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The kitchen was quiet when Tim stepped in through the garage door at 6:30 in the morning. He supposed that wasn't totally unexpected; Alfred was probably busy, what with the chaos of the last few days' events. However, Tim had an important objective, so he opted to skip any other menial, unnecessary tasks, and headed for the stairs.
He passed his old bedroom, Jason's room, Dick's room. The next door was unsurprisingly shut. He didn't bother knocking; he figured they were past that. He opened the door and leaned his head in. "Dames?"
A shuffle of sheets, as Titus climbed to his feet with a huff and carefully jumped down, ambling over to lick at Tim's hand. And finally, a groan from the blanket-covered lump on the bed, only the tips of messy black hair showing above the comforter.
Tim stepped in and shut the door behind him, folding his arms across his chest. "I know you don't want to get up and do anything today, but I'm not gonna leave you much choice."
"Nothing you say will persuade me to leave this bed, Drake," Damian deadpanned, low voice rough with sleep.
"I already called Marissa and told her you'd be there by seven," Tim said easily.
A pause. Then Damian threw the covers back, his face vaguely irritated but submissive. He stroked Alfred's back as he sat up, murmuring soothingly in Arabic to him, and then swung his legs off the side of the bed, dropping down onto them and slouching off, the picture of exhausted adolescence. It would have been funny if it weren't somehow so sad at the same time.
Tim shook his head, tugging over Damian's chair to sit and wait for him. While the shower ran, he glanced around the room. It looked a little more personal now than it had; a rack full of Damian's collection of exotic weapons, a zoo animals calendar, scale models of the planets hanging in scale formation from the high ceiling of one corner of the room, a telescope, a poster from a concert Dick had taken him to a few years ago. It looked a little more like a kid's room now, and a little less like a barrack, which was good. Though he could still see the precision in how everything was kept---bunched up clothes and clutter were conspicuously absent from the area---it was nice to see at least some amount of stability and comfort in Damian's life as well as his room.
The door opened with a half-bang, and Damian wandered out of the bathroom, dressed but with his hair flopping down almost to his nose. Tim tried to stifle a laugh as he fumbled around looking for his comb, which was, of course, on the dresser Tim was sitting beside. He grabbed it and stepped over to Damian, setting to work combing it up. "Have you considered getting a haircut anytime soon?" He asked jokingly.
"Tt." Damian heaved a sigh, which sent some of the aforementioned long bangs fluffing up in the air, only to flop back down onto his nose. "It's not long enough yet to warrant it."
Tim let the matter drop. It was the kid's hair; he could do whatever he pleased with it. Besides, he was no one to judge; his own hair wasn't shoulder-length, but it wasn't short, either. He finally had Damian's hair half-tamed into something resembling its usual spiked style. With a final pat, to tamp the long strands down---which was a little difficult, considering how high he had to reach to do so, now---Tim stepped back, handing Damian the comb. He took it and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans, and then leaned over and yanked his sneakers from their spot beside the bed. Tim checked his watch quickly, just to make sure--they were still on time. Damian finally straightened, glancing at Tim expectantly.
"Alrighty, then. Off we go." Tim turned towards the door, and Damian trailed after him, shutting the door after making sure Titus and Alfred were out of the room.
"Will..." Damian's voice cracked a bit oddly---and while that was a normal occurrence lately, somehow Tim knew it wasn't a fluke---"Will it be alright? Here? While we're--"
"It's fine. Alfred says he's stable, just resting, and he'll call us if anything comes up. And if he does call us, I'll call Superman if need be. Or Jon," Tim said, trying to be as firm as possible while still leaving room for Damian to really object if he wanted to.
Damian said nothing, so Tim kept going.
There was no sign of Alfred in the kitchen when they went through---except, of course, for a tray of freshly-baked blackberry muffins, still warm and steaming, and a travel cup full of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and one of coffee. Damian silently picked up the note beside the tray, read it to himself, then nodded mutely and carefully folded it, tucking it into his pocket. He snatched a nearby paper bag and filled it with half the muffins, and then grabbed another bag that had his name on it. Tim grabbed his coffee as quickly as possible, and drank a swallow, savoring the bitter aroma. He hadn't had a chance to get his before he'd left the house this morning.
