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Drake was acting suspicious.
It had started with the Arkham breakout a week ago when Damian had been partnered with Drake to evacuate the buildings surrounding Batman and Two-Face’s battle. Two-Face had always been partial to explosions, and that time had been no exception. He’d split off from the other vigilante, but had kept his commline to the other opened in case of emergency. Being labeled the ‘smart robin’, Damian would have expected him to know that emergencies were most definitely not having to listen to whatever civilian Red Robin had saved give muffled thanks. He had been about to tell Red Robin to mute himself when he heard said vigilante heave a sigh.
“We really need to stop meeting like this,” Red Robin had said, which hadn’t seemed weird at the time, whichever civilian he had approached probably having been saved by him before, a surprisingly common occurrence for a city of four million people.
The civilian’s voice was too far away for the microphone to pick up, but Red Robin’s answer had been clear as day.
“Why thank you, fine gentleman,” he’d answered with a laugh. “Do you know what you would look great in? My arms. Come on, I’m getting you out of here,” Red Robin said. Damian paused, almost skidding off the rooftop in shock (not that anyone would know that). Had Red Robin just flirted with someone?
That had been the first sign that Drake had descended into folly.
Since then, he had only gotten weirder. Drake and Todd had been arguing in the Manor’s kitchen, spewing insults and throwing utensils at each other, Damian innocently sitting on the counter eating his breakfast and absolutely not sitting on Todd’s phone. It wasn’t his fault Drake didn’t even try to defend his name when accused of theft and immediately resorted to violence. However, when Drake had received a text message on his phone, he had stopped arguing to answer back. Drake hadn’t even seemed to notice when a fork embedded itself into the wall next to his ear, too busy smiling at his screen like a fool. The argument had ended in a tie because Drake had simply exited through the kitchen entrance whilst Todd spluttered in shock. The impact of Drake's action was such that Damian had needed to call Richard to comfort Todd, as even he could not ignore his brother’s hollow mutterings of am i not enough anymore?
Another night, Red Robin had been talking over the main channel with Nightwing when his name had been called. Suspiciously, he’d immediately gone off to find whichever civilian had hollered for him, muting himself as he went. Damian had only gotten suspicious when he’d returned to the cave with the same moronic smile he’d had while looking at his phone during the argument with Todd. He hadn’t even reacted when Damian had taunted him, only patting his head as he passed.
And then, yesterday, Drake had been sitting on the couch for movie night when his phone buzzed. Damian had managed to catch a glimpse of the screen before Drake had been able to pick it up.
“good night <3” from Sunshine, the notification read. Drake had received a text message wishing him goodnight. From someone named Sunshine.
There had only been one conclusion to make: Drake had a paramour.
–
Damian had a plan. He had already established that none of his other siblings knew of Drake’s paramour through careful interrogation, meaning Damian would have to investigate the matter himself.
“Drake, as the blood son, I demand you bring me to Wayne Enterprises so I may train for my birthright.” Drake simply blinked at him, and it did not seem as though he’d had his morning coffee yet. Perfect, it meant he wouldn’t be able to argue back.
“Don’t you have school today?”
“You are a highschool dropout, Predecessor, what would you know?” There, a foolproof argument. There was no way he would refuse now.
“You know what Dames, I don’t wanna have to deal with you this early, ask B.” Drake filled a thermos with coffee and left the kitchen to go get ready for work. Damian scowled at his back while Pennyworth put breakfast on the table.
“He is quite right, master Damian, don’t you have a mathematics evaluation this afternoon?” Pennyworth pointed out.
Damian simply scoffed and glared at his oatmeal.
Pennyworth assessed him for a moment. “Perhaps you could go help master Timothy after school? I’m sure he would appreciate the help.”
Damian supposed this could be an acceptable compromise, as he needed to be near Drake as much as possible to find out whom had bewitched his predecessor.
