You'll Have To Come and Find Me

by fishfingersandjellybabies

Summary:

Damian runs into someone on his way to the League of Lazarus’ tournament. The last person he wanted to see. The last person who should have been looking for him.

Or...what if Tim tagged along to Lazarus Island?

Notes:

Just a thought in my brain that wouldn’t quit. Dialogue heavy. Shitily written idk. ‘Polarize’ by TwentyOne Pilots is such a Damian song to me, and was in my head while writing this, so inspired the title. Might continue this idea a little bit as the Robin series continues, who knows.

Edit: sorry for accidentally posting it twice in one post! I blame a sleep deprived posting time of 1am haha

Chapter 1: You'll Have To Come and Find Me

He was counting the money from his fight with King Snake as he walked into the café. That’s why he didn’t notice. That’s why he didn’t see.

That’s what he told himself.

But after he walked in the door, he found himself freezing as he looked up.

No.

He’d been so careful, so deliberate. He didn’t leave any traces. He knew he didn’t. There was no way they could find him.

And of course, he couldn’t even back out now. Couldn’t sneak back out of the restaurant, back into the darkness. Because Timothy Drake was already lowering his cup of tea and raising his head to look at him.

They stared at each other for a second. Two. Three. Four. Five. Faces blank, mouths shut.

Then Tim smiled, turned towards the café’s counter and waved. The barista nodded and started on a drink.

Nope. No turning back now.

“How did you find me?” Damian demanded as he stomped forward. Tim motioned to the empty, waiting, chair across from him. A glass of water was already there, as was an empty plate.

Tim shrugged. “Wasn’t that hard.”

“Liar.” Damian spat. “I covered my tracks. I made sure-”

“You made sure Bruce couldn’t find you.” Tim countered, pulling his napkin onto his lap. “And I am not Bruce.”

“…Oracle is smarter than you.” Damian tried.

“Absolutely.” Tim took another sip of his tea. “But I know you better.”

“You don’t know me at all.” Damian crossed his arms. He nodded a thanks to the waiter as he brought Damian’s drink, and a basket of bread. It was tea, like Tim’s, and he could see two sugar cubes dissolving in the bottom.

…His preferred preparation.

He never told Tim how he liked his tea. He never told Tim he liked tea at all.

He glanced up to the elder. Tim smiled behind his own cup and raised his eyebrows. See?

Damian huffed, taking the drink. “What do you want?”

“To find you. Duh.”

“To what, mock me? Remind me of my failures? Rub it in my face that once again you prove you’re better than me?” Damian listed. But as he spoke, Tim’s amused face fell back into stoic, blank.

“No. I wouldn’t do that in the first place. Not…” He lowered his cup once more, stared into the liquid. “Not now, anyway.”

Damian narrowed his eyes, gaze bouncing around Tim’s face, trying to read it. Trying to figure his predecessor out.

“Really?” Damian drawled in disbelief. “So, you’re not here to gloat about how Father gave you Robin back?”

Damian was surprised to see Tim’s face darken, just a little. “I didn’t want it back. He forced it on me in a weird grief-fueled crusade after you disappeared.” Tim glanced up. “A lot’s happened since you left.”

“I’ve been back since I renounced Robin. All this tracking me and you didn’t know that?”

“No, I mean, even since then.” Tim sighed. “…Did you know Dick had regained his memories before you helped save him and the family?”

Damian pursed his lips, stared at the basket of bread. “…No.”

“…How are you feeling about that?” Tim asked softly.

“I don’t need your pathetic brand of therapy, Drake.” Damian snapped.

“I’m not trying to play therapist, I’m just trying to make sure my little brother is okay.” Tim shot back just as harshly. “Especially since he’s running off to some secret tournament that he could die in.”

Tim’s mouth clamped shut then, and Damian watched him. “…How did you know about that?”

“That’s not important, here, okay, I just-”

“It is to me.” Damian countered. “Tell me or I’m leaving.”

Tim glowered back at him. “I’ll follow you.”

“Not if I break your leg.”

