Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Damian was being a menace. Well, he was always a menace, but today especially. Normally, Tim’s go-to method to deal with him was to give back as good as he was handed. No filter, just pure, unadulterated rage that usually ended with the both of them being dragged to the infirmary afterward. They never really had to go to the infirmary since neither of them injured each other badly enough to warrant it. It was more for Alfred to shake his head disapprovingly at them as he patched them up. It never really stopped Tim from throwing punches, though.

However, that was significantly harder to do when Tim wasn’t Red Robin. No, right now, he was the CEO of Wayne Enterprises and was expected to be “professional” and “mature” in the workplace. This wouldn’t have been a problem if Damian wasn’t sitting in his office, 35 feet away from Tim’s desk. He had his head tilted downward, brows furrowed as he drew in his sketchbook. It was surprisingly peaceful, but Tim couldn’t help the persistent adrenaline thrumming through him from simply being close to the kid.

See, Bruce, earlier that day, had decided to bring Damian along to Wayne Enterprises. Tim was shoulders deep into one of the kitchen cabinets, trying to find the coffee beans when the decision was brought up to him. Bruce had assured him that the gremlin wouldn’t leave his side the whole day and they weren’t likely to meet. He then uncovered the coffee beans from the top shelf and Tim, sleep-deprived, agreed to act civil if they did cross paths.

Well, they did cross paths. Bruce had burst into Tim’s office, one hand clutched in Damian’s suit. He gently pushed the boy forward and ran a frantic hand through his hair. He begged Tim to watch over Damian because the JL had sent out an alert to some world-threatening danger that required his assistance. The man reminded Tim of his promise to act civilly, said he’d take over the press conference Tim had been dreading for weeks and then left before he could agree to anything.

Damian had to have been bribed too because he didn’t protest at being babysat or anything of the sort. He simply tutted at Tim, glaring at him before commandeering the uncomfortable couch in the corner and beginning to sketch. It was a good idea, seeing as they couldn’t antagonize each other if they didn’t acknowledge each other’s presence, so Tim had gone back to filling out paperwork. For the first hour, at least.

Then, Tam called and informed him, not so nicely, that he had a board meeting to get to in ten minutes if he still wanted time to prepare. Tim cursed and shot up, scrambling to gather all of his materials while Damian’s timer finally broke and he began insulting his time-management skills. Tim didn’t even have time to retort back and instead settled for yanking Damian off of the couch as hard as possible. The boy stumbled before quickly righting himself, which made Tim feel a bit better. 

He would’ve been ready to just leave Damian in his office while he went to the meeting, but Bruce had asked him to watch the brat. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint the man even more than he already had. So, Tim rushed the both of them out of the room and pretended not to feel happy at the way Damian barely resisted, just increased his complaining.

The complaints petered off as he focused more on keeping up with Tim’s sprinting disguised as speed-walking. It picked up in full as they entered the conference room. Lucius Fox raised an eyebrow at Tim’s frazzled appearance and actually looked surprised as Damian trailed in after him. He opened his mouth but thought better of it and continued to peruse his own set of files, which Tim appreciated because he really didn’t think he could be composed at the moment.

To stop Damian’s incessant grumbling, and consequently, Tim from starting a fight, he shoved a marker into the brat’s hands and directed him to the whiteboard. He hoped to high heaven that Bruce had taught him the basics of secretarial work, but he figured Lucius would point out any of Damian’s mistakes.

Luckily, when Tim looked up from his frenzy, Damian hadn’t done that bad of a job. He kept redrawing boxes and arrows so they were straight, but Tim couldn’t complain about the neatness. When he offered his praise, though, he was nailed between the eyes with the marker. And then his chair at the head of the table was stolen. Maybe it was worth being seen as unprofessional if he got to punch Damian, but one look from Lucius quelled his anger. Tim elected to not give out any more compliments.

Everything was set up by the time the rest of the board strolled in. Unfortunately, Damian refused to move from Tim’s seat, claiming that he’d be sitting in it eventually and that Tim should get used to it. Tim let it go since he was going to have to stand up for the presentation anyways. He was, however, able to fix Damian’s tie and not get his fingers bitten off for it. He doubted the satisfaction would last him throughout the meeting though, because the board meetings were really fucking long.

Even Damian, who Tim knew would’ve been paying rapt attention for anything he could glean from the meeting, had gotten bored. He had gone from watching Tim talk to using one of the notepads provided to sketch. From the glimpse Tim had gotten of his sketching when he had gone to drag a new whiteboard to the front, it seemed like he was actually drawing him. Which… he really didn’t know how to take that. Damian was drawing him, and drawing him well , at that. Unfortunately, they still had two hours of meeting to trudge through, so there was no time to ask. 

By the time 3:30 arrived, Tim had entirely forgotten about Damian’s drawing and was instead focused on if he could promote the intern that kept bringing him coffee. She had kept his mug full over the past three hours, without fail. It made the board meeting so much more bearable. In fact, maybe he’d take Damian out for ice cream too. Despite the many stupid suggestions thrown out by the board members, the demon didn’t call them out. He simply ducked his head further to hide his scowl and drew harder. There was a little pile of torn-up pages from when Damian had pressed down too hard after hearing a dumb proposal. It certainly couldn’t have been easy to sit through one of the board meetings and not say anything, despite being (reluctantly) one of the smartest people Tim knew. They only had to last fifteen more minutes, though, and then they were home free. 

Those last few minutes wouldn’t have been a problem. No, they would’ve gone swimmingly. Tim had just begun finalizing the new budget decided for the R&D department while simultaneously draining his -th cup of coffee when a voice he despised more than anything drawled, “Timothy, if I may, what is he doing here? I hardly think he’s old enough to be sitting at this table.”

The voice was from one Kenneth Matthews. Tim had ranted endlessly to Tam about him in their messages. He had constantly reiterated how he was old money and narcissistic, which made him a fucking dick. The man was more pretentious than all of the rich board members combined and it was infuriating to listen to him talk as if he knew anything. Kenneth had his sights on becoming CEO and seriously believed he might’ve gotten the position if not for Tim, completely disregarding that Lucius would’ve gotten the role first and foremost.  Tim had a list! A full list of people who would’ve run WE before Kenneth was even considered for the position! It was a list created entirely on too little sleep and spite, but it still held up.

From the way Damian tensed up at the voice, Tim got the impression that he wouldn’t be the only one talking shit about Kenneth anymore. Worriedly, he also felt oddly infuriated at the defensive posture Damian had adapted. He tried to dismiss it, but couldn’t entirely keep his voice pleasant as he responded, “Damian Wayne is seeking to take up employment at his father’s company in the future. Bruce has found it necessary to bring him in so he could experience the company first-hand. Unfortunately, as the man in question was unable to make it, the task has fallen to me. Is that a problem?”

”Yes, actually,” Fucking what?? Damian had his head down for the whole meeting, didn’t shoot a single glare at Tim for a good four hours, and didn’t even talk despite how much he clearly wanted to! If Tim couldn’t find any problems with his behavior, and he was always looking, what the hell was there to be concerned about? “I believe these meeting rooms are a place of business, far from a playpen for children that you have to babysit. I would hope you wouldn’t insult this company by allowing another kid into the board room when they are unaware of what occurs here. We have more than enough, already,” Kenneth blathered, waving a flippant hand despite the vicious glee in his gaze. He had a horrible poker face.

“I’m not a child—” “Thank you for your concern—” Damian protested at the same time Tim raised his voice. They locked gazes, eyes narrowed. There was a long pause before Damian gritted his teeth and looked away, which Tim took as the go-ahead. He was glad, too. As much as he wanted to see fucking Kenneth get torn into, he was, unfortunately, still a part of the board. 

“I assure you that despite being a child, Damian is far more capable than you may believe. Why, he was able to comprehend your… let’s say, verbose reports without issue, which tends to be a challenge for all of us who are forced to read them. His education and talent are none of your concern,” Tim continued, pretending not to see the shock that crossed Damian’s face. It wasn’t that unbelievable. He passed by Bruce’s office sometimes, after all, and the kid was always willingly reading the reports given in previous board meetings. It was always fun to try and guess whose report he had grabbed even if he never lingered for long. 

”Of course, however—” “And I do hope you’re willing to offer your own chair, if you find issue with him sitting in mine. I’m sure no one will protest if you wish to leave the meeting early. I certainly think Damian would appreciate the view of Gotham much more than someone of your caliber would,” Tim tilted his head, a smirk pulling at his lips. He crossed his arms, doing his best to emulate Batman without going full vigilante. He suspected he looked more like Jason after he caught Steph cheating at Monopoly, but it got the same message across. 

A snarl twisted Kenneth’s face and Tim unwittingly lit up. It had been so long since he was given free rein to run a board member’s close-minded opinions into the ground. Especially one who had attacked not just him, but Damian too? He narrowed his eyes in challenge, biting the inside of his cheek to ensure the grin he wanted to show off stayed hidden. It was essential that Kenny initiated the fight, not him. He did have a reputation to keep. 

Kenneth opened his mouth and Tim held his breath as time began to freeze, excitement thrumming through his veins. And then—

“It’s 3:45.”

Tim deflated so quickly he momentarily thought he’d collapse. He shot a glare at Lucius, who was loudly tapping his folders on the table with the most neutral look on his face. Flatly, Tim uncrossed his arms and muttered, “Meeting adjourned. I’ll see you all in six months.”

Slowly, the rest of the board began packing up. They gave some pleasant goodbyes to Tim and even Damian along with some thinly veiled jokes about Kenneth as they departed. The man in question unabashedly glared at them, Tim more than Damian, before slamming the sliding door behind him. 

“You should’ve let me continue,” Tim complained once everyone else left, turning to Lucius with a frown. “He’s been asking for it forever, bringing up my age all the time.”