“I suppose that will have to do” Damian stated before turning to eat his breakfast, missing Pennyworth’s knowing smile.
–
Pennyworth had dropped him off at Wayne tower half an hour ago and Drake had yet to show up to his own office. His assistant, Tam Fox, had offered him candy from her desk as compensation, as Drake would be in a meeting for a while still. Crunching down on the hard candy, Damian sat in Tim’s office chair, switching the coloured ink in the pens on the desk. He'd already looked for incriminating evidence about Drake’s girlfriend, but his office was as dreadfully boring as he was, with no decorations on the desk or walls. It had unsettled Damian to know Drake was spending so much time in the blank and empty room, so different from the coloured chaos of his bedroom at the Manor.
Damian was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard footsteps approaching the office door. He straightened in his (Drake’s) chair and prepared a projectile to throw so he could show his displeasure at having to wait so long. The door opened with a click and in came a tall blond boy holding a can of soda, who immediately fell to the floor after being hit in the face with a stapler.
He looked up at Damian from the floor. Damian looked back. That’s not Drake, his mind concluded uselessly. Father will be upset.
“Did you throw a stapler at me?” The blonde boy asked with great confusion. He looked at the floor around him, where the stapler laid incriminatingly. “Holy shit you did. Wait– am I allowed to swear near you? Is Tim gonna lecture me for three hours about corrupting the youth?”
Damian didn’t have the time to answer before Drake appeared in the doorway. The other boy instantly turned to him.
“I didn’t swear in front of your kid brother and did not drop the Zesti I brought you, don’t look at the security feed for proof,” he said in a breath. Drake had a strange expression on his face Damian struggled to analyze.
The blonde’s words finally registered in Damian’s mind. “Excuse me? Kid brother?” he spat. “I am not a child!”
Drake simply looked between the two of them and sighed, pinching his nose between his fingers, a habit he’d picked up from Father, Damian noted.
“Damian, don’t throw staplers at people, Bernard, for your safety, do not call Dami a child.”
“It’s a bit late for my safety.” The blonde teenager, Bernard, grumbled as he gingerly touched where the stapler had hit his face. Damian looked at the damage as well, proud. It had been a great throw, and would have nailed Drake in the forehead had he been the one to open the door. Drake frowned at him and bent down to examine the bruise that was starting to form, making Damian scoff at the sight. Drake sent him a glare before continuing to examine his friend’s face. Damian wilted a bit in his (Drake’s) seat, suddenly less proud of his throw.
Surely he couldn’t be too mad about Damian’s attack. He’d only used office supplies, after all.
“It’ll leave a bruise, and don’t worry about the Zesti,” he stated, hoisting his friend up from the floor before turning to his brother with a stronger glare. Bernard seemed to notice and quickly put his hand on Drake’s shoulder, catching his attention.
“How about we ignore the whole ‘flying stapler’ incident and introduce ourselves correctly, yeah?” he said with a wide smile that even Damian could tell was fake. “I’m sure Damian didn’t mean to hit me,” he continued, turning to Damian, his eyes seemingly yelling at him to back him up. Damian didn’t need to be saved by someone who couldn’t dodge measly office supplies.
“I did not mean to injure you specifically,” Damian stated magnanimously.
This seemed to pacify Drake as he deflated and mumbled a little ‘whatever’. “Damian, this is my friend Bernard, we met in sophomore year of high school,” he said with a sigh. Bernard did a little wave when his name was spoken. Turning to the blonde, Drake finished the introductions. “Bernard, this is my brother Damian. Yes, he’s the one that tried to stab me. Yes, we’re over it now.”
“Drake, that was a terrible introduction.” Damian scowled at his brother. “I am Damian Wayne, son of Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Ghul as well as the legitimate heir to this company,” he corrected, staring Bernard directly in the eyes to assert his dominance. Bernard whistled at his speech.
