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It wasn’t supposed to go like this.
This was meant to be a quick job, a stealth mission. In and out. Minimal combat at best. So, of course, this is the one time Tim didn’t over prepare.
Red Robin is throwing smoke pellets left and right, trying to distract and confuse the crowd of angry henchmen as best he can while supporting his little brother’s weight.
Robin had been taking on the brunt of the attack while Tim was attempting to salvage the mission by gathering the data they had come for, when one lucky bastard had gotten a shot in straight through Damian’s shoulder. To his credit, Damian had responded with a swift kick to the jaw, dislocating it and incapacitating the goon in a decidedly humane way. The kid seemed more angry than in pain, and Tim had almost thought Damian could keep it up, but soon enough he began to stumble through his attacks. He’d managed to take down at least six other goods before another henchman managed a solid punch to the gut that had Damian toppling to the ground.
For some reason, in that moment, Tim felt something akin to primal rage fill his chest. All thought of data or mission or casework completely fled his mind, instead replaced with a fierce expression of ‘NO’.
He hadn’t realized he’d said that out loud, too.
In a movement swift and furious, Tim had hurled himself over Damian’s fallen form, striking out against the attacker with his staff. He’d quickly disarmed the man before the end of his weapon came down on the bastard’s head with a sickening crack. Then, Tim had turned to his little brother without looking back.
Now, Tim is firing his grapple gun into the rafters above and hoisting a dead-weight Damian over his shoulder. He can hear the commotion below at their sudden disappearance from the now dispersing cloud of smoke, but all he cares about is the blood he can feel running down his back as he alights on the support beams.
Shit. Shitshitshit.
He shifts the boy as carefully as he can off his shoulder, laying him upright against a pillar. Damian’s head is lolling to the side, but his eyes are open, if only slightly. His skin is pale and clammy now and his breathing is laboured. The blood loss is kicking in surprisingly fast, for Damian at least. Tim takes a look at the back of his shoulder: a clean shot through, no bullet. That’s good news at least.
His movements are frantic as he begins to patch up the wound. He can’t think of much else at this point other than ‘shit’ or ‘gotta stop the bleeding’ or ‘call Alfred/Bruce/Dick/anyone’ or ‘stay with me kiddo’.
He says that last one out loud, which earns him a very soft scoff, but the sound fills him with wave of relief. At least the boy is lucid enough to sass him, and Tim never thought that idea would bring him this much joy.
He manages to stop the bleeding, but he knows Damian needs a transfusion, and soon. He activates the emergency signal linked to the emblem on his chest, hoping to god that Bruce isn’t using the Batwing for something important tonight.
Not that anything could more important than this problem right here.
Tim pushes Damian’s sweaty bangs out of his face. His forehead is wet, the sweat beating as it falls down his temple. The boy’s eyes are starting to flutter closed and Tim taps gently at Damian’s cheek to keep him awake.
He’s muttering gentle words of comfort that he’s never uttered before to Damian, never thought he’d be allowed to without losing a couple fingers. His hands are shaking as he keeps pressure on the wound, chin wobbling dangerously as Damian gets paler beside him. He’s never known this feeling before.
His chest is clenching so tight, he feels like he’s gonna throw up and hyperventilate at the same time. Tim wonders if this is how Dick feels whenever he gets hurt in the field. When any of them do. If this is what it feels like to be the big brother.
He decides that Dick gets a big hug when they get home.
After what feels like an eternity the Batwing arrives and Tim is lifting Damian up like a baby, and it scares him that the kids not protesting. Getting back to the Cave is a blur of city skyline and Damian’s far-too-young face relaxing as he fades into exhaustion. It only occurs to Tim now that thirteen is young. Damian is still so young.
Alfred and Bruce are quick and mechanical as they rush Damian to the med bay, Tim following in hazy, single-minded pursuit. Dick is there, halfway out of his Nightwing costume and clearly conflicted between going to Damian’s side and helping Tim through his delirium.
Seeming to decide on the latter, as Alfred and Bruce have a solid hold on the situation, a firm hand settles on Tim’s shoulder as they wait outside the med bay. A vague memory of a promise nicks at the back of his mind, and then Tim is throwing his arms around Dick’s waist and burying his face in a broad shoulder in one of the tightest hugs he’s ever given. Dick clings to him in return, and they just stand like that for a while until Alfred comes out with news that Damian is stable, and currently sleeping off the trauma.
Tim doesn’t change, despite all three present members of his family trying to persuade him. He just sits next to Damian’s bed side with glazed eyes and aching limbs, waiting for tired eyelids to flutter open.
Eventually they do, and relief washes over him. Damian looks so tired and pained and so, so young but Tim doesn’t say anything, just presses a glass of water into Damian’s good hand and gets out of his chair to tell the others that the boy had woken up. After a general check over, Alfred deems Damian to be on the mend, and Tim settles back into his chair with his tablet.
They don’t talk. They barely look at each other. When Dick comes in to check them both, Tim leaves to change, finally, but comes right back in time to sit back down as Dick leaves the room again.
Damian doesn’t comment on Tim’s presence. Tim doesn’t say a word to Damian in return, and in all honesty, he’s just scared that if he does, something will burst, and it’ll change too much for either of them to handle.
So, he just stays, and waits, and injects morphine into the IV when Damian grimaces in pain and fetches him water when he coughs. He brings an extra blanket when Damian gets cold, and helps him up to his room when he’s well enough to make the trip. And then he stays with him there too.
Because that’s what big brothers are supposed to do, right?