”Mm. Then you’d extend the meeting for another thirty minutes, and as much as I enjoy watching you go at it, some of us do have other responsibilities.” Lucius replied, hoisting his briefcase up against his hip. 

“Responsibilities? You mean lunch?”

“Precisely.”

Tim let out a theatrical groan and waved his hand dismissively. “Fine, fine. Tell Tam hi for me.”

Lucius chuckled and walked out the door, closing it much gentler than Kenneth did. Tim watched him go before he crouched down, beginning to pack up himself. He had to adjust the budget according to the board’s suggestions, implement some new programs of course, and so many other things. Plus, he had another meeting at 7:00 and had to visit the R&D Department at 9:00. Maybe he should refill his coffee, too. God knew he certainly needed it.

He was so deep in thought that he nearly brained himself against the edge of the table when Damian spoke up, saying, “You did not have to do that.”

“Do what?” Tim questioned, rubbing his head despite it missing the table. “Tell Tam hi? It is considered polite to say hello to your secretary, even if it’s through her dad.”

Damian scowled and tore off the notebook sheet he was sketching on. It tore messily and he began to aggressively pick at the loose paper. “It was unnecessary for you to intervene on my behalf. I could’ve handled that man myself, far better than you were able to,” he elaborated through gritted teeth. Tim was mildly impressed at how he managed to say his piece without tacking on, “You incompetent moron,” at the end. 

It should’ve been easy. Insult Damian’s social skills and leave it at that, no explanation needed. But the words wouldn’t come. Tim didn’t even know why he felt so defensive, especially when it was made explicitly clear they both did not like each other. Damian still hated him with all three feet of his body, and Tim still wanted to dropkick him whenever they passed each other. 

He became acutely aware of how much he was hesitating and shook his head, forcing a wry grin onto his face. “Sure, tell that to me when you get through your ‘human’ lessons with Dick without trying to stab him,” he forced out. It sounded bland to him, like Tim was reading from a script, but Damian must’ve not noticed anything amiss because he simply glared and turned around. Tim blew out a relieved breath and headed to the door, calling over his shoulder, “And I’ve been doing this for years, brat. I really doubt you could. Now shut up and let’s go, or I won’t buy your god-forsaken mint ice cream.“

Chapter Text

Nothing changed since then, or, at least nothing changed for Damian. He’d already been getting better at not trying to kill Tim and the insults he threw were still scathing and targeted. Almost everything changed for Tim, though. Once they had sat down with their ice cream, which Tim ended up buying mint for the brat after all, he came to a horrifying realization that he cared for Damian. That no matter how murderous the kid was, he still saw him as a kid. That perception was just… really buried under all the assassination attempts.

He knew how this ended. Tim was always the one who cared too much. It happened with his parents, with Robin, and hell, with the bats. It was just basic inductive reasoning. His parents were always off on some dig while he was planning their birthday. No one wanted him to be Robin in the end, either. He forced himself in and tried to dig a place for himself, and then was surprised when he was kicked out of the role later. This was not surprising, now that he looked back on it.

As for the bats, it was common knowledge that if he just stopped calling in every week, neither Bruce nor Dick would care. They were happy to have him around, sure. He was good at casework and covered the patrol routes they didn’t want to, but it wasn’t like they’d drop everything if he went missing. Don’t even get him started on Jason. The guy had been getting along better with the others, but with Tim? He was always tense and alert. One step from breaking out his pistol and shooting Tim between the eyes. The only reason he probably hadn’t yet was because of his newfound peace with the others. He had no love for Tim despite how much Tim did not return that sentiment. And now, Damian had joined the fold too.

So, Tim took a day off to settle in with this new revelation. He was, unfortunately, confined to the manor for the day, as his penthouse was currently being repaired due to it being collateral damage to… whichever rogue they were fighting last week. Alfred looked exceptionally proud of him for taking a break and gladly gave him free rein of the place while he accompanied Bruce to some space-related mission. All in all, it was a good day to sort out how he was going to compartmentalize caring about Damian.

Until the phone rang while Tim was scaling the fridge and nearly gave him a concussion. He managed to tuck and roll before he hurt himself, but boy was he glad no one was around to see him. He glared at the cereal box at the top of the fridge before walking over to the landline and picking up the receiver.

“Hello? Wayne Manor speaking,” Tim said, doing his best to embody Alf’s tone, stopping just short of using a British accent. He hoped it wasn’t anyone important, just a telemarketer or something. 

“Hello, this is Gotham Elementary. Is a guardian of Damian Wayne available?” A sharp woman’s voice asked. He could hear nails clacking against keys from the phone.

Was… was Tim a guardian of Damian? Well, he was certainly the best the boy was going to get, especially since Dick was in Bludhaven. Even if the family name didn't really… apply to him. “Yes, Tim Drake-Wayne speaking. Is something wrong?”

“Damian has been suspended from school for three days. We’ve called the first three emergency numbers but they didn’t pick up. Are you able to come and get the boy from school?” She stated blandly, and Tim lit up. Damian got suspended? Oh, he was going to have so much fun holding this over the brat’s head. Especially after muting Tim’s comm last patrol without him knowing? The opportunity had fallen into his lap! 

”Of course, I’ll be there in ten!” Tim cheerfully said, failing to hide how excited he was. The woman hung up and he rushed out to the garage, already coming up with barbs to throw at the boy during the drive back. He hopped into his car and peeled out of the driveway, heading straight to the school with minimal GPS assistance.

By the time he pulled into the parking lot, he had managed to tamp down on his excitement. Tim had thrown a jacket on to hide how he was still in his pajamas and made a cursory attempt to tame his hair before striding inside. The lockers had changed colors since Tim had gone to school and a few kids were wandering the halls, but otherwise, nothing was too different. The path to the office was the same, too, though the lack of blood following Damian’s suspension was weird. Maybe he should’ve asked why the kid was suspended. Eh, he’d ask inside.

The woman behind the counter looked up and immediately resumed typing, though she tilted her head to show she was listening. Unconsciously, he straightened. “I’m here for Damian Wayne?” Tim announced, hoping that he looked enough like an adult to convince her of the fact. 

She nodded and waved him toward the hallway. “2nd room down,” she directed before turning away entirely and continuing to stare at her screen. Tim dipped his head in thanks and headed toward the door, peeking in through the glass. Two boys were sitting with a palpable tension between them. Recognizing one of the boys as his, Tim jiggled the handle as loud as he could before entering the room. Damian seemed to tense up even further, but he kept glaring at the ground. 

The principal was sitting at her desk, chin steepled on her fingers as she watched the two boys. Presumably to ensure they didn’t end up fighting each other. She sat up straighter as Tim entered and her eyes narrowed skeptically at his presence. She was eyeing him with the same amount of contempt as Kenneth did, which he did not appreciate in the slightest. “Timothy, what a pleasure to see you again. Is it just you acting as Damian’s guardian, or will there be someone else coming in soon?”

Damian’s head shot up at that, eyes lingering on Tim’s face. He leaned forward, clearly trying to see if someone else was behind Tim. To save him the trouble, Tim cleared his throat and politely informed the principal, “Just me, ma’am. His father wasn’t able to make it. I assume we’re waiting for the other kid’s parents?” He was expecting Damian to loudly proclaim how unrelated they were, but he just continued to glare at the ground as if Tim didn’t speak at all. Weirder and weirder. He had never seen the brat this quiet before. 

”Yes, unfortunately. We have a strict no-fighting policy at our school and further explanation should be put forth. Some of Jackson’s things were also damaged before the scuffle, along with a few injuries he had acquired, so we need to smooth out compensation with his mother as well,” she nodded, sending a soft look over to Jackson. Tim narrowed his eyes and could tell Damian was doing the same, because Jackson was really bad at this. He was doing the bare minimum to look like the victim. His posture was all wrong and Tim was the best at fake tears, okay? He knew them when he saw them, and they weren’t even that good in the first place. 

”And what of Damian?” Tim inquired, feeling his pettiness get pushed aside in the face of an obvious conspiracy. The same determination he had been trying to section away earlier came swarming back, and he didn’t feel inclined to stop it. “What injuries did he sustain in this fight? Did anything of his get destroyed, too?”

She frowned, and a disbelieving look crossed her face which set off so many red flags for Tim so quickly. He knew Damian was untrustable, but to warrant that expression? “Damian hasn’t spoken up since we’ve brought him in except to yell some vulgar accusations at Jackson when the boy admitted he was injured,” she reported. Tim had the sinking feeling that he was about to witness the elaborate plot to some elementary school drama that Damian was unwillingly dragged into. God, why couldn’t he get in trouble normally like the rest of them?

Tim was debating the merits of interrogating Jackson until he cried when the door burst open. The world’s most stereotypical soccer mom stormed in, fury painting her face. “Jaxs, oh baby, mommy’s here, mommy’s here,” she wailed, falling to her knees dramatically and guiding her boy’s head to her shoulder. Jackson began really playing up his sobbing. Tim and Damian shared a look of dismay before Tim turned back to the scene at hand, feeling deeply uncomfortable at the fake crying.

”If we could have the kids wait outside before we begin?” Tim suggested, having to raise his voice over Jackson’s screeching. He didn’t want Damian to be in the room when he began poking holes in the story. Especially since the demon made it explicitly clear how much he didn’t want or need Tim’s help. Too fucking bad for him. Tim was invested now.

The principal nodded and Tim stood, following Damian outside. He stood close enough to suggest familiarity but didn’t touch the other. He was mildly surprised Damian didn’t shift away immediately, nor even look up during the trek into the waiting room. Only once he was sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs did he speak up, saying, “You should have let me stay. I was not planning to waste energy attacking the imbecile.”