“Impressive resumé, kid,” he said while ignoring Damian’s offended squawks at being called a child in favor of shooting a smile at Drake. Drake smiled back.
–
Damian was stealthily following Drake as he traversed Gotham. Going to his job had yielded no results in his investigation, and he needed to step up his game. Drake had steadily been walking towards the Diamond District when he veered to the left to enter a side alley. Damian rushed to its entrance so he wouldn’t lose Tim’s trace only to be faced with Drake himself waiting for him past the corner.
“Stop following me,” he said, arms crossed and posture defensive. Interesting. Drake would usually let Damian trail him. A direct confrontation meant he was hiding something.
“No,” Damian challenged, matching his posture and stubbornness.
Drake ran a hand in his hair, looking exasperated. “Look, I don’t know why you’ve suddenly decided to start stalking me, but I will call Alfred if you skip school again,” he warned.
Narrowing his eyes Damian tried to call his bluff. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?” Drake answered with a cold smile while pushing past Damian to leave the alley. Damian could not be sure, and Pennyworth would be very displeased if he learned Damian had skipped school again. This was not worth the risk. “Go home,” he called before turning the block.
Never one to be beaten, Damian had continued his efforts, though always after school ended. It started becoming a game.
Damian would follow Drake or Red Robin and whenever he was going to enter a building, he’d always stare at Damian’s hiding spot and later, Damian would receive a text rating his tailing skill out of ten.
Damian would never admit it, but he enjoyed this challenge between the two of them.
He started liking it less when all Drake would do was hang out with Dowd instead of going on dates. He’d even checked the other’s calendar, hacking into his phone to see a ‘reservation’ scheduled at 6. It was 5:37 now, and Drake was waiting in his car in front of a classic suburban two storey house, a house which, after hacking into Gotham’s database for deeds, he now knew belonged to Dowd’s family. Damian was confused, obviously this reservation should have been to have a date with his girlfriend, but Drake was bringing Dowd instead. Dowd entered the car and Drake looked through the window to raise an eyebrow at Damian, who groaned in defeat at being found.
–
The Brownstein's annual winter gala was an event that gathered most of Gotham’s elite. It was an event known for expensive dresses and decadent fashion, for top models showcasing upcoming looks and for being one of the most publicized events of the season. Damian was supposed to go back to Drake’s apartment after school, change into his designer suit and have his brother drive them to the gala. Having knocked on the door, Damian was waiting in the hallway that led to Drake’s apartment.
There was a moment of silence.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Drake 17:06
just come in
Drake 17:06
the door’s unlocked
Something was off.
Drake would never have invited any member of his family to let themselves in. Allowing any member of the family free rein in personal spaces was a dangerous thing, and Damian knew Drake would rather pull his teeth out than to do so. Drake knew not to give Damian permission to enter by text. Drake should have answered the door. There were no sounds he could hear from the other side of the door.
Damian narrowed his eyes at the text messages.
Damian could find no secret code hidden, so it was unlikely Drake was being held hostage.
Unlikely did not mean impossible.
Gently prying the door open, Damian entered in silence, noting the kitchen lights were left on but that the rest of the apartment was left to bathe in the setting sun’s light.
Making his way across the living room, Damian made sure to melt into the shadows. There was a strange sound coming from Drake’s bedroom. Like whispering voices.
Damian pulled out the knife he kept hidden in his backpack.
The bedroom door had been left ajar, allowing Damian to peek through.
On the bed, back resting on the headboard, Dowd was watching a video on his phone, the source of the strange noise, idly petting Drake’s hair as he did. Drake himself was laid on his stomach, arms wrapped around Dowd’s midsection and face buried in his stomach. What surprised Damian the most was the fact that Drake seemed to be fast asleep, completely unresponsive to the world.
