#audreycritter

It was easier to assess your enemy when they stood before you, present in their physical form. You could gauge how big of a threat they were, study their strengths and weaknesses and finally, visualize your attack. When you can see your enemy, you can formulate a solid plan and follow through with it. Whether it succeeds or fails is dependent on how you carry out your attack; do you misplace your footing? Had you under or overestimated the threat? Either way, the damage would be external. Your enemy stood before you, visible, ready for the quarrel.

Damian had trained his entire life to take down his enemies.

He was agile, swift and light on his feet. He was strong and calculating, and though he was a child–– only ten years of age––he could defeat enemies twice his size if he acted accordingly.

This enemy, however?

This enemy was different.

Damian could not fight it, even if he tried. It was entirely out of his control.

He wanted nothing more than to take it out, to beat it, to end it, but––

How could he, when it was impossible?

Damian Wayne was a smart child. He had learnt far more than the majority of his children had had the opportunity of learning, whether it was with regards to battle or math or vocabulary.

But ultimately he was just that: a child. He could only learn so much of the world in those ten years.

So he stood by his father’s side, glancing around between him and the doctor who stood across from them. His words made no sense. He was talking about whatever he had found as though it were a common enemy, a dangerous thug he had found in the street. Honestly? Damian could barely understand what he was saying.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered, leaning into his father.

Bruce raised his eyebrows in surprise at the gesture, seeing as he and Damian hardly shared any physical touch, but then his expression fell into something akin to pity. He looked to the doctor then back to Damian, taking a sharp breath before he answered.

“He’s going to beat it, Damian.”

“Beat what?” Damian pressed, furrowing his eyebrows together. How could you beat something you could not see? Something that wasn’t living or fighting? Their words confused him.

“Mr. Wayne,” the doctor called out, giving him a sad smile.

Bruce nodded at him, and the doctor knelt down next to Damian. “Do you understand what cancer is, Damian?”

Damian shook his head.

He had heard of it––a disease of sorts––but had never received extensive learning regarding the subject. It was not one of his mother’s priorities, nor his father’s.

“It’s a disease where some of the cells in a person’s body decide to rebel a bit and go rogue,” the doctor said slowly. “They kinda do their own thing, instead of cooperating with the rest of the body, like they should. When that happens, they can disrupt a lot of things. They can affect body temperatures, organ function, energy levels… it basically throws the entire body off balance.”

“Like a bad team player?” Damian asked, trying to make sense of his words. “If someone goes out of position, he risks everyone else’s life because he ruined the plan.”

Bruce gave him an odd look, but Damian ignored it.

The doctor continued. “Exactly like that. They disrupt the plan, and when the others need them to have their back, they’re gone. Everything falls apart. That’s not to say it can’t be fixed, though. If you help them get back in time, everything can get back on track. They suffer a bit before everything is good and dandy again. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Damian nodded.

“That’s what your brother Richard is going through right now. He’s gonna have to put up a fight, you know? He’s really gonna have to fight this guy. But he’s a strong young man, and he can definitely beat it. It won’t be easy, so he’ll definitely need your backup, yeah?”

“Richard is a very skilled man,” Damian said, lifting his chin in defiance. “He is very physically fit and used to be an acrobat. He worked with the police. He can beat anyone up.”

The doctor watched him for a moment, puzzled, before shaking his head. “This is gonna be different. He’s gonna change a bit, alright? This disease… it will affect his physical fitness. He won’t be as strong as before, not for a while.”

“I don’t understand,” Damian said again, feeling stupid. He could hear the words, he knew what they were saying to him but… He could simply not comprehend it. How could something just take down his brother like that? Illnesses were cured with medication. If you have a fever, you bring it down. If you get shot, you take the bullet out. They faced injuries every day in their line of work as vigilantes. But this was not an injury. Nothing had caused it.

“Why can’t you just medicate it?” He asked. “Like give him Tylenol or antibiotics. He wasn’t injured. Why does he have to stay at the hospital?”

