A/N: Heeeellloooo, Batdom! I'm back! :)

Here is another Damian and Dick centered one-shot. I am much more satisfied with this one than my previous, and I just couldn't resist this little idea that's been floating around and sitting in my docs for MONTHS now.

As always, please enjoy! ;)

Damian had long ago lost track of how long he'd been running for. Hours? Days? At this point, it seemed like weeks.

The small voice of reason in his head told him that wasn't possible. His body would have given out from exhaustion by that point. But it didn't change the fact that it felt like it.

Every breath heaved raggedly in his chest, his skin prickling as hairs tried to rise under the damp blanket of sweat oozing from his pores. Each step seemed to get him nowhere, buildings and rooftops and alleyways blending and shifting together until he had no sense of direction or destination. He only knew that he needed to move.

And move he did. Over smoking chimneys, across shady alleyways, through lines of clothing scraps flapping in the wind.

All he wanted to do was rest. Rest was good. Rest was death.

Keep going. He had to keep going.

Horrible screeching sounded in the air above and behind him, the flapping of leathery wings all too close for comfort.

Every muscle ached, his joints creaking as he shot yet another grapple line, swinging off to the next rooftop as the man bats nipped at his feet, narrowly missing the trailing laces of his boots.

Damian landed hard on the next roof, only briefly glancing back as he ran pellmell for the edge, hand groping desperately at the belt at his waist.

With a flick of the wrist, three batarangs flew back into the night, only slightly satisfying chunk sounds and animal screams echoing to him as the sharpened metal tore through sinew and bone.

Legs trembling with fatigue, he somersaulted around a raised skylight, scrambling around the corner just as a gust of wind and claws glided over him.

Babbling voices and keening cries reverberated through the damp night as Damian ducked out of their sight, gaining a few seconds respite as he tiptoed through the deep shadows.

One voice stood out amongst them, both familiar and dreaded: the voice of his mother.

"Damian!" she roared. "You are a failure to the house of Al Ghul! Stop running like a coward and face your fate with strength."

Damian stumbled as his foot dragged in his next jump, catching the lip of the building's roof and sending him crashing down into the alleyway below. With a jerk, he managed to land feet first, the sudden impact jarring his entire body despite his bent knees with the force of a three story fall.

Leaping to his feet, he staggered forward, careening into the opposite wall as a wave of pain and dizziness overcame him, radiating from his ankle. With a short cry, he collapsed face first onto the pavement as the afflicted limb gave beneath him.

For a brief moment, he lay splayed on the filthy ground, his breath hissing through his teeth as starbursts of pain exploded through his vision.

Three seconds... He'd give himself three seconds... Two... One...

He dragged himself to his feet, lurching forward blindly and smacking his head once again into that stupid brick wall. A wave of dizziness washed over him, his fingers clutching at the cracked mortar as the world suddenly tilted under him.

Shakily, he glanced back up at the rooftops, silently praying that those screams weren't as close as they sounded.

Damian's heart stuttered, skipping a beat as he gaped at the sight above him.

Dozens...no, hundreds of bat creatures lined the rooftops, covering every scrap of concrete with black fur, talons, and glowing red eyes. As he watched, more kept coming, jostling and bouncing along the heads of the others, flapping their wings with irritated screams to occupy the sky space above the alleyway. And in the center of it all was a familiar figure clothed in tight black leather.

"Mother."

Talia al Ghul glared down at him. "What right have you to call me that when you rejected me? Rejected my teachings? Rejected your future!"

With some difficulty, Damian swallowed past the growing lump in his throat. "I...I didn't mean to."

The assassin snorted. "Of course you didn't. That is why you chose to remain with your father instead of returning home with me."

A pressure began to build behind Damian's eyes. "I didn't mean it that way," he protested.

But his mother continued on as if she hadn't even heard him. "Not that it matters now anyway. You have been disowned as a traitor for turning your back on the empire that would have been your inheritance. And any traitor of the House of Al Ghul does not deserve life."

A lipstick red smile stretched gruesomely across her face, a burst of laughter bubbling from her mouth. The laughter kept coming, growing more and more manic each second as bloody lips stretched unnaturally against her rapidly paling features.

Horrified, Damian watched as her teeth yellowed, her once lustrous hair turning scraggly and green as the black leather of her armor, her very skin, began to crack, revealing an orange jumpsuit and oily white flesh.