Damian suddenly felt rather out of place, like he was peeking at something he shouldn’t be. He must have made a small sound as he considered Drake’s current predicament, because Dowd’s eyes flitted up to the doorway, meeting Damian’s own. While he had made an amateur mistake by allowing his presence to be found, Damian felt that he had not completely failed at sneaking around Drake’s apartment, as Dowd startled so hard his phone went flying from his hands.
“Nooo,” Drake mumbled pathetically in his sleep, face burrowing further into Dowd’s stomach as the movement disturbed him. How embarrassing, Damian thought.
Putting his knife away and entering the room, Damian dropped his school bag with a loud thump at the foot of Drake’s bed. Drake did not even twitch. Damian paused. It was unlike Drake to be so defenseless, even in his sleep.
Damian eyed Dowd with suspicion. “What is wrong with him?” he asked in a low, menacing tone. It worked well on supervillains, and it worked excellently on Dowd, who paled significantly.
“Nothing!” the blond quickly defended himself in a whisper. “He’s just taking a nap. A nice, friendly nap.” His cheeks were strangely red.
Damian eyed Dowd for a moment before observing Drake. He supposed it was true that Drake was prone to taking naps. He certainly needed them, Damian noted, looking at Drake’s relaxed face. His eyebags had nearly disappeared.
“Very well,” Damian whispered haughtily, making Dowd let out a breath of relief. “However,” he continued, “if I find he is impaired in any way, you will pay the price.”
Dowd smiled at him with mirth in his eyes. “Understood.” Damian didn’t think he understood at all.
“I’m serious,” Damian reiterated. “If he has a single hair out of place, you may find yourself missing a few vital organs.”
“Uh huh,” Dowd said, completely oblivious to any menace Damian tried to impress on him.
“I will gather your entrails and hang them on your arms as though you were a christmas tree. Your organs shall be decoration,” Damian hissed, though Dowd only seemed amused.
“Dami,” Drake’s muffled voice interrupted, “stop threatening Bernard.”
Damian scoffed. “It is grand time you got up anyway, Drake.” Drake only grunted in response. “We will be late to the gala if you keep insisting on using Dowd as a pillow.” With those words, Damian turned away, though he did not miss Drake’s head shooting up, instantly awake. “It’s no wonder you have no other friends when you keep drooling on them,” Damian could not help but comment, just to make Drake believe he drooled in his sleep. He left the room, ignoring Drake’s sputtering as he went to fetch the suit Pennyworth had left for him.
Twenty minutes later, a red-faced Drake led the way out of the apartment, curiously leaving Dowd inside. Damian hadn’t known Dowd was allowed free rein to the apartment. Hopefully he would not constitute an obstacle for the next step of Damian’s plan.
By the time Damian remembered to ask about the text messages, Drake had already abandoned him at the gala to hide near the buffet tables. Damian supposed this meant he could interpret them as he wanted, though he did wonder how Drake had sent them in his sleep, especially with the phone in question having been placed on the nightstand near Dowd…unless… no. Drake would not be enough of a fool to let a civilian have access to his phone. Especially one who was not his paramour.
–
Damian glared from his seat in the back of the car.
“Drake, I understand why I am forced to be driven by you, though your skills are subpar, but I cannot fathom what Dowd is doing here.” Said Dowd was sitting shotgun and scrolling through his Spotify playlists. Unfortunately, in Drake’s car, foregoing the meritocracy established in every other Wayne automobile, shotgun gave aux privileges.
Drake simply rolled his eyes at the rearview mirror. “He was already with me when Alfred called to come pick you up from school.”
“You should have left him on the side of the road.”
Bernard gasped in mock offense. “Just for that I’m putting my Spice Girls playlist.” Drake groaned and looked as though he was considering crashing the car. Damian had withstood hours of torture as part of his training. He could survive whatever these ‘spice girls’ were.
