Work Text:
Damian sat in a pool of sunlight in the breakfast nook, comfortable in the warmth through the window. He had a sketchbook in front of him, halfway through an art piece, though he’d paused to let some paint dry. Relaxing back into the seat cushion, he scratched Alfred (the cat) under the chin as he stared out over the gardens.
It had been a long time since Damian had felt comfortable in the quiet like this.
Someone let out a long groan as they dropped into the nook opposite Damian.
“Good morning, Richard,” Damian said, hardly turning at the noise. “You’re up earlier than expected.”
Richard let out another groan, petering out weakly.
Damian’s eyes slid over at that, concern etching itself in his brow. Richard had his head buried in his arms, hair falling loose from his ponytail in a curtain over his face.
“... Why are you awake?”
Richard didn’t reply, and Damian hummed, shifting to set one hand on his chin in thought. Richard had always been prone to headaches and migraines — something that only increased in frequency after KGBeast's attack. Half the time, Damian wasn't even aware that Richard had stayed at the manor overnight instead of returning to Blüdhaven, sleeping off migraines in the dark of his old room.
Damian had known Richard had spent the previous night in Gotham, working on a case with Father, so while he wasn't surprised at his presence, he did find his appearance downstairs unusual.
Richard's body somehow went more boneless than before, sinking further into the table, and Damian sighed lightly.
“Richard,” he said softly, reaching across the nook to tap his forearm. Richard lifted his head just enough to peer at Damian through his hair, eyes squinted half shut in bleary pain. “Why are you not in your room?”
Richard blinked. He parted his lips for a moment, seemingly to answer, before his eyes slid closed and he dropped down onto his arms again, mumbling incoherently.
Damian clicked his tongue. He scooped up Alfred, sliding out of the nook and rounding the table, setting the cat down next to Richard.
“Look after him,” he ordered. Promptly, Alfred rubbed up against Richard's side with a purr, and Richard withdrew one hand from the table to bury it in his fur, the other arm still pillowing his head. Satisfied, Damian moved further into the kitchen.
A brewed coffee pot sat half-empty on the counter, and he fetched Richard's favourite mug to fill it, stirring in a spoonful of sugar. He located a tea tray and set the mug on top of it, before going to the medicine cabinet.
The cabinet was certainly more extensive than any regular family's, accounting for their work as well as everyone's personal specifications. They had a million bottles of various vitamins and supplements, several kinds of painkillers available in all forms, a few labelled with “JASON DONT TAKE — YOU ARE ALLERGIC“, plus lozenges in every flavour, as nobody could agree on what kind.
Debating which ones would be best to combat a migraine, Damian shook out the correct amounts of painkillers, setting them on the tray and filling up a glass of water for Richard to wash them down with.
After another moment's thought, Damian went to the fridge and pulled out a container of bircher oats, transferring the contents into a bowl and dropping some mixed berries on top for good measure. Richard needed to eat, after all. Damian knew he tended to forget to do so, which would only worsen his symptoms.
Satisfied with the tray contents — coffee, medication, breakfast — Damian picked it up, taking it back to the nook, eyes locked onto the liquids he was carrying, careful not to spill any.
Alfred had crawled into Richard's lap, still purring contentedly. The man's fingertips lightly brushed through the cat's fur, and Alfred pressed up into his hand in response.
Other than that, Richard almost hadn't moved at all since Damian had left, merely shifting so his cheek was on his arm rather than his face, hair still falling into his eyes. Damian presumed it was on purpose to block some of the extra light, but hummed all the same.
“Here,” he said as he approached, intentionally keeping his voice low.
He set the tray down on the table, and Richard let out a tiny noise in acknowledgement, shifting the smallest amount.
“Even if you do not eat,” Damian said, pushing it forward until the tray touched Richard's arm, “take the painkillers.”
Richard nodded into his arm. “Cn y...” he mumbled, trailing off. His hand under his head flexed a little, wrist twisting, and Damian squinted for a moment before understanding what Richard was attempting to say.
“Hot or cold?”
Richard sighed, face turning downwards once more. “'t.”
Damian nodded, turning on his heel and retreating in the kitchen, once more going through the medical cabinet, this time to dig around in the box of joint braces.
(That's where his back brace went. The old twinge was returning as the weather got colder.)
Eventually, he found what he was searching for— Richard's heat bag, the fabric's pattern fading after years of use, though it had once been a bright design of circus characters. He placed the bag in the microwave before settling against the bench to wait, pulling out his phone.
'Quiet day in the Manor' he messaged the family chat. 'Richard has a migraine'
No immediate responses, though Duke's icon marked it as read. It was too early in the day for anybody else to be awake, it seemed.
Damian stopped the microwave a second before it beeped, tucking his phone back away as he pulled the heat bag out. The warmth spread into his hands as soon as he did, and he once more returned to the breakfast nook.
Richard practically melted with a sigh as the heat bag made contact with the back of his neck, and Damian adjusted it so it wouldn’t slip off. After a moment, he tugged at the tie of Richard’s ponytail, the rest of his hair falling loose.
“Honestly,” Damian said, dropping the hair tie down next to Richard’s tea tray of items, noting that he’d at least taken the painkillers while Damian was gone. Good. “Unnecessary tension. Surely that would be the first thing you fix.”
Richard’s nose wrinkled. “Brn dsn’t wrk’whn..”
Damian huffed, sliding back into his own seat. “At least try to enunciate your vowels,” he said.
Richard hauled himself upright, careful to keep the heat bag from falling off his shoulders. Hair blocking half the light and eyes squinted almost entirely shut, Richard still somehow managed to send Damian an offended look, which he ignored, instead testing how dry his art from earlier was by tapping the painted area with the pad of one finger.
Richard watched in curious silence.
“Better?” he asked.
“Mhm.”
Damian felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “That is the most coherent you have been all morning,” he said, picking up a paintbrush. He went to wet it in his cup, only to pause, the slight expression on his face vanishing.
“… Richard,” he said delicately. “Did you take the pills dry or with water?”
Richard leant his head back against the wall, letting his eyes flutter shut again. “Water,” he replied after a moment.
“My water, perchance?”
No response, Richard running his fingers through Alfred’s fur.
“My… paint water?”
Richard was silent for a moment. “Thought it tasted worse than usual Gotham water,” he forced out.
Damian stared at him. “That is all you have to say?”
“Was already nauseous,” Richard said, face twisting briefly. “‘s non-toxic, yeah?”
Damian rocked his hand from side to side. “I… have been. Experimenting,” he said haltingly.
“…‘ll be fine. We’ve got poison control kits.”
“That does not mean it’s even moderately okay to drink!”
Richard’s face twisted again, and he motioned for Damian to lower his volume. Damian let his mouth shut with a click.
“It’s a wonder you survived until adulthood…” he mumbled, sinking his chin into his hand.
The slightest wheeze of a laugh escaped Richard. “Maybe this’ll be what finally gets me.”