The Joker pulled a crowbar out of the thronging mass of bats, manic red eyes zeroed in on the R on Damian's chest.

"Well, well, well," the clown said, crazy practically oozing from every word, "what have we got here?"

He leapt off the edge of the rooftop, bending his knees to absorb the impact as he landed on the opposite side of the all too small alleyway from the frozen Damian.

The already painfully large smile grew impossibly wider, the curved metal bar thumping casually against a gloved palm. "Does the little Robin want to play?"

The rationality he had left whispered that this was impossible, that his mother couldn't possibly morph into a (bigger) monster right before his eyes. But the much greater part of his brain screamed, RUN. Damian chose the latter.

But before he could convince his seizing thighs to move, a new demon appeared over the brickwork: dripping yellow fangs, pitch black fur long and seemingly tinged blue around its chest and shoulders, forming a sort of V on its arms and torso. The pattern rang a distant bell in his mind, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what the significance of those colors were.

And then it was falling, the Joker disappearing into dubious black goop as the thing landed with hardly a sound right where the clown had once stood. Seeming to take advantage of Damian's momentary paralysis at the sight of the creature, it pounced, foam dripping from its mouth as it screamed a battle cry.

Damian flinched backward in fear, finding new energy as pure terror flooded through his veins, ducking out of the monster's outstretched arms and landing a flying kick with his good leg in the center of its chest to launch him onto the rusty fire escape across the alley. With two giant, desperate bounds, Damian crested the edge of the building, thus beginning yet another mad, limping dash across the roofs of Gotham.

At the same time his feet hit concrete, the wraith screamed something, in a twisted voice that seemed somehow familiar: "Robin!"

Startled, Damian slowed for just a moment, peering over his shoulder at the wraith as it flew over the lip of the building. His hesitation proved to be his undoing. Beneath him, his sprained ankle twisted, tripping over a stray drainpipe—Damian made a mental note to find out which stupid Gothamite left it there—and sending him reeling into a nearby chimney.

Momentarily stunned as his head cracked into the crumbling bricks, the scream stuck in his throat as the black and blue wraith pounced again, tackling Damian the rest of the way to the ground much like a football player in those ridiculous sports Colin insisted he watch. Only this was no game, and the prize wasn't a touchdown—it was Damian's life.

In desperation, Damian lashed out at the body pressed on top of him, throwing all his admittedly minuscule weight into each punch and kick. But the demon seemed unaffected, snarling grotesquely as it pulled Damian closer.

Sharp claws snatched his hands as they scrabbled for his utility belt, holding the clenched fists close against the blue fur lining on the creature's chest as it rolled him into its lap.

What was this thing doing?

With one last effort, Damian lunged forward, sinking his teeth into the creature's gnarled hand. It grunted in pain and surprise, rapidly yanking the appendage from Damian's mouth before twisting him onto his side so his nostrils were filled with the scent of wet fur.

It was all Damian could do to buck and thrash as the wraith tightened its hold, his breath wheezing as his chest constricted in panic while a firm hand cupped the back of his head, pulling his face into the hard chest. Instinctively, he shut his eyes behind his mask as his nose mashed into the...leather?

And suddenly, the grunts and squeaks became words: "Robin, stop! It's me!"

"G—Grayson?" Damian gasped, pausing briefly in his high strung struggles.

"Sh," the man shushed, seeming to relax as he realized that Damian understood him. "Yes, Dami. It's me. Uh uh." Something warm and smooth—leathery—slid over Damian's eyes as he attempted to open them again. "Keep them closed, buddy."

"But...the assassin bats," Damian protested, renewing his fight as he tried to lift the hand from his eyes. "My mother... We have to stop them!"

"There's no one here, Dami," Dick said, his voice calm and soothing. "No one's here but us."

Was Grayson crazy?!

Damian could still hear them, claws scraping on the stone floor, horrible screeching echoing through the night accompanied by screams of terror from the innocents below.

Wait...where had the blue and black wraith gone?

Before Damian could further contemplate this revelation, a new scream ripped through the night, terrified and pained as if the beating heart was being torn out of its owner's chest. His whole body tensed, a small gasp working from his throat. Batman. That scream had come from Batman. Father was in danger, and Grayson still refused to let him go!

"Robin," Dick insisted more sternly, tightening his grip on Damian as he fought tooth and nail to get free, to save his father. "None of this is real. You were hit by Scarecrow's toxin a few hours ago. Do you remember?"