By the third song, Damian was starting to wish Drake had truly crashed the car. The music sounded exactly like something Richard would play when he would try to introduce Damian about ‘pop music’. Damian had argued with him for two hours over the nomenclature of ‘pop music’, as pop implied popular, and he could not understand how anyone could enjoy this. The brothers made eye contact in the rearview mirror and came to a silent agreement. This would require drastic measures. They stopped at a red light. Bernard had no idea what was coming his way. It was almost comical, the way his eyes widened when he realized he’d been ganged up on, Drake leaning over the center console to grab his phone while Damian held him in a chokehold from behind. The cellphone was quickly thrown into the backseat in Damian’s lap. Victory.
“Perhaps it is not too late to leave Dowd on the nearest sidewalk.” Damian proposed as he disconnected Bernard’s phone from the car’s bluetooth.
“You can’t leave me there, I’ll dehydrate and die.” Bernard objected, leaning dramatically in his seat. Drake hummed, as if in thought.
“Maybe we can throw you into Gotham harbor, you’ll be plenty hydrated then.” Bernard turned to him, betrayal in his eyes.
“You would send me swimming with the fishes? Me? You would destroy this beautiful specimen?”
“You were the one who decided to play your spice girl playlist, you must now pay the price.”
Damian sat back in his seat. Hearing them bickering like a married couple was almost worse than the spice girls playlist. Almost.
–
Damian had returned to Drake’s apartment, as he had been giving express permission to do (he had perhaps printed a picture of the texts in question as insurance).
His reasons for breaking and entering were not purely selfish, he thought as he ate some of Drake’s chocolate-covered biscuits imported from Canada. ‘Celebration’, the box said. He could agree with the sentiment. Other than Drake’s surprisingly delicious stash of snacks, Damian had taken it upon himself to search Drake’s apartment for clues on his paramour. By his calculations, mostly based on the movies Richard had forced him to sit through, there should be at least one item of the paramour’s possession forgotten in Drake’s apartment. Perhaps a coat strewn on the back of a chair, or a shirt.
Shoving another biscuit in his mouth, Damian searched Drake’s bedroom.
Drake seemed to have a problem with borrowed clothing, Damian noted, his wardrobe being half-filled with odd items of clothing from other vigilantes that had been a part of the Young Justice team or from the Waynes. Dowd’s clothes were inevitably strewn about, but Damian hardly put stock in that. He had come to learn Dowd spent most of his evenings with Drake.
Snapping a quick picture of a sweater Damian knew Brown had been searching for for weeks, he pondered if he should enlist Grayson for help. His own investigation was proving unsuccessful, much to his endless frustration.
He’s pulled out of his thoughts at the scratching sound of keys being inserted in a lock. Glancing at his watch in a panic, Damian realized Drake had come home early. Quickly, he put back everything to its rightful place in Drake’s closet and grabbed the box of biscuits. He had barely made it to the kitchen, where he would be hidden from sight, when he heard the door open. Abandoning all hope of escaping for the moment, Damian froze in the shadows, watching as Drake entered his apartment with a stupid smile on his face.
A stupid smile that meant paramour.
Perhaps he would not have to escape after all. With the paramour’s identity, Damian would be able to leverage anything out of Drake. It was the perfect plan.
Drake padded further into the apartment, continuing his conversation with his paramour.
“-no, I’m serious. If you bring Hawaiian pizza in my apartment, I’m taking you out of my will,” he laughed, turning around with a fond smile. With Drake’s back turned to him, Damian was unlikely to be spotted just yet, but it also meant he could not see the paramour until she entered the apartment. Footsteps approached the door. “NO,” Drake screeched, rushing to push his paramour, who was presumably holding pizza, back out of the door, much to Damian’s frustration. Drake did not even dislike Hawaiian pizza, why was he doing this? In the chaos and laughter, Damian was unable to hear the other person’s answer.
With a cry of defeat, Drake fell back at last, feigning a fatal injury and leaning on the wall of the entryway as he slid to the floor. Finally, Damian thought. He would get his blackmail.