He blinked, alarmed. He momentarily forgot that Damian wasn’t constantly on the same wavelength as he was. “Yeah, you’ve been doing good at that. Look, it was more to make sure the kid doesn’t get angry and interrupt. Because when he gets angry, his mom starts yelling, and then I have to make a citizen’s arrest,” he explained. A flash of surprise crossed Damian’s face and Tim frowned. “I know you think I’m incompetent or whatever, and it’s mutual, but it’s pretty clear who the victim is. It’s not him. The only one you’re attacking without reason is me, so stop freaking out, brat. You’re talking to Bruce and Dick when they find out, though,” he elaborated, and risked patting Damian on the shoulder before heading back into the office. 

Tim studied his intact hand as he approached the door before straightening up and embodying his sternest expression. Jackson stomped out as Tim entered the room, his head up high and a shit-eating grin on his face. He was deeply tempted to trip him as he passed, but figured his adult persona would be completely destroyed if he did. Disappointing, really. It would’ve been so cathartic.  

” I’d like to see the tapes of the fight, please,” he declared as he closed the door behind him, eyeing the two women. He had the sneaking suspicion that they were working together. Old colleagues, friends, siblings? Lovers? Something close enough to warrant such a blatant extortion act, especially from one of the richest families in Gotham. 

”I’m afraid the area where the fight took place had no cameras installed. I’m very sorry, Mr. Wayne, but now that you’re here, I believe Mrs. Harrow has a few demands to make,” the principal smoothly redirected, and the woman in question stepped with a triumphant scowl.

He didn’t let her get a word out, though. Like hell was he going to let the hastily made cover-up plan span out. “Ah, that won’t be an issue. Mr. Wayne has funded this school heavily, and with that was the promise of security cameras. Gotham, you know?” Tim chuckled, though none of them joined in on his humor. “If we could just see the footage of the boys entering the area, I’m sure I’d be willing to agree with whatever demands Mrs. Harrow had to offer.”

Mrs. Harrow shot a look over at the principal, who returned it with clenched teeth. Tim raised an eyebrow, daring them to talk their way out of this. It was his off-day, and he could’ve waited for hours. The tension in the room built higher and higher as the two women had a silent conversation. Finally, the principal reluctantly turned to her computer and pulled up the feed of the fight directly. 

The video showed the two boys in an empty corridor, familiar lockers lining the walls. Sketchbook papers were torn up and littered across the floor, with a bunch of pencils snapped between the two. Tim watched as Damian went through a few breathing exercises, courtesy of Dick, and felt the sudden urge to punch the Harrow family when he spotted the barely concealed shake in the kid’s shoulders. His heart twisted in his chest, and he didn’t even know Damian was capable of crying! Jackson, the douchebag, didn’t seem as moved as Tim was. The principal paused it as Jackson was mid-lunge. Her shoulders had climbed up to her ears. At least she knew how screwed she was.

”I’m not entirely sure why he’s getting suspended. This clearly shows that Jackson threw the first punch, and any resulting injury from the fight would qualify as self-defense,” Tim pointed out, crossing his arms and pretending he wasn’t still in pajama pants. 

”Only after your– your brat tore up my boy’s sketchbook! He clearly instigated! Was that not clear by the papers thrown everywhere?!” Mrs. Harrow shrieked. Tim looked skyward and prayed that Damian wasn’t eavesdropping. God knew that he would’ve been by now. He rolled his neck to turn his unamused gaze at the principal, who was pulling out the gathered pages from behind her desk. They’re trashed to hell and back, and Tim felt something in him shatter. The gremlin had worked hard on those, and there they were. In shambles.

Everything should’ve been wrapped up then and there. Those were clearly Damian’s drawings, after all. But no. The principal spun around in her chair and pulled something up on the screen. She was infinitely smug, the tense line of her shoulders gone as she pointed to the website she pulled up. “Jackson won the online art contest a while back, and his style matches his sketchbook perfectly.  We also have several art projects that corroborate that this is in fact, his art. I know you think very highly of Damian, Mr. Wayne, but your boy did instigate this fight,” she explained, talking like he was a child. It felt like she was one step away from asking him to sound out the syllables, and Tim had to take a measured breath before he ended up decking her.

Because he would end up yelling, Tim said nothing. Instead, he began to fish through the sheets. He was honestly ready to kick Jackson with the force necessary to crack a skull for each tear or rip he found. From the looks of it, Damian had been getting his art stolen for months on end and told no one. Like an idiot. He grumbled, realizing that he had to have another talk with one of Damian’s handlers about the brat eventually. He was not excited to have his change of heart questioned when that time came. Especially by Bruce ? God, he’d rather drown. 

But first, he had to find something in these tattered papers. And… perfect. The brat had some sense after all. Tim held up one of the more put-together sheets and said, “Damian signed all of his art. It’s just hidden in the line art and not in the corner, so you wouldn’t see it unless you were looking for it. Surely that’s proof enough?”

The women lost all of the color in their faces so quickly that Tim thought they might’ve passed out then and there. They opened their mouths to contest, but he beat them to it. “If it isn’t, then I have the receipts for all of the sketchbooks too, as I’m the one supplying them,” he added pleasantly, practically begging all things holy that Damian wasn’t listening. Sure, it wasn’t exactly of his own volition, but he was still buying the kid’s sketchbooks and that was bad enough. “Now, as lovely as this has been, I do hope Jackson will be properly punished for his misdeeds. Damian will, of course, be sent home for today, as he did participate in the fight, but I hardly think suspension is necessary. If things haven’t been resolved, I’m sure Mr. Wayne would be glad to relocate Damian to a different school entirely. Along with his funds, obviously. He’s very serious about having his son go to a safe school that doesn’t try and cover up plagiarism and harassment.”

A heavy silence fell upon the room as Tim calmly gathered the ruined papers from the desk. Eventually, the woman dipped her head and gritted out, “Understood, Mr. Wayne.” She was grinding her teeth so hard that Tim was a bit worried for her dentist. He turned his gaze toward Mrs. Hallow, who was doing her absolute best to impersonate Medusa. Then he left before he could burst out laughing at how her eyebrows had conjoined with how hard she was furrowing them. 

“Damian! Heading home!” Tim called as he closed the door behind himself and was entirely thrown off his game when he spotted the kid still sitting in his plastic seat. He frowned, having been sure he was eavesdropping at some point during the conversation. But no, he was still settled in the same seat Tim had first placed him in. He opened his mouth to point this out when he glanced over at the secretary and everything made sense. Even Damian couldn’t sneak around her laser eyes, thank god. Tim idly wondered if he could pull some strings and make her the new principal as Damian got up and began trailing him to the exit.

As soon as they got into the car, Tim dumped the stacks of torn sheets into Damian’s lap and stared straight at the road. His knuckles turned white around the wheel as he said, “You go back to school tomorrow,” and didn’t speak for the rest of the ride. All of his quips he had carefully laid out in the very same car ride seemed… mean, even though that was the point of them. The urge to berate and tease Damian had vanished somewhere along the time he entered that damn office. Tim wasn’t sure if he liked the change, but it seemed it was going to happen whether he liked it or not. 

Chapter Text

Only a week later, which Tim personally thought was way too little time to adjust, he found himself sitting on the edge of a roof. His legs were dangling off the edge as he peered into the alleyway beneath, questioning whether Damian’s awareness was just really bad around animals or if Tim was a lot easier to overlook than he thought. He wasn’t trying to hide and his suit was far from stealthy against Gotham’s bleak backdrop, but Damian had proven to be almost as paranoid as Bruce, so one of those options must’ve been wrong.

Either way, Damian didn’t notice Tim. He was too busy coaxing a cat and her kittens out from underneath a dumpster, like he had been doing for the past 20 minutes. He was so lucky that Tim switched them to a private channel as soon as Damian opened his mouth with that soft expression of his. The idiot had forgotten he had his comm on, and he would be devastated to know that his family got more fodder on him. Or… less devastated and more murderous, but what really was the difference?

Though Tim didn’t count himself as family in the first place, him having the blackmail was still equally as bad in Damian’s eyes. Less so now, but the brat didn’t know that, which was why Tim didn’t announce himself. He didn’t know how awful Tim felt whenever he tried to hold something above Damian’s head. Sure, Damian shot back with the same ferocity and was often the one instigating, but Tim just felt tired. Like he’d run a marathon and was told he ran the wrong way.

Hell, Dick had cornered him on patrol not two hours ago to ask if Damian had done something or relapsed and tried to assassinate Tim again. He had to reassure Dick that no, he wasn’t scared of the fucking twelve-year-old, he was just avoiding him. It had taken way too long to convince him of the fact, which was why Tim had initially gone to take a break on one of his favorite rooftops. Then he looked down and noticed a familiar red-yellow-green color scheme in the alley beneath his feet, which led to now. Actual proof that Tim was going soft, and that he wasn’t intimidated by the assassin baby.

It seemed that Damian had decided to name the cats after flavors of Neapolitan ice cream and was now lulling them to sleep. He sounded so different, talking to animals. Tim wondered what it’d take for Damian to talk to him with half as much kindness. Then, he scoffed at the idea. As if the kid would ever even look at him with anything less than pure disdain. 

Damian finally stopped talking, successful in his goal. So, Tim casually flipped them back both to the main channel. They were greeted by Dick’s ecstatic, “Oh come on, Jaywing. You can do better than that. Hold on.” Which was then followed by a loud crash and groaning. Damian’s hand flew up to his ear at the sound with something akin to panic, actually stumbling backward in surprise. 

Tim snorted. Figured the boy would remember his link only after Tim went through the effort of hiding his voice for him. Unfortunately, the sound drew both the attention of Damian, from down below, and Jason. One of which made their agitation much more known by shouting, “Oh shut up you two! I’m not the fucking acrobat in this family! I’d wipe the floor with you if this challenge wasn’t completely rigged in your favor, you Dick! And you wonder why I bet nothing today.”

