#''the mothers adrenaline is KICKING in. TIMMY !!'' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miss-choco-chips · 4 years

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Soul Shards part 3

Good news, this isn’t as angsty as I thought I’d make it!! Granted, we still have one more part to go through, but I maneged to write this one without making anyone cry. I want a cookie!

This feels kinda like a filler thing? Next part will be heavier on the DamiTim as Damian grows older and closer to his objective, but for now, enjoy the slooooow burn and developing.

There’s little to no edition here, so... be warned.

~.~.~.~

-Well, this is awkward -spoke Timothy after a full minute went by without anyone speaking. Father’s face was unreadable, as it tended to be whenever a matter involved his heart, but Grayson looked like someone that knows they are having some kind of hallucination but desires desperately it were true.

-Timmy -called Grayson, heart at his sleeve. The exhaustion that had been building on the slope of his shoulders seemed to vanish at the sight of his long lost brother, a relieved sigh escaping his dry lips as he fully turned to face the monitor. Damian couldn’t relate; this was far from relaxing to his poor, excited heart. The tiny soul seemed to say ‘same’.

~.~.~.~

14 - 19

The first time Damian lays eyes on Timothy, not a recording or photographs but his actual flesh being, he's in such a rush his brain needs a couple seconds to understand.

What in Hells is he doing at Grandfather's main Australian base?

Damian's feet skip a little when he abruptly stops his dash across the halls, standing open mouthed at the arch leading to the training grounds. There, an oblivious Drake was slowly but steadily working his way across the obstacle course the Australian branch used to hone their skills.

He couldn't quite believe what he was seeing, until the souls at his hip pouch made their feelings on the matter known. His own was scalding hot from all the yearning Damian had been feeling, emotions coming forth at the sight of the one he wished for.

Drake's soul was, as usual, the complicated one. A mixture of want, anger, sadness, fear, adrenaline… Abruptly, a thought crossed his mind, an instant knowledge that left him weak at the knees: The little blue orb wanted to be back with it's rightful owner, wanted to be with Timothy again.

Damian could relate, honestly.

Unaware of the eyes at his back (or perhaps too used to it to notice, if Drake visiting grandfather was a common occurrence), the young man continued his training, strict and unwavering but with a relaxed sort of air around him, like he was in no rush to finish it and keep going to the next move. It was at odds with what Damian had learned from watching years worth of footage of the man, or what Drake's soul itself had taught him by sharing it's emotions on an almost constant basis: he was a creature who thrived on always having a plan following the one currently being executed, always a next step, one more to do list. This unhurried, calm, well rested man, muscles loose on the familiar movements of the training course and intelligent eyes lazily jumping from one point to the other, wasn't quite what Damian expected.

Though, to be fair, Damian only knew about a Timothy with soul. There was nothing, no information, nowhere to learn from about this soulless version of him.

A figure slowly approaching from the corner of his eye kicked Damian's instincts in motion, jumping back from the open arch to a place where Drake wouldn't spot him if he happened to turn around. Tense, he straightened, facing this newcomer head on.

Being find out by his grandfather wasn't surprising, but Damian internally flinched all the same. Without his com, tracker offline for the time being and cellphone left behind at the Manor, there was no way for him to call in reinforcements or inform about his findings. He wouldn't, of course, this was a secret, self appointed mission, and would father find out he'd be in so much trouble, but since Drake's presence and possible recuperation was worth the scolding, he couldn't help but curse himself.

-Grandson -greeted Ra's, calm as always, a knowing light in his eyes. His hands were clasped behind his back, and although he was wearing comfortable clothes (white shirt, loose training pants, his usual footwear and favorite sword at the belt, no signs of the cape, and soul pouch hanging from his neck by a thick golden chain), Damian wasn't fooled by this facade of calmness. The Demon's head was no foe to be taken lightly, and Damian was underprepared to face him head on, most of his weapons sacrificed for the stealth this mission required, and no allies at his back-, come, walk with me. Let's leave our beloved Detective to his activities, shall we? It's rude to stare, after all, or so I was told.

There was a lot to unpack there, but Damian simply didn't have the time to dwell on it. He entertained the brief idea calling out to Drake, of asking for help, and though the idea of fighting side by side sent a wave of elation through him, he refrained. The little icy blue orb by his hip gave a warning poke, and Damian heed to it's advice: even years before, after all that had came to happen between them thanks to Damian's misplaced jealousy and pride, he wasn't sure the other young would run to his aid, and that was while he still had his soul to guide his heart.

Stiffly, Damian followed his grandfather down the hall, until they reached some sort of tea room, it's aesthetic more at place at a Japanese mansion, with it's low table and cushions to kneel on, bamboo decorations and Sakura tree painting taking the entirety of one wall. To the untrained eye, it seemed they were alone, but Damian was raised among shadows and was quick to recognize when one entered or left his field vision.

-You see, grandson -started nonchalantly the Demon's head, taking the steaming tea cup from a servant after comfortably sitting on the golden lined pillow-, your timing is either a marvel or a curse. You seemed to have come here in search of something, and found an entirely different treasure.

Of course he knew. Under the protection of the table, Damian clenched his fists. Drake's soul gave a comforting wave, telling him to keep his calm. Damian's own orb answered it's thanks with a warm stroke. The exchange, that used to leave him dizzy with how confusing it was to feel two souls interacting, was now a welcome distraction from his nervousness. It was how he imagined having Timothy by his side, fully soul-ed again would feel like.

How holding his hand would feel like.

-What is Drake doing here? -careful, don't demand an answer, but don't let him lead the conversation either, was what he imagined his predecessor would tell him, as if anyone else would have it that easy to interact with Ra's- Mother told me the League had no leads on his location.

-Your Mother certainly has a good web of spies and informants, but not even she has access to everything that is my domain. The League follows me, not her. Their loyalty to her and, consequently, you, stops long before it breaches the one they have to me, and thus my most treasured secrets are kept safe by my people. Tea?

Don't, Drake's soul says.

I don't have much of a choice, his own answers.

Don't, it repeats, and Damian is weak.

-I'm not staying long, but thank you.

He waits until his grandfather waves away the servants and has drank twice from his cup before speaking again.

-You never said what is Drake's purpose in being here -he's careful on his reminder. The blue soul seems to approve.

His grandfather looks down at the table, like he could see his pouch through it, and his smile is amused.

-It's amazing, isn't it -he says instead, and he looks so fond, he can't help but shiver- though I never held it, it must be a thing of utter power, feelings so strong even one as willful as the young Detective had no choice but to leave it behind. And it holds all his secrets, his impulses, his instincts. How marvelous.

Damian tenses, readying himself. He'd die fighting before allowing his grandfather to touch Drake's soul. He had left it with him, and even if his intention wasn't for it to be safe or cherished, it was exactly what Damian had been doing, what he intends to keep doing until his last breath, or until Drake asks for it back.

It must show on his face, because his grandfather merely waves a hand.

-Don't look so stern, grandson. Even if I wrenched it out of your cold, dead hands, it'd do me no good. For a soul to give off the feelings of it's owner, it must be freely given. A stolen soul is no more useful than a piece of jewellery -the venom green of Ra's eyes had a wistful light-, though this one is of a particularly beautiful kind, isn't it?

Silence overtook them for a few seconds. Despite the reassurance, Damian didn't relax his stance.

