Work Text:
The hospital Damian has chosen to volunteer for doesn’t exactly stand out with a unique design. On the outside the building looks rather grim and unwelcoming, with cracks all over making you scared a chunk of it is going to fall off at any given moment. It’s the interior that saves the entire thing, really. White walls, somehow even whiter floor, beige chairs near every door — all illuminated by the lights that shine brighter than they probably should. It’s… decent. Unnervingly clean if anything.
The typical hospital smells (the awesome mix of cleaning products, all sorts of medicine transferred around, bodily fluids) don’t come off as a surprise either. Far from ideal, right into his first several hours Damian ends up running off towards the restroom to cough his lungs out in secret once or twice. If anyone he’s working with today has noticed what he is doing, they don’t say a word about it. Damian likes to think they just haven’t.
Damian’s list of duties is exactly what you’d expect it to be, nothing grand or rigorous, albeit it does wonders for his spirit. He keeps many of the patients company, performs simple tasks such as helping them go for a brief walk or bringing them food. He reads short stories to the kids, distracts them when it’s time to get their blood drawn with hand movements and noises nobody outside of this place can know for the sake of his own dignity.
It’s always Maps that sits near him at school, genuine wonder about how he manages to find contentment in getting bitten by little feisty babies, or losing bingo matches to a room full of old ladies. Damian doesn’t usually argue with her about it, recognizing the sincerity of her interest. Nonetheless it’s nothing he can simply explain to anyone no matter how he looks at it, he just does. On particularly irritating days he threatens to bring her with him, and with each time she seems more and more appealed by the idea. Maybe someday he actually will.
The day passes quickly like this, without any big bumps. It’s productive, much to his own satisfaction.
And then the nurses ran out of tasks to give him. Not that Damian can blame them for it, there’s only so much you can entrust a fifteen year old volunteer without sounding insane — even if that fifteen year old happens to be greatly skilled in any matter they could need. And yet, no one but Damian himself holds such information, so when he is told to spend the little amount of time he still has left in the hospital on “exploring the building better” he has no choice but to bite down on his lip, nod, and do exactly that.
The first floor greets him hostilely, from the second he steps outside of the elevator. Somehow the lights are brighter here, something he was sure was impossible merely several seconds ago. Damian, as he finally adjusts his vision, lets out a small tutting sound that gets lost in all of the noise surrounding him. According to the fancy clock on the wall, he still has forty minutes left before his work here is officially done. Hoping that something will eventually come up for him to do in the meanwhile is futile activity, he doesn’t really bother.
And so he proceeds to walk around, observing, thinking about what to do after he is done and—
He hears it before he sees it.
A scream, barely sounding human. It dies down as quickly as it came to be. And then it echoes through the hall again and again and again. It’s uncomfortable. Raw and grating. Familiar.
It’s not hard to put the pieces together, to recognize what is happening even before he looks. Maybe he shouldn’t have. Probably, most definitely— Undeniably, he shouldn’t have looked. What he should have done is turned around, left the scene and pretended he was never there. Damian knows it’s bound to happen, it’s a public hospital where every bit of your pain will always be on the display. Damian also knows it’s too delicate, too personal to be witnessed by him like this, when he is capable to leave.
Shamefully enough, he doesn’t.
It’s hard for him to figure out the kid’s age, their frame being almost fully covered by a man holding them through every violent shake and twitch, embrace tight but not crushing. For a brief second all Damian can see is the child’s face, fully red from sobbing, before they bury it into the man’s chest, muffling their own screams.
The man is himself remains stoic for the child’s sake. He knows how it goes all too well. The doctor standing near them doesn’t intervene, waiting patiently to say something else.
Damian doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at them. His skin is tingly, he is not thinking properly. Really, why is he here?
“Damian?” He hears a low voice to his right. “What are you doing here?”
“Nothing.” Damian’s body jerks violently at the question, as if he just got caught committing an unforgivable act of sin. Well, he could argue it’s almost the truth. He forces himself to look up at the person. “I was only looking around Dr. Rowe, I didn’t mean to—”
“I see,” she says softly, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Mind if we move a bit?”
He agrees with a light head nod, letting her lead both of them away from the scene. Once they’ve covered the needed distance Dr. Rowe’s expression turns sour. “Have you checked the news?”