“Damian,” Bruce said, his voice clipped. “That’s enough. So, Dr. Loving, what’s next? When can we take him home?”

Dr. Loving stood back up, clearing his throat. “We’re going to have run some more tests on him, Mr. Wayne, and then… I would like to get him started on the chemotherapy as soon as possible. Tomorrow, if I can. And I would like to keep him here for the first session to monitor his reaction.”

Bruce nodded. “Alright. Of course, whatever you think would be the best course of action. Can I––can we see him? It just… this all happened very suddenly. One moment I was speaking with him about work and the next he had crashed and… the last thing I expected to hear when I brought him here is that he…” his voice cracked. “Is this diagnosis.”

Dr. Loving lowered his gaze to the ground. “I know, and I’m very to sorry to have delivered these news to you. I’m happy you’ve brought him in, although I do wish he could have come in sooner for a checkup of the sort. You said he had not been exhibiting any odd symptoms before today?”

“He was feeling very faint,” Damian supplied. “I noticed when we went out on––when he took me out to ice cream and such a few times. He had reassured me that it was nothing, though. He took some ibuprofen as well because he was feverish for a short while. It was nothing severe. I don’t understand why you are making it sound as though Richard is dying.”

Bruce closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. “Dick will be fine, Damian.”

“I’m sure he will,” added the doctor. “You can see him before I send him down for a few more tests, if you would like. I will book a room for him in the inpatient unit, and see what I can do to kickstart his therapy.”

“Thank you, doctor. Please keep me updated.”

“I will.”

With that, Dr. Loving excused himself.

“Let’s go see Dick,” Bruce said, making his way down the long hospital hallway. Damian tagged along closely. “And Damian––this is not the time to play the public persona, alright? Just… Just keep to yourself, for now. Try not to say anything harsh in front of Dick.”

“Public persona? What do you mean, Father?”

“I know you’re a smart child,” Bruce began, keeping his eyes focused on the path before him, “and you understand what’s going on. The doctor knows what he’s doing, alright? You don’t have to take jabs at him and question his decisions. He will make sure Dick will be fine.”

Damian simply looked at his father in confusion, unsure of what he was referring to. When had Damian undermined the doctor’s decisions? He had simply been asking the questions on his mind. He was confused because he did not, in fact, understand the situation. Why was Father speaking to him in this way?

“I’m not,” he said in a small voice. “I was just asking him a few questions.”

Bruce only nodded briefly.

In that moment, Damian felt incredibly small and lost.

He was Damian Wayne, son of batman and grandson of Ra’s Al-Ghul. He was smart, determined, educated, hotheaded. He was––

He was scared, because he did not understand how Grayson could have gone from joking with him the one minute to collapsing on the floor the minute after. How he would not wake up and––and how his body shivered and trembled as he profusely sweat and––and how his temperature spiked and would not come down––

He did not understand how he was now bedridden, confined to stay in the hospital to ‘beat’ a disease and start a course of ‘therapy’ and––

No, Damian Wayne was many things, but he was not educated about this topic. About this situation. He did not know how to react.

He could do one thing, however, that he did best: act strong, no matter how he truly felt on the inside.

When they approached Dick in his hospital bed, Damian immediately noted that he was looking much better than before. His eyes were sunken, his hair was damp and pressed down to his forehead because of the sweat, but he was awake and stable. That’s what mattered.

“Grayson,” Damian greeted, rushing to his side. Bruce trailed in behind him. “You’re awake.”

Dick gave Damian a weak smile. “Hey, little D. Yeah, I’m awake. God, I don’t even know what happened there.” He looked up at Bruce, and his smile fell, replaced by a defeated expression. “The doctor told me everything.”

Bruce took a seat by his side, placing a hand over Dick’s. “You’ll be alright. I promise.”

“It’s gonna suck,” Dick said, shaking his head. “It’s really gonna suck, Bruce.”

“You’re ill,” Damian said, climbing over onto the small hospital bed. He snuck in close to Grayson. “But you’re not injured. So you don’t require any emergency surgeries, and none of your vital organs are injured. The doctors can medicate you. Advil can bring down your fevers, and I’m not sure what can stop the trembling. Maybe you need to be hydrated so you don’t pass out again.”

