks. 

“That sounds wonderful, Alfred. Damian? Do you need any help?” The question being asked by his father frustrated him to no end; he’s not weak, nor does he need help from him. So he blinks twice and voices his displeasure. His father only smiles softly, planting a weird feeling in Damian’s chest. 

From his side, Jason relaxes and sighs. Alfred and Bruce are already making their way out, it seems they trust the two kids ( well, two sons ) to arrive in the dining room without delay. “We should hurry,” Damian tries, when neither of them moves. His brother only sits there, arms stretched out on the couch behind him. 

“Damian.” He nearly flinches; the tone is what’s striking. Todd sounds almost…melancholy? Damian glances over, feigning confidence when he’s really scared of what his Akhi could say. 

“I…” They both wait, and it takes a few minutes for Jason to form his words, though every passing second, Damian grows more and more uneasy. “You saved my life,” the man says, not looking at him; he’s staring down at the floor as he speaks. Damian is looking right at him. 

“You deserved better than that, and I know it.

You don’t… I shouldn’t have ever, ever put you in a position… hell, I shouldn’t have put you in a position like that ever, no matter the circumstances.” If Damian were any less trained, he would have flinched hard when Todd abruptly turned to face him, a determined look on his face and making his eyes glow. They’re not green, like they are when he gets mad, they’re not dark, when he is sad. 

Jason just looks… desperate. 

“Brat, you are important, to me, and I’m sorry that you had to go through all that again, I’m a fucking horrible big bro for putting you through that.” Damian’s eyes widen, his jaw drops just slightly at these words he’d never expected to come from his brother's mouth. How sincere he looks. 

It feels like so long ago that he’d come to Wayne Manor for the first time, it feels like years since he met Jason in the League, the ever-present shadow behind his mother. Todd had always been a present, aside from the five or so years when he was Red Hood and Damian was still in the league. 

He’s only seen him react this way, look this way, a few times. He could count on one hand how many. So it’s surprising to see such… vulnerability with his second-oldest brother, his first brother. 

“Todd.. I-” Jason reaches a hand out, not bothering to bring it back when Damian flinches, they both know he’s not scared, he’s just surprised. “No,” he cuts off. “It’s not okay, if Dickiebird were here, he’d chew me out and throw me in time out till I apologize, so long ‘sorry’ won't feel like English.” 

That is quite true. Grayson has always been a big ‘words are just as important as actions’ guy.

 “I… suppose.” Damian lets him continue, shuffling in his seat slightly, to face Todd more. Mentally preparing himself for whatever surprises may come from Todd again. He’s helplessly unprepared for the unpredictable move of Jason scooping him up in a hug. 

“T-Todd!” Jason ignores his flustered cries and the lackluster attempts to remove himself, before finally settling limp and allowing Jason to get it all out. “I was scared, habibi, when I…” Damian’s breathing halts, the reaction was subconscious, awaiting Todd’s next words with literal bated breath. But Jason just gently hits his back and rubs soothing circles, reminding him to breathe. 

“You saved my life. I owe you a fuck ton, but, for once in his hundred-year-life, Bruce is right.” Damian wants to scowl. “You should have called for backup, you shouldn't have said yes at all,” Jason squeezes tighter, and it makes the littlest one want to melt, despite his body's warnings. 

“Akhi, I… wanted to be useful.” He selfishly admits. Keeping your own shortcomings to yourself was a trained mandate in the League; actually, not having any weaknesses was mandatory in the League, but humans are humans, and no matter how long one trains, weaknesses are a result of being alive. 

“You came to me, I must fulfill the desire you had for my assistance.” It’s almost a whine, or a beg; Damian finds he’s defending himself, defending why he should have gone. “I am a weapon, and I am to be wielded. If I am not being useful, then what point is my existence?” 

Jason pushed him back, and for a split second, he feared he had done something wrong; he feared that Todd was finally realizing Damian was right, he was just fulfilling his purpose, and not only had he gotten behind injured, he’d allowed his wielder to be hurt as well. 

See, this was all Damian’s fault; compromised or not, it was Damian’s job to have Jason’s back - and he’d allowed him to be hurt. In the League, this would be no problem. If a fellow assassin is injured, you are to leave them, if they are not useless and need to be saved, you use any means to get them back to the base safely. 

Damian did do that… but it was different here at Father's house. In fathers' lands, getting hurt was much more of a… problem . It was pitied and looked down upon, not in a degrading way like his grandfather would look at him, but in a hurt way. Everyone was hurt when one person was hurt, and Damian had yet to understand. 

But he knows what failure looks like, and he’s a spitting image right now. 

Insides ripped open for Todd to take advantage of if he wills, he’s vulnerable and weak, he deserves anything coming. 

“You. …your moms a bitch.” 

…

What? 

“Talia told you that, didn’t she- fuck, I remember that! She’d constantly ‘remind you’ that useless things get killed!” Jason looked livid, his eyes… they weren’t green, though. What did that mean? Clearly, he was angry, if the shaking hands on his shoulders and the clench in his jaw had anything to say. 

“I-” Todd just-? His - Todd had just called his mother a bitch! So many times today he’s been left speechless, this time his jaw has dropped and his eyes are wide for completely different yet so alike reasons than before. 

