Chapter Text
Tim Drake didn't have a lot on his plate. And by that he means it's as being privileged.
He didn't have much, but he was used to making do.
Midterms were creeping closer, his only decent pen had died mid exam, and the prospect of a night’s rest felt like a pipe dream.
Life wasn’t glamorous, but it was his. And for that, he was grudgingly grateful for what he had. Slash sarcastically.
His life is simple. Hilariously simple.
He wasn’t the luckiest person in Gotham. Hell, maybe not even on the planet but at least he had a roof over his head, a job that paid just enough, and the hope of a diploma that might someday lead to something better. It wasn’t much, but it was his, and no one could take that from him.
Not like before.
The devil can't touch him so they make his life miserable.
He still remembered the sting of his sixteenth birthday, the day his parents vanished with every dime they owned, leaving him with nothing but a heap of unpaid bills that soon led to all of their other remaining assets to be seized.
He was twenty now, and the bitterness still lingered, sharp and bitter at the back of his throat.
He is twenty and he can still taste the salt in his mouth.
Sure he’d been angry once, furious even.
But staying mad took energy, and Tim barely had enough of that to keep himself afloat. Anger didn’t pay the rent, didn’t put food on the table, and didn’t make the graveyard shifts any less soul-crushing.
Just now he is stuck in another graveyard shift with no one else. Just himself, his body and half of his conciusness. The pay is still shitty but hey, money is money.
In addition, he didn't think anyone would come in this late with a storm brewing outside. Tonight’s shift seems to be shaping up to be another quiet one.
The storm raging outside had scared off the regulars which left the shop eerily empty. Tim leaned on the counter, staring out at the rain streaking down the window, and sighed.
“What did I do to deserve this?”, Tim muttered, rubbing his face as he glanced at the clock. The dark circles under his eyes were so dark it was hard not to wonder if he’d slept at all in the past week.
The shop was empty, and for good reason; no one in their right mind would venture out at two in the morning in pouring rain just for a coffee and a donut.
Tim leaned against the counter, debating whether to just close up early and go home. The silence was tempting, lulling him toward the idea of curling up in bed for a few hours.
It's not like anyone will come in this weather.
Ding!
The door chime broke the quiet, and Tim’s heart sank a little. So much for an early night.
Don't you like it when you accidentally jinx yourself?
His head snapped up, eyes darting toward the entrance. He was half expecting some rain soaked overtime worker, desperate for caffeine to push through another late night grind, or maybe someone who had misjudged the weather or just had a really terrible craving for donuts.
What he wasn’t expecting was… a kid.
“Uh…?”, Tim blinked, genuinely caught off guard.
The kid, obviously a boy, standing in the doorway looked no older than ten, maybe twelve if Tim was being generous with his guess.
He was drenched from head to toe, rainwater dripping from the hem of a dark green coat that had clearly given up on keeping him dry. His wet hair clung to his forehead, and the moment he stepped inside, a visible shiver ran through him before his whole body seemed to sag in relief at the warmth of the shop.
He didn’t look too happy, pissed indeed but everyone else will react the same if they get caught in a storm.
The lightning struck once at the same time the door shut closed again. The impact of it causes the light to flicker a couple of times.
Tim swears he saw that green eyes glow in that spawn of a few seconds. He actively tries not to freak out and piss his pants there. Maybe not getting enough sleep finally messes up his eyes.
“Hello.", the boy greeted softly, his voice polite but carrying a note of exhaustion.
Tim froze for a moment, unsure how to react. He wasn’t exactly sure what the fuck he just saw or what the fuck is that kid is but even he spineless self couldn’t ignore the fact that a kid soaked to the bone.
For a fleeting second, he considered what would’ve happened if he’d just closed the shop five minutes ago and gone home. He pushed the thought aside quickly. Guilt he didn't know he possessed prickling at him. Shaming himself for something; well something.
Instead, he pulled himself together, offering the boy a small, hesitant smile, “Uh, hey. Welcome to the shop.”
The boy nodded, stepping further inside, though his small frame remained tense. His sharp green eyes darted around the empty shop as if he were scanning for something; or someone.
