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Tim had had it all planned out.
Dick and Babs were in Bludhaven dealing with Heartless. Duke was hanging out with his civilian friends. Cass was in Hong Kong. Damian was participating in some sort of death tournament. Jason was doing… whatever it was that he did with Bizarro and Artemis – Tim honestly didn’t want to know. Steph was spending time with her mother.
All of that to say that he had made sure that all of his siblings were out of the way for the week after he got his wisdom teeth removed.
And yet, when he woke up, he had noticed something odd: Titus wasn’t at the end of his bed like he usually was when Damian was away.
Eh. Maybe Alfred was just feeding him earlier than usual since the two of them would be at the dentists’ office for a while.
So, he continued on with his daily routine without giving it a second thought. He cast an absent glance at the checklist on his door to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. Clothes, hair, check the news, try and find out where he put his shoes this time, text family members to make sure they’re okay...
At some point, Tim’s stomach growled. He made sure he had everything done. He headed downstairs for something to eat.
But, when he got to the kitchen, there was already someone there. And it wasn’t Alfred.
Damian Wayne sat on a barstool in front of the counter, petting Titus with one hand and eating a bowl of Froot Loops with the other. His phone was in front of him, propped up by his bowl, and it seemed to be playing some kind of video. Damian had never looked more like a kid. It was weird.
Tim, briefly, considered turning around. Damian was on his phone, if he actually was the normal person he seemed to be this would mean that he hadn’t noticed him. But he wasn’t a normal person. Tim had no doubts that Damian knew he was there and had simply chosen not to acknowledge him yet.
Tim strode past, pulling one of his brother’s earbuds out of his ears on the way. “Hey, demon spawn, no phones at the table.”
“Drake,” Damian all but hissed.
He wasn’t scared.
“Wayne,” he said easily. “Didn’t know you were getting back so soon. How was the murder island?”
Damian gave him an unimpressed look. “I won. As expected.”
Tim hummed a little to acknowledge the response. He had been asking how he was, not how he did, but he couldn’t bring himself to correct the slight misunderstanding.
It was when he reached for a Nutrigrain bar that Alfred materialized in the doorway, giving him a stern look.
He paused, frowning. Sure, Alfred often gave him stern looks when it pertained to food, but usually that was because he had forgotten to eat. He was about to eat now, why was this wrong?
“Master Timothy, need I remind you that you aren’t supposed to eat?”
Damian’s eyes narrowed. So did Tim’s. They were equally confused, trying to figure out just what was going on…
Oh. Right. He wasn’t supposed to eat for eight hours before his surgery. That was why his appointment was so early (For a bat. It was one in the afternoon.). Tim had joked that there was no need to make it after he was supposed to wake up, that you could pick practically any time and – thanks to his tendency to hyperfixate on things – it would be a pretty safe bet that he hadn’t eaten. Alfred hadn’t been amused. Tim had picked the two-thirty time slot.
He set the breakfast bar down.
“Right. Sorry, Alfie.”
Alfred seemed satisfied. Damian was anything but, eyes darting between the two of them as if he could somehow will the tiny interaction to make sense to him.
He fiddled with his hands in front of him. Maybe he should pull out his phone? No, Damian would chide him for having his phone out after he had just gotten onto him about it.
… god, he wanted something to fiddle with.
“So, how long will you be staying at the manor?”
Something akin to hurt flickered behind Damian’s eyes. Tim didn’t know how to take the question back.
“I live here,” he said curtly, drawing in on himself.
He nodded his understanding. Damian wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. Maybe he could postpone the appointment for another time? It wasn’t like pain was all that new to him, he could bear it for however long he needed to.
Alfred was giving him a particularly disapproving look (Without changing his expression at all. How does he do that?). His apparent omniscience strikes again.
Tim sighed a little. Well. The kid would find out anyway. “Should we head over early for my appointment?”
“If you so wish.”
Damian frowned. “Appointment?”
“Getting my wisdom teeth removed,” Tim said, tapping his cheeks to further emphasize the words.
There it was. The understanding, morphing into amusement.
“I see. And I suppose you will need someone to take care of you.”
“I have Alfred and B,” Tim said quickly. “They can help. You don’t need to worry yourself.”
“His assistance would be much appreciated Master Timothy.”
Tim gave Alfred a look full of betrayal.
“I only wish for what is best for you,” Alfred said, despite the amusement threatening to crinkle the corners of his eyes saying otherwise.
But, even if it seemed to just be something to entertain their butler-grandpa-hybrid, Tim knew he wasn’t going to win this argument. What Alfred says goes. He accepted his fate.
~
Damian watched with weary eyes as Drake and Pennyworth made their way across the threshold.
Drake looked rather like a chipmunk, his cheeks bulging with gauze and bandages. His eyes were half-lidded. His gait was ambling at best without help and even with Pennyworth’s support he looked to be barely holding himself upright.