Bruce, absolutely exhausted, sighed. “Nightwing, Red Hood, names. And chatter. And banned patrol games,” he gritted out, though he seemed more resigned than anything. Tim had to applaud him. It was a valiant effort, even though it only made Dick and Jason break off into peals of laughter. “Children,” B muttered, but did nothing to stop the ensuing match from happening.

Tim would’ve found it funnier if not for Damian staring up at him with what was definitely panic. What was all the panic for? Sure, Damian didn’t want to be found out, but it wasn’t like this was an uncommon event. He regularly stopped to pet the street animals on patrols and even planned his routes around their hiding places. There was no reason for him to look so shifty unless—

Ah.

The Batmobile’s glove box was lying next to the gremlin, with a few blankets carefully folded up and tucked into it. The Batmobile, which the other three had abandoned somewhere along Woods Street in favor of running. The one which still had the keys in the ignition. The very same one Damian was going to use to smuggle the Neapolitan cats back home. Despite Alfred, Bruce, and Dick staging an intervention not two days ago about the increased amount of animals roaming the manor halls. 

He should’ve been responsible at that moment. He should’ve raised a hand to his comm and reported that Damian was doing a bad™. But instead, Tim deliberately stood up and turned his back on the scene. The relieved breath that came through the link almost made it worth it. Almost. (Oh, what was he kidding, it was entirely worth it.)

“All my blocks are checked. Got into a fight with Damian over his fifth, so I guess he’s done too. We’re good here,” Tim quietly informed the others. They let out various sounds of affirmation as he began to rush across Gotham. Once Dick and Jason began fighting again, he switched back to the private channel from before. “Which street does your fifth end on? It’ll take like, 20 minutes, yeah? I’ll finish up, just make sure to park it like it never moved when you come back.”

There was no response for a long time, and Tim wondered if he stuck his neck out for nothing. Maybe Damian was questioning why he was helping in the first place. Tim certainly would, if he was the boy. He could wait for his little revelation to pass, though. He’d been having one long mental breakthrough for a while, so he figured he could give a little leniency to the brat. 

Eventually, when Tim had just opened his mouth to ask Babs, Damian spoke up. He timidly (timidly!!) stated, “Jekyll Street to Hyde Avenue, and warehouse #392.” Tim hummed his assent, making a sharp turn to get on the right path. There was another long pause. Then, almost like it was being torn out of him, Damian mumbled, “Thank you.” Before immediately switching them back to the main channel, back to the bickering of the rest of them.

Patrol went smoothly, and no one noticed the missing Batmobile except Tim, who saw it zip by while he was heading down the street. But when they all gathered to head back to the Cave, it was sitting back where it started. The tarp that had fallen on top of it when it was first parked was still there and everything. Tim was pretty impressed. There wasn’t even cat hair on the seats, and they all knew how easily animal fur stuck to the material. 

The others didn’t even question Damian or suspect anything was wrong. They just tumbled into the backseat, poking and prodding at each other’s bruises from their latest competition. Tim wasn’t expecting anything different, but then Damian gave up the passenger seat without a fight. He just clambered in the back and wedged himself against the window where Tim normally sat, which made the whole car go silent. Something warm settled in Tim’s chest as he got in, so he was all too happy to redirect the conversation from the odd behavior. 

They didn’t mention it past that. Tim pretended that the whole night didn’t even happen, that he didn’t notice Damian checking on those cats. Despite buying and putting cat food in his room along with a few worn blankets and several pamphlets for the animal shelters funded by Wayne Enterprises the very next morning, he didn’t say a word. In return, Alfred the cat and Titus began to hang around Tim even without Damian trailing behind them. He even stopped trying to hurt Tim whenever he tried to pet the animals in front of Damian, just scowled and turned away without a word. It was a tentative peace, but peace nonetheless. For Tim, who was never expecting to get to that point at all? It was more than enough.

Chapter Text

It was ass-o-clock in the morning and Tim was a coffee (with like, seven shots of five-hour energy) and a half through a case. He had holed up in one of the lesser-used kitchens because as comfortable as the sitting rooms were, they didn’t have the counter space he needed. If he could, he would’ve brought in his bulletin board, but then the other inhabitants of the manor would wake up. Then they’d confiscate his caffeine again, and then no work would get done at all.

Time had become nonexistent a while ago, but sometime before the Sun began rising, Tim’s spiral was suddenly interrupted by Titus ramming himself against his leg, hard. The dog didn’t bark but he kept whining and pawing at the appendage insistently. It felt like a gunshot every time, which… was a little concerning. He should probably bring down his five-hour energy shots to five instead of seven. Maybe that was why his family— the bats had taken to monitoring his coffee intake lately. On the other hand, though, it was the only thing keeping him awake.

Titus was still trying to get his attention, but it was already shot to hell, so unlucky him. Tim’s focus had shifted from his coffee, to Titus, back to the case in record time. It was a serial murder case that they didn’t have many leads on with no correlations between the victims. It was deeply frustrating for all of them, which meant Tim had to knock it out before frustration turned into tension. He had already compared their locations and came up empty, so the next logical step was to—

“WUFF!”

Tim toppled right off the barstool, just barely missing hitting his head on the countertop as he fell. He didn’t scream, but it was a very near thing. Titus didn’t spare him a moment’s rest and jumped onto his chest, licking his face insistently. Normally it would be child’s play to get out from underneath the mammoth, but currently? It was impossible. He struggled for a bit before going limp. “Oh my god, fine, what?!” Tim cried, shoving ineffectually at Titus. His words were slurred together, which… alright, but at least Titus seemed to get the message of his surrender. He tilted its head and let out a low whine before clambering off of Tim’s chest. 

He gathered his laptop and case files from the kitchen to the soundtrack of Titus’ impatience before following the hulking mass through the halls of the manor. The stairs were a challenge to get by and all of the hallways were kind of blending together. He vaguely hoped that those five-hour energies weren’t expired because there was no way everything was this cloudy after only seven of them.

The bedroom hallway was easy to identify past all the merging walls, though. It was the one with the most decorated doors. Tim trailed behind Titus, adjusting his case files to ensure he didn’t lose any more of them. He frowned as the dog nudged open one of the doors and trotted in. It looked like Damian’s room and the lump on the bed suggested that it was currently in use. Tim’s body locked up involuntarily as he edged back toward the door despite TItus’ whining. If the kid woke up and saw Tim in his room, he’d most definitely assume Tim was trying to kill him. There was no way he could win in a fight in his current state.

But when his back foot finally crossed the threshold back into the hallway, Damian began to thrash against his blankets. Tim froze with one foot out the door, noting how Damian’s brow was furrowed and how sweat was pouring from him as his mouth moved silently in his sleep. He was pretty sure some of those silent words were a cry for help, begging for his mom or Batman to come save him. Even over-caffeinated, Tim could recognize that whatever dream the kid was going through wasn’t pleasant in the slightest. 

It was an awful sight, and maybe Titus did have a good reason for getting Tim after all. Tim couldn’t stand to let it go on for another second. His body sagged as he pulled himself fully into the bedroom and closed the door behind him before striding over to the desk lamp. He pulled it on, dousing the room with a warm light. It must’ve been a bad nightmare, because Damian didn’t wake up or even react to anything Tim did. 

Okay, alright. He could work with that. Tim opened his mouth to yell and found that the concept of words had escaped him, having used the three brain cells that were functional for other things. He made a frustrated noise before turning to Titus and making the gesture for speak. Or what he thought the gesture was. It took a bit of trial and error to find the right hand motion before Titus barked.

Damian didn’t wake up, though. He just curled further inwards, seeming genuinely pained. Tim felt unbelievably guilty at putting that expression on his face, but kept doing it. Titus barked three more times, resulting in Damian reacting just as badly each time. Tim was ready to just shake his shoulder and risk getting stabbed, but tried one more time. That time, it worked like a charm and Dami shot up like a rocket.

He fumbled for the knives under his pillow, throwing himself half off the bed to get to his katana under his mattress. Hurriedly, Tim forced himself into Damian’s line of sight and waved. It felt a little wobbly, but it seemed to do the trick. His brother sagged, still half-hanging off the bed with his hair matted down like a feral cat. Tim felt mildly touched at how quickly Dames calmed down at the sight of him, but unfortunately, his current state didn’t constitute for emotional changes.

Damian finally seemed to register Tim’s presence and opened his mouth, but Tim still found himself unable to process any words. So instead of being interrogated, he strode over to the gremlin’s bedside and manhandled the kid back under the covers. If he was any more stable, he would’ve been surprised at how malleable Damian was, but he had a mission to complete.

Once Dames was all tucked in, Tim struggled with his laptop for a bit before pulling up his selection of Disney movies. He dropped the device on the kid’s lap and pointedly turned the sound down to three because Tim was pretty sure if he heard any loud sounds at the moment, he was going to explode. Then, feeling reckless, he mussed Damian’s hair so it looked less pathetic and settled himself on the floor, back propped up against the mattress. 

Titus padded over to Tim, gently nosing at his chin before clambering onto the bed behind him. A little bit later, the beginning of Toy Story began to play. Tim smiled to himself, spreading out his case files all over the carpet. It was nice to know that he helped and he wasn’t getting kicked out immediately. 

But alas, he was still caffeinated and couldn’t join the movie marathon he was sure Damian was about to go on. No, instead, he redirected his three brain cells back to the case, allowing his mind to slip into the cloud. The last remaining thought he had of the outside world was the sound of Damian saying softly, so softly, “Thank you, Drake.”

*****

Reality began returning as streaks of sunlight poured into the room. Tim had managed to crack the case and was meticulously writing out his report when he resurfaced. He applauded the steadiness of his hands and how neat his handwriting looked, especially while he was still on a caffeine high. Though, maybe it wasn’t as impressive as he thought it was. Tim did have a lot of practice making it seem like he was okay, both in body language and vocabulary. He was especially adept at making it seem like he wasn’t transcending dimensions while writing reports, too. Unfortunately, like all the other times, he tended to come back to himself while writing said reports.

