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When Damian woke up bound to a chair, he was pissed.
How he’d managed to get captured, he didn’t understand. The last thing he remembered was attending a Wayne Foundation gala with his family. His head pounded as if he’d been drugged, but he’d drank the same punch as everyone else.
“Ah, looks like someone’s finally awake.”
A figure stepped forward. He was dressed in standard black tactical gear along with a mask that completely concealed his face. His accent was not American – Egyptian or some other North African place, if Damian had to guess.
“What do you want from me?” He asked, forcing a little bit of tremble into his voice. Though he loathed acting like a scared child, it wouldn’t do to immediately show his cards. And in any case, it wouldn’t be necessary. Father had trackers sewn into all of his children’s outfits before a gala. He was prudent like that. Someone would come to collect him shortly.
“You’ll find out very soon,” his captor taunted, “but first, you’re of no use to me like this. To get what I came for, I need your other form.”
That couldn’t be good.
“What other form?” He demanded, heart racing.
Even though his face was hidden, Damian could hear the smirk in his captor’s voice as he answered. “Why, your dragon form, of course.”
Damian started fighting his restraints with all of his might. If this man already knew his species, then there was no point in pretending to be a weak human anymore. But despite the fact that he normally could rip through ropes in his sleep, his bindings held him firmly in place. When that didn’t work, he attempted to summon fire but found he couldn’t produce so much as a ring of smoke.
“Don’t bother, kid. Those ropes are braided with strands of Sphinx hair. Not to mention the hefty dose of Embershade I slipped into the punch.”
Damn. It all made sense now. Embershade was a sap that contained a chemical compound that reacted to the enzymes in a dragon’s fire glands. It worked as both a sedative and flame retardant in dragons, but everyone else (even his brothers) would remain largely unaffected. The substance was crazy rare – even his grandfather only ever had a small vial on hand. This man, whoever he was, was obviously a professional.
Damian tried his best to mask his fear. “Who are you?”
The man turned to a nearby cart and picked up a syringe. It was filled with a shimmering, black liquid. “I’m just a man who likes to make money. So, when someone offered me ten million dollars for a sheet of dragon scales, how could I refuse? Of course, I knew it would be a challenge. There are very few dragon clans left in the world, and even fewer who choose to live within human society. That’s when I remembered there was an al Ghul living in Gotham.”
“M-my father knows where I am!” He said as the man approached him. “He’s coming for me!”
His captor laughed as he grabbed a fistful of Damian’s hair. “Why the hell would I be worried about Bruce Wayne? Now, be a good boy and take your medicine.”
The needle slid into Damian’s neck. He bit back a scream as the mysterious black substance pushed its way into his veins. Immediately, his body felt heavy. His head lolled forward as the muscles in his neck gave up. He couldn’t move.
“Naga venom. Very effective for making prey more cooperative.”
Damian wasn’t as well versed in magical compounds as Richard, but he knew Naga venom to be a very effective paralytic. His mind was clear, and he maintained full sensation, but he had no control over his body.
The man cut his bindings, catching Damian as he slid bonelessly to the floor.
“I’ll admit, the hardest part of this operation was figuring out how to get you to transform,” the man explained as he hefted Damian over his shoulder like a stack of potatoes. “Unlike werewolves or vampires, dragons don’t often change under duress. Your kind is stubbornly good at concealing yourselves. But, where there’s a will, there’s a way.” He carried Damian over to a large, painted circle with runes lining its edges. He dropped him into a rough heap in its center. “That stubborn old witch charged me a fortune to stencil the correct runes, but it’ll be far worth it in the end.”
Damian watched helplessly as his captor took a waiting paint brush and completed the final rune. Immediately, the circle lit up, and he felt his draconic energy take over despite his best efforts to keep it contained. As always, he transformed in a bright flash of light, his clothing disappearing alongside the rest of his human features. His dragon form was about the size of a grizzly bear, though it would continue to grow as he did.
“Perfect,” the man smiled hungrily. “Now, I can get to work.”
He started by moving Damian into position: on his left side with his wings pinned down by weights. Then, he held up a large, shimmering black knife as he stepped up to the dragon’s flank.
“It’s made of obsidian,” he explained. “Made to be razor sharp without as much risk of damaging the pelt.”
Damian hated that word. Pelt. As if he were simply an animal to be skinned to make leather. Though, it was clear that this man considered him exactly that.