With everything thus packed and grabbed, they headed out the garage to where Tim's Lincoln was waiting. Damian climbed into the passenger seat of his own volition, so Tim got into the driver's side and set his coffee in the cup holder, starting the car in silence and turning to carefully back up.
They were half-way down the driveway when he glanced at Damian, who was silently eating a muffin, occasionally sipping at his orange juice. If he had been five years younger, he would have thought Damian looked sullen---but times had changed, and he knew better now. "Do you..." he ventured. "Want to listen to something? Or---?"
Damian shook his head silently.
"Okay." Tim turned back to the road. After a moment of driving---they had reached the gate---he said quietly, "Steph would have come, but you know how mornings have been lately. She sends her love."
"Tt." Damian hummed, examining another muffin. "It's alright," he said quietly, not meeting Tim's eyes. "I did not expect that of her."
Tim nodded quietly. The words were blunt, but Damian still had trouble finding words sometimes when it came to being genuine. He knew the boy meant no harm.
"Besides..." Damian hummed, not looking up. "You are sufficient."
Tim stifled a smile. He turned back to the road, and the rest of the drive passed in companionable silence.
They ran into a bit of traffic on the freeway, but still managed to pull into the parking lot at the animal shelter at 6:47. They got out in silence, and Tim locked the car. Damian held tight to his paper bags. Tim hoped fervently that Marissa would honor his request to not mention the elephant in the room, or else he might truly upset Damian.
But thankfully, when they went in the back door, Marissa was waiting with her usual smile, flanked by Ava and Max, a couple of the high-school volunteers.
"Morning, Damian," she said warmly. "How are you?"
"Acceptable, thank you," Damian said, a bit awkwardly, as he always was when they got started. He brandished one of his bags. "Pennyworth sent treats."
"That grandfather of yours must be quite a man," Marissa said, turning to lead them inside. "I hope to meet him one day."
"Perhaps I will try to arrange something this summer," Damian said, sounding a bit excited at the prospect.
"I would love that, Damian, thank you." Marissa said. She buzzed them into the backroom. "Alright, so we have a few new arrivals. Someone dumped a Siamese in a street in the south side; he has a broken paw. We've set it and it should heal up in a month or two. Very sweet temperament, it's a shame. A girl dropped off a box of pitbull-mix puppies; I assume they were the result of a dogfighting champ but weren't healthy enough to be worth training. And, oddly enough, someone brought a parrot that recites lines from Gilligan's Island. That's been fun." She flashed a dry smile at Tim and Damian. Tim chuckled. Damian shrugged, heading into the storeroom to haul out the bags of feed.
The next three hours flew by as they fed, watered, and groomed and bathed the animals, as well as cleaning out the cages. Damian was comfortable with this---he'd been doing it for several months, now---but Tim was a little bit less competent at it. At least he'd worn somewhat casual clothes; a polo and khakis. Though he was looking forward to showering at the end of the day.
At 11:00, when the work was nearly finished and Marissa and Ava had gone to man the front desk, Tim meandered over to where Damian was huddled in front of one of the cages, lightly stroking his long fingers through a tabby kitten's fur. "You are a most threatening specimen," Damian spoke lowly and seriously as the kitten lightly gnawed on his fingertips. "Likely descended from the royal cats that roam the jungles of Argentina and Siberia. My mother once had one like you. He was nowhere near as kind, however. Keep that friendly spirit, and you will go far in here." He stopped talking and glanced up when Tim approached.
"I don't think Alfred would appreciate a stray," Tim said wryly.
"Tt." Damian lightly stroked the kitten's back once more. "His namesake did." He carefully scooped the cat into a delicate ball, cupped in his palm, and slowly stood up, opening the cage door. "If he does not get adopted, I may well return for him." He shut the door and locked it, reaching a fingertip in between the bars for one last stroke.
"Don't know if you're hungry," Tim said. "I made sure Ameer's was open."
"Tt." Damian dusted his hands off. "I would not object to lunch. I was not planning on doing much today, anyway."
"Alright then," Tim said, trying to ignore the slight pang at Damian's flippant admittance.
They said goodbye to Marissa and Ava on the way out, leaving the bag of treats as well as the leftover muffins. They loaded back into the car, and Damian put his earbuds in for the short drive over to the restaurant.
