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Damian's eyes snapped open, and he just managed to stifle the cry that was about to escape him, turning it into a sort of strangled scream.
It was a nightmare, he told himself, trying to calm his racing heart and slow down his breathing. You're being silly. You're safe.
His room was dark and shadowed, and he couldn't quite convince himself that he was alone, that black-clad assassins weren't about to slip out from behind the drapes and in the closet and under the bed and grab him and take him back to Nanda Parbat.
Back to the League.
Back to his grandfather.
You're being silly, he told himself again. Childlike. Only babies believe there are monsters under the bed.
But there had been shadows on the distant rooftops when he and Father had been out on patrol. Damian was familiar with the weight of a League assassin's attention, the way their stare made the hairs on his arms stand up and the space behind his ears itch.
He couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched.
Carefully, slowly, he reached under his pillow for his knife. There was no guarantee it would do him any good, but any weapon was better than none.
Briefly, he entertained the notion of going to his father, or to Dick — but Father had been exhausted after patrol, and Dick's date had gone badly. Besides, either of them would have dismissed Damian's concerns. The house was impenetrable, and the League wouldn't be so bold as to kidnap him right from under their noses. Damian was aware of both of those facts, and it was doing nothing to assuage his growing anxiety.
Best not to disturb them, then. There were, of course, other options in the house. But Cass and Jason were both too close to ex-League for Damian's comfort, and Duke was woefully inexperienced. And Tim…
On one hand, Tim was the only person Damian had ever known to beat his grandfather at his own game. He was still awake, audibly typing in his room across the hall. If there was anyone in this house who could take on a team of League assassins at that time of night, it would be him.
Damian knew his siblings would sometimes sleep in Tim's room while he was working. It wasn't unprecedented. But Damian did not do that. The two of them were certainly on better terms than they had been in the past, but that meant very little, and the working peace between them was tentative. Damian knew that.
He also knew that he was a sitting duck here, even with the knife in his hand.
You're being silly.
Damian made up his mind and slipped out from under his blankets, creeping soundlessly across the hall to Tim's half-open door.
"Hey," Tim said, not looking towards the doorway. He seemed thoroughly occupied with the lines of code streaming across his computer screen. "Rough night?"
Damian couldn't make his voice work.
"That bad, huh?" Tim paused briefly, entering a command and pulling up another tab. "I'll be done with this in about half an hour. Go ahead."
Damian climbed up the ladder into the loft bed and pressed his back against the wall, forgoing the blankets in favor of pressing one of Tim's pillows to his chest. He hoped it was thick enough to repel blades, or at least slow them down. At least the light was on, and the window was clearly visible from his vantage point. If they decided to come for him, he would be able to see them.
He could hear the rhythmic pattern of typing from Tim's desk, could smell the lingering traces of coffee. Damian would never understand why Tim had opted for a loft bed, as if he were some kind of broke college student trying to conserve as much space as possible. But he couldn't deny that it made him feel the smallest bit safer. He held the higher ground, after all.
He curled tighter around the pillow, tucking it between his knees and his chest, and began counting out his breaths. Hold for two. In for four. Hold for six. Out for eight. He couldn't get his breathing to settle into the rhythm.
Below him, Tim pushed his chair back and sighed. "Okay, I'm done. Let me just brush my teeth and change."
He headed out of the room without another word, and Damian tried to ignore the way his stomach dropped. He adjusted his grip on his knife.
The door creaked open again. "I'm back," Tim's voice said from the base of the ladder. "If you're asleep already, I'm going to be really pissed I stopped worki—" He stopped short as he took in who was curled up on top of his bed.
Damian stared at Tim.
Tim stared at Damian.
This had clearly been a terrible idea. Damian had let his fear get the better of him. He should have stayed in his own bed, not gone into Tim's room like a child, like he could expect Tim to protect him.
"What's wrong?" Tim asked cautiously, and Damian felt his eyes sting. His heart rate picked up further. This was humiliating. He was being utterly ridiculous, and yet he couldn't bring himself to let go of the pillow and regain some semblance of dignity.
"Damian. Hey." Tim held out one hand. "Knife."
Damian blinked at him.
"Come on. I don't want to worry about you stabbing me if I try to help you. Or yourself." Tim opened and closed his hand once. "I'll give it right back once you're not shaking."
He hadn't realized he was shaking. Slowly, he extended his hand and held the knife out.
Tim took it carefully and tucked it in the organizer hanging off the side of the bedframe before pulling himself up onto the mattress. He had to slouch slightly to keep his head from hitting the ceiling when he sat up.
"What's got you so freaked out?" he asked.
Damian swallowed hard and hoped his voice wouldn't betray him. "Grandfather."
"Ra's?"
"His assassins were watching me on patrol."
"B didn't say anything about that."
"We didn't see them. I—" he was being such a baby about this— "I could sense them."
Tim was quiet. Damian braced himself to be dismissed and sent back to his own room. Maybe Tim would at least give him the knife back, if he was lucky.
It wasn't likely. The odds that Tim would interpret this as another murder attempt were low, but still far from zero. Even then, Damian knew he seemed rather pathetic, curled up against the wall and trembling about assassins.
He wasn't sure if it would be worse for Tim to keep the knife out of suspicion or out of pity.
"Okay," Tim finally said. He reached towards the foot of the bed for the neatly folded blanket lying at the end. "Here."
He draped it over Damian, tugging it up to his chin. It was heavy and warm, and the dark color reminded him vaguely of Batman's bulletproof cape.
"Weighted blanket," Tim explained. "Good for security."
"It smells like coffee."
Tim laughed slightly. "Yeah. Pro tip: coffee is not good for security. Stick with the blanket."
Damian managed a nod.
"Feeling a little better?"
He nodded again.
"That's good. Can I have my pillow back?"
Damian pushed the corner of the pillow out from under the blanket and let Tim tug it out of his grip. Tim set it back where it belonged and stretched out in the space next to him, staring up at the ceiling.
"You want to… talk about it?" he asked Damian.
"I do not," Damian snapped.
Tim seemed unfazed. "Good, 'cause you probably should have gone to Dick for that." He hesitated. "Why here?"
Damian tried to think of a way to explain it that didn't sound utterly childish. "You beat him."
"Dick?"
"Grandfather." He took a deep breath and added, "I do not wish to be returned to him."
"Then you won't be." Tim rolled onto his side, facing the edge of the bed, so Damian was tucked between his back and the wall.
"What are you doing?" Damian asked the back of his head.
"Keeping watch. You should get some sleep."
"So should you."
"Insomnia, remember?"
"Tt."
"You want me to leave the light on?"
"I'm not a child."
"Alright." Tim leaned over and flicked the light switch off, then pulled the duvet over them both. "Let me know if you change your mind."
Damian tried to match his breaths to Tim's calm, steady ones. It wasn't working. The shadows in the room shifted, and he couldn't stop the panicked noise that escaped him.
"Just headlights from the road," Tim reported, as if Damian had requested a status update. "I've got it covered. Close your eyes."
He closed his eyes and curled up more tightly, until his forehead was resting against the space between Tim's shoulders and all he could see when he opened them again was the back of Tim's shirt.
"You'll be alright," Tim said matter-of-factly, the same way he'd say The sun rises in the east or I don't have a spleen. His voice vibrated faintly against Damian's forehead.
You'll be alright.
Damian would never admit it, but it was reassuring.