“And here we go.”
The first cut was long and deep. Damian bit back a roar as his captor used giant skinning hooks to pull back his flesh as he carved along the natural seams of Damian’s right upper back, separating the scales and dermis from the underlying tissue. Despite the paralysis, Damian felt every slice of the blade and the wetness of his own blood as it flowed down his side. It was unlike any torture he’d ever endured.
At some point, Damian couldn’t remain silent any longer. His scream-like roars reverberated off the walls, begging for release from his agony. His captor paid them no mind.
After what felt like an eternity, the man peeled off a large, intact sheet of Damian’s scales. The flesh left behind was angry, exposed muscle. His captor struggled under the weight of his prize as he lugged it over to a nearby rack.
“This is perfect,” he said, stepping back to view the fruits of his labor. Damian wanted to throw up. His hide was hung up right in front of him in a grotesque display, its dark green scales shimmering in the low light of the warehouse.
He couldn’t say a word. He was in too much pain. His flank was burning, as if acid had been poured on top of it.
To his horror, the man turned back to him. “Now, for the other side.”
The windows shattered.
Damian’s tears went from those of agony and shame to those of pure relief as his father and brothers burst into the warehouse.
His captor reeled back. “Batman? How did you–”
Before he could even finished his sentence, the Dark Knight was on him. He took the man down with a hard punch before quickly cuffing his hands behind his back.
Meanwhile, Nightwing, Red Hood, and Red Robin came rushing towards him.
“Holy fucking shit,” Jason breathed as he took in the full extent of the damage.
Dick noticed the runes right away. He wasted no time in kneeling and breaking the circle with his hands. On instinct, Damian’s body shrunk back into its human state despite the fact that he was still paralyzed. The movement exacerbated the wounds on his back, and more screams ripped from his throat as his body transformed.
“Oh, God, Damian, I’m so sorry,” Dick said, his voice broken. “We’re gonna help you. It’s gonna be okay.”
“P-Paralyzed,” Damian ground out, his voice hoarse. He was still lying on his side, unable to move himself. “N-Naga venom.”
“Fuck,” Tim cursed. He fell to his knees and gently rolled Damian onto his belly to get the pressure off of his back. Then, he took his trauma sheers and cut the boy's suit jacket and shirt off to expose the wounds.
All three of his brothers gasped when they saw what lay underneath the fabric.
“He’s bleeding a lot,” Jason observed grimly. “Tim, help me wrap him.”
While they did that, Nightwing retrieved an atomizer from his belt and held it up to Damian’s nose. “Breathe in deep, Dami. It’s pain medicine.”
Damian did as he was told, desperate for any kind of relief. The pain was unbearable.
“Batman, we need to get him back to the Cave ASAP,” Nightwing called. After administering the pain medication, he’d started stroking Damian’s hair. Normally, he would never allow his brother to do that in front of others, but Damian needed the comforting touch. Tim and Jason were trying to be gentle, but every little touch or change of pressure on his back sent fresh bolts of lightning-hot pain searing through his body. He’d long since given up on trying not to cry.
He felt the presence of his father kneeling next to him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, sounding heartbroken.
Despite his agony, Damian was still Robin. He needed to give report to Batman. “F-Father, that man was hired to do this. S-someone paid him for my scales.”
Jason growled lowly. It didn’t sound human. “Motherfucker.”
Batman moved to where Damian could see him and cupped his son’s cheek. “Damian, I swear to you that man will never touch you again. And we’ll find whoever hired him and make sure they don’t send anyone else.”
Damian’s gaze flickered to the rack of his scales. He sincerely hoped his father was right.
Dick got back to the Cave first.
He let his motorcycle drop carelessly to the ground as he raced to his worktable. There, he kept his grandmother’s remedy book along with all of his apothecary supplies. Damian was going to need all the help he could get.
“Moonflower poultice,” he murmured to himself as he flipped through the page. He found the recipe he was looking for and got to work. The poultice acted as an analgesic, soothing nerve endings and calming inflammation without overly sedating the patient. Damian had already been drugged twice tonight, so the poultice was the safest way to offer him relief without risking more harm. He threw moonflower petals, lavender, and crushed pearl into his mortar and started grinding them together with his pestle.