-Will you tell me about Drake's intentions, grandfather? -he forced his voice to remain calm, steady, as if it didn't matter either way.

-I don't think the young Detective himself knows that, Damian. But if you ask why he's here, I can only tell you what motivations I know, and those are financial in nature.

-...financial?

-World trotting without leaving a trace and crime fighting are both expensive activities. Timothy needs, crudely speaking, an income source, and I'm happy to provide as long as he doesn't turn the focus of his attention towards my activities. His company is also a luxurious pleasure I'll gladly buy while he's willing to sell it.

A pause while grandfather drank some more, though it was doubtlessly a psychological attack, intended to give him time to think about what was implied.

Timothy's loyalty was a fickle thing, now that he had no soul to weight him down. He was still fighting the good fight, but his encounter with Todd had taught them he was willing and ready to fight mercilessly to get his way. And grandfather, as his biggest endorser, was more likely to be able to buy his help than the bats to ask for it.

Wordless threat made, the older man kept talking- As of right now, he needed someplace to recuperate from his fight with the Red Hood two weeks ago, and I offered this place. He has my resources at his disposal, and I don't doubt he'll leave soon with full pockets. In the meantime, I know his exact geographical location, something I'm sure you're aware how difficult it is to do, and have the indulging company of someone whose conversation doesn't make me wish I was brain dead, which is even harder to achieve.

Damian's fingers ached for the little soul he was so used to fiddle with, but he forced them to still. Even after what he said, Damian wouldn't trust his grandfather to no snatch it out of his hand if he caught sight of it.

The conversation seemed to be getting closer to its end, but a thought occurred him that his grandfather, with all his years, probably had a better understanding of souls and their workings than anyone else. He needed to try.

-Why did Drake's soul react that way when I saw him? Until now, it only gave me the feelings I believe he would have in a given situation, or reacted to my own feelings. This time it was… different.

Ra's seemed amused by his attempt, enough to answer at least.

-It's the proximity. A soul's core isn't meant to completely leave it's owner. Even though some historical lovers were known to interchange them, as they lived together, the souls still reached out to their original holders and the connection was never severed. There's also the fact that these lovers had the other's soul to compensate, as to speak. It guided them where their own soul failed to.

Again, Damian read between the lines. This wasn't Drake's case, he didn't have anything to fill his soul’s place.

He felt it surge with something akin to desperation and defiance, and Damian's own rose to the feeling. They'd find a way, even if Drake choose to reject his own soul back. He was right there, in the same building as him for the first time in years, he could/

-And now, grandson, I ask you to leave. The detective surely doesn't want to meet you here, and if he thinks I betrayed our pact by inviting you, future exchanges between us would be harder to accomplish -calmly, Ra's motioned to a servant, who brought forth a wooden box- I believe this is payment enough for your compliance.

Suddenly, painfully, Damian was reminded of his reason to be on the Australian base on the first place. He felt his insides go cold.

Damn it all to hell.

Jon.

He was here for Jon.

Ra’s hand softly stroke the box’s lid, before opening it to reveal a shiny orange rock, unassuming to anyone unaware of its power.

-This was what you were looking for, wasn’t it? The mineral needed to save your dying friend’s life, that very few people on Earth posses, would certainly be enough to drive you to try and steal from one as dangerous as myself. Of course, if you’d prefer to take your chances talking to Timothy and refusing my benevolent offer, feel free to search for one of those others owners of it, though I’m sure your dear superboy would be long dead by the time you found it and brought it to him.

Both souls in Damian’s possession ached while he walked out of the hidden castle, towards where he had left his stolen plane. Yearning and desperation, his and Timothy’s let hot dents of pain on his chest, like a very deep scratch by Catwoman when at her most scorned with Batman.

It was so difficult to leave, but it would have been impossible to stay. He was childish in his desire to see Timothy again, to speak to him, to try and win him back to their side, but a developing romantic emotion wasn’t more important than his best friend’s life.

Though Jon owed him a big one, this time.

----.-----

14, soon 15 - 20

-Happy birthday, Timothy -he mutters to himself, shiny blue soul dancing between his fingers with the ease of practice. It goes unheard by the rest of his clan, every bat in the room hyperfocused on the screens displaying different catastrophes around the world- I hope it won’t be your last.

Drake was probably fine. Even if thousands had died in the last few days of this surprise armageddon, he was too smart, too skilled, too good to simply let that take his life. If Damian’s and Todd’s best efforts weren’t enough to bring him down, he doubts that whatever fuckery this was would be.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t worried, though.

-Batman -panted Superman through his communicator. On the screen displaying Luisiana, a red and blue blur worked on getting hundreds of civilians out of a mall currently on fire- we have a situation here.

-There and everywhere else, Kal -growled father, the lack of sleep adding to the drop of his voice. No one had gotten much rest lately, not while the reason for this apparent end of the world remained a mystery- Diana, how are things on your end?

On another screen, Wonder Woman and Wonder Girl were fighting side by side what appeared to be zombies. Damian had long given up on understanding the situation.

The Amazonian’s war cry was enough answer.

-Contact me after you’re done there, I’ll direct you to your next objective -a wave of his hand and his conversation with the Princess was muted. Another movement and Green Lantern’s channel was open-. Give me good news about the Lantern Corps. Are they coming to our aid?

By Father’s right, Nightwing had his own set of heroes to coordinate, every Titan past or present under his command. Red Hood, Batwoman, Bat Girl, Black Bat, The Signal and the Birds of Prey were currently on the field, under Oracle’s guidance. Damian himself had just gotten back from where he was taking care of his city, overworked since Gotham’s other vigilantes were dealing with this end of mankind situation and thus giving their criminals wide breath. Robin’s job in this mess was to keep their streets as clean as possible, taking advantage of school being cancelled until the world either ended or was saved to spend even more time patrolling.

It was a mess. An utter, complete mess. Something needed to change. Dealing with this catastrophes as they came was well and good short term, but it was non stop, and the heroes, even united and coordinated by the Bats, were starting to show some strain.

Damian made a fist around the shiny little orb, searching for it’s warmth to chase away the cold dread at the bottom of his stomach. The soul gave something akin to encouragement, but it was-- distracted, if a soul could ever be that. Expectant. It had been like that since this whole disaster started, and if he weren’t so distracted by literally everything, he’d be going crazy from curiosity.

Finishing the lukewarm tea Alfred had brought down to help ease the transition from Robin to Damian, he let his mind wander again, listening with one ear to both heroes in front of him, taking in the tired slouch of their shoulders. Besides coordinating everyone, Father had been trying to find some answer or solution, and the repetitive failure was taking its own troll on him. Nightwing, ever the Bat first Man and biggest emotional supporter, was likely sharing on it’s burden. He hadn’t seen Brown nor his sister in two days now, and the others in even longer, but he knew their voices and mannerisms enough to read between the lines during their nightly reports via comm; they were all on the end of their rope.

Something called his attention from the corner of his eye, dragging him back to full alertness. A little message warning on one of the least used monitors, a little behind where Father stood and thus not easily seen to him.

He blinked. It was a video call request. Who on their right mind would try and contact them with the world literally falling apart?

The soul almost fell from his fingers in it’s excitement and his throat closed. He knew that feeling.