“Why do you…!” Tim cut himself off in a sigh, slumped back in his chair. “I got word Talia was in town, followed her tracks. Saw the security footage from her apartment when you went and met her. Heard about that League of Lazarus thing and looked into it.”

“How did you look into it?” Damian asked. “Even I didn’t know about it. And if Mother wasn’t forthcoming with me, I can’t see her being a source of information for you.”

Now it was Tim’s turn to cross his arms and look away.

Damian studied him for a moment, then let his eyes go wide. “…You didn’t.”

“Look, I said it didn’t matter-”

“You did not contact Grandfather for information.” Damian practically begged. “Drake!”

“You know as well as I do he’ll give me anything I want if I’m the one to reach out to him.” Tim reassured quickly. “And sorry if my brother’s safety is a good reason for me to contact an enemy!”

Damian glared at him for a moment before looking at the clean white plate. “…Stop calling me your brother.”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Damian-”

“Because after what I’ve done, I don’t deserve the title.”

Tim paused then, stared right back. Sighed and leaned forward to grab his tea again.

“What happened wasn’t your fault.” Tim whispered. “Definitely not Dick, not Alfred…especially not Alfred…I know you think it is, and trust me, I get that. I felt the same back when my dad died. Bruce.” A moment. “…You.”

Damian glanced up at him.

“I get that you think it was. Because you were there, because you’re supposed to be a hero, that’s what the world thinks you are, but…It’s not, Damian. It never was. You’re just a kid. A kid in a shitty, traumatic situation.” Tim hesitated, and Damian watched as he swallowed a lump in his throat. “And we just want you to come home.”

“Why?” Damian asked quietly. “I’ll do nothing but hurt all of you.”

“Can I make a counterpoint to that?” Tim asked. “What do you think you’re doing to us now? Disappearing? We don’t know how you are, or if you’re even alive. Don’t you think that’s hurting us too?”

“…It shouldn’t.”

“Well. It does.” Tim sniffed. “That’s why I’m here. That’s part of why Babs became Oracle again. That’s why Dick wants to use the fortune Alfred left him to find you.”

“Forget about me.” Damian shook his head. “You’ll all be better off. Grayson especially.”

“A matter of personal opinion. An opinion I highly disagree with.” Tim shrugged. “And just because Dick, arguably, loves you the most, therefore is the most heartbroken with you not there, doesn’t mean he’ll be better off if you just…vanish from his life like you weren’t ever there in the first place.”

“He thrived without any memories of me as the cab driver, so we have proof that he would be.” Damian explained. “Besides. Time heals all wounds. Or whatever. You’ll all forget about me if you give yourself the chance to.”

“And I think you dying is proof that we won’t, and can’t.” Tim leaned forward more, reaching for Damian’s hand. Damian allowed him to take it. “Which is why I’m here.”

“I’m not going back to Gotham, Drake. I can’t.” Damian murmured, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I’m not…I can’t be there. Right now.”

“I know. I know I said we want you home, but I never said I was taking you back. I told you I’m out here to find you.”

“Well. Congratulations.” Damian said bitterly. “You did.”

Tim smiled. “Great.” He squeezed Damian’s hand and released it. “So, where’s this island? For the tournament?”

Damian furrowed his brows. “What?”

“I’m not taking you home. I promise.” Tim let his grin widen, become just a little too shit-eating. “But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving you.”

“…You’re not serious.”

“My goal was to find you. And not lose you again. The only way to do that is to not leave you, in my deductions.” Tim winked. “Besides, you were right – this Lazarus Tournament sounds interesting. And concerning. You’re gonna need backup. More than the folks we know who are gonna be there already, anyway.”

“…How do you know who’s in the tournament?” Damian asked slowly. Tim just pursed his lips, blinked, and grinned. Damian sighed. “After this tournament, I’m making sure my grandfather never contacts you again.”

“Hey, sometimes it’s nice having a super-villain obsessed with you.” Tim shrugged. “Helped me get you back, after all.”

“All the more reason I’ll have to kill him.”

Tim laughed at that, took a piece of bread for himself. “…You okay with me tagging along?”

