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It hurts when he inhales.
Damian cracks his eyes open, stares at the ceiling, and blinks. It takes him a moment to process anything. It’s the first time in years that Damian’s had any thoughts that were his own. Being a thrall for Morgan Le Fey gave him no free-will, no feelings, and no opinions. Damian’s brain is sluggish in recovery. It’s strange to be in control of himself again. It’s like waking from a long, long, dream.
It’s like pulling himself out of the ocean.
Damian slowly sits up. Quickly, he notices that he’s in a room, sparse with furniture. It’s bare. It’s nothing like Morgan’s extravagant palace, painted in gold, shimmering with magical veins that stretch long.
Damian was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be here. In fact, having jumped in front of his father’s path, saving him from a mortal blow, should have killed him.
Damian slowly slides his legs off the mattress before scooting himself towards the edge. For a long moment, he simply sits, staring off into the space in front of him. It’s strange being aware of himself again. Damian focuses on how real the sheets under his fingers feel.
Damian’s sense of touch had been dulled ever since he’d been enthralled. Morgan Le Fey had made many adjustments to his body. Yet, somehow, the adjustments must have been reversed. Otherwise, Damian would not be feeling the softness of the sheets, nor would he feel the stuffy air within the room. It was a fascinating change.
Damian picks himself off the bed.
Damian lingers in place before heading towards the doorway. Slowly, he exits out into the hall, and follows the decorated walls. It was extravagant compared to his humble room. Many strange artifacts, paintings, and runes ran across his vision. Damian allows himself the time to examine each item. He picks out a cracked vase, wrapped in white cloth, and a busted display case filled with dishes. Damian then makes out a porcelain doll - chipped in the face - posed as if in the middle of a graceful dance. Damian could feel energy seeping through the hole in her face. It was almost nefarious. Almost. Damian had come across items – in Morgan’s home – that were far more dangerous than a subdued doll. Damian felt that this doll paled in comparison to the problem-artifacts within Morgan’s possession.
Damian forces himself forward after a lengthy inspection of mystical objects, and then treads down the long corridor in search for answers. Damian pauses briefly when his hearing picks up distant voices. There were faint murmurs down the hallway, around the corner, and through the walls. Damian fascination has him pressing onward.
Damian rounds the corner and faces an open living room.
“-is mind is damaged. It won’t be easy.”
“I’m not going to let him go. I don’t care if it isn’t easy.”
“-hich is why I chose you.”
Damian crosses the living room slowly before peeking into another extended room. It was a comfier looking room. It was small, warm, and cozy. Damian notices the brick fireplace, home to crackling flames, and the two people next to it.
Damian steps out into the open as the men continue to converse. He takes notice of the taller man’s golden helmet, the ripples of his shimmering cape, and slim boots that hover inches above the carpet. It’s hard to look away from him. Damian’s never seen such an appearance.
However, when his eyes eventually shift to the right, Damian’s attention is permanently settled.
Damian remembers the face of the man who speaks to the floating one. It’s the face he’d last seen before dying. It’s the face he’d bring up on the computer screens, down in the cave, with the intention to stare at it for hours on end.
Damian feels his world still as Dick Grayson, his father, turns his head. Damian stares into his aged-blue eyes. He looks older than Damian recalls, but he retained the same features. Black hair, just like Damian’s, sat on the top of his head. He had a slim face, a square jaw, and faint wrinkles around his eyes.
Damian continues to examine his father before realizing that he, too, was searching Damian’s face.
Damian doesn’t move. However, after a minute of observation, his father can’t remain rooted in place.
It feels like a dream when his father is only inches away from him. Damian had always fantasized of meeting his dad, of spending time with him, and now he was here.
Dick reaches out to cup his cheek.
Damian is mesmerized with his father’s eyes. He stares into the deep depths of his irises and wonders why photos couldn’t replicate this phenomenon.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Dick makes the softest murmur before tilting his head forward.
Damian feels their foreheads touch with a platonic intimacy that cannot be described. It reaches into Damian’s soul with soft, warm, strokes. Damian cannot remember ever feeling like this. Uncle Jason might have made him feel warm inside with his embraces, but it couldn’t compare to what he was feeling now.
Dick keeps their foreheads together for a silent span of time. Damian doesn’t want to separate. Unfortunately, Dick does exactly that, pulling away for their company’s sake.
“Doctor Fate,” Dick glances over his shoulder with sharp eyes, “I’ll take over from here.”
“I imagine you’ll want to depart as soon as possible,” Doctor Fate observes.
Dick adjusts his position, wraps an arm around his son’s shoulder, and then presses him against his side. Damian sags in his hold. It turns into melting butter when his father presses a firm kiss atop his head.
“That would be ideal,” Dick says, “but I know how tricky magic can be. It took a lot out of your host just to bring me here. I don’t want you to hurt him for my account.”
“It may take me some time to regain the energy I lost,” Doctor Fate admits, “but rest assured. I will return you home.”
“Thanks for being honest,” Dick says. “I’ll just take this opportunity to spend time with my son.”
Doctor Fate inclines his head. Damian blinks when he summons a golden symbol, a large golden ankh, for transportation. Doctor Fate steps inside of the floating symbol. Then, he disappears in a flash, leaving nothing behind. Damian stares into the empty space in captivation.
Dick shakes him out of the captivation with a low rumble. “So,” he begins, “where should we start? I bet you’ve got a lot of questions.”
Damian did have a lot of questions.
Instead, he snuggles into his father’s side, feeling hopelessly clingy.
Dick chuckles.
“I guess all that can wait,” he hums sweetly. “I wouldn't be opposed to just holding you.”
Damian gives him permission by shifting himself, wrapping both his arms around his father’s body, and then plopping his head on his shoulder. Dick’s following laugh is the warmest thing Damian has ever heard. It’s like dripping honey.
The laugh fades as Dick follows Damian’s example, wrapping his arms around his son, and then disappears entirely. Dick tightens his hold as if Damian might disappear on him. With an aching heart, Dick whispers wetly, “I missed you.”
Damian's tears run down his father's shirt.