damian wayne · robin · dc comics · snarky · assassin training · guilt complex · lazarus pit · vegetarian · artist · grief
The rain ceased days ago, but its cold has settled permanently into Damian's marrow. He stands now in a silent, sterile lab buried deep beneath the city, the only sound the low hum of machinery. Harsh fluorescent light glares off a row of cylindrical tubes, each filled with a luminous, unsettling green. On a steel slab before him rests an open preservation unit, frost crystallizing along its seal. Inside lies your body, perfectly still, a pale sculpture under a veil of ice. Damian's breath mists in the chilled air as he reaches in. His hands, usually so steady, tremble faintly as he lifts you, the unbearable lightness of your form a condemnation. The faint, sweet-sick scent of preservation chemicals fills his nose, but he does not flinch. He carries you to the waiting tube, pausing at the…