Tim could tell that Damian was suspicious as they got out and Tim locked it, but he didn't voice any irritation, so Tim followed him as he pushed open the door and immediately spotted the table full of people, who immediately waved at him, with various warm greetings of "Here's the man!" and "Damian!"
Damian rolled his eyes, and walked straight for Steph, who was beaming up at him. He ducked down, and hugged her very gently. "You didn't have to come out here, Brown."
"And miss this milestone? You only get one of those, you know." She kissed the top of Damian's head, and released him. "Besides, I feel better in the afternoons."
"Grayson," Damian acknowledged.
Dick smiled warmly. "How are you, kiddo?"
"Just as fine as I was when I last saw you three days ago," Damian said dryly, but he allowed himself to be tugged into an enthusiastic hug, and even leaned into it. Babs gave him a smile and a little wave, but Damian barely had time to nod before Cass had tugged him into an even more tight hug. "Baby brother is big," she said, reaching her arm almost to its maximum length to pet his hair. "Not fair."
"I have been informed that this is how it works," Damian choked, still sounding exasperated. Cass finally released him, and Damian immediately scrubbed at his hair to tamp it back into its usual style. He glanced once at Jason, and immediately dropped his gaze. "Todd," he said quietly.
"Brat," Jason said easily, swishing his glass and running his mismatched fingertips along the rim of the cup. The scar that ran down his cheek was healed, but still cut his features in a decidedly different way than they had been when he was younger. "Bet you're glad to have sprouted all the way."
Damian shrugged. Tim ordered his root beer for him rather than interrupt the conversation, waiting with baited breath.
"Pretty sure we've already covered this ground, tater tot, but this," Jason gestured to his cheek, and his hand, "was not remotely your fault. And besides, chicks dig scars. Ask Kara." He smirked.
Damian shrugged, eyes downcast.
Jason scooted over beside him, and stuck a finger under his chin, tilting his face up. "Look. I'm fine. I am fine, I'm going to be fine. And even if I wasn't---" his face grew hard, but not towards Damian, "---I'd do it again. Alright? And that's not a bad thing. It comes with the whole sibling territory. You got it?"
Damian met his gaze for a moment, then nodded solemnly, though he still looked troubled. Jason slid his hand once to bop Damian's nose, then dropped his hand to his lap again. "None of that broodiness. You may want to be like your dad someday, but it's still too early for me."
The others laughed. Damian managed a slight curve of the corner of his mouth.
The rest of lunch went smoothly, with everyone sharing memories of the ins-and-outs of the Manor, minus the suits. Damian even shared a few anecdotes of his own. The kitchen sent Damian a free Basbousa, which made him quite pleased. He shared a little bit of it with Steph, because she was eyeing it longingly and he tended towards fussing over proper nutrition in her condition, but declared the rest of it was his alone---though he left enough for everyone else to have a spoonful. Dick and Jason left a large tip.
Dick approached Tim as the others began to say their goodbyes and disperse. "What've you got up next on the agenda?" He asked quietly.
"Figured we'd head to the park. Jon's schedule is free."
"Do you need me to come by? For...after?" Dick asked.
Tim shrugged. "I don't think we'll need it...but I certainly don't think he'll complain about you having an unannounced sleepover."
Dick grinned. "I'll try and come tonight, then." He glanced up as Damian walked by with Steph. "I guess I'm headed home," Steph said, reaching for Tim's hand. "You guys have fun on your hike."
"Sure thing. Call me if you need anything." Tim gave her a quick kiss on the lips, which Damian rolled his eyes at, but said nothing.
"Don't you scoff," Steph scolded warmly. "You're a teenager now. Hormones are a thing, buddy."
"Your escapades are made tolerable only by nieces and nephews," Damian deadpanned. But he stroked a small, firm circle in her side. Tim was vaguely jealous. Steph only let Damian do that because she said he worried. Everyone else was forbidden because she was ticklish. But like he said, he was vaguely jealous. Mostly he just melted. He guessed marriage had a tendency to do that.
Once everyone was off on their own, Damian and Tim piled back into the car and drove a couple hours to the park. It was outside town, almost out into the countryside, but you could still see the city from the hills.
