#seizures

The goal of this account is to spread seizure awareness, education, ableism/discrimination of them.

plot! damian is in a relationship with a girlfriend who suffers from seizures. at a formal wayne family dinner, she suddenly has a seizure in front of everyone. damian reacts instantly, calm, precise, and fiercely protective, showing a softer, vulnerable side none of the batfamily had ever seen before. hurt/comfort

a/n: thank you so much for the request sweetie! i hope i portrayed seizures good because i really hope you and everyone going through this can find comfort in this fic with damian comforting you

It was well past midnight in Wayne Manor, the house shrouded in its usual silence. Damian had returned from patrol only an hour ago, boots still dusted with Gotham grime, cape folded neatly at the foot of his bed. He should have been asleep, by all logic, exhaustion tugged at his shoulders after hours of rooftop running. But his green eyes were fixed instead on the girl curled beside him, yoir breathing soft, the faint rise and fall of yoir chest a rhythm he never took for granted.

You were asleep, wrapped in one of his shirts, too big on you, but he liked it that way. The sight of you calm always struck something deep in him, a place beyond the rigid discipline and arrogance he’d been raised with. He had spent years being taught that vulnerability was a weakness, that fear should be caged, that love was nothing more than a liability. But watching you like this, peaceful, human, fragile, he knew the League had been wrong.

Then your body jerked. At first subtle, a twitch he might have missed if not for the way his senses were always trained, always waiting. Damian sat up instantly, pulse jumping. Your hand clenched against the sheet, muscles tightening in a way that sent cold dread racing down his spine.

“Beloved?” His voice was low, steady, though inside his chest, something knotted hard.

No response. Your head tilted back, eyes fluttering, breath breaking into irregular gasps. Damian’s training took over, but this wasn’t the battlefield. This wasn’t an enemy he could strike down or outmaneuver. This was you, his anchor, slipping into a seizure.

He moved quickly, but carefully. He slid his arm beneath your head, cushioning it so it wouldn’t hit the wooden headboard. With his other hand, he gently turned you onto your side, just as the doctors had taught him. His jaw tightened, frustration burning beneath his composure. He had memorized every instruction, every warning, every protocol, but watching it happen still tore at him, made him feel powerless in a way that terrified him more than facing a blade at his throat.

Your body shook harder now, small whimpers breaking through the silence of the room. Damian’s hand hovered above yours, resisting the urge to pin you down.

He hated seeing you hurt, hated not being able to stop it, but he knew better. All he could do was guard you, keep you safe, ride the storm with you.

“I am here” he murmured, words fierce despite their quietness.

Minutes stretched long. He counted every second, eyes never leaving your face. In the manor, silence echoed like a cruel reminder, no sound but your uneven breaths and the faint rustle of sheets as your body resisted itself. Damian felt the old instinct rise, to call Alfred, to alert his father, to summon anyone with more experience. But he forced himself to stay steady. He could handle this. He had to.

When the tremors finally began to ease, when your body sagged with exhaustion, Damian’s breath left him in a rush he hadn’t realized he was holding. He guided you gently onto your back, brushing damp strands of hair from your forehead. Your lashes fluttered, confusion clouding your gaze.

“…Dami?” Your voice was small, weak.

“I’m here.” His tone softened instantly, stripped of its usual sharpness. He leaned closer, hand steady against your cheek. “You had another one. But it’s over now.”

Your eyes filled, the shame that always followed close behind the seizure pressing into your chest. “I’m sorry…”

His expression hardened, not at you, never at you, but at the very notion that you would apologize. “Do not ever apologize for this.” His words came out clipped, almost scolding, but his thumb traced soothing circles over your skin. “You do not control it. And I will not allow you to feel guilt for something that is not your fault.”

Your lip trembled, but you nodded faintly. The tears slipped anyway, hot against his palm. Damian bent forward, pressing his forehead to yours, closing the distance until your shaking quieted under the weight of his presence.

“Rest” he whispered, his voice softer now, nearly breaking with the truth he so rarely let out. “I have you. I will always have you.”

You let out a breath that was half a sob, half relief, and tucked yourself into his chest. He adjusted instantly, pulling you close against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped around you, iron-strong but careful, grounding you against the lingering fog of exhaustion.

For a long while, he just held you, listening as your breathing evened out again. His mind, however, did not quiet. He hated the helplessness, hated knowing there was no enemy to fight, no victory to seize. All he could do was be here, guard you through the unseen battles.

And so he would.

When you finally drifted back into sleep, Damian pressed a rare, gentle kiss against your temple. The words slipped out before he could stop them, a vow spoken into the quiet:

“Even if the world turns against you, even if your body betrays you… I will not.”

His hand tightened slightly around yours. For once, Damian Wayne did not plan, did not calculate. He simply stayed, watching over you until the first light of dawn crept through the curtains.

The long dining table in Wayne Manor was always an odd battlefield. IWith Bruce at the head, Alfred gliding between courses, and the Batfamily arrayed like mismatched chess pieces across the polished wood, every dinner was a test of patience.

Tonight was no different.