-Computer, accept call -he commanded, feeling breathless. It gained him the attention of both his mentors, who stopped mid sentence to look over their shoulders to him, just in time to catch the exact moment Timothy appeared on screen.

He looked… healthy. His skin wasn’t as pale as he remembers from years back, no signs of insomnia under his eyes, hair combed and falling softly against his checks. He was leaning back against a couch, one arm wrapped around the back of it in a laid back manner, the position making the fabric of his blue button down cling to his well toned arms. There was something irreverent in the way he sat, a challenge in the tilt of his chin, an impossibly cooky calmness.

Damian would’ve been blown away by such beauty, if not for the empty eyes. He has seen Timothy in pictures of his younger years, happy and thriving, with his icy blue eyes shining and alive. This version of him couldn’t compare to the real deal, stunning as it was.

Still, from a purely objective standpoint… Damn. This was a very inappropriate moment for him to notice it, but damn.

Was this what Todd called a sexual awakening? It might have been, despite how strongly he hoped it wasn’t; it’d be really ill timed, but that was the bats’ luck.

His oldest’ voice was what Father’s brain apparently needed to reboot. He raised a hand, silencing all monitors around them, except the one that mattered now. In the midst of such a world wide destruction, and with the air as emotionally charged as it was, Timothy’s calmness was baffling.

-Is that Titan’s tower? -asked abruptly father, which drew the rest of Timothy’s background to his attention and… huh. It was. What the hell?

Timothy raised an eyebrow.

-Nice to see you too, B. Is that a new cowl? It really brings out your natural brooder, congratulations.

-Timmy/

The utter heartbreak in Grayson’s voice made the soul still between Damian’s fingers to twitch painfully, but the man on the screen barely spared his former mentor and friend a look.

-Yes, this is the Tower. No, most titans don’t know I’m here, just Conner as he gave me access on the first place. Yes, we kept in touch after I went away, because the fucker is unfair and can track my heartbeat. No, he won’t ever tell you my location, we have a deal; he doesn’t rat me out, I don’t put him into a coma to keep him and the other two from following me around. Yes, like I would have done with Jason if I weren’t in such a time crunch. No, I’m no criminal. No, I haven't killed anyone this past years, but as you could have guessed, my morals are as good as gone now so I’m not against a little brutality when dealing with an issue. Does that answer all your questions? Can we move on on the important, end of the world thing? This isn’t a social call.

Both Father and Grayson seemed blindsided by such a direct approach, but Damian had expected it, and the icy orb was demanding him to try and gather more information.

-I hacked the Titans, I would have known if they were aware of you.

He didn’t think this through. Directly addressing Drake made him focus his attention on him, and Damian wasn’t exactly ready for it.

-They come to me in person. Nothing for you to track. I allow them to follow me around for some days, they like to act as my moral compasses, they hug me for hours and then it’s goodbye for a few weeks. Rinse, repeat. It’s a nice system and they aren’t as annoying as they could be, so I don’t stop it. Apocalypse situation, anyone? Can we maybe focus on that? If you guys need a moment, I can hang up and go deal with it myself/

-No! -echoed both Batman and Nightwing. Damian’s souls (both of them) silently agreed with the sentiment. Who knows how long it’d be until they got a hold of him again.

Drake seemed amused, but he didn’t press. Instead, he leaned forward to reach the holographic keyboard in front of him and set to work, bringing up different blueprints, records and strategies.

-Now, as you probably already guessed, we are dealing with aliens here. A very powerful, but vulnerable kind. Here's what I’ve got…

No more than five hours later, the week long hell they’ve gone through was done with. All thanks to a barely legal man that after a few days of disasters decided to bite the bullet and call them, but who hang up the moment his plans were set in motion.

The second they were clear, Father and Grayson jumped into the Jet. Damian declined, not because he didn’t want to see Drake, but because he was sure he’d be long gone from the Tower by their arrival. Especially if, as they learned today, he still had his three metas at his beck and call. And, he recalled, Grandfather.

On his way to his bedroom he caught sight of Brown and Cain, huddled together on a couch.

Stephanie’s locket was almost completely black, only small specs of blue shining through. In comparison, Cassandra’s compass looked like the sky, clear and beautiful, with only the barest hints of darkness seeping slowly into it as the night fell.

The rest of the way to his bed, he clenched the icy blue soul as tightly as he could without breaking his own hand.

While it retained its color, there would still be time.

-------.-------

15 - 20

The last couple of months had been easier for Damian’s mission, and harder for his soul. Knowing that the key to track Drake laid with his friends, and with more free time than his other family members, he enjoyed an unique position of having the occasion and the resources to follow the metas to Timothy’s location, whenever they went to him. Jon was a loyal and useful friend, and had no issues on flying Damian someplace at the drop of a hat, on top of covering for him with his family. Grayson seemed elated at the concept of Damian spending so much time with his friend, so he made it his mission to keep Father off his back, which worked just fine for him and his mission.

His damn feelings, on the other hand, were a mess.

This was the sixth time Damian had followed one of the former Young Justice (Kon El, today) to Drake’s hiding place. This seemed to be a short-ish visit, a few hours of the super complaining about college while Drake steadily worked his way through a underground drug trafficking ring. The young vigilante himself had merely answered with ‘hmm’s and ‘aahh’s, according to Jon, but it didn’t seem to deter the meta.

Damian was just sitting on a close by rooftop ledge, waiting until Drake left the building to get a last glimpse of him before leaving for Gotham, when Jon stopped mid sentence and tilted his head the way he did when he was focusing on hearing something. Then, without explanation, he left.

He didn’t even had the time to wonder about his sudden departure, when a soft touch to his shoulder had him drawing his sword and jumping into defensive position.

It was Timothy.

Damian didn’t lower his guard.

Timothy smiled, approvingly. The little soul at his pouch seemed to echo on the feeling.

-Jason didn’t view me as much of a threat -he said conversationally, walking around Damian to join him at his sitting perch, long, slim legs moving back and forth over the edge, weight resting on his hands behind his back- that’s what gave me such a clear shot at kicking his ass, but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t offensive. You can relax though, I don’t have a reason to hurt you.

It wasn’t a ‘I don’t want to’ nor a ‘I won’t’, and that’s why Damian believed it; if given a reason, Drake wouldn’t be against fighting him. It was just that he didn’t have one right then and there.

-Why approach me? -he asked, shoulders slowly losing their tension. He didn’t put his sword away, though.

-This is the sixth time you’ve tracked me down -explained the man, and he felt his heart do a jump on his chest; he wasn’t aware Drake knew-, and after the third, I realized it wasn’t for Daddy or Daddy two-point-oh. You never called anyone, never gave my location away, didn't even try to talk to me. So, I...grew curious. Asked Kon to call your little friend away so we might have a chat. Besides -Timothy looked sideways to Damian and a little smirk curved his rosy lips- it’s your birthday. Figured it was as good a occasion as any to indulge you. So I’m here, baby bat. What do you want with me?

Damian’s traitious brain had some suggestions, but he sternly pushed them all out of his mind, to the back of his subconscious for future Damian to deal with. This wasn’t the man he wanted, anyway; not with those empty eyes.

-Your soul/ -he started.

Timothy’s entire body coiled up, as if ready for a fight, and Damian felt himself tensing in response.