Damian sipped his tea. “Not in the slightest.”

“Good.” Tim glanced at his watch. “About an hour until your boat arrives. That’s enough time for you to rest a little while we figure out an outline of a plan to take out this League of Lazarus.”

At that, Tim turned, digging in the backpack he had hanging off his chair. Damian watched him as he pulled out papers and notebooks, dropping them on the table between them.

And he didn’t want it. Didn’t deserve it. His family deserved better. Drake deserved better. Drake had better things to do than chase him, a failure, across the world, and hardly for either of their own sakes. All for the sake of their family. Because Tim loved them. Because Damian loved them. Because Tim loved Damian too.

“…Drake?” Damian whispered. Tim glanced up. “…Thank you for finding me.”

Tim blinked, and let his face drop into a smile. “Any time, little brother.”

Chapter 2: My Friends and I, We've Got a Lot of Problems

Summary:

Tim watches Damian die. Again. He doesn't take it well.

Notes:

Guess I'm continuing this, aha. Chapter titles will be lyrics from that Polarize that inspired the fic title because...I'm uncreative. Each chapter will follow something that already happened in the issues that came out, so this one is between Robin #1 and #2. I'm taking some pre-52 lore in this one, where Rose and Tim were on the same Titans team once upon a time.

Tim didn’t know if he could do this.

They’d been able to coerce the ferry captain to let him tag along even without the token, that he was Damian’s coach for the tournament – a thing neither of them actually knew was allowed until another of the boat’s passengers brought it up.

The boat ride took all night, and Tim found himself smiling as Damian dozed off against his shoulder.

But the smile quickly disappeared as he glanced up at the boat’s other occupants. The villains and criminals whose company they were now keeping. Some of them were watching them, watching Damian, with open leers and Tim felt the urge to lunge and burst their eyeballs with his thumbs.

They wouldn’t hurt him. Tim wouldn’t let them.

He wouldn’t let Damian lose this tournament. He wouldn’t. He’d jump in front of the kid if he had to. He’d die himself, if need be.

The kid had already been through enough. He didn’t need to die again.

(Tim couldn’t bear to watch him die again.)

But the universe must have found some humour in watching him fail, watching his only hopes and dreams and wants crumble in his hand.

Because after they landed on the island, after Tim was handed a long black cloak that he saw some other men wearing, that they claimed marked him as a coach and off limits – that’s exactly what Damian did.

He should have seen it coming, knew it was going to happen. Because Damian was brash. Damian was arrogant. Damian was fourteen, and therefore invincible in his own mind.

He doesn’t remember what happened after Flatline ripped Damian’s heart out. Did he scream? Did he collapse? When he came back to himself, his old friend Ravager was holding him back, one arm around his waist, the other hand gripping his wrist.

“It’s okay.” She was whispering frantically. “It’s fine. He’ll be fine. He’s a moron who didn’t listen to the rules, he’ll be okay, Tim. Just breathe.”

And that was no easy task, not as he watched Damian’s lifeless body bleed out on the ground in front of him, in the middle of a circle of monsters who wanted them and their family destroyed on a good day. Who were giggling and pointing at Damian’s dead form like it was a joke.

But eventually, he did. He could. He breathed as Rose whispered in his ear to inhale and exhale. Slowly remembered what Ra’s had said, the rules of the tournament he’d already been told.

You can die three times in this game. Death means nothing on Lazarus Island. Not until that third strike.

Clarity was returning to his mind, but he still tried to lunge out of Rose’s grip when Mother Soul’s henchmen stomped forward to gather up Damian’s body.

“Don’t you fucking touch him!” Tim found himself yelling, even as Rose continued to hold him. The men ignored him, and did anyway.

“Feel free to follow them, if you wish.” Mother Soul hummed as she turned away. “He’ll be resurrected by dawn.”

Rose kept her grip on Tim’s arm as they followed the men into a stone building and down a flight of stairs. She didn’t ask to come with them. Tim didn’t tell her she couldn’t either.

