If your still taking writing requests, could you do “Your wound reopened, didn’t it?” With Damian and Jason please?
Jason and Damian are both so terrible at showing they care. And looking after themselves…
Enjoy, anon! I hope this is something like what you were looking for :)
The funny thing is, it doesn’t even happen on patrol. Well, not an offical patrol. Batman is out of town on League business and Damian isn’t allowed to patrol without appropriate supervision - which apparently just means Nightwing, who is busy in Bludhaven - but that’s never stopped him before. Alfred had taken the Robin suit as a precaution against him sneaking out on his own, so when Damian had inevitably snuck out he’d had to do it in dark civvies instead.
Everything is going relatively well until he drops in to give the Red Hood a hand taking down a gang. Without the Kevlar protection of his suit, a glancing slash from a knife slices through the fabric of his hoodie and the flesh beneath instead of bouncing harmlessly off armour. He doesn’t notice it at first, too absorbed in taking down the thug (un)lucky enough to get him. It’s only once the fight is over and the adrenaline fades that the injury hits him, pain radiating from his side like fire. He groans and Hood is immediately looming over him.
“Where are you hit?” he demands. Then, “Wait, no, first - what the fuck are you even doing here? Isn’t it passed your bedtime?”
“Robin doesn’t have a bedtime,” Damian snaps, pressing his hand against his side. It comes away glistening red.
Red Hood snorts. “You don’t look much like Robin right now.” He kneels down to inspect Damian’s side himself, tearing the black hoodie even more so he can peel it away from the edges of the wound. He winces. “B is going to fucking kill me.”
Damian tries to peer at the cut himself, but it’s too dark in the alley to properly asses the damage from his angle. “You can’t tell Father,” he says, trying for authoritative but coming out borderline pleading. “He’s busy, he doesn’t need to worry about a minor injury.” And I don’t want him to take Robin away.
“Minor?” Todd’s voice rises with incredulity, hovering over the side of his helmet where Damian knows the button to activate his comm link is. “That’s gonna need at least a dozen stitches. And I’m not calling Daddy Bats, anyway, I’m calling Alfred.”
Damian grabs his arm desperately, gasping when it causes a new wave of pain to lance through his side. “No! Please, you can’t!”
“Woah, calm down.” Hood grabs his shoulders to hold him still. “Jesus Christ, kid, you’re going to make that worse.”
“You can’t tell them,” Damian says again, prepared to sound as much like a broken record as it takes to wear Todd down.
The older vigilante hesitates, then sighs. “Fine. Whatever. They’d probably blame me anyway.” They wouldn’t, but Damian doesn’t bother arguing the point. “Come on, I have a safe house a couple of blocks away. I’ll stitch you up then you can go home and attempt to lie to Alfred yourself. Just don’t involve me.”
When Damian’s alarm wakes him at six-thirty the next morning he wants nothing more than to put his pillow over his head and go back to sleep. But that would be suspicious. So he carefully rolls out of bed, takes another dose of ibuprofen and stumbles into the bathroom to shower.
By the time he gets down to breakfast, the painkillers have kicked in and the shower has sufficiently woken him up so that he’s acting close enough to normal not to draw Pennyworth’s attention. He eats mechanically, then retreats back upstairs until Pennyworth calls for him.
“Don’t drag your feet, Master Damian, it will only make you late for school, it won’t make it go away,” the butler says, mistaking Damian’s slow movements as he comes back downstairs with his backpack for reluctance. He scowls and walks even slower, grabbing onto the excuse of a bad attitude with fervour. In the car, he sits stiffly in the backseat and stares out the window, eager for their arrival so he can escape Pennyworth’s scrutiny, but dreading the school day ahead.
It’s all going relatively well until the end of lunchtime. Damian is headed back to his locker to retrieve the books he needs for the final classes of the day when he makes a mistake. A few boys from two grade above him are bullying a younger kid, pushing him around and laughing as they go through his backpack. And Damian gets involved.
He can’t not get involved.
It’s a short fight. One which ends when one of the older boys whacks Damian in the side with a textbook and he doubles over, gasping through the sudden onslaught of pain. The bullies laugh and call him names, getting in a few more hits for good measure before taking off down the now-empty hallway.
