Chapter Text
Tim and Damian were fighting again.
They were always fighting.
And Tim would like it officially noted, for the record, that it was usually not his fault. Damian came into every conversation like it was a battlefield, every sentence sharpened into a blade meant to cut. Normally, Tim could handle it. He could ignore the little digs, the muttered insults, the constant reminders that Damian was the “true heir,” the blood son, the one who belonged here in a way the rest of them never fully could.
Usually, Tim could let it roll off his back.
But tonight, everything already felt like it was caving in around him.
The case they’d been working on for weeks still made no sense: every lead was another dead end. The mission had gone completely sideways because no one could follow the plan for more than five minutes. Gotham’s rain soaked through his suit and into his bones. His head pounded hard enough to make him nauseous.
And he hadn’t slept in seventy-two hours.
So, when Damian started talking again, voice dripping with that familiar superiority, something inside Tim finally splintered.
“—and that is precisely why Father should have listened to me,” Damian snapped as he tied the last criminal to a support beam with brutal efficiency. “Had I been leading this mission, we would not be in this situation.”
Jason, shoving an unconscious thug away with his boot, let out a long-suffering sigh. “Jesus Christ, kid, do you ever shut up?”
Damian ignored him completely.
“Frankly, Drake, your strategies continue to prove inefficient. If anyone should have command here, it should be me. I am the blood son after all, so—”
“Would you just shut up?”
The words echoed through the abandoned warehouse so sharply that everyone froze.
Even the criminals groaning on the floor seemed quieter.
Tim was breathing hard now, shoulders tense, hands shaking slightly where they gripped his bo staff.
“Just—stop talking for five seconds,” he snapped, voice raw. “I’m trying to fix this disaster, while all you’ve done the entire night is complain. We had a plan. You all ignored it, and now I’m the one cleaning up the mess.”
Dick’s eyes widened immediately.
Jason straightened slowly, expression shifting from annoyed amusement to something more cautious.
But Tim couldn’t stop.
Maybe because he was exhausted. Maybe because part of him had been holding this in for years.
“And quit saying you’re the blood son like it means something!” Tim shouted. “We get it, Damian. You’re Bruce’s real kid. Congratulations.”
Damian went completely still.
Tim laughed then, but there was nothing remotely amused about the sound. It was bitter. Hollow.
“But you wanna know the difference between you and the rest of us?” he said quietly. “Bruce chose us.”
The silence that followed felt suffocating.
Tim swallowed hard, suddenly unable to breathe properly, but the words came anyway.
“He got stuck with you.”
Nobody moved.
Jason looked horrified.
Dick looked like someone had punched him directly in the chest.
And Damian—
Damian wasn’t glaring anymore.
That was the worst part.
He just looked shocked.
Not angry. Not furious. Hurt.
Like Tim had reached into his chest and carved something out with surgical precision.
For one awful second, Tim almost took it back.
Almost.
Then Damian’s face went blank. Any trace of emotion disappeared behind the cold, perfect mask he wore better than anyone.
Without a word, he turned away and began gathering the confiscated weapons from the floor with stiff, mechanical movements.
“Damian—” Dick started carefully.
“I am aware the mission is not complete, Grayson,” Damian interrupted flatly. “I am not abandoning my responsibilities.”
The words somehow made it worse.
Tim’s stomach twisted violently.
No insults. No yelling. No threats.
Damian wouldn’t even look at him.
-*-
The rest of the mission passed in agonizing silence. They handed the criminals over to GCPD, packed up the evidence, and secured the warehouse without speaking more than absolutely necessary.
And the entire time Damian never once looked in Tim’s direction.
Not even accidentally.
By the time they returned to the Batcave, Tim felt sick with exhaustion and guilt.
Damian stepped out of the Batmobile first.
“Damian,” Bruce called, immediately noticing the tension.
Damian paused at the stairs for only a second.
“The mission was successful,” he said emotionlessly. “Drake’s plan worked adequately in the end.”
Then he disappeared upstairs.
Bruce frowned. “What happened?”
Nobody answered right away.
Dick looked at Tim.
Jason looked furious now, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
And Tim suddenly wished, more than anything, that Damian would turn around and yell at him that he’d go straight to Bruce and demand Tim be berated for what he said because he honestly deserved it.