He found himself somewhat grateful that she was there, that she stood guard at the bottom of the stairs while he kept vigil at Damian’s side. They’d taken his bloody shirt, and Tim had a clear view of the hole in his little brother’s chest.

He wanted to puke.

All he could think about was last time, when the Heretic stabbed him through. The scar sitting just to the side of this new wound, this new death blow.

Would this scar too? Would there be yet another reminder of how badly they’ve all failed this kid?

Tim cursed himself. This was all wrong. He should have found Damian and dragged him away. Not take him home, but take him to safety. Take him to relaxation. Give him the break he so desperately needed. Disconnect for a few days or weeks or months. Lay on a beach, swim in an ocean. Get away, just the two of them.

Just two brothers who have gone through so much.

But no. Tim just had to agree to come here. Had to offer more clues and mystery. Had to let Damian make a fool of himself. Had to let him get slaughtered again. Had to watch.

He couldn’t do this.

He just couldn’t.

He reached out and took Damian’s hand. It was cold, and Tim had to swallow the vomit back down at the sensation. Had to remind himself that Damian would breathe again by morning. That it would all be fine. Mother Soul had said so. Rose had promised.

And Damian would hate him, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t do it. He was too weak. He couldn’t watch Damian die again. Not ever again. Not one more time, when it still wouldn’t matter, and not two more times, when it would.

So as soon as the kid woke up. As soon as he sucked oxygen back into those lungs, Tim was sweeping him up in his arms and taking him away. Hiding him from the world until they could both stand to be apart of it again.

…As soon as Damian woke up.

(And he couldn’t help but sigh. Because as soon as Damian woke up, he’d throw himself back into the case. Scream and yell in Tim’s face about how he wasn’t leaving, how Tim could go without him.

And Tim knew he never could. Where Damian goes, he goes.)

He glanced up at Rose. She was watching them, just as calculating and curious as if she were a Bat herself. He wondered why she was here, if there was a reason, like Damian, or if she was here for the thrill.

(He wouldn’t let himself think of the possibility of she and Damian facing off against each other. Refused to imagine one of them killing the other. He cared for them both. He loved them both. His heart wouldn’t be able to take it.)

She noticed him staring back, and gave him a sad smile. He returned it, before letting his eyes drop back to Damian’s chest, watching the muscle and tissue slowly regenerate itself.

He couldn’t do this.

But he had to.

For the sake and sanity and safety of his broken, discarded, devastated little brother, he had to.

Chapter 3: Help Me Polarize, Help Me Down

Summary:

Damian wakes up to hear Tim screaming at someone familiar.

Notes:

Between Robin #3 and #4! Damian is not going to remember being semi-conscious for this because I said so.

When Damian felt consciousness take hold, his first thought was:

What the hell happened?

Connor Hawke and his coaches, the men Damian knew himself. They fought. He was thrown from a damn cliff. Then…his father caught…

No, not his father. Someone else. Some…something else?

He shifted onto his back, heart pounding. These were definitely not the blankets in Wayne Manor, or wherever his father was staying now. And the air…it still smelled tropical. He could hear the waves in the distance.

Was he still on Lazarus Island?

But before he could think about it further, before he could even force himself to wake up more, to focus and figure out what happened and where he was, there was a crash from outside where he slept.

A loud grunt snorted from behind him. His body didn’t move to react to it.

“…not believe you!” He heard shouted. Immediately, he felt his heart relax.

Drake.

“You really just don’t fucking let up, do you?” He was shouting, crashing continuing around him. He was knocking things over, Damian assumed.

“Settle, Young Detective.” Someone hummed. Someone who…who sounded a lot like his Grandfather. “You should be thanking me.”

“For what, kidnapping him?” Drake snarled. “Getting him beat to a pulp by your League of Shadows minions?”

There was a pause, then quietly. “I do not work with the League of Shadows any longer. I do not work with any of the Leagues I used to.”

“Bullshit.” Drake drawled. “But frankly, I don’t care. I don’t give a single shit about you. Just give Damian back to me.” A moment of tense silence. “Now.”