This time, he raised his head and immediately noticed that he wasn’t in the kitchen he thought he had commandeered last night. In fact, he wasn’t in a sitting room, his office, his bedroom, or the cave at all. Upon closer inspection, evident by the many paintings and animal directions hung up, it seemed like he was in Damian’s room. That… did not seem right, but what other room was decorated like that? 

Actually, why was he sitting on the floor at all? And not bleeding at that, especially in the assassin child’s room? Tim twisted around, cringing at the way his joints protested the movement, and stared at the bed. The boy in question was knocked out with Tim’s laptop open, Titus snuggled into his side and snoring loudly. The screen was on a loop, as if the kid had fallen asleep midway through the movie and forgot to pause it.

It all came rushing back as Tim squinted at the sleeping Damian. He shuddered at the memory, reaching out to gently shut his laptop. The image of the kid struggling through a nightmare tugged at the back of his mind and made him feel entirely off-kilter. Maybe he didn’t do as good of a job at compartmentalizing as he thought he did, or maybe Damian had been humanizing himself too much. 

As much as he’d love to have a crisis in the middle of Damian’s room, the entrance of Alfred the cat swiftly reminded him that he probably wouldn’t be welcome when the kid woke up. So, he gently scooped the cat up and laid him on the blankets. Alfred curled up quite happily, tail flicking across Damian’s face. The boy didn’t even twitch, just simply tilted his head the other way and continued to doze. Almost unconsciously, he readjusted Damian’s blankets and took a step back. 

He looked… really peaceful asleep. Like the child he really was, and not in an insulting way for once. It was extremely unnerving. Unfortunately, his one brain cell didn’t process fear as well as the rest of him could, which led to him dropping a soft kiss on Dami’s forehead. Tim then gathered all of his case files and left the room, closing the door with a soft click. He froze outside the door, a little shell-shocked, but eventually unfroze and made his way back to his own room.

Compared to Damian’s, it seemed a lot emptier. Where Damian had pet toys strewn across his floor, Tim had papers. His walls weren’t decorated and the bed looked like it had only been used three times in the past week, which… it was. It was eerily reminiscent of Drake Manor and even exhausted him hated it with a passion. 

Tim stared at the barren room before turning his back to the sight and sending a message to Bruce about the finished case. He dropped the files in the hallway and steeled himself before re-entering the bedroom. At least the bed was comfortable, even if the room was anything but. Tim closed his eyes and fell asleep, wondering how the hell his life got so confusing so quickly. The dark didn’t give him an answer, and instead stole him for a good 20 hours of pure unconsciousness.

*****

When he woke up, Tim felt like shit. One look at the clock informed him that he had patrol in an hour, which meant he absolutely had to remedy his haziness pronto. Especially when his post-caffeine haze had set into that unfocused state that wasn’t conducive to patrol whatsoever.

That meant sneaking into Jason’s room for the rest of the five-hour energy he had hidden underneath the floorboards ages ago. (Maybe they were expired…) Sure, it fed into an unhealthy loop, but Tim would rather take hyper-focused to foggy and unresponsive. It wasn’t like anybody would know, either, since nobody checked up on him last night.  

Admittedly? This logic was a bit flawed because by the time Tim had fished the last few bottles out and looked up, Jason was staring at him from his place on the bed. They locked eyes for a long moment before he flatly said, “What the fuck are you doing.” Tim got the distinct feeling that it wasn’t the first time the man had asked.

”Wrong room, sorry,” Tim squeaked out, trying for flippant and coming off far more panicked. He shoveled the rest of the bottles into his arms and gave a quick wave before booking it out of the room, sweating. Why the hell was Jason even in his room?! Dick and Bruce had tried, time and time again to get him to stay over more. Without fail, Jason kept insisting he had safe houses to check on and crime lord things to do! That he didn’t want to bug Alfred, and then he vanished as soon as patrol ended. It was deeply upsetting for all parties but it had become routine now, so what was with the sudden change?

He really hoped Jason was too tired to comprehend what just happened. It wouldn’t bode well for Tim if Dick had managed to both get Jason to come back AND stay the night in the manor, and also join the “Relieve Tim of Caffeine” campaign he had going on. These worries continued to swarm his mind as he traversed the manor halls, winding his way back to the kitchen where he started. There was no Red Hood following after him and demanding he hand over his prize, so Tim guessed he was in the clear. At least for now.

Tim grabbed his coffee mug and began making himself some more, since he had drained the last pot. It was riskier, since Alfred was probably awake and on the prowl, but he was also preparing the med-bay for patrol. Plus, Tim was feeling kind of floaty so his sense of danger was a bit skewed. He did have enough sense to check inside the kitchen, to make sure the butler in question wasn’t inside already, but past that? He had no contingencies and no brainpower to pull off any believable lie, so he’d have to chug his coffee once it was finished before he was caught. 

While the coffee-maker worked its magic, Tim dumped the bottles on the counter. Five maybe expired bottles were all that was left of his stash. He filled his mug with coffee and paused, hand hovering over the first five-hour energy. Normally, Tim would carefully calculate how many shots he needed to function and stockpile the rest for a later date. Normally, everything wasn’t fuzzy around the edges and his hand didn’t shake the longer he held it up. 

Unable to do the math, Tim decided to do the next best thing. He grabbed the first bottle and dumped all of it into his coffee. Then he did it with the second. And the third. And the fourth. And he was halfway through the fifth when—

“Jesus Christ, replacement, if I had known you were trying to kill yourself, I wouldn’t have tried at all,”

Tim spun around, clutching his mug to his chest. Hot liquid splashed onto the ground as he turned to face Jason, who was still in his pajamas and looked almost as exhausted as Tim did on a good day. “Did you follow me?” Tim asked, pressing himself back into the counter. He wished he could meld into it and avoid any conversation at all, especially since he had lost the upper-hand ages ago.

Jason shrugged and leaned against the oven, fiddling with one of the knobs on the oven. “See, in my world, when someone randomly appears in your bedroom looking like a zombie,” —Jason snorted— “It usually means somethings wrong. So here I am, at your beck and call, watching you poison yourself.”

“I’m not poisoning myself,” Tim protested, deciding not to think about how awful he must’ve looked. “And there’s nothing wrong. What’re you even doing here? I thought you had safe houses to micromanage,” he added belatedly, narrowing his eyes as Jason began to play with the stove controls. He hadn’t even turned off the oven yet. Alfred would get an aneurysm when he discovered the burnt-down kitchen.

Jason looked skyward, letting out a long groan. “The demon brat followed me back to one of my safe houses awhile ago and threatened to leak it to you fucks if I didn’t spend the night today. So here I am, facing my trauma like a good little soldier,” he complained, hovering a hand over the heat of the stove. “I dunno how he even got my number, but he has it.”

That… made sense. Tim didn’t know Damian’s motives, but it certainly seemed like a plausible story. He nodded in acknowledgment before raising the mug to his lips. It’d be suspicious to just chug it now, right? But it was Jason, who didn’t care about Tim at all. So it was fine if he just—

…Where did his mug go?

He stared at his empty hand for a beat before dragging his gaze up, eyes locking onto the mug in Jay’s grasp. The man looked kinda worried, but hid it brilliantly by kicking at Tim’s ankle as he asked, “Getting slow, Red?”

“That’s what the coffee’s for. Give it back,” Tim demanded, holding out a hand. He was a little worried about getting hurt, so blatantly challenging Jason, but he was more focused on how his coffee was not in his hands. He needed it to function, even more so, with patrol in thirty minutes! 

Jay was not kind, though. No, instead, he eyed Tim warily before taking a sip from TIM’s coffee and immediately gagging. “Holy shit, what the fuck is in that, replacement? Motor oil?” he choked, taking a step back from Tim’s outstretched hand. “Oh, I am so not qualified for this. Where’s Dick,” he exclaimed, taking a drink from the sink before storming out of the kitchen with Tim’s mug.

Tim decided as Dick was forcing him back into bed that no matter his relation to Damian, the next chance he got, he was leaving the brat’s ass six feet in a ditch. He wouldn’t even feel bad about it either. Not at all.

Chapter Text

Tim was apparently very bad at keeping his word when it came to his brothers. It happened only a month after his internal declaration. Bruce, who had noticed Damian’s passiveness towards Tim, had decided to pair the two together. They had been assigned to investigate the overabundance of warehouses lining Gotham while Dick and Jason tackled all the abandoned buildings near Crime Alley. Batman was rechecking Arkham for any signs of communications or escaped Rogues, per Tim’s suggestion. There was no way that a normal gang had such an organized plan spanning so many different areas, after all.

Remarkably, Bruce’s decision ended up being a good one for once. The two of them worked well together, at least when they were only communicating through hand signals and head nods. Damian only threw knives at Tim when he reached for his caffeine pouch, which he thought he was doing sneakily but apparently not. Other than that, it was almost nice. Sure, they might’ve spent a lot of time trying to trip each other up and broke out into spontaneous races every so often, but Tim could honestly say it was fun. 

The two of them made an efficient duo and they had systematically checked all of the warehouses in record time. The only one they hadn’t checked was under construction and that was entirely Bruce’s fault. See, B had warned them all off from entering unstable buildings without him. It was already a struggle to allow Tim and Damian to investigate the warehouses in the first place, so it was a small price to pay. And it was a good rule too!

Now, Tim was far from stupid and Damian was one of the smartest kids he knew. They both knew how good of a rule it was. They weren’t planning to do shit about that building, and had actually turned their backs on it to head back to their rendezvous point. Until they heard a child’s scream come directly from behind them, and all protocols flew out the window. 

The two of them pried open one of the skylights and took a moment to scan the inside of the building. After a cursory glance, Tim carefully dropped into the half-built rafters to get a better look. They creaked before he could adjust his weight to accommodate for the instability, which he cringed at. No gunshots or otherwise followed, though, so the noisy framework must’ve been commonplace for the warehouse. Damian landed somewhere behind him without a sound, now informed of the noise. 