Slowly, Damian forces himself to straighten up and collect his books. If he’s late to class Ms Carlisle will give him a detention without care for any excuses he could come up with. And he doesn’t need Father to be even more disappointed in his school performance.
It’s just a bit of pain. Nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. He can make it to the end of the day.
Damian realises he’s in trouble about half-way through fifth period. The pulsing pain in his side is distracting enough on its own, but when he chances a glance beneath his blazer, he finds that the right side of his white shirt is starting to stain red over his wound. It’s not bleeding quickly, but it is bleeding. And that is a Major Problem.
“Damian?” Maps leans over toward him while the teacher’s writing on the board. Usually Damian is thankful to have a friend in his class, but today he just wishes to be left alone. “Are you okay? You look kinda pale.”
“I’m fine,” Damian replies stiffly, pressing his arm tightly against his side. It hurts more, but the pressure might help stem the slowly oozing blood.
Maps clearly doesn’t believe him, but Ms Carlisle turns back around to address the class before she can push the issue. Damian has never been more grateful for strict teachers with droning voices because it means he can zone out in peace until the bell ringing startles him back into awareness. Kids are already trickling out of the classroom and Damian joins the back of the mob, keeping close to the wall and trying to avoid the passing bags and limbs which bump his side until he can duck into the closest bathroom.
He fumbles his phone out of his pocket as soon as he’s in the relative privacy of one of the toilet stalls. Even if he had the necessary materials, the wound is at an angle that would be too hard to stitch back up himself. As loathe as he is to admit it, he’s going to need help.
Todd answers with a curt, “Aren’t you supposed to be in school, short fry?”
Damian takes a deep, calming breath to overcome the irritation the nickname stirs up before admitting, “I need your help.
There’s a beat of silence then Todd sighs. ”Your wound reopened, didn’t it?“
“Can you pick me up?” Damian asks instead of answering what is clearly a rhetorical question.
The older boy grumbles but he promises to pick him up about a block from the school in twenty minutes.
Damian feels obtrusive loitering on the sidewalk in his Gotham Academy blazer, but he can hardly take it off with his shirt in the state it is. When Todd finally shows up he’s driving an old red Nissan instead of the usual motorcycle. Damian slides carefully into the passenger seat with a quiet sigh, tipping his head back and staring out the window as they merge back onto the road.
Damian glances away from the traffic. “Well what?”
“How bad is it?” Todd asks.
“Oh.” He pulls the blazer away from his side to reveal the growing patch of red.
“Uh. It’s not that bad.”
Todd glances down at the wound then swears, eyes snapping up to glare at Damian before refocusing on driving when a horn blares loudly behind them.
“How the fuck did you manage that sitting in a classroom?”
“It didn’t happen in a classroom,” Damian snaps. “And it wasn’t my fault.”
“Of course it wasn’t,” Todd mutters. He flicks on his indicator to move into the right lane and it’s only then that Damian realises they’re heading out of the city.
“Where are we going?” he asks suspiciously.
“Take a wild guess.”
“You promised you wouldn’t!” Damian accuses, because between the direction they’re travelling and Todd’s tight grip on the steering wheel it’s not hard to figure it out.
Todd rolls his eyes. “Welcome to the real world, kid, where promises mean jack shit,” he snaps. But a second later his lips twist in a grimace and when he glances over his eyes are almost apologetic. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? But if you’ve done more damage to that wound, I’m so not qualified to fix it. Alfred would'a caught on eventually anyway - if he hasn’t already. Just think of it as… delaying the inevitable.”
Damian crosses his arms and sulks the whole drive back to the Manor. He’d gone to Todd for help in confidence and this is how he’s replayed for his trust? He clenches his teeth, mouth stretching in a silent snarl. See if he ever helped the Red Hood again!
(Five weeks later, Red Hood drops in on a fight that Robin is not losing thank you very much. He gets a bullet graze on his thigh for his troubles. Damian makes sure to ignore his bitching with extreme obnoxiousness as he drags him back to the Cave to be stitched up. Todd glares at him as Alfred stitches the injury. Damian just smirks.)