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Take stock of what you have before choosing a plan. This lesson was one of the first things Damian was taught when he began his tactician training under his mother’s and father’s instruction, so that is what he did as he was shoved onto the sand below him. He had his sword and a knife in his boot still but no utility belt, the left side of his mask was shattered and showing his bruised green eye, his uniform was torn and stained with mud, blood, and sweat in various places, and Tim was laying in a pool of his blood and unconscious. Damian can feel the exhaustion in his bones, blood pumping in veins, and adrenaline fading from his system. As he moves to stand his muscles protests, but his mind screaming at him to keep going, racing with various plans, odds, but most importantly, Tim.
How much time does he have? How much blood left in his veins? He can’t last much longer before he—
He cuts that thought before it can fully form. Because Tim can’t. He just can’t. Damian won’t let him go.
With aching feet, he stands and lifts his sword with throbbing arms and hands, pointing the tip of his blade towards his opponent.
“Oh, you are so foolish, Grandson. You have no way out, or contacting anyone. Why do you think you can win?” Ras mocks, his voice smooth yet Damian can feel it grate against his skin.
Damian keeps his eyes trained on Ra’s, and begins to place his plan into action. “I do not expect to win,” he says with a calm, confident voice.
Ra’s raises an eyebrow at his words, intrigued by the teen’s words. “Then why do you fight, if not to win?”
“I fight to keep my family away from you and your evil plans and excruciating manipulations. No one should suffer as I and my mother have. I will make sure of it.”
“So, you are delaying the inevitable?”
“Perhaps, but it will be enough,” Damian speaks with assurance, akin to someone pointing out the obvious. Because Damian knows that what he does has to be enough, otherwise Damian is going to die and he is not interested to do that again, at least not until he reaches his twenties.
Maybe he could live to his thirties, that would be splendid.
Ra’s gives Damian a disappointed look, and when Damian was younger that look always made him feel worthless. However, now it drives him and gives him the strength to continue, because if he was disappointing Ra’s then Damian knew he was doing something right. When Ra’s speaks again his voice is oozing with disgust, “You have become more foolish every time I see you.” Then Ra’s brings his sword against Damian’s, then his voice morphs to a calm tone, “But if you are determined to act this way, it is up to me to punish you.”
“At least I have a family. Since Mother has left your cult, you have no family, no heir,” Damian says, beginning to put his plan into action, “You have no one. Is why you dragged Timothy out here? For you to have a protégé? Or a second in command? Perhaps you were going to take his body over instead, since you could not have mine.” As he continues his speech, Damian backs up, slowly making his way to Tim. He hears Tim’s shallow breaths and a glance down tells Damian that Tim’s eyes are beginning to open.
Perfect.
“I think when you took my brother, you were not only trying to pick a new participant for your pathetic council, but also trying to hurt my family by taking a vital member of it. But there is one problem with your plans.”
“What is that, Grandson?”
Damian runs at Ra’s sword swinging, but dropping at the last second and slides between Ra’s’ legs, then swings his sword to block Ra’s’ sword coming down on him.
Ra’s eyes grow wide as a knife was sunk into his back.
“We keep each other safe,” Tim says as Ra’s turns to face the older Robin, “and you never seem to learn that lesson.”
Ra’s shoves Tim off of him, Tim rips the knife out of Ra’s back, and Damian swings his sword causing Ra’s to jump back. “I will not let you children stop me!” he shouts and begins to hack at both the Robins. Damian and Tim split and surround Ra’s, fighting in sync, where one would block the other would attack, and when one would get hit the other would distract Ra’s till the he recovered. The three fought with fluidity, as if this was a routine dance that they have practiced hundreds of times.
Soon the wind picked up and sound of a gun being fired echoing through the battle field, causing the three to halt their dangerous dance. Tim could see a red helmet stick out of the door, blue flash jump out of the helicopter and run to them, and he feels Damian and himself relax slightly to see their brothers.
“Hey! You took some people that aren’t yours!” Jason shouts from his place.
“I didn’t know you collected little birds, Ra’s. Too bad these already have a perfectly good home!” Dick quips as he lands a kick to the old man’s jaw.
Later, after reaching home and Alfred does a complete medical exam, the youngest boys are laying in the living room watching some HGTV to bore them to sleep. After Damian is almost asleep, head resting against the couch arm and legs curling underneath him, Tim looks at the youngest of his family. Taking a deep breath, Tim throws his favorite fuzzy blanket over Damian’s lap, and says, “Thanks for saving me, Damian,” then he stands, squeezes the youngest’s knee, and drapes himself across the couch, “You better not kick me off this couch.”