There was no one on the floor. No guards guarding an obvious cage. There were a few boxes strewn about that people could’ve been hiding in, which was probably where the child was being kept. The lack of protection made Tim wary, all of his instincts screaming at him. He shrugged at Damian, who was eyeing the whole building like it’d collapse if he looked away. He seemed to be as skeptical as Tim was, which was good. The boy grunted his acquiescence and began to make his way down, keeping hidden.

Meanwhile, Tim raised a hand and tapped at his comm. “R & R reporting in, requesting Batman keep his cool for just five minutes,” he said, hearing Damian’s breathing also join the main channel a few seconds after.

“Code– close enough. What am I keeping my cool for?” Batman asked, his voice growly and hoarse like it always was. 

“We’re in the warehouse that’s under construction,” Tim started, and Batman’s silence was enough to know the man was not, in fact, keeping his cool.

There was a low whistle from Jason before Damian cut in with, “We heard a child’s scream coming from inside. We’re investigating.”

The comms fell silent. Tim could vividly imagine Bruce’s internal debate before he conceded. “Fine. Keep your comms on. I want Oracle on you at all times.”

Damian gave the signal for all clear, so Tim slipped down to the ground with a quick, “Yessir,” before transferring them out of the main channel. Once he was fully down and nothing exploded, he carefully unclipped his bo-staff and whispered, “Anything new?”

”Several boot prints, male. Someone has been here recently,” Damian reported, looking annoyed at the lack of information that gave. “They are too muddled to determine if they’re sinister.” 

Tim walked over and crouched next to the boy, studying the prints along with him. It was indeed, extremely annoying to see the mess of them. It was near impossible to track any one person’s movements. Something was odd about them, though. There was no variety in the footprints. If these were from construction workers, there would be an array of differences that should’ve been easily recognizable. Yet except for the size, there was none. He opened his mouth to inform Damian when another ear piercing shriek tore through the warehouse.

Without missing a beat, the two of them spun around and launched towards the crate the sound came from. Tim readied his bo staff, and once Damian managed to make a crevice, jammed it into the lid. “Hey, we’re here to help, okay? It’s the Robins,” he reassured gently as he steadied himself on his back feet. Together, they dislodged the lid, screws hitting the ground with a satisfying sound as it came free.

When he went to pull out his bo staff, though, something resisted. Which, okay. The kid was probably scared and grabbing onto the first thing they could. He shuffled forward and dug his fingers into his staff, holding it limply. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s just my staff, see? I’ll let you hold it once we’re out of here,” Tim promised. 

The grip slackened just slightly, and he let out a small breath. Damian cocked his head at him, but Tim just shrugged and gestured with his free hand to the lid. He stayed put, keeping himself as non-threatening as possible while Damian went to the other side of the crate and began dragging the lid off. Tim saw the glint of metal and assumed handcuffs, already running through what kind of lock picks he would need. But maybe he should’ve assumed knife, instead, because the second the lid was free, the bo staff was suddenly slammed hard into Tim’s chin. 

It was like a flip was switched as Tim stumbled backward, tearing his staff out of the box. People began to swarm in, crashing through windows and leaping out of the shadows. They were easy to recognize from the League of Assassins, but Tim couldn’t glean anymore than that before he was thrown back into the fray. He couldn’t even raise his hand to switch channels on his earpiece, so he had to hope Babs was alerting the others. With the amount of assassins swarming the building, it certainly would’ve been welcome.

They were smart, trying to keep Tim and Damian separate. It didn’t work, though, and they ended up back to band anyways. Like hell he was going to let the brat out of his sight while everything was going to shit. Sure, he had never trusted Damian to watch his back before, but things had changed and he didn’t have a choice of backup now. 

And for a stupid, stupid moment, Tim really thought that things were going well. He had just knocked out one of the assassins approaching and was in the midst of attacking another when he had the unfortunate instinct to look up. It was a struggle not to freeze at the sight of Ra Al Ghul in the rafters, looking amusedly down at the battle. Tim stumbled to the side, the opening he left quickly accounted for by Damian sliding in and stopping just short of decapitating the assassin who had gone for him. He’d get made fun of for his mistake relentlessly when the battle was over, but he couldn’t bring himself to be worried by that.

No, instead, his brain began to go into overdrive despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Tim disarmed another attacker and flickered his eyes upward once more. Ra was looking between the two of them, but there was no mistaking how his gaze lingered on Damian. That was reason enough for him to begin looking for exits.

First things first, they had to get out of the mob assaulting them. “Time to go!” Tim shouted over to Damian before smoothly uncapping one of his smoke bombs with a twirl of his staff. He used the remaining momentum to sweep the legs out from underneath one of his aggressors, not bothering to wait for the thud before he began to run. Dames got the memo quickly and fell into step behind him and they both booked it towards one of the less guarded doors. 

It would’ve been easier to grapple back up to the rafters and get away, but if the kid saw his grandfather up there, Tim was certain things would go sour. For some reason, Damian didn’t point out the clear option and instead trusted whatever direction Tim was leading them in. He’d feel touched once they made it out alive, he was sure. 

The smoke was clearing now that they got their head start, but it had given Tim enough time to switch to the main channel on his earpiece. His breathing was labored and it was hard to focus, but he shouted, “League trap. There’s no kid, they mimicked one to lure us in. They’re going for Damian, so we’re running.”

“ETA 15 minutes. Don’t let them get either of you,” Dick demanded, voice coming out panicked. Tim could relate. He, too, didn’t want the League to get their hands on Damian. Maybe they’d bond over it once they made it out of things safely. Or something.

“Aye aye,” Tim replied before raising a shoulder to mute his comm. He hoped Oracle had enough sense to move him back to the private channel, because immediately after, Damian and Tim were forced to fight their way through the assassins defending the door. There were less of them guarding it, but he forgot to account for the ones already giving chase, which made the simple task of escaping twice as difficult. Their movements were evasive, more focused on leaving than incapacitating, though, and it seemed to be working. It was hard to keep the brat in his sight, but at least he could gladly say that Damian’s training was working well. 

Maybe too well, because when Damian grunted, Tim immediately turned to check on the kid. His eyes scanned the crowd for a second too long, and it cost him. He bit back a scream as one of the assassins drove a knife into his back. It was ripped out instantly, dragged downwards through his suit and flesh and stretching the wound further. The pain broke through his adrenaline as black spots dotted the corners of the world. He fought back, of course he did, but the lack of peripheral vision and the overwhelming agony made it hard to.

From the moment his grip on his staff began to shake, Tim knew he wouldn’t be able to outrun anybody in his state. If everything wasn’t also becoming foggy, maybe he could’ve come up with another plan. But as it was, Tim didn’t even know if he’d last the fifteen minutes Dick had given them. 

He raised his head to check on Damian, belatedly remembering there was a reason he got stabbed. But he wasn’t injured and was cutting (metaphorically) through the crowd like butter. Dami didn’t even look like he had stumbled. But from the way Ra was delightedly grinning from above, it was clear he had more than one use for his song birds. Fuck, Tim forgot the guy was actually smart sometimes.

Okay, plan 427, or something. Tim wasn’t making it out of the battle alive and Damian would get dragged back to the League if he lingered any longer. There was no way Dami wouldn’t linger if he knew what Tim was planning, though. He would’ve sighed if he wasn’t in the middle of flipping a guy over his bleeding back. 

“Dames!” Tim yelled as they neared the exit, kicking someone in the stomach. A moment later, the kid appeared by his side, eyes darting around the fight like crazy. Tim was glad for it, because if Damian even looked at him for a moment, the brat would be able to tell what kind of state he was in. They fought together momentarily before simultaneously making a break for the door, having dwindled down the number of assassins just enough to make escape possible. 

Instead of rushing across the threshold, though, he pulled both a flash bang and smoke bomb from his belt and set them off. Damian, at Tim’s warning, obligingly closed his eyes as they ran towards the door. The area around them became cloudier and brighter all at once. It was surprisingly nice, since their suits were carefully adjusted to get around the deafening ringing of the flash bang. For a moment, Tim was a little concerned that the peacefulness was due to him passing out, but then his pain came back and that theory was put down.

Tim wished he could’ve floated in that period of calm forever, but instead took the chance to tell Damian, “We split as soon as we hit the roofs, and you don’t look back until you hit B or your brothers. Got it?” Somewhere past the haze setting in, he heard the kid shout an affirmative. That was all the incentive he needed before shoving the kid through the unfinished door frame and turning back around to face the music.

By the time the light dimmed enough for him to see properly, Tim had acquired a new gaping wound on his arm and a few broken fingers to match. But it worked. Damian had scaled the nearest wall and taken off without even a glance back while Tim stood in the doorway and fought off the assassins that hadn’t split off to chase the other boy.

Now with his brother out of the way and his death set in stone, Tim got moving with the second part of his plan. His worry about Ra chasing after Damian himself was dashed the second he glanced skyward. The man had set his sights on Tim instead, which was much more preferable. The brat was more than capable, anyways. He’d escape with barely a scratch, Tim was sure of it.

He began to enact the second part of his half-plan, doing his very best to fight through the crowd to get to his goal. They were toying with him now, using blunt hits that made him nearly collapse to the ground every time. His staff was torn easily from his grasp and a pair of swords were thrown to the side in favor of using it against Tim instead. By the time he reached his destination, he was sure he was about to pass out. 

A particularly ambitious assassin ran their blade all the way through the flesh of Tim’s shoulder before yanking it out as Ra called them off. The feeling of metal scraping back out of his body made him want to puke, vividly recalling the last time he was run clean through. He didn’t, though, and slumped against the unstable support beam he had found himself against. The one holding the whole warehouse up as the rest of the supports were put in. 