To his shock, it was none other than Dowd who entered, placing the pizza boxes on the edge of the kitchen island only a few feet away from Damian, failing to notice him as his eyes tracked Drake’s face.
“My poor knight in shining armor,” Dowd teased with a smile as he approached Drake’s form. Damian regretted not leaving earlier. The situation was rapidly growing out of control. “Defeated by measly pineapple.” Picking up Drake’s hands, Dowd pulled him back to his feet, only inches of space between them.
With a large smile, Drake leaned in and–
Oh.
The paramour had been identified. His mission was over. Damian had never wanted to disappear into the wall more than this moment, with Drake kissing Dowd right in front of him.
Mistakes had been made.
Damian was effectively stuck in the kitchen until Drake stopped sucking face with his boyfriend.
This is terrible.
The box of chocolate biscuits made a small noise in his hand as he twitched in horror.
Instantly, Drake had Bernard safely positioned behind him. Damian froze under his intense stare. A tense silence filled the room.
“Are those my biscuits?”
Drake startled at Dowd’s question, eyes flicking down to Damian’s hand. Damian looked down too, as if seeing them for the first time.
“No,” he lied. Were these Dowd’s biscuits? He should have known. Drake was incapable of picking out good snacks. Drake frowned, looking so incredibly confused Damian feared he’d have to explain to Father how he’d broken him. Richard would be so cross. “I have to go now,” he blurted out. Damian had never wanted to escape from an uncomfortable situation more than he did now. Opening the kitchen window in a brusque movement, he leaped out onto the fire escape he knew laid there.
Dowd let out a surprised gasp behind him, which was followed by a murmur from Drake, though Damian barely heard it.
–
He sat on his windowsill, idly petting Alfred the cat. Alfred the human would be calling him for supper soon, but he still had a half hour of idle time to fill. His thoughts drifted to Drake and Dowd.
Damian didn’t know what to do with the information he’d gleaned.
He’d found Drake’s paramour. His mission was over. His goal was achieved.
Now what? Drake had looked panicked at Damian’s presence. Now that Damian thought of it, he had looked almost… afraid. The thought didn’t fill him with joy as it once had.
A knock at the door made him startle, making Alfred the cat jump down from his lap. Damian frowned in displeasure.
“What is it,” he asked.
Drake pushed open the door to his bedroom, giving a soft ‘oh hello’ to Alfred as he darted through the opening. He stuck his head through the doorway, looking at Damian with an expression that he couldn’t identify. Fear? Concern? “You okay, Dames?”
Damian frowned. “Yes.”
“You didn’t show up to WE this afternoon,” Drake said cautiously, only making Damian’s confusion grow. At Damian’s expression, Drake entered the room fully.
“You drove all the way here for that?”
“Yeah,” Drake admitted easily.
“Oh.”
Damian felt as though should say something. He just didn’t know what.
“Is it about yesterday?” Drake asked carefully, tone hesitant. “I didn’t know you would mind,” he said quietly.
“I do not mind.” Damian turned his head to look out the window once more. “I thought you would mind that I knew,” he said quietly. Clearly Drake had not wanted Damian to know if his expression yesterday at the sight of Damian in the kitchen was anything to go by.
Drake sighed, though Damian could not guess what expression he may be wearing. “I don’t– I don’t mind,” he said, clearly minding. “This is just… new. To me. In general.” Damian stayed quiet. “Look, I’m not upset that you know. I just– I don’t feel ready for everyone to know yet.”
“I won’t tell,” Damian promised, looking his brother in the eye for a moment before turning back to the window.
“Thank you,” Drake said genuinely.
Comfortable silence stretched between them.
Some time later, as Drake stood when Pennyworth called them for supper and walked to the door, he turned to Damian again. “You’re still allowed to just let yourself in, you know. Bernard made me stock up on those biscuits you like.”
Damian allowed himself to smile when Drake left his room.
That was a dangerous thing for Drake to say.