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Damian already wasn’t in a good mood.
Patrol had started rough. His siblings had been unforgiving. They’d made fun of him and mocked him the entire evening. He’d argued with them and gotten angry. At one point, he’d even threatened to turn off his comm. The only reason he hadn’t was because his father had lectured him from the cave. He was on computer duty because he’d sprained his ankle, which meant he’d been listening in on everything. That made Damian even more irritated, knowing his father had refrained from jumping to his defense. Damian could only handle so much of his brother’s behavior.
Even when he was thrown into the middle of an altercation between criminals, he heard no end of their quips.
“Could you imbeciles just shut up!?” Damian yelled out. His opponents didn’t have the time to be confused by his outburst. He was knocking them out with a feverish frustration. “What benefit is there to this? Why do you find humor in my irritation!?”
“Aw, someone needs a nap,” Jason teased.
Damian gritted his teeth. Jason had been making jokes about his age the entire night, and he was getting really tired of being treated like an idiot.
“I think he’s just hangry,” Tim interjected, “because who wouldn’t be if all they had to eat was rabbit food 24/7?”
“I can’t imagine a life without meat,” Jason said.
Damian vibrated with his anger. It was one thing to make fun of his emotions, but to step on his convictions? Damian wasn’t looking to impress anybody with his choices, but his brothers were criticizing him just for the hell of it. It hurt more than it should have. Damian found himself visibly distressed, enough so that it seemed to impact his performance, and that would be enough to explain why he’d been caught off-guard mid-sentence.
“I won’t tolerate any more of this baseless slander—”
Damian gasped when someone smacked something hard against his skull. His vision went white. Pain shot through his head like a nail driven into a wall. He was compromised. His anger was his downfall.
Damian fell because he was swarmed by angry men on all sides. He was unprepared for the onslaught of kicks. He did the only thing he could do. He pulled up his arms to protect his head.
“Robin?”
Jason’s tone was cautious and alert. Damian didn’t bother answering him because he couldn’t.
“Wait, stop kicking him,” one man yelled out to the rest.
Damian found no relief even after they ceased. It hurt everywhere. He couldn't breathe. His ribs hurt and his lungs felt bruised.
“I bet we could get a pretty coin by turning him in to one of the big shots around town. Cobblepot, maybe? He’s loaded, isn’t he? And, come to think of it, doesn’t Jesse owe him a debt anyways? Might do him some good.”
Damian heard the rest of the man’s company grunt and mumble in agreement. Within the next ten minutes, they’d all decided they’d stick around until one of Penguin’s goons came to pick him up. Damian didn’t have the brainpower to think about the implication. He was dazed and confused. He couldn’t think straight. His head throbbed.
What had they even hit him with?
“He doesn’t look so tough when he’s like this.”
A nudge from a foot. Damian didn’t respond.
“Can’t believe this garbage is responsible for the stab wound in my brother’s shoulder. Can’t even move his arm anymore. Do you know how much we had to pay in medical bills?”
Damian didn’t stab people anymore, so this must be an incident in his sketchy history.
“Maybe I should repay him. Give him a broken arm. Penguin won’t mind if he’s missing a few spare parts.”
A foot pressed down on his elbow. Damian wondered how much more pain he'd have to endure. If his arm was broken, how could he protect his head? He held his breath as more pressure was added. He wanted to prepare himself for the pain, but he couldn't conjure up the proper techniques. His thoughts were foggy and scattered.
“Might want to remove that foot,” a voice growled out into the night. “How about I do it for you?”
There was no further warning before a shot rang out in the air, and a scream of pain sent panicked yells throughout Damian’s assailants. Damian’s hazy vision had a difficult time making out the falling blur or the erupting chaos. He stayed in his position. He could do little else.
“What was that about spare parts?” Jason’s voice sounded like it was full of grit and rage. “I think I should shoot your hand off next for that comment.”
“No! I – I didn’t mean any of it!”
Damian watched Jason slam a foot (or at least what he assumed was Jason) on a fallen man, stabbing his steel-toed boots into his victim’s gut, and twisting it real deep.
“Oh, really?” he asked, voice falling toneless.
The man whimpered. “Yes. I swear. I was just joking around. I wasn’t going to do anything!”
A pause. A tense moment of anticipation as another form fell down onto the ground, sweeping towards Damian’s position. Damian’s whole vision was obscured as Tim gently removed his arms from his head. “Where does it hurt?” he asked, voice dangerous and calm.