“No,” Damian says. His hand automatically moves towards the right pocket of his scrub, where his phone is. The phone that he deliberately turned off every notification from, making sure only personal emergencies could come through. He didn’t exactly pay attention to the news on television screens either.
“There was a shooting several hours ago. I cannot tell you what happened there, you will have to check that for yourself if you want. People got hurt, and one of them didn’t make it. It was not,” she takes a pause, thinking. “It’s just hard Damian. Sometimes you know your patients have slim chances at survival, you try your best anyway but it just… doesn’t work out. The people you saw, his father and little brother. I think we should give them some space.”
“Oh,” is all Damian manages to say. More context only makes his embarrassment grow bigger. His fingers twitch. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stared.”
“Oh no kid, it’s not your fault,” she assures him, squeezing his shoulder. “I know how it goes, we can’t always control our reactions to things. You probably froze, didn’t you?”
Damian doesn’t like how she’s talking to him. He doesn’t need coddling, doesn’t need to all of this explained to him like he’s a child that is yet to find out how real life works. He is here, admitting his faults, the pity is far from necessary.
He grits his teeth to make sure he’s not going to lash out, nerves ready to give out any second. Damian respects Dr. Rowe, so he’ll stay calm. Even if he wants to throw up right in front of her.
“Yeah.” He nods once more, carelessly throwing her hand off of himself. “I guess I did.”
If she is upset by the action, she doesn’t show it. “That’s okay.”
“I think I’ll leave early.”
“That’s also okay.” She gives him a little hand wave. “You did good today. Don’t forget to sign your name at the receptionist?”
“I won’t.”
He doesn’t sign out. Everyone knows he was there, performing all of the tasks assigned to him. If it causes a problem — he’ll fix it later.
Or he won’t.
It doesn’t matter now, does it?
All Damian wants to do is get out as soon as possible, get rid of his name tag and his scrub, leaving it all behind by tossing them into the nearest vacant chair, right near the entrance doors.
It’s dark outside, overly cold. As he stares at the empty road ahead of him, the daunting realization that shame is not as easy to leave behind as a piece of clothing catches up to him. Nor is it easy to throw away the screams of child that just lost his big brother, the look on his face, the look on Dr. Rowe’s face, her words, all of it. This is not how it was supposed to go. Just a stupid mistake, easily avoided if he stayed in his lane.
He unblocks his phone. He could call father to take him home but the idea of ordering a cab sounds more bearable.
Notifications flood his screen instantly, he skims through them swiftly. A text from Maps, a brand promotional text, another text from Maps but from another app, a missed call from Colin, and a swarm of texts from… Stephanie.
Damian doesn’t know why he feels the sudden need to specifically open hers first. He does so anyway.
[Currently Stephanie]
they overcharged me on my drink today
AVENGE ME DAMIAN
[Currently Stephanie]
im kidding they overcharged me 0.12 cents dont actually do anything
also i know youre doing your volunteering work today so
good luck
[Currently Stephanie]
ik youre busy and stuff and i should probably talk to someone else
ill delete these later
cass is still not answering as you already know i wanna squeeze her head with my hands
lovingly <33
and then of courseee
of course your dumbass, idiot of a brother had to go out and get fucking shot
and be put in a hospital
damiannnnn
i hate your family
Damian stares at the screen, rereads it over and over, soaking in every single word Stephanie has sent him. She doesn’t mention a name but Damian knows exactly who she is talking about, because who else? His indeed a dumbass, indeed an idiot of an older brother.
Tim fucking Drake.
And nobody bothered to tell him.
[You]
I hate them too
Which hospital?
[Currently Stephanie]
oh hi
we both the last to find out then?
[You]
Mhm
[Currently Stephanie]
its the mercy hospital
room 248
dames are you okay??
[You]
Yes
[Currently Stephanie]
take care
The cab comes in with a record speed, at least in that regard he is lucky. The ride itself doesn’t take long either, and even if it did — Damian is not sure he’d notice. It’s not often he feels like this, like… nothing. Too deep in his own mind, yet not a single comprehensive thought he can latch onto. A scream after scream, static, scream.
The scents follow him. So do Stephanie’s words. So does everything. Accumulating in his head, in his stomach, on his back — when he opens the car’s door and gets out, the metaphorical weight doesn’t feel all that metaphorical anymore, as if physically dragging him down and almost making Damian stumble and fall on the pavement.
