Chapter 11
Harry couldn’t breathe. His lungs were burning but he couldn’t draw breath. It was like there was a python wrapped around his chest, slowly crushing him.
Tim was the first person to notice.
“Hey, hey,” he clasped under Harry’s elbows keeping him from sinking to the ground. Harry knew he Tim was running through the breathing exercises they had created together but this time, they weren’t working. Tim’s voice was oddly muffled, his face blurred.
Harry’s knees hit the ground and his head fell simply onto his chest.
“Harry, Hazza,” Jason was speaking now, “you gotta breathe.” Harry tried to draw in a shuddering breath but it caught in his throat.
He was going back to the Dursleys. Dumbledore was going to find him or Bruce would kick him out. He could already see his cupboard walls, pressing in on him. The ground beneath Harry seemed to be shaking. Through the fog in his brain, Harry heard a strange tinkling of metal on glass. It took a few seconds for him to realise that the whole room was vibrating. Pens and empty mugs were clattering against the desk and the desk chairs were teetering on three legs. Was Harry causing this? He shrunk further into himself.
“It’s ok,” someone was rubbing circles on Harry’s back. “Just calm down.”
No, no, no, no. The shaking increased, shuddering under waves of energy emitting from directly away from Harry. He couldn’t calm down. They knew, they all knew. Harry recoiled from the touch.
He didn’t know how much time was passing. His chest was burning, his strained pants the only thing keeping black dots from taking over his vision.
The Dursleys might really kill him if he returned. The sounds of the Batcave faded and all Harry could hear was Aunt Petunia wrapping on his cupboard.
“Get up! Get up!”
Harry scrambled back from the cupboard door.
“If you’re not up and making breakfast in the next five minutes, you won’t be let out of your cupboard for a week.”
“Yes Aunt Petunia,” Harry gasped. He rubbed a hand against his ribs. Dudley must have caught him yesterday. They didn’t feel broken, probably just bruised. It was best not to heal them. He didn’t want Uncle Vernon to get suspicious if his bruises faded too quickly. It would only encourage him to add more.
Harry reached up to open the cupboard door but his hand hit against something warm instead. What was that?
“Harry can you hear me?”
Strange. That wasn’t Aunt Petunia’s voice. It was much deeper and softer. There was something comforting about that voice. Without thinking he shuffled closer to it. His knees hit against the same solid warmth. He couldn’t see who it was but something in the back of his head was saying “safe”.
A large hand closed around his. For a moment, Harry flinched back but the hand did not slap him or hold him so tight that it left behind finger shaped bruises. It simply rested on Harry’s clenched fist. Slowly, very slowly, Harry unfurled his hand and linked his fingers with the comforting warmth.
“That’s right Harry,” the voice said, “you’re safe. It’s ten-fifteen at night. You’re in the Batcave.”
The Batcave? What was that? His head ached. Harry let out a low whine.
Another hand lowered gently onto his shoulder. It pulled Harry forwards and he let it. He found himself in someone’s lap, engulphed in a hug. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged him. Harry snuggled into the warmth, tucking his head into the stranger’s chest. A hand kept moving up and down his back. He let out a gasping breath and realised that his face was wet with tears.
His breaths came easier and easier with each stroke down his back. The image of his cupboard faded and he found himself back in the Batcave surrounded by Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Alfred. All of their faces were furrowed in concern. Harry looked up and realised that he was curled up in Bruce’s lap. He was sitting on the Batcave floor, running his finger’s through Harry’s hair.
“Are you feeling better chum?” Bruce asked, not stopping his gently ministrations.
“I,” Harry couldn’t find the words. This was it. “I’m a meta.”
“I know,” Bruce said, gently kissing the top of Harry’s head.
“But…” Harry frowned. Bruce wasn’t pushing him away. He wasn’t yelling or glaring at him.
“You’re still my son,” Bruce said. He looked over at Tim, crouched beside Harry. “You both are.”
Harry didn’t understand. This was all too much.
“You’re not…we can stay?”
“This is your home,” Bruce pulled Harry closer to him. “I’m never anyone take you away.”
“But…but,” Harry struggled to say anything. The room had stopped shaking but Harry still felt like the ground was moving.
“I love you,” Bruce said. There was no uncertainty in his voice, no hesitation. “I love you all. Nothing could make me stop loving you.”
At those words, there was a burst of warm light that spread from Harry. It encompassed everyone else in the room, lighting up the Batcave and extended outwards, up the stairs to the manor and through the rocky walls.
Harry gasped, a torrent of emotions flooding into him. Somehow he knew that they weren’t all his own. He could feel Tim’s anxiety, Jason’s and Dick’s concern, Damian’s longing, Alfred’s bittersweet pride but most of all he could feel Bruce’s love for all of them, stronger than the sun. It was all too much but at the same time, exactly what Harry needed. The feeling was like oxygen.
Harry could finally breathe.