One hundred and one questions pop up in his head.
What was this kid doing here?
Shouldn’t he be at home?
And why was no one with him? Where are his parents? No kid this age should go out at this unholy hour alone, right?
Tim didn’t know the first thing about kids, but even he knew this wasn’t normal.
Whenever he sees children without parents around he always feels scared. He is always scared that they are like him too, abandoned to death by his own parents; his own flesh and blood.
“Hey, uh.", Tim started awkwardly, “You’re kind of, uh... wet. You wanna dry off a bit?”
The boy didn’t respond immediately, too busy pressing his hands against the warm display glass like it was his lifeline. Tim couldn’t exactly blame him; with the storm raging outside, it was probably the warmest spot in the shop. Still, he couldn’t just let the kid stand there dripping water all over the floor.
When the boy finally looked up, his green eyes startlingly sharp for someone his age. For a moment, Tim thought he might snap at him, but instead the boy seemed hesitant.
"We got a clean towel.", he quickly yanked a decorative towel that had been hanging at the back of the counter for ages and handed it to the boy.
The manager had strictly told them that it was not for use but honestly Tim felt like even that fat man forgot that they own the said 'decoration'. It is not like he hangs around long enough to notice any difference. He never notices that they are severely understaffed because people keep quitting, or he is just too lazy to hire new people.
His small shoulders stiffened like he was weighing whether to accept the towel and after a beat he gave a small nod and muttered, “Thank you.”, as he took it.
Tim watched him warily as the boy dabbed at his hair and shrugged out of the soggy coat. He offered the boy to hang that coat at the rack beside the front door and the boy gladly hung it there.
“So… are you waiting for someone? Should I, like, call someone for you?”
The boy's face scrunched lightly. He opens his mouth but quickly closes it back. Tim was almost sure he was about to make a complaint but maybe because of the coldness and exhaustion he just sighed.
Damn, he doesn't know that a ten year old can sigh like that. Like in another universe he was a ten year old that faced idiots for his entire life.
"No, I’m fine. I just need a place to sit… for a while.”
Tim frowned, unconvinced, but decided not to push. Instead, he gestured toward one of the booths.
“That table number 8. You can sit there, it's right under the heater.
Then Tim caught a slight smile bloom on his red, wet, face.
"Thank you.", the boy wasted no time making his way to the seat. It’s truly a shame more people can’t be as polite as him. Tim receives more thank you in his time with the kid than his entire work time and it’s not even a full hour.
"That's kinda cute.", he thought to himself now that the boy practically melted under the warm air.
After watching for a while Tim decided that he was going to cheer up his little customer a little.
He grabs a mug before carefully filling it with hot chocolate, topping it with an extra dollop of whipped cream and sprinkle a cocoa powder on top.
He didn’t have much to spare, but he figured he could afford to treat a kid who looked like he’d been through the wringer with some sweet treat. With the storm still raging outside, a warm drink felt like the least he could offer.
Carrying the mug over, Tim set it down on the table as quietly as he could, not wanting to startle him. “Here,” he said, his voice is softer now. He tries to push any uneasy feelings aside.
“On the house. Thought you might need it.”
The boy blinked up at him, confused. His eyes darted between Tim and the steaming mug like he didn’t quite trust it, “Are you sure?”, he asked hesitantly, his voice still sounds so small.
Tim smiled, leaning a little on the back of the chair across from him, “Yeah, I’m sure. Go on, it’s yours.”
The boy hesitated for a moment longer, then slowly reached out, his small hands wrapping around the cheap porcelain like it was a treasure. He held the mug close, letting the warmth seep into his fingers, and for a moment, Tim thought he saw a flicker of relief pass across the boy’s face.
“Thanks.", the boy mumbled, so quietly Tim almost missed it.
“Don’t mention it.", Tim said, leaning back, “Everyone needs a good hot chocolate once in a while.”
The boy didn’t reply, just brought the mug to his lips and took a careful sip. Tim watched as his shoulders relaxed just a little, the tension melting away in the face of something warm and sweet. It was such a small thing, but in that quiet moment, it felt like everything.
