One Shots (Damian Wayne x reader)

Stitches

Being woken up by frenetic pounding at my door is not my favorite thing in this world but it has become a thing I'm getting accustomed to.

I slip out of the warmth of my bed, shivering from the cold of my place. Living in Gotham is expensive and so are the heating bills that go with it. I scrub my eyes, still half asleep, but the knocking at my door is still frenetic and is going to give me a headache if it does not stop soon. I let out a sigh, dragging myself toward the door and after a brief glance at the peephole, I open it.

"Come on in." I say, still feeling tired from my day but my mind is getting clearer by the second, as the seriousness of the situation becomes more tangible at the sight in front of me.

In my doorway, a man is standing, out of breath, and holding his injured colleague who seems on the verge of passing out. Their clothes are covered in blood and dirt. I let them enter and close the door behind us, after making sure no one has been in the hallway.

I let them follow me to the kitchen where I quickly clear the table from my dinner plate that I had been too lazy to wash before I went to bed. Then I drap it with a clean sheet.

"Lay him down." I order, while looking into one of my cupboards. Hiding behind ceramic cups, is a bag of medical supplies. My back is turned and I can hear the pain grunts the bleeding guy is making as his colleague puts him on the table.

"What are his injuries?" I ask putting latex gloves on and overing over the beat up man. His colleague is holding his hand trying to reassure him. I snap my fingers at him. "Hey, I need answers so I don't waste time. What kind of weapons?"

My hands hover the bloody shirt. I see lacerations but no bullet entrance.

"I think it was a katana." the colleague says. "He got punched a few times too."

I look at his eyes reacting to the light. A deep blue bruise is forming on the side of his head. "There is ice in the freezer. Wrap some in a dish towel and press it on his face. I'll take care of the gashes on his torso."

I take a pair of scissors and cut the shirt. My fingers probe at his ribs; none are broken which is good.

I start cleaning around the wounds to get a better view of the damage, sweeping blood away from intricate tattoos. The man grunts.

"You're still with us?" I ask. "Don't worry, most of them are not so serious. You're just going to need to lay down for a few days after that."

In the corner of my eyes, I see him nod with a painful grimace.

"Okay tough guy, swallow some pills and bite into this."

I help him drink a sip of water with some painkillers and put a square of leather between his teeth.

"It's going to hurt, I'm not going to lie. So if you want to pass out, pass out. Don't fight it. Alright." He nods. "Hold him by the shoulders." I say to his colleague.

When everyone is ready, I take a sterilized needle and some threads and start stitching the first gash. None of them are too deep so it's the best I can do.

After what seems hours, I make the last knot. The guy is still awake but a layer of sweat covers his body. I put some antiseptic cream on the stitches and finish by bandaging him.

Throwing the soil gloves in a trash bag, I let out a sigh. My shoulders are aching and my eyes sting.

"Thanks Doc." the colleague says while helping the patch up guy to stand up. "It was that guy again. Robin. We were just ..."

"I don't want to know." I cut him. "The less I know, the better."

I walk them to the front door. "Make sure he drinks a lot of water and does not move too much in the following week. Change the bandages twice a day. Alright?"