“You are not fucking useless, brat—you’re literally Robin, an’a fuckin assassin since birth! You’re…” Jason scrunched his face up, as if the words were pawing their way up his throat and leaving a trail of blood behind. 

Damian watched, shocked, as Todd steeled himself and began again. 

“You’re important, you’re Robin, and you’re smart, you’re a part of this family, and you help Alfred out more than anyone here. Titus and the cat need you, all of your animals need you- your—” he inhales. “Your family needs you. Robin or Damian. Both are fucking important, kid.” 

Well, smack him sideways and call him Ra’s Al Ghul. What the hell… 

“T-Todd!” Damian purses his lips, heat filling his face, no doubt he’s red as can be. His olive skin does a little in Damian’s favor, hiding from the quickest peering eye just for a moment, but Jason is relentless in his sabotages. 

His Akhi aims to fluster him again, pulling him flush against himself in yet another bone-crushing hug. His head begins to hurt, frankly, Damian couldn’t care less right now. 

“Thank you for taking care of your stupid big brother, brat.” The last sentiment tacked on does a little to sate Damian’s worry. Now he may have an out, more than Damian can or does say, he appreciates it. 

“Tt, do not call me a brat, I am-…” 

“I am your brother, and son of The Bat.” Slowly, he pats Todd’s back. The man only stifles a laugh and crushes him closer. It’s only when Damian feels himself growing lightheaded that Todd lets him free and stands to his feet, wrapped up in minutes of straight embarrassment, Damian does not see Jason wipe tears from his face. 

Damian really is growing soft. 

“Come on, demon brat, let’s go eat. Alfred’s probably giving our plates to Titus already.” Careful not to jostle his head, Damian stands. Scoffing at his brother's dramatics. 

“We have not been absent that long.” Jason shrugs, opening the door for them both before speaking again. They walk down the hallway side by side. “You know Dickiebirds gonna act like it’s been hours.” That catches his attention, breaking his gaze from ahead, Damian stares up at Jason. 

“Richard is here?” He had not been informed, though the thought made him excited. He’s quite like, though he’d never admit aloud, to watch a movie of his eldest brother's choice. Maybe Jaso—Todd would stay. 

“Of course dickface’s here, he’s been glued here ever since you, you know, broke your fucking face.” 

“It was my jaw, Todd! Do not be so dramatic!” They bicker until the kitchen doors are in sight, then they both remember they’re eating in the dining hall, and they bicker all the way there as well. 

“Master Damian, young Master Jason. Please do find your seats swiftly.” Alfred’s head, again, pops out of the doors, swinging them open and stepping aside. Damian only nods and walks forward, but Jason, however, has issues! 

“Why am I ‘young’ ?! Damian’s the littlest shit!” The butler only gently guides him to his seat, smiling widely as he pushes the chair in for him, he’s to the right of Steph, who- when the hell did she-? 

“My my, Master Jason, as I recall, only young children throw tantrums.” He flounders, staring, nearly betrayed, as Alfred walks off to pass out plates. Seemed instead of throwing their plates out, the family had waited. “Do not be so distraught, Todd, you shall grow up eventually.” Damian was hiding his grin quite well, but Jason knew it well enough to see its beginnings. 

He’s talking more, the second oldest brother notes. 

For the sake of seeing his youngest brother grin more, Jason keeps up the petulant child act and times the Wayne Al Ghul up more. His smirk is comforting, at least to Jason. Seeing the little boy who was wailing his name a few weeks ago, begging him to wake up and comfort him… 

Yeah, seeing Damian hide his devilish grin was comforting. 

Dick pulled the little boy into a side hug from across the table, gushing about his head and wounds, calling him baby bat, and making sure the hug didn’t jostle him too much. They all watch Dick press a kiss to his nose. Damian scrambled away, pushing Dick back into his seat, no longer limply taking the Dickie bear hug and hiding his face behind his glass of water. 

“Damian,” Bruce calls from the head of the table, Alfred standing beside him, holding a silver pitcher of water. “I’m glad to see you doing better.” And then smiles. 

Damian, already flustered, hangs his head low, obscuring his clearly bashful expression from collective view. Tim snorts and scrapes his fork against his plate. Dick sends him a gentle glare, while Steph bursts out laughing. 

It’s utterly… It's preposterous! Not only is Todd smearing his name, but Grayson just openly kissed him! He shall never live down this shame! Father had seen it happen; he’ll surely never look at Damian the same. Drake was laughing at him, the shame would be too great. 

“-you’re a part of this family-” rings loudly in his head, an ever-present reminder as the words stick to his eyelids, forcing them to be at the front of his mind. “Your family needs you-” 

“No more taunting, children, lest you young masters wish to be put in your places.” Everyone shuts up at that, not at all wanting the wrath of Alfred, the one man The Bat never stands up against, to reign down on them. 

Damian smirks again, the confidence from before returning tenfold. Alfred and the boy share a look. Each family member keeps any last comment or jab to themselves, happy to see Damian back up and smirking.  

“Tt, it is truly a wonder that I am the youngest, ” Bruce smirks behind his lasagna. Alfred smiles his usual innocent smile. “Truly, sir, truly.” 

(Damian did not check the footage later, he found no need.)