Jason leaned back in his chair with his boots kicked up against the leg of the table until Alfred cleared his throat pointedly. Tim was half focused, one hand around his glass of water, the other sliding over his phone under the table. Cassandra was silent as always, cutting her steak into perfect cubes without looking up. Dick filled the air with easy chatter, grinning between bites.

And then there was Damian.

Seated beside you, shoulders squared, posture precise, as if his chair was a throne he dared anyone to question. His fork cut through his food with surgical precision. But his eyes weren’t on his plate. They flicked to you every few seconds, sharp green checking, measuring, protective in a way most of his family still struggled to understand.

You felt it too, the quiet anchor of his presence beside you. He never said much in these gatherings, preferring curt remarks or silence, but his hand brushed against your knee under the table, a subtle tether only you were allowed to feel.

Jason was halfway through a story about nearly blowing up a Joker safehouse “And then Bats here says ‘subtlety,’ like that’s ever been in my vocabulary” when it happened.

It started small.

A twitch in your hand, the fork clattering against your plate. Damian’s head snapped toward you instantly, green eyes narrowing with laser focus.

“Beloved?” His voice cut through Jason’s laughter, sharp enough to silence the room.

You didn’t answer. Your body stiffened, shoulders jerking, lips parting in a breathless sound that wasn’t quite a word. Damian was already moving, chair scraping harshly against the marble floor as he turned toward you.

The family froze.

Tim’s phone slipped from his hand. Cassandra set down her knife carefully, gaze locked on you. Dick started to rise, but Damian’s glare cut him off.

“I have her.” The command in his tone was absolute.

Your body convulsed, eyes rolling as you slumped against the table. Damian caught you before you could fall, sliding an arm behind your back, lowering you gently to the floor with more care than anyone had ever seen from him.

“Side” he muttered, more to himself than to the others. He adjusted your body onto your side, fingers steady as he brushed hair away from your face. His jaw was tight, but his hands did not tremble. Not when it was you. Never when it was you.

Jason’s voice broke the silence, unusually tentative. “She’s—what the hell—”

“A seizure” Damian snapped, without looking up. The word was clipped, but his eyes softened the moment they returned to you. “Do not crowd her.”

Alfred had already set aside the tray he carried, calm but swift as always, kneeling a respectful distance away. “Quite right, Master Damian. You know the procedure?”

“I do.” Damian’s reply was low, firm. He adjusted you again, murmuring words in arabic under his breath, soft, grounding phrases meant for you alone.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, unreadable but intense, while Dick hovered at the edge of the table, torn between stepping forward and respecting Damian’s claim. Cassandra stayed utterly still, watching with a gaze that understood more than the others.

Your body trembled, small jerks that wrung a silent fury from Damian’s chest. He hated seeing you like this, hated the powerlessness that clawed at him, but he held steady. His hand never left yours, thumb tracing firm circles against your knuckles.

“You are safe” he whispered, voice breaking from command into something raw. “Do you hear me? You are safe. I will not allow anything to harm you.”

The family sat in stunned silence. It wasn’t the words, they’d all heard Damian speak fiercely before, usually threats, but the way his voice cracked on “safe.” The way his face bent close to yours, soft and unguarded in a way none of them had witnessed.

The seizure passed slowly, agonizingly. When your body finally stilled, when your breath came ragged but steady, Damian exhaled sharply, tension bleeding from his shoulders. He brushed a thumb across your damp temple, eyes fierce with relief.

Your lashes fluttered, unfocused. “Damian...?”

“Yes” The word came out almost desperate. He pressed his forehead to yours briefly before pulling back, forcing composure. “You are safe. With me.”

Jason shifted uncomfortably in his chair, scratching the back of his neck. “Kid—uh… she’s okay, right?”

Damian’s glare snapped to him, blade-sharp. “Do not speak as though she is not here. She can hear us.”

“Hey, I’m just—”

“Enough” Bruce cut in quietly, his voice a command that silenced Jason. His gaze moved to Damian, unreadable but heavy. “You handled it.”

Damian held his father’s stare for a long moment, then turned back to you, shutting out the rest of them as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you. His hand cupped your cheek, guiding you to meet his eyes.

“No apologies” he said firmly, anticipating the guilt he knew you always carried. “Do not dare apologize.”

Your lips trembled, but you nodded faintly.

Alfred set a glass of water beside Damian, his calm voice filling the silence. “Small sips when she’s ready, Master Damian. And she’ll need rest.”

“Of course.” Damian’s answer was curt, but his eyes never left you.

Dick cleared his throat softly, a half smile tugging at his mouth despite the tension. “Didn’t know you had the doctor routine down, little brother.”

Damian didn’t look up. “I do what I must.” His voice was flat, but his hand tightened around yours as if proving the point.

His whole posture radiated ownership, not possession, but responsibility. You were his, and in moments like this, everyone in the room could see it.

He lifted you carefully, ignoring Jason’s mutter about “show-off strength.” You sagged against his chest, exhausted, but his arms were unshakable.

“I’m taking her upstairs” he announced, tone brooking no argument. “Dinner is over.”

And with that, he left the table. The family watched in silence as he carried you out of the dining room and for once no one tried to stop him.