Once it was congealed and throughly mixed, he set it aside and got to work on his neck concoction: The Phoenix’s Salve. This remedy would augment Damian’s innate healing ability to accelerate true regeneration while preventing scar tissue formation. Dick’s hope was that it would stave off any permanent disfigurement. He only used it in the most dire of emergencies due to the rarity of its ingredients, but his baby brother getting skinned alive definitely met criteria.
The Batmobile came roaring in just as he finished.
Dick quickly gathered his supplies and followed his father as Batman carried Damian into the med bay and laid him face down on the table.
“He’s still paralyzed, but in a lot of pain,” the Dark Knight reported to Alfred, who’d come running in as soon as they’d arrived.
Dick handed Alfred a syringe with a capped needle. “This is Naga antivenom. It’ll end the paralysis almost immediately when given intravenously.”
“Right. I shall obtain access and administer it forthwith.”
The butler managed to start an IV in Damian’s forearm even with the boy laying prone, which Dick found to be very impressive. Alfred then screwed the syringe of antivenom onto the hub and pushed it through.
Meanwhile, Dick got to work himself.
“Damian, I’ve got something better for the pain I can give you in just a minute,” Dick assured as he started cutting the trauma bandages off. They were soaked with his little brother’s bright red blood. “But first, I need to decontaminate the wounds and cauterize them. It’s going to sting, but just focus on your breathing. It’ll get better soon.”
Bruce, who had moved his seat right in front of Damian’s face, gingerly brushed his youngest’s hair out of his face. “I’m right here, son. It’s going to be alright.”
Damian’s voice came out in a broken whisper. “O-okay.”
The wound looked bad. The muscle was raw and constantly oozing from its broken capillaries. Bits of fascia and other connective tissue emerged from the wound’s flayed edges. It took up about 40% of his back, stretching from his shoulder blade all the way down to the bottom of his rib cage.
Dick started by saturating strips of gauze with a special oil made from diluted basilisk venom and dabbing them directly onto the inflamed tissue. The oil would act as a clotting agent to stop the bleeding as well as an antimicrobial to prevent infection. Damian hissed when the liquid made contact with his back but made no other complaint.
Dick fanned over Damian’s back with his hand. “I’m so sorry, kiddo. I know it burns. The bad stuff is all done now. Here comes the pain relief.”
After donning clean gloves, he took a bit of the poultice, flattened it into a thin sheet between his palms, and draped it over a section of the wound. He continued piece by piece until every bit of exposed muscle was covered. Within seconds, Damian let out a relieved sigh as the poultice leeched the pain from his back.
“That’s… that’s better,” the dragon breathed.
Dick grabbed his brother’s hand and squeezed. “Good. We’ll give it a few minutes to fully absorb before I apply the Phoenix Salve.”
“I-I am also beginning to regain movement,” Damian realized. For emphasis, he wiggled his fingers.
Bruce offered a comforting smile. “That’s great, sweetheart.”
Once the poultice had absorbed, Dick returned to his satchel and pulled out the salve. The ointment shimmered gold under the fluorescent lights of the med-bay. He dipped his gloved hand into the salve scooped some out. “Okay, Dames, this shouldn’t hurt, but you’ll probably feel some warmth.”
With the worst of the pain tamed and the stress of the paralysis wearing off, Damian’s eyes were half-lidded. The poor kid looked exhausted. “Mmmhmm.”
Upon contact with the broken flesh, the salve glowed. Dick continued to massage the ointment into the wounds, slathering it over the entire back before covering the area with clean gauze.
“There,” Dick announced, stepping back to admire his work. “Hopefully, by the morning, you’ll start to see some real improvement.”
Damian, now fully back in control of his own body, sagged against the table with relief. “Th-thank you, Richard.”
Dick leaned down and kissed his baby brother on the head. “Of course, Dami. I’m so sorry this happened.”
Just as he finally succumbed to unconsciousness, the dragon sighed weakly. “Me too.”
Bruce remained at his youngest’s side, continuing to stroke his thick, dark hair long after the boy had fallen asleep. “Hopefully, Jason and Tim’s interrogation will prove fruitful,.”
The vampire hummed darkly. “I imagine it will be.”
Dick’s two brothers had stayed behind at the warehouse to collect evidence and question Damian’s captor. Dick imagined the man would give up his buyer soon enough. As for Damian’s scales, his littlest brother could decide what he wanted done with them later. The important thing was, no one would be making a dime off of the mutilation.
And they’d be damned if they ever let something like this happen again.