“He needs to heal. That’s what I was doing before you so rudely barged in here and knocked over all my tools.” Ra’s sighed. “And it’s not like I’m hiding him. He’s in my tent, right over there. Go see him, if you’d like.”

Drake said nothing else, but seconds later Damian heard the sound of footsteps in the sand.

The curtain across the door flapped open, and almost instantly there were cool fingers on Damian’s face.

“Damian,” Tim breathed, running his thumb across Damian’s cheek. Two fingers pressed against his throat. “Kid, can you hear me?”

Damian could only grunt. Tried opening his eyes, but even the low candlelight in the tent was too much. He had to squeeze them shut once more.

“Stay with me.” Tim whispered. “Come on, Dames, stay with me.”

Another rustle of the curtain. “I told you, Timothy. I was in the process of healing him.”

“For what?” Tim spat. “What do you get out of it?”

There was no answer. Damian heard his grandfather touching some papers and vials.

“…You don’t get to keep him.” Tim practically growled. “You don’t get to turn this into a debt that he has to repay.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Young Detective.” Ra’s hummed, like he was a tired parent. “…Did the Shadow goons get to you? Do you need some medical attention as well?”

“…No. No, I’m fine.” Tim sighed, gently patted at Damian’s chest. “I only caught the tail end of the fight. Saw them throw him. Saw what I now know was Goliath catch him and carry him off.”

Another large snort from the corner. Ra’s hummed.

There was silence for a few seconds. Just Tim with his hands on Damian’s face and chest, the sound of the waves and flickering flames. Breathing.

Then, a dip as Ra’s kneeled next to his cot, and the smell of herbs.

“…Timothy.” Ra’s hummed. Tim’s fingers twitched on Damian’s face. “You know the truth as well as I do, don’t you?”

“Depends on what that truth is.”

“…Damian should not be on that island.” Ra’s whispered. “He should not be involved in that tournament.”

“…I know.” Tim admitted quietly. Suddenly, a cold cloth was pressed against his arm. He gave a light moan and shivered. Tim gave a gentle shush. “But you know what they say, Ra’s. If you can’t be them, join them.”

Ra’s gave a chuckle. “I have a feeling you never said that about me.”

“I’d rather die.” Tim returned, just as cheerfully. Then his voice dropped again as he gave a long exhale. “But…he is right. There’s something not good about that tournament. And if he thinks he can take the operation down, I’m happy to be his backup.”

“Or his bodyguard.” Damian could hear the smirk in his voice. Tim scoffed. “You’re telling me you aren’t going to interfere if he begins to lose?”

“No.” Tim admitted. “Because he’s never going to get to that point.”

“Ah, you Bats and your confidence.” Ra’s laughed. “…He won’t be happy to see me.”

“I mean, I’m still not.” Tim agreed. “And I frankly still don’t trust that you don’t have ulterior motives.”

“Good. Stay on your toes.” Ra’s countered. Someone lifted Damian’s hand, and began rubbing an ointment on it. “You’ll protect him better that way.”

Tim didn’t answer that. For the next few minutes, no one spoke as Ra’s and Tim rebandaged and cleaned his wounds. Then, there was the sound of the curtain, and Damian sensed it was just him and his brother left.

Damian tried to roll over, gave a low groan. “Drake…!”

“You’re alright, Damian. It’s okay. You’re safe.” Tim swore. “We’re safe.”

Despite blearily hearing the conversation, and already sensing himself forgetting some of it, Damian wasn’t sure how much he believed that.

“Go back to sleep.” Tim whispered, running a hand over Damian’s head. It was lulling him back into the darkness. “I’m here, I won’t let Ra’s do anything to you.”

And Damian couldn’t help himself. As the darkness fogged over his mind, he croaked weakly, “…Promise?”

Tim’s hand stilled, and he watched Damian inhale, then go limp in unconsciousness. He gave the boy a sad smile, then carefully resumed petting at his locks.

“Promise.”

Chapter 4: Better Brother, Better Son

Summary:

Dick caught Damian, and then he let him go. Tim didn’t know whether to scream or cry.

Notes:

during/post Robin #5

When he saw them, when he saw his brothers and best friend, for a moment, he felt hope.

