Chapter Text
Is he…crying?
Oh, God.
Tim has no idea how to handle a crying Damian! He doesn’t even know how to handle it when he himself cries!
Tim hesitantly approaches the sniffling boy. He lets out a very soft trill, tilting his head. Damian’s shoulders are shaking and Tim can hear his ragged, wet gasps as his tears drip onto the hardwood floor.
Tim blinks stupidly for a moment. Then attempts another trill. No reaction. Tim decides ‘fuck it’ and nudges Damian’s arm with his head.
That gets a reaction.
Damian’s watery, emerald eyes peek out from behind his arm. He seems surprised for only a moment before his rough hand gently runs over Tim’s head. Tim allows it.
“Do not worry about me, cat.” Damian sniffles. “I am fine and you are incapable of understanding human emotion.” He wipes his nose with his sleeve. Tim’s ears fall back slightly at Damian’s backhanded words.
“Mow.” Tim protests.
“Mow? What do you mean ‘mow’?” Damian scoffs, voice nasally as he picks some cat fur off his sleeve.
“Mow.” Tim affirms before running his head into Damian’s arm three more times.
“I am sure you want food, but, for my own comfort, I will pretend you want an explanation.” Damian shifts to sit criss-cross-applesauce.
Tim sits down and stares at Damian. Damian pats his head lightly again.
“It is…my father,” Damian admits hesitantly. “Well…everyone, really. They are all so caught up with finding Timothy.” Tim blinks, stiffening a bit.
Timothy.
“Father does not patrol with me anymore, Richard is like an exposed nerve, sensitive to everything.” Damian lets out a sigh of irritation through his nose. “Nobody will pay any attention to me.” Tim just blinks at him.
Damian leans his head against the door with a sigh. “Why am I even talking to you?” He mutters.
Tim is about to hiss and scurry back under the bed. How dare this brat be upset that his family is looking for him?!
Then Damian speaks.
“I miss Timothy.”
Tim’s heart just about shatters. He wants to say ‘I’m right here’ but all that comes out is a stupid meow!
Damian doesn’t elaborate further, seeming embarrassed at his own words. He grabs some chicken and lays it out for Tim.
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The next few days suck. Tim is alone all day while Damian is at school. Then Damian only pops by to make sure Tim has food and water! Can’t people go insane from isolation?
Anyway.
Tim has been brainstorming ways to prove he’s well…Tim. So far, all thirty-three previous attempts were failures. He is seriously contemplating tearing everyone else’s faces on the family portrait. But he won’t, Alfred would be pissed.
So, back to square one.
He decides to search Damian’s room now that his back leg is healed. He probably has the strength to shimmy a desk drawer open or something.
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Tim almost feels bad.
Almost.
Damian’s room is a wreck. Buuuuutttt it wouldn’t be if the brat was smarter and realized what Tim has been trying to tell him for almost four weeks!
Tim has searched basically every inch of this space. No family pictures with Tim in them. Nothing Red Robin themed. Nada. This is bullshit!
Tim lets out a hiss even though no one is there to hear it.
He kicks over a neat pile of books on Damian’s desk irritably. A few fall open. Tim drops down to inspect them. A few sketchbooks.
Most of the pages are full of charcoal sketches. Animals. Some people. Landscapes. Objects. It’s all quite impressive. He didn’t really know Damian was this skilled, let alone this dedicated to said skill. He drags his front paw over the pages to flip through. At least he’s found a way to pass the time.
He stumbles upon a few headshots of Dick and Bruce. They’re really good. Tim feels slightly disappointed in his older brother skills if something like this slipped past him.
Twenty-four minutes of flipping. Tim finally, finally, finds a page with a mention of him. It’s an ugly stick figure labeled ‘Idiot Drake’. Doesn’t matter. He rips it out desperately.
Now he just has to wait.
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Waiting is very hard. Tim falls asleep on the paper. He is only woken up by Damian’s angry grumble as he begins picking up his things.
“Meow!” Tim meows as loudly as possible.
“Silence, cat.” Damian snaps without looking back.
“Mow!! Mow!!” Tim insists.
“Silence!” Damian shouts.
Tim scratches the back of his leg.
“Ow, you little-“
Damian pauses when he sees what Tim has pick up in his jaws. Damian raises an eyebrow. “Timothy?” Then he sighs, snatching the paper. “Where’d you even-“
Tim meows loudly.
“Do you like it or something? Why are you-“
Tim meows again, reaching for the paper.
“…huh.” Damian sets the paper back down. Tim claws and meows at it.
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Damian did not understand.
He then proceeded to show Tim every drawing he’d ever done of him. There were only three. They weren’t as detailed as the others but Tim was still impressed. Had he even been around the kid enough for him to make such close replicas?
“Alright,” Damian sets the drawings down. “Are you satisfied?”
Tim paws at one with his named clearly labeled on top.
“Mow. Mow. Mow.”
Damian raises an eyebrow. “Timothy? Shall I call you Timothy or something?”
Tim perks up, meowing loudly.
“Alright, Timothy the Cat.” Damian scoffs, rolling his eyes.
Tim knows the brat is not this dumb!
“Meooooowwwwww!” Tim screeches, ripping one of the papers, snagging Damian’s arm in the process.
“Ouch-“ Damian flinches back. Tim just hisses.
Damian’s eyes widen and his face freezes.
“Drake?” He breathes out.
“Mow.” Tim nods aggressively.