Damian opened his mouth and then groaned instead of giving him a proper answer. He couldn’t even think, let alone speak.
“Show me,” Tim encouraged.
Damian shakily reached up for his head again, slipping his arm out of Tim’s grip.
“They hit you on the head?”
Tim sounded like he wanted to kill something. Damian didn’t have the time to look into it. His ears were turning him out, zoning back in on Jason’s angry rant behind Tim.
“—you don’t have any right to talk smack about Robin. He’s off limits. You understand?”
“Yes! Yes! I understand! Please, have mercy on me!”
Silence.
Then, sarcasm.
"Guess you'll have to forgive me for doubting you."
Tim was running hands down his body and Damian hardly had the ability to register the thunder that cracked in the air. Deliriously, he realized it hadn’t been thunder.
“Robin, damn it, focus on me,” Tim demanded.
Damian tried and failed.
Damian remembered the check-up after his patrol –remembered the way Tim held him tightly on his bike. Jason’s silent rage. His father’s grief. Dick’s verbal explosion of fury. Cass’ reverent quiet.
Father had stayed with him for most of the night, only to be driven away by Alfred, who claimed he needed sleep, which Damian agreed he was better off receiving. He was left alone for a few minutes before Tim came stumbling back down to feed him. He’d yet to even broach Damian’s situation. All he did was monitor his health.
“Cease your babying,” Damian grumbled as Tim fed him.
“I’m not babying you,” Tim returned.
Damian was too tired to argue with him. He fell into the numbness of his pain medication. That’s all that he could manage right now. Even with his father’s special remedy, he could still feel a throb in his head.
He had the faculties to ask a question, though.
“If this isn’t babying, what is it?”
Tim set Damian’s spoon back down in his bowl.
“Taking care of my brother.” Tim’s eyes were serious and hard. “They had no right to speak to you like that.”
“How is it any different from the way you speak to me?”
Tim grimaced. He sat back in his seat.
“That’s different. I don’t actually mean half the things I say. I hope you know that.” Tim paused. “Jason doesn’t mean most of what he says, either. He just likes riling you up.”
Damian gripped his pants into fists.
“Don’t lie to me. You dislike me. Both of you.”
Tim stared at him. All he could muster was a confused, “What?”
“You treat each other well enough, but you criticize all of my choices. You continuously mock me, and you don’t stop even when I ask you to. You don’t respect me and it’s obvious to make out. Don’t take me for a fool.”
Tim opened his mouth. Then he shut it. Finally, “Is that what you think? I—” He went quiet, in a stunned sort of way. “I didn’t realize that you—” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what to say.”
Damian glared at his lap.
“Look. I’m not great at words,” Tim tried again, “but you want to know how I felt when you stopped responding to us on comms? My heart was racing – like – heart-attack racing,” he struggled to explain, “and Jason and I didn’t waste a second trying to track you down. When we saw what they were about to do to you, what they already had done to you, I wanted to get my hands on them and pop their skulls.”
Damian looked up with surprise. What?
“I know I’m not great at communicating, but we’re family Damian. You’re a part of my life, and I’d like to keep it that way. I – I didn’t know that you thought I didn’t like you. I—” He ran a hand over his hair. “I’ll stop trying to antagonize you. I’ll cool it down.”
Damian felt touched despite his better judgment, and yet Tim looked too sincere over the words he’d spilled.
He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t muster a sound. Tim deserved a response after that kind of speech. He must not have felt the same, though. He returned to the bowl of soup in his hands and then lifted the spoon back up in offering.
"I'm serious Damian." He stared him straight in the eye. “So, what do you say? Brothers?”
Damian felt as if his eyes were burning. He left Tim hanging for a few seconds too long as he deliberated over his reply. Had this really been a big misunderstanding? Did Tim actually care about him? His words would suggest so.
He swallowed.
“Brothers,” Damian agreed meekly.
Tim smiled.
Damian let Tim push the spoon back into his mouth and simultaneously allowed himself to be optimistic for once in his life. He hoped the trust he was putting in Tim’s hands wouldn’t be taken advantage of.
And it wasn’t.
Because the next patrol started out much the same as the last, after Damian had recovered. Jason felt comfortable enough to annoy him, claiming it was his responsibility as his older brother, pretending he’d never shot off a man’s hand off on Damian’s behalf, but Tim had refused to join Jason’s teasing.
“Come on, Hood, lay off it,” he’d said.
Damian’s heart had never been lighter.