Tim turned away to give the boy some space, busying himself with wiping down the counter. He glanced back a few times, though, unable to help but smile when he saw the kid cradling the mug like it was the best thing he’d ever been given.
At least he is not alone in the shop for his shift that night. Tim gets back to his spot behind the counter, laying his head back on the cold polished wood.
After laying head down watching the kid try to lick his hot chocolate like a kitten for awhile, his sleep deprivation finally caught him by his throat and in that moment Tim was knocked out dark like a fucking switch light.
He didn't know how long he had fallen asleep but when Tim woke up his face was sticking awkwardly to the counter. A quick glance at the clock told him it was dangerously close to the morning shift workers arriving.
“Shit.", he muttered, groggily wiping a drool stain at his cheek. His hair was sticking everywhere except their normal position but Tim didn't have time to fix them when the other worker could come in anytime soon. He will be cooked alive.
Actually, no fuck. Death sentences are nothing compared to getting fired without getting paid. He hadn’t done any of the closing prep. If the manager came in and saw the shop in its current state, Tim could practically hear the fired letter in red fonts. Or worse case scenario;
Public firing.
Bolting upright, he sprung into action, flying around the shop to clean up as much as he could. Chairs were straightened, counters were wiped, and the trash was dragged to the back in record time. He was halfway through rearranging the pastries in the display case when he spotted an empty mug sitting on one of the tables.
“Oh, right.", Tim said to himself, pausing to collect the said mug, “The kid.”
The memory of the boy from last night came rushing back. The soaking wet coat, the glowing green eyes, the way he’d melted under the heater like a stray cat finding warmth for the first time. Tim glanced toward the window, where the rain had finally stopped, leaving behind puddles and a faint sheen on the streets.
The kid must’ve left while Tim was passed out at the counter. He hadn’t even heard him go.
“Who the hell was that kid anyway?”, Tim muttered, shaking his head as he grabbed the mug and carried it to the sink.
He didn’t have time to dwell on it; there was still a shop to clean, and he couldn’t afford another strike from management. But as he scrubbed the mug clean, the boy with the green eyes lingered in his mind.
A little puzzle piece out of place on an otherwise ordinary, stormy night.
✦✧✦✧
A few hours later, Tim was dragging his feet on the way back to his shitty apartment. His brain still fried from back to back lectures and an exam that had felt more like a psychological assault than a test.
A tissue was pressed close to his bleeding nose. Right in the middle of the exam his nose was bleeding excessively but the exam was worth twenty percent of his mark so no way he will back down because of some freaky nosebleed. Pretty sure the stress from the exam is one of the reasons he had nosebleed in the first place.
Right now he was too tired to even think about how much he didn’t want to pull another shift tonight. But again, money is money and rent is due.
"Change clothes first. Eat something. Then head to work.”, all he could think other than work is what to make for lunch today.
His stomach growled just at the mention of it, a humiliating reminder that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, all thanks to him oversleeping this morning and barely making it before the morning shift started; let be real, they probably saw him sneaking out using back door but everyone is too tired to mind other people business in this city okay.
Lunch, or whatever you’d call a meal at nearly 5:30 in the evening, was next on the agenda. He glanced at the time on his beat up flip phone and shrugged.
When life is this shitty, you might as well make your own rules. If Tim said lunch was at five, then lunch was at five.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to remember if there was anything edible at home. Even though his pantry is technically empty it's still far from pay day so he can't go for a groceries trip yet. Another reminder of why he dedicated himself to the graveyard shift.
"Oh yeah.", he mumbled, a faint spark of relief breaking through the haze of exhaustion, “Still got those leftover cup noodles.”
Not the most glamorous or nutritious meal, but hey, it was food. If it can get him through another long night at the shop. And right now, that was good enough. He will make do with what he has until he gets his money.
Tim forced his tired legs up the stairs, his thoughts drifting aimlessly as he climbed. His mind wandered to everything and nothing; classes, work, that weird commercial about cars in tutu he had seen earlier. He was so lost in his head that he nearly missed the figure standing by his apartment door.
