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Damian was out of options. Alone. Backed against a corner. Utility belt across the room. Larger than usual Killer Croc approaching. He took in a deep breath and readied himself, widening his stance, searching the enhanced villain for weaknesses, and wishing he hadn’t snuck out tonight.
Then the impossible happened. Crock’s eyes went wide and he fell forward. Slow at first and then all at once. Scales and teeth hitting the ground with a crash. That wasn’t what was impossible. What was impossible was the reason. The red disc sparking slightly in Croc’s back.
“Drake.” Damian felt a rush of relief at seeing his brother alive. Alive and well. Alive and fighting crime. Alive.
He didn’t know what came over him, but he rushed his brother, jumping over the fallen villain in the process to reach Tim. Engulfing him in a hug the moment he was close enough. “I knew you weren’t dead.”
Tim’s arms wrapped around him returning the hug. “That’s where you’re wrong. I am dead,” Tim’s arms became a vice around Damian, squeezing the breath out of him. “I came back to take you with me, return you to where you belong.”
His brother’s grip was so tight Damian couldn’t breathe. He almost missed the sharp pain in his side, one of Tim’s discs digging deep, then being torn out with a vicious yank. At the same time his brother let go and Damian collapsed, gasping and grasping at his side.
He looked up into his brother’s face, he was saying something but there was a roaring in Damian’s ears and he couldn’t hear. But he could read lips. ‘…up. Wake up, Damian.’ What was Tim saying? He didn’t understand, but his vision was fading anyway.
Then there was a jolt, and he was awake, eyes flying open, head jerking off the table where he’d been resting, warmth flying from his shoulder as a weight was removed.
“Damian, are you alright?”
Damian turned his blinking gaze to find Alfred standing over him, frown lowering the edges of his mustache. Damian worked to slow his racing heartbeat, a hand slipping from the table to press against his side, checking for injury.
“I’m fine. You only startled me,” he said.
The butler nodded, but Damian could see the disbelief in his eyes so Damian tried again. “There is no need to worry, Pennyworth. I only nodded off while working.”
Alfred pressed his lips together and eyed the mess scattered around the table Damian had been working at. He’d set up in the living room, sitting cross legged at the coffee table. Over the hours his books and papers had spread not only across the glass table but on the ground and couch around him. Added to the mess he’d allowed a pile of discarded red bull cans to accumulate at one end of the table.
He glanced at them feeling a pang of guilt. They were Drake’s. Damian didn’t touch them unless he was looking for a fight. Now, he’d gone after them freely, seeking anything to connect him to his brother. Hoping that they’d spark an idea to help him find out where he’d gone. Because Drake was gone, not dead.
“This is the fourth time I’ve found you dozing while working in half that many days. Perhaps some actual sleep would be beneficial to your work?” Alfred suggested.
Damian shook his head. “I don’t have time for sleep. I have too much to do.” He reached out and opened the last of the energy drinks.
“Don’t tell me you’ve developed a taste for those. They’re terrible for you.” Alfred said as Damian gulped down the can in one.
He grimaced. “I haven’t. They are simply a means to an end.” He stood and collected the empty cans. “I will, however, take care of these. They are my mess.”
As he walked the cans constantly threatened to slip from his arms, but Damian managed to keep his hold on them all the way to the kitchen. He hesitated in throwing them away, hovering over the trashcan. It was foolish. He shouldn’t have a sentimental connection with empty cans. But they were Drake’s cans. Stolen by Damian, but Drake’s nonetheless.
At last he dumped them in, listening to them clatter together as they settled before moving to the refrigerator. Tim had always kept the fridge well stocked with the drinks. Even with the way Damian had been going through them that week there were still plenty left. Drake wouldn’t mind his putting a dent in the collection, not if it meant finding him. He couldn’t hold back a yawn as he snagged two more.
He made his way back to the living room and glanced at the clock. It was only ten at night. Too early for him to be so tired. Then again aside from power naps he hadn’t slept for roughly forty-eight hours. He hadn’t done anything except search since he’d realized it: Drake was not dead. It had hit him, in the middle of patrol a week after the incident.
Since then he’d poured all his efforts into finding his brother. Drake had done the same for Father, it made sense for Damian to pay him back in the same way. He had to find him, because if Tim had simply escaped then he would have returned by now. No, something was keeping him away. Nothing as simple as being trapped in the past, but something all the same. And Damian was going to find out what it was.
Alfred hadn’t left while Damian was away. He’d picked up one of the stacks of paper from the table and was flipping through the pages with curiosity. Panic flared in Damian’s chest. He wasn’t ready for anyone to see his work. He hadn’t found proof of his theory yet. No one, not even Alfred would believe the conjecture of a thirteen year old.
He dropped the Red Bull’s onto the table leaving them rocking wildly as he snatched the papers from Alfred. “They aren’t ready yet.” He said.
“What is all this?” Alfred asked, unruffled by Damian’s outburst.
Damian stooped to tap the end of the papers on the table in order to tidy them before laying them back down. “Research,” he said straightening out to look at Alfred.
“Research on what exactly?” Alfred pressed raising an eyebrow at him.