-Don’t even say it. I don’t want it back, won’t accept it. If you don’t want to carry it around any longer, throw it into Atlantis for all I care. Just… don’t bother me with that shit, or your new pastime of stalking me will be cut short.

-I wasn’t/!

-Dress it as whatever you want baby bat, but I know the score, one stalker to another.

Desperate for a change in the conversation, he went back to his mental list of questions for Drake.

-If… If you don’t want it back.

-I don´t.

-Then, what is your goal? What… what are you doing? You keep fighting Father’s fight, seeing to his Mission…

-Woah, hey. Just because your Father likes to call it his, doesn’t mean that the Mission belongs to him. I wanted to help people long before I was pseudo adopted into your little cult. Actually, the whole reason I got into it, was because your Dad needed a therapist and coping mechanism and moral compass all rolled into one, but as the picky lil brat he was, he wouldn’t take one unless it was twelve years old, with blue eyes and black hair and no parental figures whatsoever. Little me was like catnip for him, and I was just a kid that wanted to help.

Damian… didn’t really had an answer for that.

-That being said, that was true for past-me. As I am now, I couldn’t care less about the ‘good fight’. Any fight would do for me. If I’m still saving people, it’s merely because past-me trained this body beyond what’s healthy to make it virtually impossible for me to ignore evil doers. It’s basically muscle memory, or a vice.

-Muscle… memory? How so?

Timothy hummed, eyes going up as he searched for the right words.

-If I don’t fight crime, I start getting twitchy, and feeling odd, and it’s just uncomfortable. Without soul, I lack motivation and function because of needs. I’m thirsty, I drink. I’m hungry, I eat. I’m tired, I sleep. Like a baby, impulses are all that matter to me. Except for coffee, because my body goes through literal withdrawal when it goes long without it, and crime fighting. Also the reason why I find it hard to fight against those three metas that keep following me around; my body is just used to go into ‘protect and care for’ mode when catching sight of them, it’s night to impossible to be aggressive. Or why I had no problem kicking Jason’s ass to kingdom come; I have a flight or fight reaction to him ingrained into me, and now, I chose to fight.

The small, hidden part of him that had hoped Drake retained some part of his soul (maybe a secret, maybe hurting?) was ruthlessly squished by the man's words.

-Why did you help us, then, against the aliens? They weren't in your way, and you didn't get a fight out of it, merely gave us plans -tries, someway childishly.

He received a look that made him feel dumb. He wasn't used to it.

-I live on this planet too, you know. If it goes to shit, so do all of us. It was a matter of self preservation.

There was no denying any of that. Timothy’s eyes remainded empty, light amusement the only emotion flickering through his expression.

The tiny soul by his soul pouch gave the equivalent of an indignant cry to Damian.

‘Get me back on my body. Give my emotions back to him. Fix this’, it demanded.

‘I don’t know how’, he wanted to reply.

‘Figure it out’ was the uncompromising answer.

It was scared. Timothy’s soul was scared of what he had become, of what he’d continue to be without it, and it was begging Damian for help. This wasn’t about proving himself to father, or to Timothy, any longer. This was to help him; save him. Bring him back to what he was before.

He needed a plan, and time to develop it.

Throat swallowing hard, he weighed his options. Contact with Timothy was needed, if a chance to return his soul was to be taken the moment it appeared.

Thinking back on all that was said, he felt an idea start to form.

-Would you mind if I sought you out sometimes? It’s… quiet here, and you aren’t as annoying a company as the rest of our family members can be.

-Your family, you mean.

-Be that as it might. You could help me with cases, and won’t care if a particular one is specially hard or dangerous. That kind of cold insight might be useful, and it’ll help calm your need of doing good, won’t it?

He expected a denial, or negotiation. But of course Timothy merely shrugged.

-I told you before, I don’t care. About anything, really. Stay, go, do whatever, as long as you don’t get in my way or try to give me that shit back. If you can follow those two simple rules, we won’t have a problem.

Damian ignored the dryness of his voice, the hollowness of his eyes. Instead, his focus was poured into the feelings he got from the soul at his pouch.

Pride and anticipation. He was on the right track.

Fear. This path wouldn't be easy.

Gratitude. He was doing all of this for Timothy’s sake, nothing he’d gain from it.

And… a special kind of fondness. It wasn’t yet on par with the one he had felt for months every time the icy blue soul was in close proximity with Todd, but… it was getting there.

A hot flush of excitement went through him.

He was going to do this, and do it right, and maybe… maybe Drake wouldn’t hate him by the end of it all.

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fishfingersandjellybabies · 5 years

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Fates Be Damned - fic

Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Selina Kyle Summary: Batman Incorporated was waging war against Leviathan. But Dick would be damned if he let Damian become a casualty to this fight. A/N: A fix it for Batman Inc. 4 from like five years ago!!! Because I’m clearly up with the times. Bruce’s starting dialogue is from that issue. I don’t want to call this a hurt/comfort fic, because it’s not a happy ending for everyone, and I’d be interested in anyone thoughts on the ending I chose because it’s not a ‘everything tied up neatly’ kind of ending like I tend to do. Anyways, this all happens over a year as hinted at. Alfred was away in the last part, and he is still in constant contact with Dick and Damian. Dick and Damian keep up their training, though really do enjoy not being vigilantes. No, Damian does not take Dick’s last name. Batcow and Goliath, of course, come with them to live in the ‘burbs, and the family visits often. Bruce does too, eventually.

It felt like someone shocked him. Or maybe slapped him, or just said the sky is falling.

Because this…this wasn’t happening, right?

He looked to his brothers, to Tim and Jason, and saw his own near-revulsion mirrored on their own faces.

So it wasn’t a dream. Or a miscommunication.

Here they were, in the middle of a goddamn war, all hands on deck. And Bruce just told one of their ranks, just told Damian – little, mostly innocent, eleven-year-old Damian – that he had to leave the life he chose, the life he loved, and go back to his mother, the one who hurt him more than anyone in the world.

And Damian’s face is wrecked. Dick had never seen this child cry, but here, there were tears in his eyes, and terror in his voice, as he tried to reason with Bruce, explain how much he gave up, how much he did. Just to belong, just to be loved by his old man.

How much he didn’t want to go.

But Bruce… Jesus Christ, Bruce just shook his head.

“If you don’t, Gotham, the world, will be plunged into chaos. And you, Damian…” Bruce sighed, like he was disappointed. “You’re going to be responsible…”

It was out of his mouth before he thought about it.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dick snapped. Damian jumped in surprise, and Bruce turned so quick he may have given himself some sort of whiplash.

But any surprise Batman had immediately disappeared. “Excuse me?”

“He’s eleven, Bruce.” Dick hissed, balling his hands into fists. Damian had looked away now, stepped forward and grabbed Bruce’s cape to regain his attention, plead his case. “He’s eleven years old, your fucking son, and not only are you blaming him for this mess, you’re going to force him to go back to Talia?”

Bruce’s shoulders slumped. “Dick, you don’t understand…”

“The woman who put him through hell for most of his life?” Dick’s fury rose with every word, and he could feel his muscles start to shake with adrenaline. “The woman who put a fucking hit out on him, and you’re going to send him back to her?!”