Fumbling with his bag, he paused the search for his keys as his eyes narrowed to focus on the small figure leaning casually against his door frame.
The neatly trimmed hair, the unnervingly green eyes, and that green coat; dry now but it was unmistakable. All the Features made his brain click almost instantly.
It was him. The boy from last night.
Tim blinked, half convinced his exhaustion was playing tricks on him. But no, the boy was very much real, standing right in front of his door. His apartment. The door with his number on it.
It's not a mistake.
“Kid?”, Tim called out in a mix of confusion and disbelief.
The boy turned, those green eyes locking onto him as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment. The cold gaze he wore almost softened a little
“Hello, Drake.”, the boy said casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to be standing there.
Tim blinked, his brain grinding to a halt, “What… what? Huh?”
Had the sleep deprivation finally won? Three nights of no rest, too much caffeine, and shear stress. Maybe he was hallucinating. Yeah, that had to be it.
Before he could even form a coherent thought, the boy stepped closer, completely unfazed by Tim’s confused state.
“We met last night.”, the kid said impatiently, “You remember me?”
Tim stared. Of course, he remembered him; the only customer he had last night. Well, “customer” might have been a stretch since the kid didn’t actually buy anything.
He’d just been soaking wet and looking miserable, so Tim gave him a free hot chocolate to warm up.
Before Tim could ask what the kid was doing here, he felt the wind knocked out of him. The kid tackled him straight in the stomach, latching onto his lower half like a determined leech.
“Hey! Hey! What the-! Let go!”, Tim yelled, stumbling backward as he tried to pry the boy off. He tugged at the kid’s arms, shook his legs, even tried lifting him by his collar.
Nothing worked.
The kid held on with the grip strength of a vice, and Tim could feel the judgmental stares of his neighbors burning holes into his back. One old lady even paused with her groceries, raising an eyebrow as though Tim were some delinquent trying to kidnap a child.
“Kid, I’m begging you! Let go!”, Tim hissed, his face burning with embarrassment.
The boy only tightened his grip even more.
“Fine!”, Tim snapped, throwing his hands up in defeat, “Come on, let’s go inside before my neighbors start calling the cops!”
The kid finally let go when they reached Tim’s tiny apartment, strolling in like he owned the place. Tim followed, slamming the door shut and leaning against it with an exhausted sigh.
The boy took a slow, deliberate look around the room. His nose wrinkled slightly at the cluttered furniture and the lingering smell of instant coffee, “This is your house?”, his tone flat but laced with... pity?
Tim flopped onto the couch with a groan. His hand waved weakly toward the boy, a silent answer to the question.
He needs a few moments of peace.
“How-”, Tim grumbled as he sat up, pointing a finger at the kid, “-do you know where I live?”
The boy froze. He glanced away with a guilty twitch of his lips.
“Come on, kid.”, Tim said, narrowing his eyes,“And while we’re at it, how the hell do you know my name?”
“I don’t know your name.”, the boy said quickly, too quickly.
Tim stared at him, deadpan, “You called me Drake.”
“That’s not your name.”
“Yes, it is!”
“Dang it.”
Tim ran a hand down his face, “Okay, you’re either stalking me, or you’re really bad at lying. Which is it?”
The boy crossed his arms and finally sighed, his earlier confidence replaced by mild irritation, “I have my ways. It’s not important.”
“It’s definitely important.”, Tim shot back, “Start talking, or-”
“My name is Damian.”, the boy interrupted, cutting him off. “I was bored, I liked the hot chocolate, and you seem tolerable. That’s all you need to know.”
Tim blinked at him, completely thrown, “That’s the worst explanation I’ve ever heard.”
Damian shrugged, already helping himself to the chair by the window, “You didn’t ask for a good one.”
Tim stared at him, completely at a loss. How can this boy, he mean Damian, How can this Damian boy be such a brat!
“It's not important! What is more important is why I am here!”
“You. Tim Drake. I demand you to play with me!”
What just happened. Oh fuck, what the fuck is this? What the fuck is happening right now?
