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(Damian)
He was barely holding on to T-Rex’s nostril. He was going to lose his grip. A hand was extended toward him, helping to pull him back to safety.
Drake was looking up at him with a soft, almost understanding expression. He was talking to him, trying to know why.
Brass knucks struck Drake across the face. He could feel the bit of blood splatter. He could see Drake plummeting to the ground, about to crash into the glass case. The dead Robin memorial. And there was nothing he could do.
Like he was floating, he stared at Drake’s immobile body. Broken and bloody, glass shards everywhere, laying on top of a different Robin’s suit —
Damian woke up gasping, sweat dripping down his face.
It was morning, just barely. He was in his room and Drake was fine. He was fine, and definitely completely alive. That was why his Father had let him stay, right? Damian had gone against his first instinct, he didn’t kill him.
…Did he?
He was just making sure, Damian reasoned as he shoved his blankets off. He knew the difference between reality and a dream, he reminded himself as he shoved Drake’s door open.
The room was mostly dark, but there was enough light to make out Drake’s sleeping form.
Damian lowered the blanket from his face, pressing his fingers to his throat. There was a pulse. He let out a breath of relief too soon.
A pillow smacked him in the face.
“God fucking damn it, Damian,” Drake snarled, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. “The one time I decide to crash here, and you just have to try and strangle me?”
“Tt.” Damian crossed his arms, neither denying nor agreeing with the statement.
“Get out. Just get out, you brat.”
Why does he always assume the worst of me?
Staring up the ceiling of his room, Damian knew the answer.
But he’d changed . He’d proved to practically everyone that he was trying to be something different. Except Drake was never there to see him.
So maybe Damian could change his mind. Maybe if they spent some quality time together, maybe then he would see.
Alfred was packing lunch when Damian came down to breakfast.
“Good morning, Master Damian,” he greeted him, turning around to hand him his lunchbox.
“Good morning, Pennyworth,” he answered, sitting down.
Something was going on, because Alfred waited until Damian had finished eating his breakfast before speaking again.
“I have last minute shopping for Master Bruce I must attend to this afternoon,” Alfred finally said.
Damian thought he knew where he was going with this, memories of a couple days ago poking at him.
“...So I was thinking of calling Master Dick to pick you up—”
“What about Drake?”
The old butler raised an eyebrow and Damian knew how suspicious he sounded.
“Richard is busy in Blüdhaven, I don’t want to bother him. Drake can pick me up,” he stated decisively.
“Very well, as you wish,” Alfred conceded hesitantly, “I shall call Master Tim.”
Nodding along, Damian barely heard him, a plan already formulating in his head.
You’ll see, Drake. I’m a very normal child now. Very normal.
—
As soon as he spotted Drake’s car, Damian marched over with his head held high. He swung the door open with force, staring down at him.
“I want ice cream.”
Drake idly raised his gaze to meet Damian’s. “Not a chance. Alfred told me to take you home.”
Huffing, Damian sat down next to him, closing the door more gently. Richard took him out to get ice cream all the time. He told him it was something kids did.
Maybe I’m phrasing it wrong.
“Can we go get ice cream?” he tried.
“Do you want Alfred to tell you off for spoiling your dinner?” Drake shot back.
“...He wouldn’t know,” Damian answered, suddenly unsure of what Richard had been telling him.
“Alfred knows everything.”
They drove in silence after that. Staring out the window, he tried to think of something else. Anything else that could be considered a ‘bonding’ experience. He wasn’t the same person who kept trying to kill Drake, he wasn’t.
“I’m watching a movie tonight.”
“Wow, on a school night?” Drake snorted. “Sounds like Bruce really lets you get away with whatever you want.”
“Tt. Aren’t you going to ask what I’m watching?”
“I wasn’t invited to family movie night, Damian. Besides, I’ve got work.”
Damian went back to staring out the window, frowning.
Maybe if they teamed up together…
“I can patrol with Red Robin tonight.”
He could see his Father making eye contact with Richard over his head. It was the third night he’d asked.
“I think…”
Damian looked over his shoulder, Nightwing tilted his head.
“I mean, I suppose Red’s patrolling, but he’s not coming down to the Cave tonight. He’s investigating something.” He smiled at him. “Hey, don’t worry, I get it. Maybe we can all go together next time, okay?”
Damian grumbled, staring at his feet. Of course Richard figured out his intention.
“C’mon, let’s head out.”
With a sigh, he followed him to the Batmobile.
—
He didn’t mean to get separated from Nightwing.
“He’s at the pier!”
“Shit. I’m ten minutes out — !”
“I’m twenty, damn it — !”
“I’m bring the car around — ”
“Red Robin here. I’m three minutes away, I’m coming —”
Damian forced himself to hold his breath as he hit the water, freezing waves swallowing him up. He struggled, even though he knew he was sinking. After a moment, the world started to feel quiet. Too quiet.
Until something disturbed the water.
Someone grabbed hold of him, dragging him back to the surface. He spluttered, someone swimming with him back to shore. Damian coughed.