They’d come for Damian. They’d followed Tim’s lead and come to take their baby brother home.

Because that’s what he needed to do. Because the more Tim thought about this tournament, the worse he felt. The more he knew he needed to get Damian out and away and safe. And he knew he couldn’t do it alone.

The relief he felt, seeing those silhouettes surround Damian on that roof.

For a moment, he felt everything was going to be okay.

…The moment was very brief.

Damian, that little shit, gave them a deal to catch him, and not a single Robin in any universe or timeline could ever turn down a rooftop race. Not even himself.

So that’s how he got involved, bringing up the rear, watching as the other three tried to reason with their youngest. Tried to catch him, tried to hold him and never let go.

At one point, he was side by side with Stephanie, but Damian used that against them, bouncing them off each other.

Tim caught the look in his eye, though. The dark look of betrayal as he glanced Tim’s way before bounding off into the darkness.

He knew what that look meant. What Damian was thinking. That this was all a ruse by Tim, that he never believed in him from the start. It was all a trick to get him into a false sense of security, then dogpiled by his predecessors.

He understood why Damian might think that, despite it being as far from the truth as possible. Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt a little, though.

When Jason came across him and Steph, Tim let himself feel a little bit of hope once more. That meant Dick was on his tail, the one he trusted and loved more than the rest of them combined. If anyone could convince the kid to come home, it’d be him.

So when they saw Dick in the distance and started to approach, Tim felt his stomach drop as he took in his posture. As he realized he was alone on the roof, staring out into the harbour towards the boats he and Damian had been heading towards.

He couldn’t keep the despair from his voice. “Tell me you didn’t let him go!”

Dick turned back and smirked at them. “Kid’s fast.”

Tim tuned them out, then. Ignored whatever Jason and Stephanie said as he ran to the edge of the roof himself. Watched the shadow of Damian as he ran through the alley towards the docks.

After a few minutes, when he heard Jason and Stephanie retreat, he glanced back and found Dick still standing there, watching him now.

“Why?” He whispered. “He…you had him, didn’t you?” Tim looked down. “You could have brought him home.”

“He needs to do this, Tim.” Dick returned gently. “You know that.”

“…It’s not safe.” Tim tried weakly. “He needs help.”

“And he has help.” Dick smiled, stepping forward and ruffling Tim’s hair. “He has you.”

Tim blinked, turned to look down at the boats.

“You’ll keep him safe. I know you will.” Dick swore. “I believe in you.” Dick laughed. “You’ve been doing a great job so far, after all.”

Tim watched as Damian reached the boat and snuck on board. Felt his heart twist a little as he watched Damian turn around, eyes darting around the harbor. Looking for someone.

…Looking for him.

“Thank you for going after him when all of us were too stupid to.” Dick murmured, squeezing Tim’s shoulder. “He’s lucky to have you. We all are.”

Tim felt his lip tremble. From emotion, from exhaustion – whatever.

And Dick must have known, because without another word, he was pulling Tim into an embrace, holding the back of his head tenderly.

“I believe in you.” Dick repeated. “I believe in you both.” He held Tim for another moment before pushing him back. “Now, get going. We don’t want you to miss your boat. You and Dames have a world to save.”

Tim swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

“Call if either of you need anything.” Dick reminded. “As far as we know, Rose still has her communicator.”

“Keep the Bat-jet fueled and ready.” Tim demanded, backing away. Dick smiled and nodded. Tim glanced to the other side of the roof, where Steph and Jason were watching. Jason nodded too, and Steph gave a thumbs up.

Tim inhaled a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, taking the opportunity to steel himself once more before spinning away and jumping from the building.

When he landed on the boat next to Damian, he glanced back to the roof. Their siblings were gone.

It was just the two of them.

“…You ready?” Tim whispered, bouncing his shoulder against Damian’s. Damian, surprisingly, rolled with the movement so that he was leaning his weight into Tim’s side. Tim noticed he was clutching something tightly in both hands. A stick of some sort, or a bar. Tim didn’t mention it.

“I was born ready, Drake.”