Flesh and Blood

Bored of Diagon Alley, Damian had decided to take a stroll in Muggle London. It had been awhile since he had been there, though, not much had changed. Still full of muggles and ordinary muggle things.

Never before had the boy felt very apart from it all.

He was listening to a particularly interesting conversation across the busy street, when someone suddenly grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into an alleyway. Damian twisted, landing a glancing blow to his attacker's side. Once free, the boy whirled about wand drawn to face...

"Dad?" Damian uttered in surprise, stance unwavering despite the conflict that crossed his face. He gritted his teeth. "What do you want?"

"Thought the likes of you could just stroll about in the presence of decent folk, did you, Damian?" Donovon Gray sneered nastily.

"The 'likes of me'? I never did anything except defend myself!" Damian snarled back. "Maybe, if you had done your job, I wouldn't have had to!"

The man took an aggressive step towards the teen, heedless of the weapon directed at him. "Don't you put this on me, you murdering little freak! You were always a bad seed. Always pushing, pushing, pushing. Getting into trouble, quarreling with your schoolmates, poisoning everything. And who paid in the end? Your sister. Just like she always did, cleaning up your messes, only in the end she paid with her life!"

At that moment, Damian did something he would never do while facing his father, again. He hesitated, stricken by the man's words.

Next thing he knew, his wand was on the ground and his father had an arm across his throat. Damian struggled, even moreso when the man jabbed something sharp into the side of his neck.

"Let me go!" The boy stomped down on the man's foot, wriggling out from under his arm and spinning to face him again. The world tilted a bit.

Damian put a hand to his neck, gaping at his father in incredulous fury.

"No more magic," Donovon smirked, holding up a syringe that had a little less than a milliliter of acid green liquid left in it. "At least, not until I've beaten it out of you for good."

Damian's breathing had began to come more quickly, a fog making his thoughts sluggish. His neck and extremities tingled oddly and the world was definitely moving of its own accord.

Whatever else Donovon Gray had planned for his loathed youngest child was interrupted when he heard someone coming their direction. The man did not remain to find out who it might be.

Meanwhile, Damian had slumped to the ground, unable to halt his descent. Breathing had become difficult - perhaps, impossible. He lay still for half a second, trying to draw in a breath, and then his body was seized in violent convulsions.

It turned out that Damian Gray was severely allergic to the muggles' magic-nullifying serum.

Zander was wandering, having tugged someone else's shirt off a clothes line in his retreat from JJeh. The blood had almost stopped. The burn glowed irritably every time the silk shirt brushed it, but he suffered in silence, just as he always had.

He paused at the sounds coming from the alleyway, turning toward it and frowning. He sped up at the sound of his father's voice. He'd never heard it in English before, but it was the anger that registered; the hatred. "Dad?" Moving quickly, he turned the corner, his sneakers pounding against the ground. He skittered to a stop beside the boy - his half brother - frowning down at him. "What...?"

Kneeling down beside him, Dawson's eyes swept the boy, taking in all the familiar features, noting the changes he'd seen in the mirror after eating lobster. An allergic reaction.

Well, at least he was still wearing his pants.

Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he pulled out the ever present epipen, pulling off the cap with his teeth.

"Brace yourself." He murmured apologetically before stabbing the thing through his brother's pants and into his skin. Pressing the button that activated the small tool, he watched the button go from green to red. Pulling out another one and injecting it into the same spot.

He pulled away, one arm supporting the boy's shoulders as he sat back. "You alright?" He asked, looking into the boy's eyes as the swelling gradually went down. He frowned in thought. What was that hospital here called? St. Mugo's? Mambo's? Whatever. He knew where it was.

Hoisting the boy to his feet, he pulled his arm over his shoulder, wincing as it brushed the bruise. Holding his wrist, he rose to his full height, more or less holding him up. Stepping forward, he made his way toward the hospital, no matter how much each step pained him.

Damian sucked in a lungful of air in a series of disjointed gasps, vision blurring with the tears that had sprung to his eyes. He gazed blearily toward the owner of the voice, a flinch jolting through him as his eyes fell upon the eerily familiar features.

The voice was all wrong, though. It wasn't... wasn't... him. It was that one boy. The one he'd met in Azorat. Dawson.

He groaned in answer as to whether he was alright. No. No, he wasn't. His limbs were sore and it felt like he had cracked the back of his head against the concrete. In fact, Damian just felt miserable all around. The world had started on a slow crawl around, once more, eliciting another groan from the boy.

What in Merlin's bloody name was in that stuff?

Possessing enough presence of mind to fumble his wand off the ground and maneuvering it into his pocket, Damian tried to assist in making himself vertical. He wasn't much help. His legs didn't want to listen. Damian frowned.

His throat hurt, his head was muzzy, and a very distant corner of his mind was screaming about how he really didn't like accepting help for some reason or the other. Something about pride? Humiliation? Damian wasn't sure.

Damian moved sluggishly, not wholly certain where they were going.