Tim fired off a text as they were getting their supplies out of the car, and by the time they were locking up, Jon was streaking down to land on his feet on the pavement beside them. "Dames!" He said happily, crossing the distance in two strides and hugging Damian.
"Um. Hello, Kent," Damian said, awkwardly patting Jon's back. Jon released him with a grin. "So. Do you expect me to hike, or can I---?"
"You may do whatever you please, Jonathan," Damian sighed.
Jon laughed, then saluted cockily. "See you guys at the top, then!" With that, he launched into the air and flew off through the trees, only restraining himself from breaking the sound barrier due to decency.
"Tt. I could do that, once," Damian muttered darkly, but took a swig of his water and hefted his bag up on his shoulder, heading up the trail. Tim followed, shaking his head.
It wound up taking them about two hours to climb the slope. They could have done it faster if they'd been hotfooting it, but they were taking their time. Damian stopped often to get out his camera and take a picture of a bird or flower or tree, and Tim did likewise. Occasionally, Jon would fly back down to them and hover overhead as they walked, and they chatted as they went.
Finally, they reached the top of the hill. The sun wouldn't set for another few hours, but it was at a definite downward angle, lighting up the distant buildings with a sharp, intense glow. Damian snapped a few different pictures of that. Tim, meanwhile, took the opportunity to reapply 100+ spf sunscreen. He had to admit, that was one thing he did envy Damian for.
Jon went with them the rest of the way down the mountain. When they were packing up the car, he tapped Damian on the shoulder.
"Do you...want me to come over later tonight? I have to be home for supper, but I could come back. Only if you want me to, though." He looked hesitant but ready to accept whatever answer he got.
"I...do not know, Jon," Damian admitted with a sigh. "Can I text you after...after I'm home? Right now, I would not mind, but I don't want to drag you all the way to Gotham to spend time with me if I will be too bitter to enjoy it."
"I wouldn't care. I've put up with you before," Jon said obstinately. "But if you don't feel like it, that's fine. And if you do, I'll come."
"I will text you," Damian promised. "Perhaps we can watch more of those cartoons you introduced me to last time."
"That'd be fun." Jon grinned. "Well, whether I see you later or not," he hugged Damian again. "Have a great rest of the day, 'kay? You deserve it."
"Tt." Damian rolled his eyes long-sufferingly at Tim, who shrugged. "Have a good evening too, Kent. Tell your parents I said hello."
"I will!" With that, Jon flew off. He did break the sound barrier this time. Damian got his hands over his ears in time. Tim was just a little bit too late.
"I wish he wouldn't do that," Damian muttered. "Every time he does, conspiracy theory pages explode."
Tim shrugged as he opened the trunk and tossed his bag in, wincing as his ears continued to ring. "He's a teenager who can fly. I can't say I blame him."
They drove back to the Manor from the park, stopping once to get Damian a cherry slushy since he decided he was in the mood for it. The sun was beginning to set when they pulled back into the Manor.
Damian went upstairs immediately, and it wasn't two minutes before the shower was running. Tim sighed, dropping into a chair in the kitchen and checking his phone. A text from Steph to let him know she got home okay, a text from Alfred about Bruce's SATs, a text from Dick letting him know he'd be a bit late, but would come around nine.
Alfred came into the kitchen, and Tim glanced up. "Hey, Alfie."
"Evening, Master Tim." Alfred took the seat across from Tim, sitting down more quickly than Tim was used to.
"Everything alright?" Tim asked, concerned.
"It's just...." Alfred sighed. "Master Bruce, sir. Not his health," he quickly amended at the concern morphing to worry on Tim's face, "It's just...it's hard. To see him upset. And he is, right now."
"Ah." Tim could imagine.
Damian wandered into the kitchen, in shorts and a t-shirt, his hair hopelessly flopped over his face again. He paused at the island. "Pennyworth," he said quietly.
"My dear boy," Alfred said, and just like that, Damian was across the room and buried in an almost desperate hug. "How was your day?" Alfred asked, into Damian's hair---the boy was much taller than he, now, but whenever he hugged Alfred he lowered down some.
Damian chuffed a hoarse laugh. "Acceptable, Pennyworth."
"Good." Alfred let the boy pull back a bit, though he remained kneeling beside Alfred's chair. Alfred cleared his throat, glancing down at Damian. "I believe that...your father would very much appreciate seeing you."
