I'll be good

For all of the times that I never could

They were beaten, surrounded, and-- by the looks of things-- greatly outnumbered.

Bruce was on the ground, on his knees in front of his son-- his son, who, just a few moments ago, he had thought was dead.

His left knee was throbbing in agony from where he had collapsed onto the ground unexpectantly, hard enough for a deep bruise to form upon his skin. But he didn't make a move to relinquish the pain. He didn't move a muscle, not even when his other boys were shoved roughly down beside him. He couldn't peel his eyes away from the face he thought he would never see again.

It was like he was paralyzed. Like he was trapped in cement, only able to work his lungs.

He tried to speak. Tried so hard to stand to his feet, to push the pain aside until it would be forgotten completely when his arms would wrap themselves around Damian's small frame and hold on tightly, lovingly, as he should have done all along. And he would never let him go again. But his throat closed over trapping any words from leaving his mouth, and he was suddenly being hauled to his feet by merciless hands and taken somewhere he didn't know. All the while, his son stood by and let it happen. Just watched idly with a blank, narrow stare, as though he had no idea who any of them were.

***

He knew who they were, or at least, he thought he did. The memory was hazy, like it was erasing itself from his mind, piece by piece. Slowly but surely.

They knew him, of that, Damian was most certain; they had called his name so many times as they were dragged away from the courtyard, moisture gathering at their eyes and spilling over the masks that covered them.

The one in black, dressed like a bat, had reached for him, an unyielding expression of disbelief on his face. But Damian did not let the gloved hand of the stranger touch him, he flinched away as though it would burn.

Then something in the man's demeanour shifted. A look of heartbreak flashed across his features, and suddenly the man fell to his knees, defeated and hopeless. Damian almost wanted to help him, but he didn't, and instead, he allowed the man to be taken along with the other intruders to the pit where his grandfather awaited all of them.

Damian trailed just after them, keeping a safe distance from the unfamiliar faces of the people he thought maybe he recognised. He joined his mother where she stood waiting at the side of the room, a flash of trepidation had crawled its way onto her face as soon as she caught sight of the intruders, and her hand fell to his shoulder almost instantly, gripping the flesh securely in a possessive manner.

Damian watched as, one by one, their masks were removed, revealing the ashen faces that lay beneath the black coverings.

Even from where he was stood, out of the direct line of sight and covered by darkness, a pair of blue eyes-- that fiercely matched his own-- were staring straight at him, almost as if they couldn't bear to look away.

Damian recognised those eyes and the face they belonged to like it had been etched into his memory.

"Well done, Damian!" his grandfather's booming voice rang out from somewhere above them.

The blue-eyed man flinched at his name, and it looked as though his knees were about to give out at any second.

As though his feet were moving on their own accord, Damian took a few steps forward, inching just the tiniest bit closer. He could see them almost perfectly-- the matching locks of ebony hair they all shared, the different shades of cerulean eyes-- they looked like a family. Damian couldn't help but think for just a moment that he looked just like them. That he would fit right in with them. He wanted so desperately to remember how he recognised them, but the vice-like grip of his mother's hand on his shoulder, the deep sound of his grandfather's voice, dragged him back to reality, holding him in place and forcing him to keep it buried deep within himself.