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Steph can't breathe. She can't breathe, blood gurgling painfully in her throat, head roaring, a million parts of her body screaming with a million kinds of pain. Blood is trickling down her scalp, clotting her hair, running into her swollen eyes and bruised mouth. The rope slicing into her hands is the only thing that keeps her from collapsing completely to the floor.
There's a man standing in front of her, smiling. He's got a mask burnt into his eyes and eyes cold and pitiless as a shark's. Earlier he'd looked at her with something like hunger, but now his eyes drag over her ruined, bleeding body with visible contempt.
"You didn't last long," Roman Sionis says, and if any of Steph's muscles would listen to her she'd cringe away from his voice.
"I don't know what else you expected," another man says, voice echoing behind her. "Steffie's never been one to stick out for the long run." She can feel her father's breath ruffling her hair, close enough to touch her if he wanted to.
A voice whispers, this is wrong. They never hurt you like this, not both at once. But the fear feels so real it drowns everything else out, sinks straight into her fading heart and shattered bones. If she could, she'd beg.
Roman hums, crossing bloody hands over his chest. "Still. I was hoping for a bit more entertainment before the main event." He sighs. "Oh, well."
Her eyes sting. Don't let them see you cry, she whispers to herself, but it's too late--the tears are already mixing with the blood, stinging the wounds on her face. She can feel them slipping off her chin and plopping to the filthy concrete floor below.
"Oh, don't cry, darling," Da--Cluemaster croons. "I'm sure you tried your best." His hands claps down on her shoulder and squeezes; Stephanie cries out in pain and fear and--
"Brown, wake up!"
She jolts upright, lashing out, and hears someone curse as they dance just out of range. Steph scrambles upright and plants her back to the wall, shaking. Her free hand fumbles for the light and a lamp clicks on to reveal a vaguely familiar bedroom, clean and neat and totally devoid of monsters.
Damian Wayne stands there in neat black pajamas, hair mussed like he just got out of bed. "Passable form, but you're too slow as usual, Brown," he huffs.
Steph's heart is still pounding a bit too fast to care about the jab. "I, uh--"
"You're in Wayne Manor," he says. "We came in from patrol late and you couldn't be bothered to drive all the way home, so we graciously set you up in one of the guest rooms."
"Dick--"
"Is still downstairs with Pennyworth." Right, Dick had gotten banged up a little in the last fight. Steph's decision to stay was partly out of a genuine desire to not drag herself home after a long, hard night and partly as a favor to Dick, who'd been worried about some asshole (probably Jason) stirring up shit at the Manor while he was laid up and getting tended to by Alfred.
"I was passing by when I heard you making various undignified noises," Damian explains. "I thought it prudent to wake you before you disturbed the whole house."
"Uh--yeah." She's too rattled to parse the layers of affection and contempt in that latest round of Damian-speak; it's going to be enough effort getting to sleep after this. "Thanks, D."
"Do you require further assistance?"
Steph stares. "What?" Sure, Damian isn't a total asshole, but he'd never struck her as particularly helpful.
Damian raises his eyebrow in that are-you-an-absolute-moron way of his. "Grayson has instructed me extensively on this protocol--I am surprised he did not inform you, as well. He says that missions are successful when the team is cohesive, and the best way to build a cohesive team is to support one another in times of distress."
"Um, that makes sense." Definitely sounds like something Dick would say. "But I'm good, kiddo, really." Well, maybe not good, but not suffering from the kind of problems she feels like burdening a ten-year-old with.
"Are you sure?" Damian peers at her curiously. "You still seem in some distress."
"That's sweet of you to care, really, but I'm fine--"
"Not in here, you're not," Damian huffs, looking around here. "The wallpaper is atrocious. It won't put you back into a soothing state anytime soon." He turns away with a put-upon sigh. "Must I do everything myself? Come along."
Steph hesitates, but if she's really honest with herself Damian has a point about the wallpaper (and she doesn't really want to be alone with her thoughts right now). She slides out of bed and follows Damian out of the room and down the hall.
He takes them into the kitchen, flicking on the light to reveal everything is as spick-and-span as it ever was. For a second Steph thinks he'll make tea, but instead, Damian vaults onto the counter with what Steph thinks is an overly showy flip, coming down with a box of brightly colored cereal.
She watches in bemusement as he makes a bowl, something she wasn't aware he knew how to do, and shoves it into her hands. "Here."
"Thanks, but I don't--"
"Grayson always grows more cheerful when he consumes this…substance," Damian cuts her off. "You two have similar personality traits, so it’ll likely have a similar effect on you."
"I--okay." Steph is too tired to argue, so she just holds the bowl as Damian leads her to the bathroom. He nudges her down onto the couch and snatches up an afghan, throwing it over her lap.
"Grayson says that it's good to find a soothing distraction at times like these," Damian explains, flicking the TV on.
Steph takes a few bites of her cereal, relieved to find it's not quite as sugary as she feared. She listens to Damian mutter to himself as he works on the TV, raising her eyebrow at what he pulls up on the screen.
"The Muppets Christmas Carol? Really?"
"An insipid choice, to be fair, but you mentioned that it was your favorite movie for the American holidays," Damian says, glancing at her over his shoulder with what might be a slightly worried expression. "Didn't you?"
"Yeah, but--it's January, Dames."
"So?"
"...Never mind." Did it really matter? She'd wanted to watch that movie during the Christmas season, but with homework, presents, and dealing with everybody's Christmas-themed crimes, she hadn't really had a moment to spare. Better late than never. And it was--okay, getting the chance to watch it with Damian.
The movie starts to play, logos blossoming across the scream, and Damian comes to sit next to her. Steph says next to her, but he's really sitting on the far end of the couch, bolt upright like a little soldier. Looking over at him, something occurs to her.
"Hey, Damian?" she asks. "How'd you hear me having a nightmare if you were asleep, too?" She couldn't have been that loud, or Alfred would have come running--Dick, too, injuries or no.
He hesitates briefly enough that Steph probably would have missed it if she hadn't been trained by Barbara Gordon, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, and Cassandra Cain. "I was going to get a glass of water, of course," he snaps, shoulders drawing up ever so slightly.
"Yeah," Steph says softly. "I get that." And she does. She might not know the details of Damian's nightmares anymore than he knows hers, but she knows a little bit about fear, and how much harder it is to deal with alone.
She turns to the movie, casually throwing one arm across the top of the couch while she keeps eating the cereal with her free hand until she finally sets the empty bowl aside. They watch mostly in silence, with an occasional snappy comment from Damian calling the plot "sentimental" or the Muppets "grotesque."
"You just need to expand your understanding of art, that's all, Dami," Steph tells him. He lets out one of those little Tts of his; she won't admit it, but she's starting to like the sound of them.
As the movie goes on, she can feel Damian moving closer, inch by incremental inch. She makes sure to not say anything when he snuggles up at her side, careful not to scare him away. His hair is surprisingly soft as it brushes against her side, and she can catch a faint whiff of his soap.
They don't speak as his breathing slowly changes, deepening into sleep. Steph lifts the blanket so she can tuck it around them both, keeping them safe from the outside world, and keeps watching the movie.
Eventually she can feel herself drifting off, too. She doesn’t dream about anything at all.