Tim blinked, his brain struggling to process the audacity of the demand.
“What?”, he is hoping he misheard things.
“You heard me,”, Damian repeated, as if it were the most normal thing to ask for, “You. Tim Drake. I demand you to play with me!”
For a long moment, Tim just stared, his sleep-deprived brain trying to catch up. Was this real? Or had he finally cracked under the pressure of school, rent, and pulling double shifts at the coffee shop?
“Oh, fuck,”, Tim muttered, dragging a hand down his face, “Oh no no. You don't want me. Don't you see my life is shit enough? Now I’ve got ten year olds making demands?”
“Twelve actually, you excused,”, Damian corrected sharply. “And yes, you heard correctly. I require entertainment, and you are the only one worthy of such a task.”
Tim groaned and slumped back onto the couch, staring at the cracked ceiling like it might hold some answers. “Why me? Why me? You’re rich, right? Okay, I’m just judging but with that coat you should be rich.”, because Tim is rich once and he clearly knows what brand of jacket Damian's is wearing. He can't be coming from a middle income family to afford that, and the coat is too expensive. That specific brand he wore was worth probably an annual income of a normal office worker.
“Go hire someone to juggle or whatever it is you brat do for fun.”
Damian scowled, “My brother-”, he stopped, visibly catching himself, before continuing with forced calm, “Let’s just say I am currently displeased with my usual company.”
“That’s not my problem.”, Tim said, closing his eyes, “I’ve got classes, rent, and, oh yeah, my life falling apart. I don’t have time to babysit.”
“I am not a child.”, Damian snapped, his voice cold, “And I wasn’t asking. I chose you, Drake. Accept it.”
Tim opened one eye and glared at him, “You demand me to play with you, and now you’re acting like this is an honor?!”
“Yes.”, Damian replied without hesitation, his tone dead serious.
Utterly incredulous. “You’re insane.”
“Insanity is relative.”, Damian shot back, already pulling a chair closer to the couch, “Now, what are we playing first?”
Tim groaned, his head falling into his hands. “I hate my life.”
✦✧✦✧
“Let me get this straight.”, Tim said, watching in disbelief.
“You stalk me, tackle me, invade my crappy apartment... so you can sit here and draw?”
Damian sat cross-legged on the floor, unpacking what looked like a ridiculously expensive sketchbook and pencils from a sleek leather satchel.
“Yes. And talk.”
“You say you want to play?”
“This is my usual playtime activity.”, pulling out a pencil, he began to sketch.
Tim just let him do as he did. The Truth is he is too sleep deprived. The lack of sleep makes his head hurt.
But he can't exactly go to sleep when he suddenly becomes a babysitter to a ten- twelve year old that decides to invade his house.
God knows what he would do if he was left alone.
“What’chu draw?”, the sentence came out a little slurred.
Damian pursed his lips in concentration, “A cat... on a motorcycle.”
Now that gets his attention,“A... cat? On a motorbike?”
“Yes,”, Damian nodded, “I saw a man on a motorbike earlier. He had a leather jacket, and it looked cool. But I thought it would look better if it were a cat instead.”
He leaned forward a little, his head lolled from the arm rest, “You’re serious?”
“Completely. Cats are agile and fearless. It fits. He also has a Catwoman sticker on his bike.”
Tim chuckled, “Alright, sure. This is basically Catwoman on a motorcycle but why not?”
Damian paused, glancing up at Tim, “Do you like cats, Drake?”
Tim shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. They’re cool. Not as needy as dogs.”
Damian tilted his head, “Hmm. Dogs are loyal. I respect that.”
After that Damian didn’t respond to any of Tim’s questions, his tongue sticking out slightly as he focused on coloring in the cat’s leather jacket.
He proudly showed Tim his finished art later.
“Cool, kid. See anything else today?”
Damian’s face lit up in a way that caught Tim off guard, “I saw a man juggling on the street corner. He had five flaming pins, and he didn’t drop a single one.”
“Impressive,”
“And there was a woman walking three dogs at once,” Damian continued, switching to a red marker for the motorcycle. “One of them tried to chase a pigeon, but she pulled it back just in time.”