He marches into the hospital, straight to the elevator. He is not all that familiar with the Mercy Hospital, at least not yet. But he is decent enough to know where to look.
Damian probably needs to talk to the receptionist first. Damian also most definitely doesn’t care.
He passes the rooms in a hurry. Room 240 to 242, then room 245…
Room 248.
And just as expected, Timothy’s annoying boyfriend is standing there, blocking the entrance, busy scrolling on his phone.
“Dowd.”
“Damian?” Bernard quickly turns off his phone to stare at him. “I didn’t expect you here, hi. Came to visit Tim?”
Damian tuts. “What do you think?”
“Yeah, dumb question,” he agrees, smiling awkwardly. “I don’t think I can let you in just yet, I’m sorry kid. He is trying to sleep.”
“I don’t care,” Damian snaps. “He’ll live.”
He’ll live. He better. Ugh.
“Listen Damian, I get that you’re worried, we all are. But he needs this sleep and I’m not letting it be disturbed.”
“What?” Damian’s voice cracks. “Dowd, you cannot be this much of a moron. I’m not worried, I just…”
And he just what? He didn’t think about this. At all.
Fucking hell, he is worried, isn’t he? Yet Damian would not admit this in front of him in a million years.
“I just wanted to come so father doesn’t start giving me stupid lectures about not showing up again.”
“Yeah, right. And that look you got, frantic and all is just for aesthetics I guess.”
Damian is going to slice this man up with his mind. “You either move on your own, or I’ll move you.”
“You know what? Fine. Go in.” He finally moves away, gesturing at the door with his hands. “I am not fighting my boyfriend’s little brother. Just don’t take too long.”
“As if I would want to,” Damian huffs, entering the room.
Dowd, as it turns out, wasn’t lying. Not that he had any reasons to of course.
The room is dark, only light source being the big window, half-covered by a curtain. Timothy is quiet, lying soundly on his hospital bed, most probably already asleep. He has no idea what kind of medicine they got him, dealing with gunshot pain is not exactly easy. He assumes they could have easily knocked him out.
Damian doesn’t dare turn on the lights, as promised he is not here for long.
Timothy is alive, that much he knew from the beginning. He is also stable, Damian knew that, too. Yet he cannot imagine not coming here, not making sure on his own. He stares at his brother maybe too intensely, listening to his breathing, watching his body twitch in subtle ways. He’s alive. He’s breathing, he is moving.
Ironically enough, even like this he seems more lively than Damian, who is standing still, barely taking breaths.
When did Damian become like this? He has never felt stupider.
He hears the sound of bed sheets moving.
“Hi Dames,” Tim greets him, sounding hoarse.
“Uh,” Damian hesitates, surprised. “Sorry I woke you up.”
“Nah, you didn’t,” he dismisses the concern, shifting on the bed for a better position. “I was trying to fall asleep but well. You know me. Also, what are you doing here?”
Damian clears his throat. “Father sent me.”
“No he didn’t,” Tim catches onto the lie instantly. “He told me he’d only tell you in the morning because you’d be tired from your work at the hospital.”
“Whatever.” Damian scrunches his face, annoyed. Slightly embarrassed. He cannot see Timothy’s face well enough in the dark, but he knows he has that irritating, self satisfied smile plastered on. “Stephanie did.”
“Stephanie is no boss of you. She passed down the information and then you came on your own accord. Oh Dames, I always knew you cared.”
“Shut up,” he hisses. “I came because it’s a duty. Father would get annoying about it otherwise.”
“Lies after lies.” Timothy shakes his head. “Maybe if you were still ten. Bruce is no boss of you either.”
“I’m leaving,” Damian announces louder than he intended. “I hope that bullet comes back with friends to haunt you.”
“What?” His brother laughs at him in disbelief. “Okay Damian, wait. Don’t actually go.”
“And why shouldn’t I?”
“Something is wrong, isn’t it?”
“Well, as you can see.” Damian comes closer the the bed, moving his hands around.
“You know this is not what I mean. With you. What’s up with you?”
“There’s nothing up with me. Focus on yourself more, maybe in the future you won’t make a fool of yourself again.”
“God, your heart is just not in it,” Timothy says and… extends his hand at him?
“I am not holding your hand.”