Once more, Tim navigated to the main channel with his (arguably) good arm. With the other, he searched his utility belts until he found what he needed to. There were people talking over each other, yelling… at him? He got Damian out, didn’t he? Why were they— oh. Oh shit. He forgot about Barbara and his tracker. She was speaking frantically to the rest of them, though he couldn’t comprehend the words, and Dick was cursing, which might’ve been worse. It sounded wrong and Tim hated it. He had to get things over with quickly, if to just stop them from sounding so torn up about something so insignificant. With a voice slurred not from caffeine but from blood loss and whatever else he had sustained, he quietly murmured, “Sorry for stealing from you, Jay.”

The comm burst with sound, but Tim couldn’t be bothered to listen anymore. No, instead, he attached one of Jason’s explosives to the pillar behind him. His cape was shock-absorbent, of course, but he didn’t think it would matter once it went off. Didn’t stop Tim from pulling it around himself like a barrier, though. A fruitless endeavor, but it was a nice thought.

Ra was approaching him, a manic grin on his face. His lips were moving, but Tim didn’t bother to pay attention to him either. He was wholly unaware of the bomb, so Tim just waited. Waited as he stalked forward, as he got through whatever monologue he had this time. Then he was close enough, and Tim set it off. There was a moment of silence before everything shook and the pillar behind him folded in on itself. With it followed the rest of the warehouse, collapsing like dominoes. He was flung forward from the blast, and he knew he must’ve been one adrenaline drop away from knowing what it felt like to die. 

Before his thoughts slipped away with his consciousness, Tim hoped the others weren’t nearby. Damian should’ve met up with the others by now, safe and now competition-less for the Robin mantle. If he was lucky, Dick wasn’t coming for him. The man didn’t deserve to watch another Robin die without being able to do anything about it. Hell, if he was lucky, maybe Jason wouldn’t be mad at Tim for being a subpar copy of him, right down to his death. And hey, maybe Bruce wouldn’t blame himself for the whole thing. Maybe he’d even give Tim a memorial. Frame his photos so they wouldn’t collect dust, at the very least. He hoped so. His eyes closed.

Chapter Text

Someone said his name. They kept saying it, and all Tim wanted to do was sleep. His whole body was on fire and he thought it’d be really cool to take the dive into the good place and simply stop feeling. Wasn’t that supposed to happen when you died? You stopped feeling pain? Tim thought that part of death should’ve kicked in a while ago, but apparently not.

They said his name again, and oh my god, did they not understand how tired he was? “Don’t wear it out,” he wheezed. Why did it hurt so much to talk? He was pretty sure he missed the first part of that quip, and he was supposed to be witty!

“Tim?!” And what did he just say?! 

“Shaddup,” Tim said, and let out a small snort— which, ow, that hurt like hell. “I sound like Jay.”

There was silence, and Tim frowned. That was what he wanted, right? So he could die properly? So why was his mind blaring all the flash warnings like he shouldn’t be doing that. Actually, where even was he if he wasn’t dead? Wherever he was didn’t feel like purgatory.

“Fucking hell replacement, you’re alive,” Another voice said, and the relief from it was palpable. Who was talking, though? Only Jason had ever called him replacement. “You did not have to go that far to live up to my legacy, Jesus christ.”

“Yeah,” Tim said sadly. “Could never live up to Robin. Always a… plate– a play– a placeholder.” He tried to wiggle his toes and felt a sudden rush of happiness at being able to do so. He thought he made a sound, but he didn’t care because it seemed like the most important thing to tell the disembodied voice speaking to him. “Spine’s okay!” Tim slurred excitedly, though he wondered why his feet had anything to do with his spine. 

There was another flurry of noise that made his head hurt so badly he thought he might’ve passed out again. “—Concussion, keep him talking,” another voice snapped, and jeez, how many voices were in his head?! And Tim couldn’t get concussions! He was dead! He was probably overdosed on caffeine again and all cloudy. Bruce had accused him of hiding a concussion once, when he was coming down from a caffeine high. That was probably happening again. Well, excuse you, disembodied voice, that was Bruce’s job! And he knew perfectly well that—

“Mmmmno. Makes them sad when I’m hazy. Hazy Tim isn’t… isn’t a good Tim, he says,”   Tim paused. Something was wrong with that sentence, but his whole body was on fire so he couldn’t really tell what. “Never been a good Tim,” he added. It sounded right, but his brain was telling him that it wasn’t the right thing to point out. He really didn’t know what it was asking of him, though. Tim could barely scrape together a coherent thought, let alone proofread his sentences.

Someone made a strangled sound, which, okay, rude. Tim was in unending pain and they had to go make him feel like he had to give someone a hug too? Cruel and unusual punishment. “You’ve always been good, Tim,” the same voice stressed. And woah, he knew he was out of it but that was just plain wrong. Even not-concussed Tim knew that. Not that Tim was concussed currently. 

“Mmm,” he denied. “Momma wouldn’t have left so much. Dad too. Bruce’d love me then,” he specified before letting out a painful chuckle. “Bruced. Bruuuced. He’d hate that.” Tim blinked. It took a long time to open his eyes again. “Where’s Bruce?” He asked the floating voices. 

“I’m right here, Tim,” the same voice that accused him of having a concussion said softly. Tim lit up. The voice matched the one B used when he was trying to have emotional conversations. Bruce? “I do love you, Tim. So much. I’m sorry I haven’t said it more,” it continued, and Tim sagged back into concrete.

“Not Bruce,” he said softly to the impersonator. “Where’s he?” Tim reiterated, and paused. “Where’m I? I died. It hurts too much to be death. Did Jay go through this when he ‘sploded? Dami left, right?” he asked. 

A horrifying thought crossed his mind. Damian was with him before he exploded. Sure, Tim probably made sure he escaped, but what if he didn’t? What if Damian died with him? He gasped at the thought, which sent him into a coughing fit. He curled into a ball that made his body protest quite loudly, but anything seemed better than letting more air escape his lungs. “Dami can’t die. Too… too small,” Tim insisted, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

One of the voices let out something that sounded like a sob before it demanded, “Red, report.”

And… oh! Tim was Red! Not as Red as Red Hood, but he was Red Robin. He could report. He had spent nights doing nothing but writing reports. He directed his gaze down the length of his body and began to check himself over. He was aware of the pained noises he was letting out every so often, but he had been asked to report and loathe he was to disappoint whoever asked.

“Mmkay, mmkay. I’m good. All fingers on… a hand broken. Left? Wrists broken. Lotsa cuts. A fuckton o’ cuts. Bruises. Burns. Toes are wiggling. Big ol’ hole in m’ shoulder. Same side as the fingerless one. And arm. Other side. Oh, oh, a biigg cut on my back. Bigger than… bigger than… just big,” Tim reported dutifully before narrowing (he thought) his eyes at the ceiling. “No concussion. Dami took my energy juice ‘fter I helped him, the traitor. Ratted to J. Can’t get hazy ‘nymore.”

A chorus of noise followed, but Tim was more focused. The report had dragged him back from the edge, just a bit. He scrambled to grasp whatever memories he could, and though they flowed away almost immediately, he got enough of an idea of where he was. The League was always giving him shit anyways. It wasn’t surprising that this was their fault, too, even if it mostly fell on Tim’s shoulders. He was a vigilante, for crying out loud! How’d he miss such an obvious trap in the first place?

His self-deprecation slipped away as Tim tried to concentrate on the room he was in. Black bars covered the walls, but it didn’t seem like a prison. It looked small, but the room was big enough that he was laying horizontally and touching none of the walls. If he stared long enough, he could spot the change in patterns. A gate… a door in the room? Certainly not a normal one, though.

“Think I’m in a dog kennel,” Tim eventually said. That seemed right. “The League has dogs?”

“Indeed. They prefer to keep them out of sight,” One of the voices said, overpowering the cursing and disbelief coming from the others. It was good, because listening to the other voices would definitely make him think about how he was locked in a fucking dog kennel with a not-concussion the size of his stab wound.

And… he was thinking about it now. Shit. Tim might’ve been not-concussed, but he knew for a damn fact that his panic attacks wouldn’t help anyone. He needed something to cling onto that wasn’t his anguish or the panic of the other voices. There was pressure in one of his ears— an earpiece? Ah. That was probably where the voices came from. It wasn’t enough to draw him away, but it gave him enough initiative to cling to the first thought that might’ve calmed him.

“Dami has a puppy,” Tim said, his breaths coming in too fast and making his body scream. He didn’t know if his– the bats were on this comm link. No matter how much his chest hurt, he had to try. His brain was refusing to let him sleep for a reason, even if he didn’t know what it was. “He has Alfred. And three kittens, but he… gave them away. I helped Dames steal kitties in the Batmobile. I hope they’re okay. I hope he’s okay,” he babbled, and okay, that really wasn’t helping his panic because now all he could picture was Damian’s body shoved into a dog kennel and that was worse than whatever situation he found himself in.

“I am okay, Drake,” A breathless voice huffed. “The kittens have been moved to a good home. Father did not notice I ever touched the car until now,” it elaborated. Something was different about it now. It sounded closer. Less robotic. Not a few moments later, or maybe it was, Tim’s concept of time was weird, there was a creaking sound and light swarmed into the tiny area. It made his head throb and he instinctively squinted, his brain reminding him that he might not wake up again if he closed them. “I found him.”

And… “Damian!” Tim cheered, and scowled at the resulting pain. It helped clear his head a bit, though. Enough that he didn’t try fighting when the boy gently removed him from the kennel and applied some quick first aid. He let out a distressed sound when his good arm was slung over Damian’s shoulder, but got with the program enough to get his legs to work. Tim felt like he was mostly being supported by Dami anyway, but it felt good to be useful.