“That sounds like Mrs Jill and her hoard of Cerberus.” “You’ve been paying attention, huh?”
“Of course. The city is full of fascinating things if you bother to look.”
Tim couldn’t help but smile, “You’re a weird kid, you know that?”
Damian glanced up, a hint of a smirk on his face, “So I’ve been told.”
As the boy went back to his drawing, Tim leaned back on the couch, watching him with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. For all the kid’s quirks, there was something strangely endearing about him.
They keep talking like that. Tim and his half asleep attempt to answer all Damian's questions and Damian slowly drains the page in his sketchbook with drawing.
There is one picture of him too.
Despite being so sleepy, Tim makes an attempt to hang it on his rusty fridge.
“You are a good kid, brat.”, he picked up Damian by his armpits and the boy didn't even struggle. Just let Tim put him on the coach.
“Want to talk about why you are here?”
Once again, Damian tries to look away with guilt. His hand praying at the blanket Tim used to snuggle on the coach.
After sometime like that, he begin speaking.
"The reason is childish."
"Well, how should I know if it is childish? Why don't you tell me and let me judge it myself."
"My siblings suck. They all are busy, while I understand they have commitment since they are grown up, still it just sucks when they rarely play with me now.
He fidget with the blanket in his hand, plucking up some loose strings and rolling them up into a small pom pom.
"My brother is supposed to take me to the art museum. I was so excited and told everyone about it. I thought we would spend all day together but then he walked back on his promise because something important came up. He left me in the middle of our outing and told me to call someone for a lift.", he air quoted his fingers in a mocking way.
"And how did you end up in our shop?"
"..."
"You didn't call anyone didn't you?"
Damian nods. His head hung down low, "I'm so mad I don't call anyone. Judging by how no one is looking for me, my brother probably didn't come home last night too and others probably assume that I was with him."
As words keep spilling out from Damian’s voice his tone gets sadder and sadder. Damian didn’t cry, but he looked like he wanted to cry. Like a hug right now is enough to make him burst into tears.
“No one notices when I return too… Alfred those though. Both Alfred the human and the cat.”
He let out a quiet sigh, crouching down so he was at eye level with him, “Hey.”, Tim said softly, trying to catch Damian’s gaze, “That’s pretty crappy, what your brother did. You didn’t deserve that.”
Damian didn’t say anything, just nodded slightly, his fingers still pulling at the threads of the blanket.
On one hand, he had a job to do and money to grind but on the other, there was a sad child sitting in his living room. Once again he will say; he isn't a good person. But you don't need to fully be a good person to do good stuff.
Tim hesitated for a beat before making up his mind.
“You know what? Screw your brother. You deserve to have a real outing. What do you say we are going somewhere today? Just you and me?”, declared him.
Damian’s head shot up, his eyes wide with surprise, “What?”
Tim stood up, stretching out his arms, “You heard me. Let me make it up to you. We’ll go wherever you want. The art museum, the zoo, the park. Whatever sounds good.”
“But…”, Damian trailed off, clearly skeptical, “You’ve been working all night. Aren’t you tired? Don't you have another shift in an hour?”
“Always,” Tim said with a lopsided grin, “But I’ve powered through worse. Besides, seeing you sulk like this is depressing. So, what do you say?”
Damian blinked a few times, as if trying to gauge whether Tim was serious. Slowly, his expression shifted from uncertainty to something hopeful, “You really mean it?”
“Yep,”, Tim replied, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis, “I’m already regretting my life choices, so you better make it worth it.”
For the first time, Damian smiled; a small, hesitant thing, but it was there, “Alright. Let’s go to the art museum. I still want to see the new exhibit.”
“Art museum it is.”,Tim said, grabbing his jacket, “Give me ten minutes to caffeinate, and we’re good to go.”
Damian didn’t say anything, but the way he perked up, bouncing slightly on his toes, spoke volumes. As Tim made a quick cup of instant coffee, he couldn’t help but feel a little satisfaction creeping in.
Their outing to the museum had been nothing short of chaotic, but somehow, it had turned into one of the better days Tim had had in a long time.
