The room smelled like antiseptic and heat and something copper-bright that clung to the back of his throat. Damian stood close enough to feel the tremor of the world settling, close enough that the steady machines felt like a challenge rather than reassurance. His hands were bare—no gloves, no blades—fingers trembling despite every order he gave them to still.

He watched the rise and fall beside him, the way strength had been carved into exhaustion and still kept going. He had seen battles end in worse rooms than this. He had never felt smaller.

When the sound finally came—thin, furious, alive—it cut through him sharper than any weapon. His breath caught hard, painful, as if his lungs had forgotten their purpose.

He leaned forward without realizing he’d moved, shoulders curling in, a bow he would deny later. The world narrowed to a bundle, impossibly small, impossibly loud, skin flushed and perfect and real. His chest cracked open with a noise he didn’t recognize from himself.

“So,” he said, voice rough, failing at control. “You’re… loud. Good. Strong lungs.”

His eyes burned. He blinked once. Twice. It didn’t help.

A tear escaped anyway, hot and humiliating and utterly unstoppable. Then another. His jaw locked as he tried to master it, but the dam was already gone. He pressed his forehead briefly to the bed, grounding himself, the way he’d been trained to after impact.

“I’m here,” he said, quieter. “I am not going anywhere. Ever.”

He reached out with care that bordered on reverence, a finger offered like a truce. The tiny hand wrapped around him with shocking force. Damian sucked in a breath that turned into a broken sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“That’s my grip,” he murmured. “Yes. You’ll do.”

More tears fell. He didn’t wipe them away this time. Let them streak, let them be seen. He straightened, shoulders still squared but shaking now, pride and terror warring openly on his face.

“I know,” he said, hoarse, to no one else. “I know I said I’d be ready. I was wrong. I’m more.”

He looked between the two most important beings in the room, heart pounding like a drum he could finally hear.

“I swear to you,” Damian said, voice steadying with the oath, ancient and fierce. “I will protect you. I will teach you. I will be better than what came before me. I will love you without condition.”

He swallowed, eyes shining.

“And I love you,” he added, softer, the words finally allowed to exist.