Damian’s footsteps echoed up the grand staircase, each step measured, steady, as if carrying you required more focus than a rooftop chase. He didn’t look left or right, his eyes burned forward, jaw set in a way that dared the manor itself to challenge him.

He pushed open his bedroom door with his shoulder, nudging it shut behind him. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and leather polish, the sharp order of Damian’s world: neatly stacked books, weapons arranged in precise symmetry, sketches pinned above his desk. But now it was softer somehow, filled by the sound of your breath.

He set you gently on his bed, adjusting the pillows to keep you propped slightly on your side. His hands, so often precise and harsh in combat, were impossibly careful as they brushed your hair back, loosened the blanket, and pulled it over you.

“You are safe here. You will rest.” he murmured, crouching beside you.

Your eyes fluttered, unfocused, still fogged with exhaustion. “Sorry… for dinner…”

“No.” His tone was sharp enough to cut. He leaned closer, green eyes fierce. “Do not apologize. Not to me. Not to them. This is not weakness.” His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing away the tears that had slipped down without your notice. “You faced this as you face all things—with strength. Even when your body betrays you, your will does not.”

Your lip trembled, but his words steadied you more than any reassurance could. He stayed there, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath, until your eyes drifted shut again. Only then did Damian allow himself a breath, shoulders sagging for the first time all night.

A soft knock interrupted the silence. Damian’s head snapped toward the door, glare sharp.

“Tt. What?”

The door opened a crack. Dick stepped inside, hands raised in mock surrender, his usual grin subdued. “Easy, little brother. Just checking in.”

Damian’s jaw clenched. “She does not need a circus of visitors.”

“Maybe not” Dick said gently, leaning against the doorframe. “But you don’t have to carry it alone, either.” His eyes flicked to you, then back to Damian. “You handled it… really well.”

Damian scoffed, but the faintest flush touched his ears. “Of course I did. Did you expect otherwise?”

“No.” Dick’s smile softened. “I expected you to care. Just… wasn’t sure you’d let us see it.”

Damian turned back to you, fingers tightening around your hand where it rested on the blanket. “I do not care what you see. I care only that she is unharmed.”

Dick’s gaze lingered, thoughtful, then he nodded once and slipped back out, closing the door quietly behind him.

The silence returned, for a moment.

Another knock. This one softer. Cassandra. She didn’t wait for his permission; she simply stepped inside, moving like a shadow. Her dark eyes studied you, then Damian.

“She trusts you” she said simply, her voice was calm, certain.

Damian’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He didn’t reply, but he inclined his head, a gesture only Cassandra might recognize as acknowledgment. She stayed there in silence, her presence quiet but grounding, until she rose and left as soundlessly as she came.

The door clicked shut. Damian exhaled through his nose, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles in slow circles.

But peace never lasted long in this house.

Jason’s knock was louder, less patient. “Hey, demon spawn. You alive in there?”

“Go away” Damian snapped.

Jason pushed the door open anyway, leaning against the frame with that infuriating smirk. “Relax. Not here to steal your girl. Just wanted to…” His smirk faltered, a rare seriousness slipping in. “Wanted to say you did good. Scary as hell, but—you had it under control.”

Damian bristled. “Of course I did. You think I would allow her to suffer while I floundered like an incompetent?”

Jason held up his hands. “Chill. Was a compliment.” He hesitated, then added, “You’re not as useless as I thought.”

Damian’s glare could’ve cut steel. “Get out.”

Jason chuckled under his breath, but there was no bite in it. “Take care of her, kid.” And then he was gone, door closing with a soft click.

Tim was next. He lingered awkwardly at the door, not stepping in. “Hey. Just… if you need anything—water, meds, whatever—I’ll, uh, stay up.” His voice was quiet, sincere.

Damian didn’t look at him. “I can handle it.”

“I know.” Tim’s gaze flicked to you, then back. “But sometimes it helps to let people help.” He didn’t wait for a reply, just nodded once and walked away.

Finally, the last knock. Firmer, heavier. Damian’s shoulders stiffened.

“Come in” he said flatly.

Bruce stepped inside, expression as unreadable as ever. He stood at the foot of the bed, gaze moving from you to Damian.

“You handled it” he said, the same words he’d spoken downstairs.

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “Do not patronize me.”

“I’m not.” Bruce’s tone was steady, quiet. “You were calm. You followed the steps. You were there for her.” A pause. “That matters.”

Damian held his father’s gaze for a long moment, then looked back down at you, his hand covering yours protectively. “She matters.”

Something flickered in Bruce’s expression, approval, maybe, or understanding, but he didn’t voice it. He only gave a single, heavy nod before turning and leaving, the door shutting softly behind him.

Finally, silence. Real silence. Damian let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He shifted onto the bed beside you, careful not to jostle you, and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against him.

His lips brushed your hair, voice low, meant for you alone. “They saw only a glimpse. They will never understand. But I will guard you through this, through anything.”

Your body relaxed against him, breathing evening out as you slipped back into deep sleep. Damian stayed awake, eyes sharp in the dark, his hold on you unyielding.