He was tempted to take a picture of his brother in his sorry state, but alas. Pennyworth had informed him that any form of photography or videography was strictly forbidden. Damian wasn’t one to listen to rules, but he tended to at least take them into account when Pennyworth was the one giving them. And he would never break the rules when the man was right in front of him.
Damian made his way over to lift his brother. Not for Drake’s sake, of course, but because Pennyworth was aging and it wouldn’t do him any good to carry such an oaf.
“Help him up to his room for me?” Pennyworth ‘asked’ (read: commanded). “I need to prepare his salt water.”
Damian nodded and started carrying his older brother up the stairs. Drake was, apparently, no more willing to make things easy on him than he had been for Pennyworth. Thankfully, he was around 150 pounds soaking wet and Damian had been lifting such weights since he was one and a half.
Drake smiled at him, a painful thing from the looks of it. “You’re so… tiny,” he said. He brought a hand up to pinch his cheek.
Damian bristled. Batted the hand away. “I’m almost as tall as you, and you’re five years my elder. If either of us is short, it’s you.”
“We can both be short, Dames, I won’t hog the title.”
What would happen if he simply… dropped him?
“It’s not a bad thing to be short. It’s cute.”
Damian scowled. “I am not cute. I am the heir –.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re Batman’s kid and the future ruler of the League or whatever. Doesn’t make you not cute. You’re a baby.”
“I have seen things – done things – that you couldn’t even dream of –.”
“Shhhhhhh. You’ll always be my little baby brother.”
Damian was not enjoying this nearly as much as he had imagined he would. Where was all the embarrassing crying and spilling of dumb secrets that always seemed to go viral? Were those special cases? Were they hamming it up for the camera? Because, while Drake was clearly out of it, he wasn’t nearly as bad as anything he had seen.
But he had committed himself to helping regardless, and he wasn’t one to go back on his word.
So, he lugged the oaf to his room. The light was still on, he must have forgotten to turn it off when he left that morning.
Damian pushed Drake onto his bed. There. Done.
Except apparently not, because Drake caught his wrist in a weak grip.
“Cold.”
“There are blankets underneath you. Figure it out.”
“Damessssssssssss.”
Damian glared at him. He imagined smothering him in his own blankets. He could make it seem like an accident, 800 people die every year tangled in their bedsheets. Sure, many of those people are infants but Drake was rather infantile so this was hardly a mark against him…
He grit his teeth and leaned over his older brother, cursing him out in Arabic as he helped him get under the blankets.
But, even after he finished, Drake still refused to let go.
“Stay? I’m still cold,” Drake mumbled.
Damian wondered what was taking Pennyworth so long. Not that Pennyworth would have gotten into bed with Drake, but at least then he wouldn’t ask.
“This wasn’t listed in the job description.”
“Maybe you should’ve read the fine print, then,” Drake said, smiling as much as he could. The smile was weak, it hardly lasted long enough for Damian to take note of it. Then, it was gone, replaced by a pained expression.
… ugh.
“Only for a few moments.”
“I’ll take what I can get.”
He reluctantly climbed into the bed and allowed his brother to hug him like he was a teddy bear and not a person who had better things to do.
“I don’t know why you insist on torturing me like this,” Damian complained.
Drake buried his face in his hair. “Not torture. Wanted hugs.”
“Sure.”
“It’s true. Missed you when you were gone.”
Damian rolled his eyes.
Drake must have taken the silence for the disbelief it was, because he added: “Well, ‘missed’ wasn’t the right word, really. I… was worried about you.”
“I am not a child, Drake –.”
“You’re fifteen, that’s literally a child.”
“-- you need not worry about me,” he continued on as if he hadn’t heard him.
“I know. You’re very capable. But I still worry. I care about you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Ah. This seemed to be the effects of the medication he was on. He was much more… honest. More willing to be vulnerable. Damian didn’t know if he liked it.
“I hope these painkillers wear off soon. You are far too sentimental for my taste.”
Drake chuckled a little and drew him closer. “I love you, Dames.”
Damian only hummed in answer.
Drake’s breathing slowly evened out and Damian was stuck staring at a wall as he waited for him to awaken again so he could get away without disturbing him.
After a while, Pennyworth’s head poked in. Finally. Freedom.
“Help.”
Pennyworth only smiled in that tiny way that he often did and flipped the light switch, throwing them into relative darkness.
“Pennyworth! Don’t leave me with him!” He whisper-yelled.
He got no answer outside of the tiny sliver of light from the hallway slowly disappearing.
Damian murmured in Arabic, cursing him out.
“Shhhhhh,” Drake murmured. “Sleepy-time. No talking.”
Yeah. He was going to murder him.
… but later, Damian thought. He couldn’t reach his katanas where he was, after all.
He closed his eyes. Time passed in silence.
“I love you, too, even if you’re an imbecile,” Damian murmured into the darkness.
Drake smiled a little against his hair.