“Dick…”

“No. No.” Dick started shaking his head. In his periphery he could see Tim and Jason glancing at each other, Damian still trying to take back Bruce’s attention. “You know what? No, I’m done. Because I let you take him back, I let you break up our partnership and regain guardianship even though I knew, deep down, it was a terrible idea, for both him and you. I let you uproot him and isolate him. I even let you abandon him for your rendezvous with Selina, or any time you felt the need to play Brucie Wayne halfway across the world.”

He stepped forward now, his breathing heavy as he got into Bruce’s face.

“But you must think I’m a goddamn idiot if you think I’m going to let you sacrifice him just because you and Talia can’t get along, and got the whole world involved in your stupid spat.” He poked Bruce in the chest now. Over and over, to emphasize his words. “Damian is innocent in this, and for you to have the audacity to blame him…” Dick bit his lip, and shook his head. “The needs of the many don’t outweigh the needs of the few. Not here. Not with your own fucking son, Bruce.”

“Dick, if there was another way you know I’d-”

“I’m done listening. I’m done being your soldier in this. I’m done letting you hurt him, for nothing.” Dick growled. Without waiting for a reply, he shoved past him to where Damian was standing, and scooped the boy up into his arms. “I’m taking him, and we’re going into hiding until this garbage is finished. I’ll help run computers with Oracle, and ping the communicators when I’m online.”

“Dick…!”

“I’m disappointed, Bruce.” Dick glanced back, just once, holding the back of Damian’s head. “You’ve made better plans in worse situations. And the one you settled on here, to save the day, was to sell your son back to the demon?” He narrowed his eyes. “Shame on you.”

Damian didn’t argue as Dick moved towards the door. Just wrapped his arms and legs as tightly around Dick as he dared. His breaths were shallow and hiccupped, and Dick could feel the tears splashing away from his cheeks.

“G-G-Grayson.” He murmured.

“I know.” He whispered, kissing Damian’s head. He couldn’t tell him it was okay. Because it was a lie, and Dick couldn’t do that to him. Not right now. “But I’ve got you.”

Damian dug his traumatized, trembling fingers into Dick’s neck.

“I’ve got you now, kiddo.”

Dick had been right, in the end. Bruce did come up with a better solution.

The world was saved. Talia and her army were dealt with. Blah, blah, blah.

That’d been about a month and a half ago, and it was still Dick’s kitchen table in a tiny rented house away from any city that Damian sat at every morning to eat his breakfast.

Bruce had called a week after the battle ended. Told Dick about the final fight between him and his once-lover, the injuries sustained. How everyone, from family to communities, were coping with the aftermath.

Dick listened politely, waiting for the real reason for the call.

“So…yeah. Everything has been settled. Talia won’t be bothering us again for a long time.” Bruce huffed, trying to be nonchalant. “You can…bring Damian home whenever it’s convenient for you.”

Bruce couldn’t see it, but Dick smiled. A sneering, cold, angry smile. “Who said I was bringing him home at all?”

And then he hung up.

Damian had been in the room during the call, drawing in the corner and taking pictures on his phone of his dozing pets. He’d heard everything Bruce said, just as he heard everything Dick said.

So when Dick tossed his phone on the table and looked up, it was no surprise that Damian was staring at him.

“What?”

“You…” Damian tilted his head thoughtfully. “You’re not making me go back to Father?”

Dick blinked as he leaned back in his chair. “Do you want to?”

Damian’s eyes lowered, his lips twisted in thought.

“…No.” He decided, looking back to his art. “I…after what happened, I…don’t think I’m ready to see Father yet.”

“Okay.” Dick smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

Dick turned on the TV. Damian went back to drawing.

It was no surprise when the Batman showed up at his door in the middle of the night.

“Took you long enough.” Dick muttered dryly when he answered the door with crossed arms. Stephanie, Batgirl, stood sheepishly behind him, clearly not wanting to be there as his partner.

“I need to see him.” Bruce growled.

“Well, he’s sleeping.” Dick smirked. “So how about you call again in the morning and make an appointment.”

“He’s my son, Dick.”

“Yeah, well.” Dick shrugged. “Maybe not anymore.”

And Dick knew Bruce well enough to see the hit that was coming, and block it.

“Oh, going to break into my house and beat me up?” Dick laughed, even as Stephanie tried to get between them. “Where was all this concern during you and Talia’s little tiff, hm?”

Before the fight could continue, there was a harsh whisper from further into the house. “Oh, will you two knock it off?”

Bruce hesitated, and glanced over Dick’s shoulder to find Tim standing at the mouth of another hallway. “If you two wake him up, I’m kicking you both out. He has a test in the morning and needs his rest.”

Bruce blinked, allowing Stephanie to push him away from Dick. “Test?” He looked at his eldest. “He’s in school?”

“Well he’s not getting private lessons from Alfred anymore, so I enrolled him here.” Dick pretended to dust dirt from his shoulders. “He’s still struggling with being a child genius and making friends, so Tim comes by and helps tutor him sometimes, since he knows what that’s like.”

“…This wasn’t a permanent move, Dick. For either of you.” Bruce scolded.

“Yeah, well. Maybe I decided it should be.” Dick spat. “He doesn’t need to be Robin, he doesn’t need to be out there on the streets like that anymore. And…maybe I don’t either. Haven’t thought about Nightwing once since we moved to the suburbs, if I’m honest.”

“Domesticated? You?” Steph snorted. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“It’s wild, Steph.” Tim called from behind him.

Dick shot her a warm grin, but Bruce cut their own small moment off. “I want to speak to my son.”

“Well, A, I’m also your son and you’re speaking to me, so. You already have.” Dick mocked. “And B, you’ll talk to him when I say you can. Which is not right now.”

Bruce tried one of his tactics, pushed into Dick’s space and glared down at him. “He’s not your son, Dick.”

Dick shrugged, keeping his sneer. “Maybe he actually is.”

Dick smoothly backed away. “You’re welcome to a drink, snack or nap while you’re here. And if you don’t want any of those, then you can just get the fuck out, I guess.”

“Dick…” Tim sighed as Dick stood next to him.

Dick smiled. “You play host, Timmy. I’m beat. Mind if I hit the hay?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just disappeared down the hall behind Tim.

Later, after he’d entertained Bruce and Stephanie, and gave them a little more insight into Dick and Damian’s new life – Dick’s job at a youth center, teaching each other how to cook, Damian’s friends – Tim checked on Dick before heading to the guest bedroom himself.

Dick wasn’t in his own room, and that didn’t surprise Tim at all. He sighed, turned to Damian’s room, and found Dick in there, all but octopus-wrapped around Damian.

Tim frowned at the escrima stick his sleeping older brother still held at the ready, though.

It was never stated out loud, or made official.

Damian lived with Dick now. Permanently.

It was one of those things that everyone knew, but no one talked about, at least, not in front of those involved.

Dick’s friends quietly texted each other about it. The Justice League murmured amongst themselves when Bruce wasn’t on the satellite. The rest of the Batfamily did what they could to just bridge the gap.

Bruce was more closed off than normal, and he talked about his eldest and youngest less and less. Even their codenames of Nightwing and Robin were like forbidden words.

There were cases with their uniforms in the cave now. And Batman’s other partners found him staring at them often.

Dick and Damian didn’t patrol anymore, and Robin and Nightwing hadn’t been seen since the War of Gotham, and the fight against Leviathan.

Most people thought they were dead. No one corrected them.