Damian swallowed, tasting even now the of the flavor of the energy drink he’d downed. “It’s not important, not yet.”
“It’s certainly important enough to warrant you missing two days of sleep.” Alfred said.
He shifted his weight, leaning closer to the collection of papers. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Alfred’s face softened and he walked to the couch. He picked up the open books and moved them into a stack on the table before sitting and patting the open cushion next to him. Damian hesitated a moment and joined him.
“Try me,” Alfred said.
Alfred had seen a lot over the years, Damian knew this. The man had heard a lot of crazy ideas. He’d even heard Tim’s claim that Bruce wasn’t dead. Maybe, out of everyone Alfred would be the one to believe him. Damian had to trust someone, and Alfred had never let him down before.
“I’m trying to find Drake.”
Damian knew the moment the words left his mouth that he should have stayed silent. The change in Alfred’s expression was minute, but there all the same. The softening turned to sadness, hidden well enough for most people, but not to fool Damian.
“Damian, you do know that at some point you’ll lose someone and they won’t come back right?” Alfred said.
He knew that. Probably better than anyone. Damian had so many second chances thrown his way, his own, Grayson’s, Father’s, he knew his luck would run out some day. The idea of a death that was permanent haunted his dreams. He didn’t know real loss, and a part of him knew when it came he would not take it well.
This was not that time.
“I know that.” He said, “However, I have not lost Drake. He’s simply missing.”
Alfred didn’t try to correct him again, or explain death he simply asked, “What makes you so sure he’s alive?”
There were so many reasons. The only bit of Tim to be found had been his staff. If he’d died in the blast, there would have been some trace. Yet none had come up. Then there was Damian’s knowledge that Drake didn’t lose. He always had a plan, a backup of some kind. Perhaps he’d found a way to transport himself away and simply hadn’t been able to return. Neither reason really mattered, because Damian simply knew it. The knowing was as simple as breathing, something he’d always known.
“I know he is.” Damian said before realizing how childish it sounded, “I mean, I know it. Something inside me says he’s not dead.”
“Damian—” Alfred started but Damian shook his head.
“You don’t understand, and I don’t expect you to. I believe it has to do with the fact that I died.” Damian said, “It’s like a hum at the base of my skull. Something tells me if Drake was really dead that hum would change to reflect that, but it’s the same. I bet Todd can feel it too.”
Alfred didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Damian could read the disbelief on his face. “You don’t believe me.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, I just want to make sure you’re prepared to accept the alternative. Perhaps this hum has nothing to do with your family.”
“It does.” Damian insisted.
“And if it doesn’t?” Alfred asked. His tone, while still gentle demanded an answer.
Something turned over in Damian’s stomach. The energy drink. Probably. Maybe. He swallowed again. Drake had to be alive. It couldn’t be wishful thinking. He needed his brother to be ok, because, “Pennyworth?” he asked, “What if he thought I hated him?”
“That would have been the furthest thing from his mind.” Alfred said, “Tim knew you cared about him.”
There was that feeling in his stomach again, but now it was in his chest. Like a weight pressing in on him. Damian would not cry. Drake was not dead. Even so, Damian hadn’t been very good to him. Bitter. Angry. Resentful. “I don’t see how.” He would have said more. Listed the reasons, but his voice cracked on how.
Alfred put an arm on his shoulder, “You two have a complicated relationship. No one, not even Tim expected you two to grow as close as say you and Dick. But in your own way you both have grown closer. That itself to speaks of how you felt about him.”
Something in him cracked at those words. Perhaps their relationship was as simple as that. Damian liked to think that Drake had known how he felt. But Damian had never said the words. Never told Drake that he was a brother, that Damian worried about him. Those things could be implied, but they also needed saying at least once. Grayson at least had taught him that.
“Feel,” Damian corrected swiping at his cheeks, tears had somehow escaped his guard. Now that he started crying, he found he couldn’t stop.
“Feel.” Alfred amended.
Damian found himself leaning into Alfred’s side, scooting a little closer so he could feel his warmth, and baring his face in the man’s side. The tears were still coming in quite desperate streams that closed his throat and burned his eyes. He hoped being closer to Alfred would help. Instead it only seemed to make them flow freer.
Alfred pulled him into an embrace, wrapping his other arm around him, a far cry from the nightmare Damian had had earlier. Damian curled closer to him, happy at least that the man wasn’t asking questions or trying to soothe him further, instead comforting him in silence.
He hiccupped, trying to get control over himself. At last he managed, “When he’s back I’ll have to tell him. At least once. Then he’ll know for sure.”
“I’m sure he’d be happy to hear that.” Alfred said.
“And I will tell him. Because I’m going to find him,” Damian yawned. Why was it that tears always made him tired? They were exhausting. “That’s what all this is about, finding him.”
Alfred shifted on the couch. “I think,” he said turning himself sideways before collecting Damian into his arms and standing, “That you will have better luck with your search after you’ve had some proper rest.”
Damian was too tired to argue, emotionally and physically drained. Even the red bull didn’t seem to be helping at this point. He found himself agreeing with Alfred as the man carried him out of the room.
“Pennyworth?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“Do you believe me? That Drake is alive?”
“I would like to believe you more than anything."