“Damian,” Bruce muttered, exhaustion lining his words. “That’s enough.”

Dick furrowed his eyebrows, looking between Damian and Bruce.

Damian looked at his father. “I’m just saying he will get better. He has no life threatening injuries, and he was not injected with any poison or drugs, so he will simply need some medication and then he can get back out of the hospital.”

“That’s not how the world works, Damian,” Bruce snapped, losing his cool. He gulped slowly, trying to regain his composure, and exhaled slowly. “I know you were taught that you just have to snap out of any illness and sickness, that you must bear through whatever injuries you acquire, but that’s not how the world works. There are serious illnesses that aren’t related to our––our work. Do you understand that? And just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not serious or that you can expect him to just snap out of it  like that.”

Damian stared at Bruce dumbly, unsure of how to respond.

Dick’s eyes softened in understanding.

“Hey, Dami,” he whispered, barely able to muster strength into his voice. “I’ll be fine. Maybe you can’t see this bad guy and fight him by hand, but there’s other ways we can fight him. My own body is fighting itself, that’s why I became so weak. I’m gonna need more than a few meds, little D. It’s gonna be a few months at least of treatment.”

“A few months?”

“Yeah. Chemotherapy basically attacks those cells that are going out of line. But to kill them, it’s gonna have to kill other healthy cells too. So I’m gonna feel a lot worse before I feel better.”

Damian’s eyes widened. “Why can’t they perform surgery or––or directly medicate it?”

“Because it’s in my blood cells, Dami, and it circulates through my whole body. It’s not in one place.”

“So it’s like a poison? Is there an antidote?”

“Damian,” Bruce snapped again. “Enough with the questions. Let Dick rest.”

“It’s okay, Bruce,” Dick said, reaching out to his brother with his other hand. “He doesn’t understand what’s going on. He can ask questions.”

Bruce’s expression fell, perhaps in a sudden realization that Damian was, in fact, asking genuine questions about the situation. That he was not playing stupid, but that he was just a child who could not comprehend why his older brother had collapsed without visible injury or an easy explanation.

He felt stupid.

His youngest child was lost––lost and scared––and… and he’d been snapping at him. He’d assumed the worst of him.

In all fairness, Damian wasn’t usually such a… child. He was usually a smartass who liked to show off how skilled and knowledgeable he was. He hardly acted like the child he was. In this moment, however, Bruce was reminded that his youngest had seen so little of the world. So, so little.

And now his oldest would be fighting cancer.

Bruce fought to keep it together. He could not collapse crying in front of his boys.

Alfred was back at the manor, and last Bruce had checked, Tim had joined him in the cave to work on some files while they waited for their return from the hospital. Bruce would have to break the news to them.

He was dreading that.

“It’s not like a poison,” Dick was saying to Damian. “This is a chronic thing. It’s strong, and it’s gonna need a strong therapy to combat it. But guess what? I’m also strong. I can handle both of them going at it inside my body.”

“Like a battle between your cells?”

“Yeah, exactly. I can’t really partake in it, you know, but… I can handle it. I’ll do my best to fight it.”

“Of course you will. You’re Grayson,” Damian said, his voice softer than Bruce had ever heard. “You’re my batman. You can’t lose to anything.”

Bruce could see the tears glistening in Dick’s eyes upon hearing that statement.

“Will I have to be nicer to Drake because you’re ill?” Damian continued.

Dick began to laugh out of surprise. “What?”

“You know, to keep you happy and stress free.”

“Well… Yes. Yeah, of course.”

“I will do that, then. I promise. I will also let you cuddle with Titus and Alfred the cat to boost your mood. And I will prepare for you a smoothie every morning to provide you with the proper nutrients. Although, I may need Alfred’s help. And maybe we can watch more movies after I return from school! And…”

Bruce closed his eyes as Damian’s voice faded into the background.

The upcoming months would be difficult, but they would support Dick through it.