For the second time that night, Damian hesitated. No, of course he didn't remember. How could he remember something that had never happened? What was Grayson... Wait. Frowning, he dug deeper through his scattered memories of the past endless hours.

Yes. He did remember. The details were fuzzy, as if his brain wasn't quite ready to recall the shattered pieces of the moment while the current nightmare he was living called to him, threatening to drag him back into its dark, twisted depths.

Slightly relieved that this terror might not be real, he sagged somewhat in the man's grip, clutching at the tight nomex that covered Grayson's chest as the horrible cries of familiar voices that he dared not identify continued raging around him.

"They're screaming," he whispered, in an almost broken voice that certainly didn't sound his own. "Make them stop."

"Focus, Little D," Nightwing said through the haze of panic. "It's not real. Focus on my voice. Can you do that for me?"

Dizzily, Damian could do nothing more than nod stiffly, burying his face farther into his first mentor's chest in a vain attempt to stop the terrible sounds breaking into his ears.

"How about a story," Grayson said, warm, strong arms wrapping tighter around Damian, shifting him comfortably in the first Robin's lap. "Have I ever told you about my elephant?"

"You...you have an elephant?" Damian managed past gritted teeth. He would have thought he'd notice if there were a giant, grey pachyderm lurking around during his not-so-infrequent visits to Grayson's tiny apartment.

A deep chuckle broke through the train of endless screaming, the cheerful sound washing over Damian like a ray of sunlight—thought he knew that was impossible.

"Not anymore, I don't. Circus kid, remember? I had a...different childhood," Dick said, laughter still hinting in his tone. "Anyway, her name is Zitka. I was the only one who ever managed to get her to eat peanuts out of my hand with her trunk. As far as I know, I still am. Despite thoughts to the contrary, elephants do have hairs in their noses, and Zitka was no exception. It tickled like crazy whenever she scooped one up.

"Anyway, there was this one time when I was about 5-years-old and I snuck out back to see the animals before the show..."

Ever so slowly, Damian began to relax, the terrified cries that had become his reality over the past seeming eternity fading into the background as he focused on his mentor's words, not listening so much to what he was saying as to how he was saying it.

Damian noticed the lilt in his voice that meant he was smiling, the sad little sighs that said he was homesick for a home long gone, the breathless pauses as he was holding back a laugh. Damian kept his ears tuned to those tells, drinking in the elder's words without actually processing them, till all he could hear was Grayson's voice.

Time became meaningless, this time in a much nicer way than before as he felt his consciousness fuzzing around the edges.

Just as he began to drift off in Grayson's familiar comfort and warmth, a new presence, a dark presence, grew at the edge of Damian's subconscious, and he tensed reflexively in apprehension.

"No, no," Dick murmured. "It's just Dad. Nothing's gonna hurt you, Dami."

That still wasn't enough to calm him as he sensed the shadow crouching beside him, a clawed hand grasping his neck. Before he could react, a sharp pinprick of pain stabbed at his neck, cold fluid rushing through his veins.

Damian—for lack of a better word—freaked. Wrenching his hand free from Grayson's hold, he lashed out blindly behind him, his hand whistling through empty air as he missed whatever had been there. At the same moment, Nightwing's glove slipped from Damian's now wide open eyes.

And suddenly, he could see. A huge, horrible creature was crouched over them, froth dripping from crooked yellow fangs as two glowing white holes burned into him from the mass of black and leather. The thing reared back on its hind legs, its massive ears seeming to tear holes in the sky as it let loose a cavernous roar.

He became aware of a high, keening screech that he was dimly aware came from his own mouth.

Desperate, he kicked out with his legs, wanting nothing more than to get away from that creature, to get it away from him. Dimly, he could hear his mother laughing in the background, goading the monster on as it reached for him with rippling, muscled arms. Damian flinched backward, head colliding with something hard and sticky.

Terrified, he looked up, vision swimming from the foreign liquid running in his veins, and gasped loudly.

Grayson seemed to have disappeared, the smaller, but just as horrid wraith from before attempting to grab him as it screamed meaningless syllables into his ears.

Inexplicably, Damian felt as if he were sinking into the roof, spots dancing before his vision as he fought tooth and nail to free himself from the combined holds of the two demons above him.