When they arrived, Damian practically dragged Tim through the entrance, his energy levels suddenly through the roof as he rattled off facts about the new art exhibit. Tim could barely keep up, half-listening as Damian launched into a passionate explanation about impressionist techniques and their impact on modern art.
“Do you know how much garbage is labeled as art these days?”, Damian said, nose scrunched as he gestured to a nearby abstract piece, “This is a travesty to the medium.”
“Wanna put random stuff on an empty display and see how many peoples stop to take a picture of it?”
“Hell, yeah. Let's do that, Tim!”
The more Tim spends time with Damian, the more he learns something new about him. The kid was a walking encyclopedia, diving into explanations of brushstrokes, color theory, and historical context for nearly every piece they passed. He wondered how someone could just leave this boy and told him to handle his own way home.
It reminds him of his parents. Leaving in the middle of ‘family dinner'. Sometimes Tim will sit in the restaurant until it was time for closing, hoping that they will remember him, that they will come and pick him.
Of course it never happens because he always walks back home alone.
…
Time escalated so fast and now it's time to head home.
The bundle of energy that was once Damian now had turned into a wasted sleepy boy.
“You are heavy.”
“Hussh….just hold me, Tim.”, Damian, who hadn’t spoken in a while, let out a sleepy sigh and nuzzled into Tim’s neck, his voice muffled.
After the museum visit, where Damian had been almost overly enthusiastic about every single exhibit, they’d gone for ice cream next. Damian had devoured his cone like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted, then insisted they feed the ducks at the park, where he’d tried to convince Tim to toss them the ice cream cone wrappers instead of the crumbs. That was followed by another round of ice cream because the ducks were unhappy and stole their cone.
All that sugar than get burned at the playground where at one point Damian make him play too and Tim got stuck in one of the tube slide.
“You are a demon. Make me do all the dirty jobs. A demon brat.”
As they made their way back to the street, they kept on bickering. Tim finally put him down because he had become too heavy for his lanky noodle arms to hold.
That’s when they ran into a man.
The man, dressed in a tailored suit, quickly took a step back, raising his hands in apology, “Oh, I’m terribly sorry!”, he apologized. He was tall, his features sharp in the dimming light.
Tim was about to brush it off, thinking the man had just gotten too close when he heard the man’s next words.
“Damian?”
Damian froze beside Tim. He looked up slowly, his green eyes narrowing as he studied the man, a flicker of recognition crossing his face.
“Father.”,
Tim blinked. The man had to be Damian’s father, though the resemblance wasn’t immediately obvious but give him just a few seconds then it hits him that both of them are.
The man’s face softened at the sound of his son’s voice, “I was just finishing up with a business dinner nearby,”
He turned his full attention on Damian,“I see you've got a new friend here.”
Tim cleared his throat awkwardly, not sure what to say. He felt a bit like he was intruding on a private moment.
“I can walk on my own, Father.”, he snapped, though his words lacked the usual force.
But the man was already bending down, effortlessly picking Damian up as though he weighed nothing.
Damian immediately tensed, his small hands pushing against his father’s chest, “I do not need your help,”, he grumbled. He seems more like he tries to impress his father by staying up.
Yes, but you're exhausted. No need to force yourself, Dami.”
“Tt…”
The man’s gaze shifted to Tim, and he gave a polite nod, “Thank you for looking after him.”, he said with genuine appreciation, “I hope he didn’t cause you too much trouble.”
“Oh no, he is terrible. A nightmare. One out of five stars. I didn't recommend him.”
His words get the man to laugh meanwhile Damian is kicking his father to make the laugh stop.
“Nice to meet you then. I sense we will meet a lot more in the future. I am Bruce.”
“Tim.”
“Father! Stop bothering, Tim!
✦✧✦✧
Tim blinked groggily from his sleep. He scrunched his face, groaned and blinked again. He just got a bank notification from his email.
$2000 has been added to his account with a note: “Thanks for babysitting Damian. -Bruce-”
How did Bruce know what his account bank is? He swore to god, that rich bastard.