Chapter Text
Damian had a…complicated relationship with his Father’s third…protégé. They’d gotten off on the wrong foot, to put it delicately. After all, Damian had come with full intent on murdering Timothy Jackson Drake and taking the Robin cape from his dead body.
After years of Richard Grayson, therapy, Alfred, his pets, Richard Grayson, several reality checks from multiple people (and beings that don’t really count as people)…Damian Wayne has reached the conclusion that…perhaps…well. It might be that…he was completely off when he decided Drake was nothing but a worthless stand-in who dared stand by his Father without knowing his place.
Damian’s…misplaced…animosity for his Father’s protégés had…well. They had overcome their differences with him. Richard, Todd, Brown, Cain…they were, at present, on quite affable terms with Damian. He might even go as far as to say that…well.
They were family. Are family.
Loathe as he is to admit it out loud…his Father’s protégés are…they’re his father’s children. His…brothers.
Even Drake.
But that was exactly the problem. No matter how many years pass, Damian still finds himself unable to reach the same level of understanding with Drake as he had with the others. It wasn’t for the lack of trying on his part! Certainly not! Even Richard agreed that Damian had been sincerely trying. No, it was Drake that was being difficult!
For the past few years, Drake had been scaling back his presence in Gotham. Instead, he kept hanging around those…those cretins he called his friends.
It all came to a head last week when Drake had announced his desire to pursue a collegiate diploma at nineteen. Everyone had been thrilled. He was clearly overqualified for one and it would suit their public personas very well if the Acting Chairman of Wayne Industries had a proper degree no matter how unneeded but as if pouring cold water on all their heads Drake had gone on to explain that he would pursue his aspirations in Stanford.
He would be sharing a room with Superboy who had by some miracle (Damian uncharitably thought it must have involved some form of cheating or bribery from Drake’s end), qualified for Stanford as well.
Damian swore his father had stopped breathing midway through Drake’s explanation about how he planned to move out and away from Gotham. For at least three years or longer. He had even planned to semi-retire Red Robin while doing so in order to not let people make the connection between Timothy Drake attending Stanford and Red Robin being on the Young Justice’s permanent roster in San Francisco.
Tt.
Those Young Justice peasants.
And yes, Richard, Damian would most certainly call those usurpers whatever he wanted. Young Justice is made up of ridiculously immature heroes and Drake could have done better than stick with those weaklings.
Damian was being objective and completely in the right in this, he was not being jealous. That emotion is beneath the true scion of House Wayne. Silence, Todd.
Anyhow, Damian had thought that Drake’s impending…college debut…would be on the top of the list of their family’s crisis of the month.
Then this happened.
”What is wrong with him?”, Damian asked in a not shrill tone, “How is that…how is that a human infant??”
“He’s premature.”, Leslie murmured as she carefully and expertly handled the infant that was approximately the size of a kitten.
”I’ve seen premature infants! He’s far too small!”, Damian hissed, “His skin! It’s…he looks…”
”Like a piece of raw pork, huh?”, Stephanie remarked from where she was seated on the gurney, eyes glued to Leslie’s hands, “He’s a micro-preemie.”
”Micro…preemie?”
”It’s a term for babies born before 26 weeks.” Stephanie recited quietly.
”26…that’s…”, Damian went quiet. His shoulder rising to his ears as he contemplated that piece of information.
”It’s not the best situation but…he should be alright.”, she assured him, “We have Leslie, BatTech, and Wayne money. Tim’s done this before, right? He’ll have an even better chance now.”
”How long will this curse even take?”, Dick demanded hoarsely from where he was hovering behind John Constantine’s weary shoulders.
”I told you, it’s bloody complicated. I’m still deciphering the language it’s in!”, the harried man snapped.
”It’s been hours! You’re usually more competent than this!”
”You try it, Nightwing. Stop being a right gobshite and keep it down, la? Who asked you and your posse to go piss off a bloody ancient alien dark wizard??? At least keep it bloody local!”
“Alright, break it up. Dick, I can’t fucking believe I’m the one who has to tell you to stop distracting the guy trying to solve this shit.”, Jason strode in agitatedly and bodily pulled Dick away from the…whatever John was currently moonlighting as.
Dick stayed blessedly silent and allowed Jason to drag him over where the Supreme Bat was currently self-destructing in front of the Batcomputer.
”Here. Convince your living parental unit to stop scrolling that fast, I’m somehow getting seasick on dry land.”, Jason said in mock disgust as he dropped onto an empty chair, “Fuck.”
Dick dragged his attention to the screen and stared for a few moments before frowning, “What are you even doing, B? Is that…Gotham General’s files?”
”Yes.”
”Those are…Tim’s files. As a baby?”
”Yes. It all matches.”, Bruce paused and said grimly, “His current condition matches his state when he was born nineteen years ago to this date. Born 25 weeks and 4 days. He stayed in an incubator for 4 months.”
”That’s…a really long time.”
”Have you seen him? Shit. He’s tiny.”, Jason muttered and resisted taking out a cigarette. The Cave had state-of-the-art air filtration at multiple points but he refused to risk anything that could interfere with Tim’s machines.
”Where’s Zatanna? Seriously. We need this curse off.”, Dick said worriedly as he speed-read through the information displayed on the screens, “Wait, what’s that? Surfactant?”
”It’s the substance in the lungs that prevents it from collapsing when we take a breath.”, Bruce replied even as he opened a new tab and started typing.
”Wait. Are you…ordering some?”, Jason blinked and frowned, “Does Timmy need it?”
”He needed it once. It’s on his medical records; he underwent several instances of surfactant replacement therapy when he developed respiratory distress syndrome.”
”I know RDS, you’re saying Tim has that?”
”No, but we never know. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
For once, nobody took a jab at Bruce’s tendency to be over-prepared. This was a distinctly different scenario from what they were all used to and nobody wanted to be caught off guard.
”How long will it take for those to arrive? Wait, he was on ventilator?”, Dick zeroed in on the line on Baby Tim’s records, “Do we have a ventilator that can fit him?”
”We will. It’ll all arrive within the hour.”