But Dick and Damian seemed to have traded their gauntlets for gardens. They walked the dog around the neighborhood every night. They meal-prepped, had movie nights, attended the local neighborhood block party.

To their neighbors, it was a single young father and his son. Just some normal folks with their not-quite-normal pets, trying to get away from the city life, and the darkness of Gotham. The father was charismatic and handsome. His son a bit aloof, but polite when approached.

They didn’t talk about their past. Didn’t talk about things like the boy’s mother, or any other family. They came from Gotham, that’s all anyone in town knew.

And they were happy, that’s all anyone in town knew, too.

Jason watched him for a few moments, slowly taking a gulp of his beer. Then, he slowly lowered his bottle and smacked his lips thoughtfully.

“You’re too giddy about this.”

Dick looked up from Damian, who was sleeping against his side. The child had fallen asleep after the three had had dinner, and continued to curl into Dick’s side in his slumber as the sun lowered behind the horizon.

“Too giddy about what?”

Jason motioned to Damian. “Being his dad.”

Dick blinked, and then fell into a huffed laugh. “I’m not his dad.”

“I bet he’d beg to differ.” Jason murmured. Paused to look at Damian himself. His chubby cheeks and long lashes. How small he was. “…If you didn’t want to give him back to Bruce in the first place, why did you?”

“I thought it was best for him. He’d always wanted to be with Bruce. It wasn’t my place to keep him from that.” Dick hummed, glancing back down to Damian himself, brushing his hair away from his eyes.

“Could have just asked him.”

“I also didn’t think I was ready to be a dad. It was a lot, that time Bruce was gone. Being Batman, raising him…” Dick shrugged. “I wasn’t doing that great of a job, despite what you all apparently think. And he deserved better.”

“And now after everything that’s happened, do you regret what you did?” Jason asked. “If you could go back, would you have kept him with you instead?”

“…I don’t know.” Dick sighed. “Maybe. If I knew Bruce was going to be this much of a prick, then yes. I would have kept him as far away from Bruce as humanly possible.”

“Well, better late than never on that last bit, right?” Jason snorted. He let the laugh die off as he took another drink of his beer. “You ever going to speak to him again?”

“I speak to him now, Jay, you know that. Just not…you know, frequently.” Dick defended. “But I know you mean in regards to Damian, and…no. I want to talk to Damian about it first, but I don’t think he’s ready.”

“Dick, it’s been months.”

“Yeah, and Bruce was trying to give him away forever.” Dick nearly spat. A sore spot still, Jason assumed. Though he wondered if it was a worse sore spot for Dick or Damian. “It’s…a lot to deal with. You were there, you saw how Damian reacted.”

“Yeah, he cried. Never seen that before.” Jason admitted. “Has he talked about Bruce at all?”

“In passing, and…coldly. Very detached.” Dick’s brows furrowed. “Doesn’t call him Father anymore. Just Bruce. Sometimes even Mr. Wayne.”

“Harsh. Does Bruce know that?” Jason asked.

“Tim knows, and I’m betting he’s mentioned it to him.” Dick explained. “But, I digress. It’s not something I want to push him on. I just…want to be here for him instead. In the interim, whenever he’s ready. Stuff like that.”

“AKA…like a dad.” Jason smirked.

“Shut it.” Dick laughed. “…What’s your thoughts on all this?”

Jason took another drink from his bottle, picked up his phone and read a quick text message. “I think Bruce was a piece of shit, deciding that was the only option for ending that stupid battle.” He placed his phone back down. “And I think you did the right thing by getting Damian out and as far away as possible.”

“Think I should have kept him?”

Jason thought a moment more. “…Yes.” A quick sniff. “And I think you should have gotten him out of the life. You getting out too was just a bonus, I think.”

Dick smiled warmly. “Thanks, Jay.” He inhaled. “I thought I’d miss it more, being Nightwing and all that, but.” He looked down at Damian, ran his hand up and down Damian’s arm. Damian just burrowed deeper into his side. “I don’t.”

“They say having kids changes you.” Jason reminded. “And this time around, you aren’t trying to juggle seven hundred different things. And you’re not grieving.”

“True.” Dick mumbled, staring down at the boy in his arms. “…I hate Bruce for what he tried to do.”

“We all do, I think.” Jason offered. “Damian’s a shitball, but…he didn’t deserve that.”

“Do you think Bruce understands that yet?” Dick asked.

“…I don’t know.” Jason admitted. “It’s hard to tell with him.”

Dick nodded, then slowly leaned his head against Damian’s, looking at Jason with a soft smile.

“Thanks for stopping by, Jay.” Dick hummed. “I really love when you do.” Then a laugh. “And Damian will never admit it, but he does too.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s what’s family is for, and all that shit.”

Dick laughed and closed his eyes. Jason just took another drink.

“…Do you blame me?” Bruce, not Batman, asked, though his cape waved softly behind him. Cassandra and Tim glanced at each other, then to Bruce’s back, as he did not face them. Selina tilted her head. “Do you hate me?”

“Hate, no.” Selina hummed. “But blame? Well, Bat. What you almost did was terrible. Would you blame us if we did?”

“It was…” Bruce looked down at the streets below them. “I didn’t think I had another choice.”

“But in the end, you did.” Selina reminded. She looked at the younger two heroes, gave them an encouraging smile. They didn’t return it. “You found another solution that didn’t threaten your child’s life.”

“It was…” Cassandra offered. “A…poor choice.”

“And the only reason we don’t hate you is because Dick stepped in and stopped it from happening.” Tim added. “He saved Damian…and if he hadn’t gotten in your way, this conversation would be going very differently.”

Bruce closed his eyes, swayed slightly in the wind. “Would it make a difference if I said I was sorry?”

“We’re not the ones you should be apologizing to.” Selina sighed. “You know that, Bat.”

Bruce didn’t open his eyes. “…Do you think he’s happy?”

“I know he is.” Tim almost hissed. It was harsh and angry, but controlled, contained. Businesslike, and so very Tim. “He’s probably happier than he’s ever been, which is funny to say since you broke his heart and he’s still trying to put those pieces back together.”

“And better,” Cassandra cut in. “He is…safe.”

“And alive.” Selina continued.

No one spoke after that, for just a moment. Let those words – happy, safe, alive – linger between them, and float through the air into the Gotham night.

“…I miss him. I miss him and Dick both.” Bruce whispered. “Am I allowed to?”

Selina walked up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re allowed to have emotions, Bruce.” A smirk, just for him. “In fact, we’re all pretty sure a lack of emotions is what got you here in the first place.”

Bruce tried to smile back to her. It didn’t feel right.

“…But to answer your question.” Tim exhaled, like he was exhausted. “No, we don’t hate you. We’re mad-”

“Pissed.” Cassandra interjected.

“-but would we be standing here if we hated you?”

It’d been ten months.

Ten months of Damian living with him, away from Bruce – and they hadn’t talked about it. Not once. Not even a mention, or a second.

It made him anxious, worrying about what might be clouding Damian’s brain, but it also made him happy. Because Damian seemed freer here, outside of Gotham, away from the costumes.

Away from his father.

He smiled so much out now. Laughed out loud, let himself feel.

And as much as he knew they needed to talk about it, Dick just didn’t want to wreck that.

But still – the tension of the topic was palpable. And Dick didn’t want that to get worse.

