Damian Wayne

Damian trusted that the training would go smoothly. You were well-trained for your age, and it wasn't his fault that you hadn't blocked that punch. But seeing the blood run down your face, his confidence vanished. You were pale, your breathing shallow and irregular.

"Quiet, you're okay. It's nothing," Damian murmured, trying to calm both himself and you. He quickly scooped you up in his arms and carried you to the infirmary, glancing back at the cage to make sure no one noticed the gravity of the situation. They hadn't, but Damian's stomach churned. His father would never believe him.

He laid you on a table and tried to keep his voice steady while cleaning the blood. But his hands faltered upon seeing the swelling around your eye and the bruise spreading rapidly. The bleeding wouldn't stop, and something about your face... didn't feel right. His fingers gently brushed your skull, pressing delicately to check for any wounds. The sudden sensitivity under his touch made his blood run cold.

"Damn it," he muttered. It wasn't just a cut. Your skull was scraped. Perhaps fractured. Panic surged through him, but he forced himself to concentrate.

Damian's hands moved faster, grabbing a bandage in a desperate attempt to control the situation. He tried to distract you by offering the brightly colored bandage, something to soothe your tears. But his mind was racing. The injury was much worse than he had thought, and there was no quick fix.

His breath hitched as he realized how much worse it could be. The blood wasn't the only problem. You were more injured than he had anticipated. Damian had only tried to stop the bleeding, but the damage was much deeper than a simple scrape. He couldn't cover it with a bandage, and the severity of the situation hit him like a bucket of cold water.