They walked for a while, and it was much easier to keep his eyes open when he had to pay attention. Somewhere between non-descript hallway #3 and non-descript hallway #23, the voices on his comm link began talking again. They were still tense, but less stressed. It gave his mind room to wander, and Tim figured that Dami couldn’t hate him more than he already did… and he was the only other person around.

“No t’lling Dick,” he mumbled. The voices went quiet again. “Doesn’t deserve to worry ‘bout me. It’s… it’s an obligation to him, I left. Should be focusing on Jay, or B, or you! Or him,” Tim ranted, and then giggled sorrowfully. “Dami. Dames, remind Dick to take a break. You should let him hug you. He doesn’t want to hug me anymore.”

Someone made a wounded sound and quietly vowed, “I’m remedying that as soon as he’s conscious.” As if Tim couldn’t hear them. Maybe he couldn’t. Things were hard to differentiate. Then, louder, they announced, “I’m– Dick’s going to therapy now, little wing. He is taking a break.” And that was possibly the best piece of news Tim had ever heard. He tried to pat Damian on the cheek to emphasize how great that was and was only slightly mollified when the kid grabbed his arm. Right, broken fingers.

Where did he get broken fingers? How’d he even get into a dog kennel to begin with. Tim frowned and slouched against Damian even more. The kid stumbled to the side and hissed into his comm, “Todd, get over here. Drake is too heavy for me to carry to the car.”

“I’d love to, short stack, but I’m busy blowing up this pit. Dick’s en route, though,” Someone snapped, and Tim perked up. That sounded familiar.

“Ra was going to throw me into a pit,” he helpfully informed them. “Then I bit him and ran. Stumbled. Crawled. Left. I left and woke up on concrete. Think he thought I was dead. I thought I was dead.”

“Oh hell yeah, Timbit. Good on you for biting that creep. God knows he deserves it,” someone who couldn’t be anybody BUT Jason exclaimed, followed by a muffled explosion. Tim hummed happily at his response and let himself sink a bit more onto Damian.

“I might have a concussion,” he admitted to Damian, who grunted in response and bit out, “You think?!” Tim let out a huff of amusement before trying to pick up his own weight again. “Yeah. ‘Cause Jay’d never praise me. He hates being ‘round me. You had’ta blackmail him to get ‘em to stay! And Dick wouldn’t come for me cuz he doesn’t care, but I definitely heard his voice. And you hate me, but here you are. ‘N Bruce said he loved me, but he doesn’t. Not like he loves you,” he listed, belatedly noting that he didn’t feel any more throbbing pain in his toes and fingers anymore. Was that bad? He couldn’t tell. His mind was saying it was.

Tim glanced up and saw the distinct blue and black of Nightwing. That meant half of the actually capable people were here, which meant he could stop listening to his brain, right? Damian’s grip had tightened around his waist, and Tim was confident he wouldn’t be dropped. So, he put a foot out in front of Dami, tripping him before declaring, “I’m gonna… take a nap. Justa short one, promise.” And he let his eyelids drop to the sounds of disembodied voices.

*****

He was really planning to keep that promise, too, but the next time he woke up was in his own bed. Tim wondered if he was just dreaming before everything filtered in and he let out a pitiful whimper. A second later, the lights turned off and a large hand gently ran through his hair. He absolutely melted against the mattress despite his rational mind trying to get him to figure shit out. Well, there was one common occurrence that usually happened when he was in pain and unaware of what time it was.

“How long was I out?” He croaked, trying to stop his body from nuzzling into the hand. It didn’t seem phased, just kept going until Tim decided to relax. 

“Too long,” Bruce answered immediately. It was nice to put a name to the hand. “Three days, and you were pretty touch and go in the beginning,” he continued, and a chair squeaked. Tim wondered if someone had switched his floor out for hardwood or if B just hadn’t moved from his perch for ages. He opened his mouth to ask just that when he heard a heavy sigh and his jaw closed with an audible click. “I’m sorry, Tim.”

Ah, good ‘ol batsy guilt. Tim had spent years as Robin dealing with it. “Don’t worry about it, B. You couldn’t have known the League was behind this. They tricked me, plain and simple, and I screwed up,” he reassured, and frowned at how scratchy his voice was. The man passed him a glass of water, which he drained before resuming, “I knew Dames– Damian could mimic voices, but the League can too. We should figure out how to separate their mimicry and actual voices. Like… a tell or some new training or something.”

“No— well, yes, we are going to do that. That’s not what I’m apologizing for, Tim,” Bruce said fondly. A few moments later, he was propped up against a mountain of pillows. B looked directly into his eyes. Or he assumed so. It was very dark, after all. “I’m sorry I haven’t made you feel like you’re a part of my family. You’ve always been my son, and you do have a place here, no matter what,” he said earnestly, grabbing onto Tim’s hand and squeezing.

There was an indescribable warmth in his chest, and Tim couldn’t entirely stop himself from sniffling. God, this was the worst, he thought, as Bruce drew him into a hug. The man expertly avoided the stab wounds, which Tim appreciated. “I had a concussion, didn’t I? How much did I say?” He groaned, burying his face into Bruce’s chest. It was selfish, but he tightened his grasp around B. He had forgotten how nice being hugged felt.

Bruce chuckled and not a second later, Tim was suddenly hoisted up. He squawked in dismay and hurriedly wrapped his legs around his waist, but the guy didn’t seem to have any intentions of dropping. “You said a lot, pal. A lot of stuff I’ve missed, and I’m sorry. We should have a talk once you’re all healed,” he said, opening the door and heading down the stairs. Luckily, Tim didn’t have to deal with the lights because Bruce was acting as his blindfold.

“Hey B,” Tim interrupted loudly, now armed with the knowledge that he spilled his guts while half dead and desperately not wanting to go into any of it. “Did you know Damian had been getting his art stolen for months by one Jackson Harrows and he didn’t tell any of you guys?”

“Stop using Damian’s problems to deflect, baby bird,” Dick called. Tim lifted his head to find Bruce had moved them to one of the sitting rooms. What really was surprising though was Jason, who was taking up a whole couch. Tim was pretty sure the guy would rather pay his taxes than be in the manor, so him hanging around so casually was more than disorienting.

That’d be enough to think he might’ve missed something, but then he looked over at Dick and choked on his own spit. Bruce followed his gaze and patted him on the back understandingly before dumping him onto the same couch as Jay. “Hey, that’s not what I’m doing. I just forgot to mention it when it was happening. Is uh… are you good, Damian?” Tim protested, carefully shifting around to tuck himself underneath Jason’s legs. He tried not to let his surprise show at how malleable Jay was. 

“There is nothing wrong with me, Timothy,” Damian said curtly, tapping the buttons on the remote even harder. “Stop deflecting, it’s pathetic,” he continued, sitting snugly in Dick’s lap. Dick looked absolutely ecstatic at the situation, chin carelessly hooked onto Robin’s shoulder.

“I’m not deflecting! You didn’t mention anything about it before! I’m being responsible for your well-being!”

Jason raised a socked foot and gently kicked him in the cheek, which, ew. “Dude, worry about the demon later. Alfred told us we aren’t doing the feelings talk until after you’ve fully healed,” he scolded, propping his head on his hand to watch the shows Damian was skipping. “Oh come on, I wanted to watch Mulan. Spoilsport.”

“Jay, we watched that last time. You held Alfred’s cookies hostage until we agreed. And then didn’t even share after” Dick pointed out, casually standing up and propping Damian on his hip. Tim was pretty sure his eyes bugged out of his head when the kid didn't even grunt, just adjusted to still be able to see the screen. 

Dick walked over to the couch and dropped Damian gently into Tim’s lap before raising Jason’s legs and squirming in next to Tim. He immediately wrapped an arm around Tim, one hand firmly on Jason’s leg. Presumably to stop him from kicking Dick too. Tim would’ve found it funny if he wasn’t in utter shock.

“Did… did Dick find blackmail material on you guys or something? Is that why you’re acting weird?” Tim asked, and hesitated a bit before using Damian’s shoulder as a head rest. The boy didn’t seem bothered, if the way he was leaning back into Tim was any indication.

“I wish,” Dick said immediately, deflating when Damian passed Ocean’s Eleven. “I think it’s more that we didn’t know if you were alive for 12 hours, though.”

“Jesus fuck, Damian, give me the remote. We’ve been here for twenty minutes,” Jason groaned, sitting up. Unfortunately, because he wasn’t moving his legs from where they were caging the other two in, Jay couldn’t reach the remote. “And as if Dick could ever get any blackmail material on me, Timbo. I have a folder on him from his golden days.” 

“Yeah? So how about that time last week when you called me at 3 in the morning because you didn’t know h—“

“Alright, okay! I take it back! Shut up!” Jason interrupted quickly, looking like he would be shouting if he wasn’t obviously trying to be kind to Tim’s headache. He made one last ineffectual grab at the remote before flopping back down. “And for the record, it is entirely your fault I’m here right now, so no complaining,” he accused, but he also shifted his legs to trap Tim in further so he figured he couldn’t be that serious.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that you may be more competent than I first assumed, and it would be a waste of the Wayne name for you to have died so recklessly,” Damian added, lingering way too long on The Lion King. They had all collectively banned Dami from watching it, so Tim decided to ignore how happy he felt and grabbed the remote. He grinned when Dames didn’t even resist and put on Rise of The Guardians to Jason’s mutterings of, “Finally.”

Halfway through the movie, Bruce finally slipped back in with popcorn after taking an absurd amount of pictures of them all crammed on the couch. He gently lifted Jason’s shoulders and sat down on the couch before placing his head in his lap. Dick gave him a beaming smile before going back to fanboying over Jack Frost. Jason simply grunted his greetings as he heckled the movie, though less than usual. Damian, once again, was absolutely invested. He was holding onto Tim’s forearm tightly and shook it whenever an intense scene would come on. Tim had the feeling that they’d still be there when he woke up, and let his eyes slip shut with laughter in his voice and a smile on his face.