“Come on. I caught a bullet with my abdomen, my body hurts like shit no matter how many painkillers I take and I’m very tired. At least indulge me in this, why don’t you?”
This has to be some sort of manipulation. And goddamn it fucking works.
He grabs his hand. “Fine.”
“Cool.” He shrugs. “Now tell me whats wrong.”
“I told you there’s nothing wrong.”
Uh uh.
His voice cracked again.
“You were never this bad at lying,” Tim speaks, voice soft instead of mocking. “Come here.”
The hug doesn’t surprise Damian. He knew it was coming, that’s why he should have left at the first opportunity instead of staying like a fool. Because there’s no going back, it’s all set in stone now. The dam cannot hold anymore, not under so much pressure.
Damian sobs his heart out.
He cries and he cries, his mind barely registering the words of comfort his brother is whispering into his ear while lightly patting his back.
Again, this shouldn’t be going like this. Timothy shouldn’t be the one comforting him right now, and yet he is. It does nothing to ease his mind. Damian is half-afraid these feelings are never going to get better, even if his cries start to subside.
“Damian,” Tim says, this time louder. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Damian bites down on his lip, trying to organize his scrambled thoughts. “At the hospital I was in, it was going fine.”
“Okay.”
“And then, at the end I wondered off somewhere and saw what I probably shouldn’t have. It’s just,” his voice is still embarrassingly shaky, but he forces himself to go on anyway. “I know it happens a lot, but I saw a kid crying from losing his older brother because there was a shooting and…” he doesn’t end up finishing.
“Oh.” Timothy briefly stops massaging his back, starting to put two and two together. “And then you found out that I was also shot.”
Damian nods as an answer.
His brother resumes the action. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Damian snorts. “Logically I knew you were fine but somehow, it was not enough. This is humiliating, and foolish and I am just not a good person maybe.”
“Now why would you think that?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Apparently I don’t know anything. I kept looking at that child, I shouldn’t have. They didn’t notice me but it was a private moment, I should’ve left instead of staring like an idiot.”
“It’s normal to freeze in these situations Dames.”
“I know that. I don’t even know where I’m getting at with this, but the facts stay the same. You’re alive, his brother isn’t. It’s not fair.”
“Yeah, it’s not. I’m sorry it happened but you couldn’t have controlled that, it’s still a public hospital, people are bound to look. I think you are not in the best space to be thinking about this right now, you’ll feel better once you get a good rest.”
“You need good rest, too,” Damian mumbles into his shoulder. “How did this happen?”
“Well,” he starts, strained. “Actually, you’re free to read the report, I am not talking about that. But it hurt so bad Damian. So bad. I need them to uninvent guns.”
“I know, who hasn’t been shot in this family at this point.” Damian rolls his eyes. “But you’re truly a unique case Timothy. I hope Stephanie ends up giving you more shit, you cannot be this irresponsible.”
“Hey now.” He tenses. “As you can see I’m perfectly fine. It’s not me who keeps dying at every other turn here.”
“What are you getting at?”
“You’re not the only one who gets worried, alright?” Timothy complains. “You’ve actually died like what, four times at this point.”
“It’s because I am simply better than you and can come back. If someone actually gets you, it’s over.”
“Again, you heart isn’t even in it anymore.” A sniff.
A sniff?
What?
“Tim,” Damian finally pulls away to look at at his brother better. He lets out a nervous laugh. “Now why are you crying?”
“Am I?” He touches his eye with a fingertip. “Okay, and so what if I am? You’re crying, now I’m crying. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You get to visit me at the hospital but I? I had to visit your grave Damian. That’s also not fair. Can’t we just both… be normal from now on?”
“You’re such an asshole.” Damian shakes his head, already feeling another wave of tears coming over. He hugs Tim again anyway. “I was just getting better.”
“This is all your fault,” he complains again, squeezing him harder than before. “Never come visiting me again actually. I don’t know you.”
“Whatever, I won’t.” A pause. “Am I not touching the bandages?”
“I would cry harder than this if you were Dames, don’t worry.”
And then, the door behind them opens loudly. “Okay, I think it’s been enough— Oh, I’m sorry did I ruin the moment?”
Damian wants nothing more than to throw one of the pillows on the bed at Bernard’s stupid face. Good thing Tim is here to do it for him.