So it wasn’t his plan to talk about it right now, as they lay in the backyard, resting against Batcow, gazing at the stars above them.

But as he watched Damian pointing constellations out to his dog between them, the words just slipped out.

“I’m sorry.”

Damian looked up at him, confused. “For?”

Dick just kept staring at his charge, his voice quiet. Mournful. “For what Bruce did to you.”

Damian’s creased brows smoothed. He glanced down, reaching out to pet Titus’ head, and shrugged.

“I wish it didn’t. I wish I could have stopped him before he ever said anything.” Dick whispered. “I wish I didn’t have to take you away.”

“But I’m glad you did.” Damian interjected immediately, eyes fierce when he met Dick’s eyes once more. “Who knows where I would be right now if you hadn’t.”

Dick tried to give a little smile at that.

“…How are you feeling, though? Are you doing okay?” Dick asked. “Are you…happy?”

Damian leaned back, stared thoughtfully up at the stars.

Then smiled.

“Happier than I’ve been in a long time.” Damian decided. “A very long time.”

Dick allowed himself his own grin then, then shifted to pull Damian into his side and kiss his head.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dick murmured into his hair. Damian merely shrugged again. “…Well, if you ever do, I’m here, okay?”

Damian looked up at him. His face was open and his smile was bright.

“I know you are.”

The manor was quiet, that was the first thing Damian noticed as he stepped in the front door. Quiet and dusty.

He didn’t take off his shoes, didn’t plan to be here long, just looked around as he made his way towards his father’s study.

The house was so empty, he could hear the scratch of a pen from down the hall. When he reached the door, the noise was almost deafening.

He stood there, though, for just a moment. Collected himself, inhaled. Then pushed the door open.

Bruce was at his desk, proofreading some sort of document for Wayne Enterprises. There was the shadow of a beard around his face, and his hair was messy. He looked tired, but not Batman tired.

Old man tired.

He looked up at the movement of the door, and his eyes widened as he registered who it was. He learned back in his chair, braced the armrests like he was about to stand, but Damian held up his hand to wave him off.

“I’m not staying.” He said quickly. “Just…wanted to stop by.”

“…What are you doing here?” Bruce asked quietly. “In Gotham, I mean.”

“Grayson is having lunch with Gordon.” Damian hummed. “I asked to tag along, said I wanted to see a friend too.”

“…He doesn’t know you’re here.” Bruce concluded.

“No. But I will tell him later, when we’re finished.” Damian nodded. He hesitated for a moment, looked around the room, at the art and style. He didn’t feel any sense of nostalgia, though. Didn’t miss this place at all.

He sighed, and looked back at Bruce.

“…Father.” The word sounded strange, he hadn’t said it in so long. “I know we haven’t talked or seen each other since…since that day.” Damian started. He could see the pain in Bruce’s eyes immediately. The guilt. The regret. “Both through my own choices and Grayson’s interventions.”

Bruce waited, looked like he was holding his breath.

“But I just want you to know that I forgive you.” Damian said plainly. “I forgive you for what happened.”

Bruce watched for a moment, then slumped. “You don’t have to.” He whispered. “I know I don’t deserve it.”

“Debatable.” Damian shrugged. “But that doesn’t change anything, not from my perspective. I forgive you.”

Bruce looked down.

“So don’t…feel guilty. It’s okay.” Damian offered. “I...want you to be happy.”

“I’ll be happy when you come home.” Bruce admitted, not looking up. “…I miss you.”

Damian didn’t seem to expect that response. Blinked in surprise, then looked guilty himself.

“I feel that I am home.” Damian murmured. “With Grayson.”

Bruce closed his eyes.

“And I apologize for that, I know it’s not something you wanted to hear.” Damian sighed. “But…I’m happy to extend an invitation to you. To visit whenever you like.”

Bruce didn’t open his eyes. “Dick won’t like that.”

“I’ll get him to come around.” Damian paused then. “He won’t say it, but he forgives you too, or at least is in the process of it. He was only upset because your decision was not what he felt was best for me, and that’s all he wants.”

Bruce did look up at that.

“He just wants what’s best for me. And I’ve found that the life we’ve adopted since we left is that.”

“That’s…good.” Bruce forced himself to admit. “I’m glad. For you and Dick both.”

“Thank you.” Another hesitation. “And thank you for everything you’ve given me thus far. I appreciate it more than I can ever say, even with our last meeting what it was.”

Bruce flashed a grim smile. Thank you for introducing me to Dick, is what Damian wouldn’t say.

“…But I better get going. Like I said, I can’t stay. And I actually do have a friend I’d like to visit.” Damian ended. “…It’s good to see you…Father.”

“You as well, Damian.” Bruce stood. “Thank Dick for me. For protecting you when I should have.”

“I will.” Damian promised. Stopped again, like he didn’t know what to do next, then merely gave a quick wave. “Goodbye, Father.”

“Goodbye, Damian.”

Damian nodded, and disappeared back into the hall. Bruce didn’t follow.

Just sat back down, and hid his face in his hands as he heard the front door close.

#Damian Wayne #bruce wayne #dick grayson

81 notes · View notes

awkwardbluefish · 5 years

Text

“It’s okay.”

—

Warnings: Blood and a little violence

Summary: Damian had never thought he could hate the blood thrumming through his body. It was a sign that he was the true blood son, the true heir to his mother and father. He never thought he could despise it but he does.

A/n - I’ve been meaning to write this for a while now —.—

—

Robin scowled as Red Robin mumbles under his breath, fingers flying over the holographic keyboard. He didn’t understand why father made him patrol with this imbecile, it was a mere patrol, something Damian has done plenty of times by himself. He didn’t need his so called predecessor to tag along.

“I don’t understand why father making me work with a moron like you.” Robin exclaimed out loud, unhooking his grabble gun as Red swiped the keyboard away and did the same.

Red let out a puff of air, one that Robin knew meant he was tired. “Because,” Red started, firing his grabble, “it’s a school night and the less injuries you’ve got, the less questions.”

Robin scowled as Red’s cape whipped as he was pulled into the air, his doing the same as he followed after. He landed a second after Red Robin, boots clanking on brick silently.

“It’s none of their business about my so called injuries.” Robin stated simply, annoyance pricking at the memories of worried teachers. They didn’t know anything.

“It sort of is.” Red hummed, looking over the city for any possible crime. He strayed at the edge of the building, eyes narrowed behind the cowl and a tilt to his head. Robin huffed and walked to the right side of the building, scowling at the disgusting grime on the bricks.

“I am the son of Batman, they have no need to fret over me like a mere child. I have accomplished worse injuries then a simple broken bone.” He stated, scraping his boot against stone as he stepped in some gum. The state of this city is beyond disgusting.

“You are a child, Robin.” Red stated, fingers tapping on the side of his cowl and Robin watched the white lenses flash green. Night vision. “Besides when a kid shows up at school sporting injuries all the time, people are bound to get suspicious.”

“Like I stated before,” Robin ground out, body stiffening up as he turned to stare at the back of Red’s head. “I am the son of Batman, I needn’t be fussed over.”

Red simply hummed and Robin scowled at the lack of response. Grayson always answered back and Father would respond in some way. It was grating in his nerves at the lack of respect.

“I’m assuming they didn’t do the same for you then. You’re no blood son after all.” Robin smirked as Red’s stance subtlety went tight, muscles seizing up.