“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay now.”
Red Robin was running his fingers through his hair, and Damian pressed his face to his chest plate. Reaching out weakly, he wrapped his arms around his torso until he was clutching fistfuls of his cape.
“Drake,” he rasped, his throat raw.
“Names on the field.”
“ Drake. ”
“Yeah, I’ve got you,” Drake patted his back.
Saving people brings them closer ... A voice whispered in the back of his mind. Damian had seen enough movies to prove that theory. But, they were sort of hugging and he didn’t feel that much different, maybe there was something else he had to add.
“Ti—”
“Damian! Oh my god!”
Nightwing appeared behind them, draping a blanket over his shoulders and lifting him up.
“B’s got the car over there. We need to get you back home.”
As Richard walked away with him, Damian stared at Red Robin as he got further, eventually grappling away. He hadn’t meant to let go, but he was so tired. The engine of the Batmobile was making him drowsy. His eyelids became heavy and he rested his head on Richard’s shoulder.
Maybe I can’t change anything after all. He’s never going to see me, is he?
Drifting to sleep, he was actually glad he’d fallen into the river. A tear fell down his face and he didn’t bother to whip it away.
(Tim)
Dropping his bag on the counter, Tim made his way to the fridge.
Swinging both doors open, he felt his stomach growl. His eyes landed on the jackpot. Tupperware full of Alfred’s leftovers. Sneaking into the manor at four in the morning was so worth it.
He picked them up, bring them back to his bag. Sausage and mashed potato. Corned beef and cabbage. Roast chicken and fried vegetables. His mouth was watering by the time he’d finished packing everything up.
Tim looked back longingly at the real, actually stocked fridge. Skipping dinner had probably been a mistake. It became a weakness the moment he stepped foot into the kitchen.
I’ll just take a roll of bread and a slice of cheese. Alfred won’t mind… too much.
Feeling his way back across the floor through the dark, Tim flipped the light switch on. He turned around, almost having a heart attack.
“What the—” he managed to make himself whisper. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“Tt. Before you even got here.”
Damian was at the kitchen table in his pajamas, sporting a bad case of bedhead.
“Of course you were, you little gremlin.”
“So you’re the one who’s been stealing all of our food?” Damian sneered at him
“Yeah, and? What are you gonna do, tell Alfred? He already knows. Alfred always knows.” Shaking his head, Tim sighed. “What are you doing up so late… or is it early?”
Giving him a second look, he could see his kind-of-sort-of-technically brother’s face better. Damian’s eyes were red and puffy, and the cuffs of his shirt looked wet.
“None of your business,” he grunted.
“Nightmare?” Tim prodded, raising an eyebrow.
Damian crossed his arms.
“You know how to make hot cocoa?” he found himself asking.
“...No…” Damian blinked at him.
Rummaging through the cupboards, he brought the ingredients together.
“Okay, come here,” Tim said, extending an arm out. Damian stared at him suspiciously and Tim rolled his eyes. “I’m serious, come here.”
Deciding (hoping) he wasn’t about to get stabbed or bitten for it, Tim draped his arm over his shoulders, bringing him closer.
“Okay, let’s start by pouring in the water. Then the cocoa, sugar, some cinnamon and a pinch of salt, oh, and some nutmeg…Here, you want to stir it? That’s good. Now we can add the milk…”
Sitting at the table together, Tim watched Damian stuff his mug with marshmallows. As he drank his own cup of chocolate, taking careful sips, he almost burned his mouth when he heard Damian sniffle.
He mumbled something Tim couldn’t catch.
“Uh, hey, it’s okay,” he said awkwardly. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to channel his inner Dick. “We all get nightmares around here… Want to tell me what happened?”
Damian started sobbing and Tim was at a loss, mentally kicking himself.
“Or- or not. You don’t have to tell me anyth—”
“ I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I changed, I swear, I’m sorry. ”
“Woah, hey, what happened?” he asked again, his brain floundering at what to do.
Should I wake someone up? Dick? Bruce? Alfred?... Call Jason?
“My… my gauntlet , the gauntlet,” Damian swiped an arm across his face, sniffing. “The dinosaur, and I hit you, and you fell and, and…”
“Oh.”
Tim stared into his sea of marshmallows. Damian kept crying. He sighed, scooting his chair closer, bumping his shoulder.
“Dami, it’s okay. Well, it wasn’t okay then . But it’s okay now . And I’m sorry too, for the list, for brushing you off all the time — I know you’ve changed, but sometimes I forget. That’s on me, got it? I’m sorry too.”
Damian looked up at him, scrubbing his face.
“You… really?”
“Let’s start again.” Tim put out his hand. Damian stared at it, bewildered. “Here on my world, we call this gesture a hand shake.”*
“Tt.”
His kind-of-sort-of-technically brother shook his hand, attempting to look begrudging, but really looking relieved. Smirking at him, Tim ruffled his hair.
“Now drink your cocoa before it gets cold.”
“Okay, Timothy.”