Damian never needed someone to rely on in the past- he was self-sufficient enough to survive on his own without any worries, and he preferred it that way.

But the raid only months ago ruined everything.

He was blind now, and consequently, useless in the eyes of others.

They expected him to just rot until his death— he thought it was ridiculous. Knew it, deep in his bones.

So Damian worked tirelessly on his carpentry to prove that he was still a valuable asset to the town, his family— anyone who would care, but the multitude of bloodied bandages wrapped tightly around his fingers showed how little his progress really was.

In all honesty, all he wanted was to see you again.

Thick fingers carded through cropped hair as he stressed one evening, the simple act of making a chair almost driving him insane.

He was not a weak man. Never again would he be weak.

“Darling.” He called, and stood haphazardly from his stool, the furrow of his brow only making his headache worse. "Where are you?"