Damian ducked his head in a half-nod, his bangs flopping. Even from across the table, Tim could see the emotions warring in his dark green eyes.
"I...am willing to wager that you would very much like to see him, too," Alfred said softly, laying a gentle hand atop Damian's head and threading through his hair. "Is that correct?"
Damian nodded slightly.
"Do you want me to go with you?" Tim offered. Damian nodded vigorously.
"There there, Master Damian," Alfred said softly, as the boy gave a sudden, hoarse sob and scrubbed angrily at his eyes with his fist. "You'll be alright. It's alright." He gently brushed Damian's long bangs back from his eyes. Damian sniffled, scrubbing at his eyes with his fingers this time. Tim's heart sank watching them, even though it was somehow a warm sinking.
Steph would have laughed if he'd said that out loud. Maybe he'd text it to her later.
Finally, Damian climbed up to his feet. "I'm ready," he declared hoarsely, squaring his shoulders and balling his fists.
Tim pushed his chair back from the table and walked over to Damian. And then, on a sudden but certain impulse, he wrapped his arms around the younger boy and hugged him with a iron grip, arms locked tight around his broad shoulders, dusty, worn-out clothes against Damian's clean ones and all. Damian startled at first, but then reciprocated, wrapping his own arms carefully around Tim and leaning down to press his forehead against Tim's shoulder.
"You are such an overgrown little punk, and I am so damn proud of you," Tim whispered, and he felt Damian's chest heave with a breathless laugh. "The feeling is mutual," he snarked back, only a bit unsteady.
With one final squeeze, Tim reluctantly let go and stepped back, and Damian did likewise, scrubbing at his eyes again. Tim gave Damian a firm pat on the shoulder. "Down we go."
Damian nodded. "Down we go," he agreed, voice muffled.
Tim let Damian lead the way when the boy lightly shoved in front as Tim opened the clock. Down the stairs the two of them went, quiet, until they were in the familiar cold, musty air of the Cave. Batcow mooed in Damian's direction, and he trailed over and rubbed her head for a moment, murmuring softly to her. But finally, he lifted his chin and squared his shoulders and planted one foot in front of the other, striding into the med bay. Tim followed only a couple steps behind.
His first thought was that Bruce still somehow managed to look limp, deflated, even though he was definitely conscious: seeming to drink in the sight of Damian with half-open eyes, his gurney elevated so he could see them without having to sit up. It wasn't the worst injury he'd ever received by a long shot, but it was growing more and more difficult for him to shake off his injuries as quickly as he used to. But he immediately reached his hand out, only slightly trembling, towards Damian. "Damian. I was...was hoping you'd come. Come here, sit down."
Damian grasped his father's hand immediately, pulling a chair up behind him with his foot and sitting down, clasping their hands together in his lap. "Evening, Father," Damian said, hesitant and very much worried.
Bruce half-coughed a laugh. "Oh, my boy." His hand slipped from between Damian's and traveled up to Damian's face, gently rubbing his cheek. "Look at you. My boy."
Damian blinked, quiet tears welling in his eyes and spilling over once in a while. Bruce stroked them away whenever they spilled.
"How was your day, baby? Tell me everything. I'm...I'm sorry I couldn't be there."
"It's not your fault, Father, do not blame yourself, please," Damian pleaded, voice cracking. "I...well, Drake came this morning..."
He started the story, and Tim quietly got up, slipping out of the room unnoticed. He had a feeling that they'd be okay without him.
He fed and watered Batcow, so Damian wouldn't have to worry about doing it, and headed upstairs to his old bedroom. He texted Steph before getting in the shower. I think I'll stay the night, if it's okay with you. Just to be sure that we're good.
Of course. Give him a kiss from me and the babies.
Will do. Tim threw his phone onto the bedside table and went to shower.
When he got out, toweling off his hair and stepping back into his room, the sky outside his window was dark, and he could hear laughing and Mario Kart sound effects from down the hall in the game room. He shook his head with a stifled smile, flicking on his phone again. He looked one last time at his reminders for today. Damian's 18th birthday, survived, he thought, satisfied, as he switched the screen off and climbed into bed, sliding under the covers.