But he didn’t refute it. Robin frowned and he opened his mouth to ridicule the former Robin when a click silenced the night like thunder. Then came the bullets, slicing through the air like lightening.

Robin tensed and prepared for the flare of pain when black covered his vision and his head was forced into a Kevlar covered neck. A gloved hand was on the back of his head, a arm wrapped securely around his back as he was forced to his knees and was rolled around like a rag doll.

Robin grumbled, struggling in the hold before pushing at the chest with all his might. He un-lodged from the hold, back slamming against brick as he skidded against concrete. Pain flared at his ankle and Robin gritted his teeth as he used the adrenaline coursing through his veins to crawl the rest of the way to the metal vent.

The bullets kept coming, cracking like thunder as Robin rested his head against the cool metal, teeth clenched right. His eyes scanned for Red Robin, breath hitching at the sight.

Without a thought he crawled forward, gripping onto Red’s left wrist and pulling him behind the vent. Red let out a low groan, fingers twitching on the concrete floor.

Robin felt his heart beat speed up, fingers hastily clicking on the emergency button on his gauntlet. He turned his attention back to his brother, turning him into his back as carefully as possible.

Red let out a groan, obviously in pain as his head rolled to the side with a pained moan. Robin bit his lip, spotting four bullet wounds in the chest. Only two managed to get their way through the armour but Red was bleeding, a lot.

Robin quickly put pressure onto the wound, looking around hurriedly as the bullet came to an end. Red’s face was pale and Robin didn’t know what to do except to put pressure on the wound. He hadn’t refilled his medical kit, confident he wouldn’t need it. Robin, no, Damian was too scared to check Red’s utility belt, not wanting to release the pressure on his wounds.

A soft thud had Robins head snapping up, instantly spotting Red Hood and Nightwing. They were quick to rush forward, Hood’s hand rubbing over his arms as he was pried of his brother.

Red was being lifted away and Robin lunged forward in attempt to stop him from leaving but hands gripped at his forearms and he was yanked back.

“It’s okay, Dames.” Hood whispered and Damian wondered when his and Hoods masks were taken off. “Dickie is just taking Timmy to the cave, yeah?”

Damian’s tongue felt heavy so he forced his head to bob up and down. Todd nodded as well, hands on his shoulders and fingers massaging his skin.

“He’s going to be okay, okay?” Todd murmured, hands sliding down to grip at Damian’s shoulders. Damian nodded again, feeling numb but Todd’s eyes were comforting and warm.

“The,” Damians voice cracked and he frowned and licked his lips, trying again, “the shooter?”

Todd’s eyes turned dark, lips tugging downwards and the grip on Damian’s shoulders turned painful. “I’ve dealt with him.”

Damian nodded again. “That’s,” Damian licked his lips again and swallowed, “that’s good.”

“Yeah, it is, kiddo.” Todd mumbled. He lifted up Damian’s mask and pressed it against his face. Damian adjusted it as Todd put his hood on. “We’re going to got to the cave, yeah? Go see Timmy and give him a good ol’ teasing, yeah?”

Robin didn’t answer, tongue heavy and throat dry as he climbed onto the motorcycle behind Hood once they got onto the ground. He could still see the blood stain of when he dragged Red across the concrete in his mind.

—

Damian’s feet were glued to the floor as everyone rushed around him. He had stupidly miscalculated, not noticing the bullets that embedded themselves into Tim’s left calf and thigh. Now Drake was bleeding out on the medical bench as everyone ran around like headless chickens.

He needed a blood transfusion. Drake’s blood supply had ran out and now they needed a blood transfusion but no one here had the same type of blood except Cassandra. She was five minutes away but Drake was unstable. He looked dead with the blood coating his body, pale and damp face from sweat.

Damian hated this moment. He hated everyone in the room for having different blood, different genes. He hated the blood coursing through his veins, he despised it. His blood didn’t match Drakes and now he could die because of it. Damian has never hated the blood flowing through his body, but now he has never despised something more.

A scruff of dragging feat and Damian flinched at the hand on his shoulder. He swallowed and looked up into Grayson’s blue eyes and tired smile. Damian stayed still as Grayson kneeled, balancing himself by holding onto his shoulders.

“Go to bed, Dami. Leslie is here and Cass has just rocked up. Tim will be fine, okay?”

His voice was meant to be soothing but it just grated on Damian’s nerves for some reason. He didn’t know Drake would be fine, no one knew until after the operation.

Instead he nodded and Grayson’s smile turned just a little sadder before he pulled Damian into his chest. Damian didn’t make any moves to hug back, simply leaning into the hold but Grayson didn’t seem to mind. When Grayson pulled back and stood up with a pat on his head, Damian went to bed. He didn’t want to sleep but he did have school tomorrow and he had no choice but to go. He’s missed too many days already.

—

The house was silent when Damian snapped awake, sweat clinging to his brow and heart hammering. He breathed in slowly, getting his heart to calm down.

Eventually it did and he kicked off his blankets, sliding out of bed with ease and beginning to make his journey to the cave.

The halls were silent and his feet were cold but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t understand why he was acting like this, it wasn’t unusual for them to get hurt during patrol. It came with the job really.

Maybe it’s because Drake didn’t have any blood supply. Maybe it was because Damian should’ve been able to stop that shooter in a second but he didn’t. Maybe, maybe it was because Damian didn’t have the same blood and it nearly got Drake killed. That’s what his dreams seem to be telling him anyway.

He let out a huff, shuffling his feet into the carpet as he turned the handles of the clock. With a soft hiss it slid open and Damian was greeted with the darkness of the cave and quiet noises from the bats.

The dark didn’t bother him so he descended the stairs quietly yet quickly. The cave was empty except for the bats and Drake. Normally they would’ve put Drake in the guest room but it was too risky to move him.

Damian was quick to find his way to the medical area. The blue curtains were drawn up, to give Drake the sense of security, and Damian pushed them aside.

Drake was lying on the bed, head nestled to the side with a frown on his lips. The covers were drawn up to his shoulders and he seemed uncomfortable.

Damian was beginning to shake again, his nightmares flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinked. He didn’t want to lose his family, not the one he worked so hard to gain. And maybe Damian hadn’t considered Drake as family until now but he does and he nearly lost him tonight. Damian doesn’t think he can handle loosing anyone in this family, not even Drake.

He didn’t think as he lifted up the covers, climbing in carefully. He was careful when he lied down, adjusting himself so he didn’t brush up against any of Drake’s injuries.

Eventually he found a comfortable position, his head laying on Drake’s shoulder and he could feel his breath puffing against his hair. His right arm held loosely against Drake’s left arm, fingers over his pulse. He wasn’t about to let his brother die over something stupid he told himself, tears slipping down his cheeks.

“Dami?” Damian stiffened, feeling Tim’s breath against his forehead. He don’t say anything even when he knew Drake knew he was awake.

A soft sigh escaped Drake’s lips and he twisted a little. His arm escaped Damian’s grip and slid under his side to wrap around his shoulder and pull him in closer. Damian hid his face in the crook of Tim’s neck as he played with his hair.

“It’s okay.”

#dc #tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #cassandra cain #batfamily #batsiblings #my writing #mine #tw: blood #red hood #nightwing #robin #red robin

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