But whatever he had been given was strong.

He sank farther into the concrete, eyelids fluttering, arms flopping, heart beating loud and fast in his ears as he finally fell into the welcoming blackness.

Silence. Pure, blessed silence.

That's what Damian woke to. His eyebrows furrowed, trying to identify what was missing. It took a minute for his foggy brain to make the connection: screaming. That's what was missing. He nearly snorted aloud at the fact that he'd been surrounded by the torturous sounds so long, he considered them a lacking factor in his senses. Wonderful.

And then he realized the silence wasn't as complete as it first seemed to his deafened ears. Deep breathing made itself known, slight snores issuing from somewhere to Damian's left.

Stiffly, he turned his head to face in the direction of the noise. There, half-sprawled across the empty space on Damian's bed, was Richard John Grayson. The man's rear was tipping dangerously over the edge of his chair at Damian's bedside, his shaggy raven hair sticking up and out in all directions as the thinnest strand of drool seeped from the corner of his open mouth onto the silken sheets.

Damian wrinkled his nose half-heartedly. Gross.

For a moment, Damian didn't (couldn't) move, merely staring at the man splayed at his side. Then, as if sensing the eyes on him, Dick stirred, bleary blue eyes flickering underneath long, black lashes. Dazedly, they turned up and met Damian's. Damian watched as clarity flooded into the man's vision, his body sliding sharply back into his chair.

A lopsided smile stretched over Dick's features, relief traceable in his tone: "Hey, Li'l D," he breathed. "You're up."

Immediately, Damian's mouth opened, intent on giving a snappy reply. But all that came out was air.

Dick's gaze softened. "Rough the first time, isn't it?"

Clopping his dangling jaw closed, Damian swallowed thickly. He jerked his head in acknowledgement. Although Damian had assisted in the battle against Scarecrow many times before, he'd as of yet to get a full face blast of the villain's infamous fear toxin.

He could remember what happened now: the dim warehouse, the pale moonlight patterning the floor, the strange, musky scent wafting from the twisted shadow just out of his sight... And that's when his mother had showed up; at least, he thought she'd showed up.

"My..." He cleared his throat roughly, embarrassed and annoyed at how husky his voice sounded. "My mother?"

Dick shook his head. "She was never here, Dami."

Damian frowned. That information do not compute. It was all so real, he could've sworn... "The man bats?" he questioned.

Shaking his head once more in denial, concern flashed across Grayson's face. "No, Damian. It was all—"

"In my head," Damian ground out. "I know." So why was it so hard to convince his rapidly quickening heart?

"Hey," Dick murmured, sensing Damian's discomfort. "Hey, Li'l D. C'mere."

And with that, Dick leaned over him, familiar muscular arms wrapping Damian into a tight hug. For a moment, Damian stiffened at the unexpected, yet not completely unwelcome contact. Then, taking a deep, wavering breath, he managed to relax, sinking into the familiar weight of Grayson's embrace and breathing deeply of the man's comforting scent while ignoring the prickling pressure behind his eyes.

"It's all right," Grayson soothed, petting Damian's spine lightly, soothingly. "You're safe now. Bruce gave you the antidote. You'll be a hundred percent by tomorrow. And Dami?"

He paused in his movements, bending down to kiss the top of Damian's hair. "I'll always be here when you need me. Okay?"

Damian's response was to cuddle further into his first mentor's chest, only slightly irritated as a few drops escaped his screwed up lids and soaked into the man's shirt. Because he was safe. It didn't matter how far he fell into darkness. As long as Grayson was always there to catch him.

After an indeterminable amount of time, Damian finally pulled back, eyes dry.

Dick smiled brightly down at him. "Feeling better?"

Damian snorted (slightly wetly). "Don't mention this to anyone."

Dick stared at him for a moment. Without warning, he burst into raucous laughter, falling back across Damian's bed and guffawing at the blank ceiling.

Damian's scowl deepened. "Ever, Grayson. I mean it!"

"I'll...take that...as a 'yes,'" Dick gasped, eventually sitting up and wiping the mirthful tears from the corners of his eyes. Beaming happily at the indignant 10-year-old, he bounced gleefully across the room.

"Gonna go tell Bruce—"

"Hey!"

"—you're awake!"

And with a mad cackle, the arguably most immature member of the Batfamily flew out the door, leaving a reluctantly smiling Damian Wayne behind him.