dami can't (leavethenest) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-09-19 15:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | damian wayne |
Who: Damian narrative
Where: The upper middle class area of Gotham
When: Recently
What: Damian adopts a cat from the pound and gives it to one of Scarecrow's victims.
Warnings: Talk of serious injury. A little d'aww.
Damian stood outside of a small, upper middle class home in the better part of Gotham. It was a pretty little house snug in an identical row of blue, grays and whites. The few that had tiny lawns in the front were perfectly manicured with flowers or sometimes vegetables growing behind low wooden fences. Even in this peaceful, painted world, Damian looked out of place. His black summer blazer was too expensive. His jeans ripped and worn in systematically stylish ways seemed more pretentious than attractive. His face shaved and hair pushed back like some kind of 1960's millionaire with nothing better to do than "slum" it in a neighborhood where houses were in walking distance of each other.
But, the thing that seemed really odd about him was the carrier in his hand and the couple bags of pet supplies in the other. While he should have been busy training or saving the city one failed robbery at a time, he found himself checking up on the families who were involved with the summer camp incident. He couldn't face any of the parents that lost children (he couldn't begin to understand the kind of sorrow and regret they were feeling) and instead put his attention towards the kids who were injured. The kids who could have died if he hadn't shown up when he did. Damian still saw their pain and disabilities as failure on his part, but it was something he was certain he could help improve.
Damian couldn't make these people's lives better just by paying for medical bills that were too outrageous for even their salaries. The nightmares that beat him up every night for not being a little faster, a little stronger, made him go that extra mile. The ghosts of all the children who died because he wasn't good enough were enough to make him feel sick. Enough to make him hide from anyone that didn't deserve some kind of abuse. So, he had to make this right. His own way.
Knocking on the door as the fur ball in the carrier mewed gently, Damian tried to make himself smile, but nothing beyond a straight line formed. A moment passed and then an exhausted, gray haired mother greeted him with a similar look as if she too desperately wanted to smile.
"You're better at it than me, Mrs. Erickson."
"Mr. Wayne?" She asked, rubbing her wet fingers on her apron before giving him a confused look.
"Smiling. I've always been terrible at it." Damian managed a smirk, which made the housewife brighten a little before ushering him inside. He and Mrs. Erickson had been corresponding since that night her daughter had been savagely attacked by another child. She had suffered a lot of nerve damage, which made it hard to walk and painful to sleep. Damian suggested that a cat, namely one that got into a fight itself, would be a good edition to the home. Cats can be therapeutic and this one needs her as much as she needs it Damian had told the mother over a phone conversation. He could be convincing when he wanted to be.
"Jenny is in the living room. She's pretty excited about this kitten." The mother shut the door behind him and then whispered. "I didn't tell her it's...disabled. Bringing up the subject with her is hard enough, you know?"
"I understand." Damian handed the woman some of the cat supplies. "This is a perfectly sociable cat. I personally picked it up at a local pound and made sure it's a good fit for any child. I'm sure she'll love it."
"I hope so." Mrs. Erickson forced another smile, this one much less impressive than the one she greeted him with.
"Jenny?" Damian called from the hallway, entering the living room to see a sullen little girl with black hair and dark eyes. She was sitting upright on the couch with pillows and a couple used ice packs next to her, smelling a little of peppermint. She grinned brightly at Damian, arms out as she wiggled her fingers towards the cat carrier.
"I already named it!" Jenny told him excitedly, shifting a little in her seat and trying to hide the pain that came with it. Damian held back a wince, remembering what it was like to be in a wheelchair and knowing it wasn't anything close to this. Everything in his life was a burden, including injuries. Being a normal child didn't have to be that way.
"Oh yeah?" Damian took a seat next to her, the cat in his carrier meowing louder as it paced inside of its little cage. "Did your mommy tell you how to take care of a cat?"
Jenny gave a sure, honest nod. For the first time in weeks, Damian actually smiled.
"Good. Okay, be gentle. Nice, easy pets." Damian opened the carrier and slowly took out the cat. It was an orange tabby, around two years old, with a flat, broken ear and an eye sewn shut. It purred happily on his lap, sniffing at the little girl and Damian's shirt.
Jenny's expression dropped three stories down. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears as she tried to scoot away from the cat.
"What's wrong with it?" She looked at Damian like he had cheated her. Like he brought her something defective and broken. "This isn't the kitty I wanted. Mommy! This isn't the kitty you said he was going to bring me!"
Damian defensively held onto the cat like he was protecting it from the little girl. Be patient, Dami. She's just a child. Jade rung in the back of his head, voice calm and collected when he wanted to scream at a seven year old.
"Well honey, nothing is wrong with it." Mrs. Erickson stepped in, walking quickly over to her now nearly crying child. She seemed calm, like a ship's captain who had been through some of the worst storms all strung tightly together. "This kitty is happy and healthy and it just wants to love you, Jenny."
"No. It's gross and there's something wrong with its eye." Jenny crossed her arms, dipping her head down to her chin as she started to sniffle.
Damian looked up at the housewife. He was scared, tired and didn't know the first thing about making bratty little kids show a little empathy. The irony of which wasn't lost on him. "He got into a fight." Damian looked over at Jenny, a seriousness in his voice that had been the same since he was old enough to talk. "A bad fight. He's lucky he's alive. And, he just wants- needs someone to take care of him."
"Then you do it." Jenny gave him a furious, red eyed look that echoed everything Damian knew about himself. He felt honestly frightened by the little girl, like she was some kind of Christmas spirit that was here to knock him farther down than he was already. He was at a loss for words, mouth open as the girl just stared at him.
"Mr. Wayne, do you want some coffee?" Mrs. Erickson stood up, looking down at the orange cat that seemed more confused now than anything. Damian nodded, standing up to bring the cat with him, but the housewife motioned to leave it on the couch. She moved quickly into the kitchen, working like there was some kind of rush to get coffee made to avoid having a breakdown of her own. Damian followed her gingerly, leaning on the kitchen threshold as he watched her work.
"I'm sorry." Damian said finally, amidst the scooping of ground coffee beans and clink of mugs.
"No. No." She replied, her fingers shaking too much for her to open a simple filter package.
"I thought it would help. I've read books about this and that cat is a really good cat." Damian sighed as she gave up on trying to make coffee and tossed the filter across the counter. In seconds, the woman was already crying, sobbing like her daughter. Arms and body shaking with each inhale like she was barely holding together.
"I'm so happy she lived, but it's been hard." She turned, eyes wide and bright with everything she couldn't show her daughter. "She's in so much pain. The doctor says she'll get better, that- you know- she's young and that helps. But, I-" Another wave of sobs. She clutched her stomach like someone shoved a knife through her. "I'm sorry, this isn't your problem."
Damian stood there in silence, watching the woman break down as he tried to think of what to do. His first instinct was to take the cat and run. To cut his losses and hope this family adopted a fully functional golden retriever. But, Jade stopped him. It wasn't anything she said, just that weird presence in the back of his head that told him to make this right. To try, anyway.
He moved forward, practically catching the woman in his arms and held onto her as she cried. They stood there for a long time, ages it felt like; her sobbing into his thousand dollar blazer as he silently held on. Eventually, she stopped. Her crying turned to embarrassed hiccups and then a laugh as she looked up at Damian, pulled away and turned on the water to wash her face.
"I'm going to go check on Jenny." Damian said, more concerned about the cat than the daughter at this point. He turned and walked down the hallway, ready to rescue the poor tabby from another emotional female. Instead, he saw the orange cat happily curled in the girls lap, her hands delicately petting fur that was far away from his broken ear or eye. Her eyes will still wet with tears, but there was peace for once. A quiet, happy peace.
"Still gonna name it?" Damian asked quietly. Jenny shrugged, looking down at the cat.
"Yeah I guess." She failed to fight a smile. "Do you like the name Peter?"
"Love it."
"Good. Peter, then." She nodded at Damian before looking down at the tabby affectionately. "You're still a stupid cat."