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Tim leaned over the counter and opened the drawer, looking through the shiny and clean mugs stacked next to each other.
There was a Wonder Woman-themed one, Jason’s.
Superman-themed, Dick’s.
World’s Best Worst Best Dad, Bruce’s.
A plain yellow with green stripes, Damian’s.
A pure black one, especially Alfred’s.
Cassandra wasn’t here, so Tim thought it might be in the dishwasher.
Then his eyes landed on his mug, a simple dark red mug with an orange bohemian sunburst. He gently picked it up, his hands tracing on the mug as warmth corrupted his chest. A memory was scratched under the cup, someday he could never forget.
Unless something absurd happened, like someone firing a memory-erasing gun at him and giving him a white beard and a bandaid, McBucket-style.
He chuckled to himself and turned the cup to look under it, his gaze falling onto the letters.
For another, who knows you by heart.
His thumb traced over the carving and let out a low, gradual breath, placing the mug down and moving to prepare the hot cocoa.
The plan was simple. Tim just wanted to make a sweet filled warm drink to soothe his sore throat from their last mission. And what was better than a hot cocoa, specifically in the start of Christmas?
Just a night before, Tim had his Red Robin gear resting on his body, suffocating him with each cold breath he sucked into his lungs. Firefly had attacked a protected wooden building. With its already passed years, the building was nowhere stable. People were scrambling around everywhere, and Red Robin was all alone, his body moving left to right and trying to block anyone from getting under the building. Trying to swing them away at the same time would have been impossible. With his communication broken, he had screamed for people to get them away, sending their bat-stressed —A bunch of chirps— nonstop until Nightwing arrived at the scene and helped him gather everyone to safety.
In conclusion to it, his throat was all sore, and all he wanted was the rip it off and throw it away from the window, but after losing his spleen to Ra’s, he doubted losing another part of himself was really worth it.
He swiftly grabbed the ingredients from where Alfred usually kept them, the top shelf. So, he climbed on top of the counter.
Not to get anything wrong, Tim liked his height. It was just a bit taller than the average of Gotham, but all of the Batfamily, regardless of gender, were several inches taller than him. And it sometimes rubbed him the wrong way.
With a soft grunt, he moved to come down-
“What are you doing, Drake?” Damian suddenly popped up in front of the closed kitchen door that was open just a minute ago. Tim yelped and jumped down, his body tensing.
“You don’t know how to approach? You almost gave me a heart attack.” Tim scolded; the ingredients had fallen on the floor during his jump.
Damian moved closer, grabbing the hot cocoa mix from the floor. An instant one. “I don’t recall a moment where Pennyworth allowed us to use anything boxed.” He said, checking the ingredients of the store-bought hot cocoa.
“Because he didn’t. Jason snuck it in.” Tim sighed, rubbing his arm and then deciding he could get the milk while Damian was distracted by reading the back of the box. “It’s vegan, Damian. They used almond milk powder.”
Damian gave an appreciative hum and moved to grab the other ingredients from the floor, placing them on the counter. “And the milk is from Kent’s farm?” He asked, raising his eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Tim answered, taking the bottle out. “Clark said it was from the reindeer.” Then he watched Damian grab his own green mug from the cabinet.
“I wish you to make one for me, Drake.” He said, leaning on the counter.
“You are Sixteen. Make one for yourself. I'm not your servant.” Tim pushed the green mug away from his red one. His eyes scanned the open cabinet for a moment before he gave a sly grin. “You know, I could make you one. But you have to help me.” Tim reached out to pray the box from Damian’s hands.
Damian seemed to be deep in thought for a moment. “You require my assistance?” He asked, his eyes landing on the ingredients. “I fail to know how.” His ears gradually painted with pink. “Teach me, Drake.”
Tim chuckled and shook his head. “Alright, we will just heat up the milk first.” He nodded. “It’s instant. We shouldn’t struggle much.”
“What do you need?” Damian asked, staring at Tim impatiently.
The young adult rolled his eyes, and his eyes landed on the troubling teen. “I need you to find me a pot so I can warm the milk up.” He hummed, opening the box.
Damian opened the wall cabinet. “Steel or granite?” He effortlessly reached the top shelf, taking both of the pots down.
Tim glared at him with such heat before he huffed. “Steel. Granite is hell to wash if the milk does get burned.” He mumbled, opening the glass milk bottle.
With a sharp nod, Damian placed the steel pot onto the stovetop, watching Tim pour two cups' worth of milk into it.
“Now what?” Damian asked, his hip leaning onto the counter as Tim stirred the milk with a metal spoon.
“We wait.” The young adult shrugged. “I can’t possibly make it any faster, Dami.”
“Don’t call me Dami.” The teen grumbled, arms crossing, and his voice stern, looking away with his ears still pink. “I hate you, Drake. Carry that to your grave.”
“I love you too, bud.” Tim gave a tired chuckle and kept on stirring the milk.
The silence, except for the sound of the gas sizzling under the pot, corrupted the room as Tim added a humming melody to it. His head slightly nodding into the rhythm. He noticed Damian watching him as he moved to grab the mugs, pouring two spoons of instant hot cocoa into each.
“But I'm better than you”, Damian sings back, where the humming left the song on; but when Tim’s gaze falls on him, quite shocked, the boy turns his head away.
“You know Boygenious?” Tim asked, returning to stirring the milk.
“No.” Damian grumbles and his eyes stubbornly looking away.
Tim gives an acknowledging hum before he softly sings the rest of the song. “And you should know that by now, when you fell down the stairs”
Damian’s eyes landed on Tim for a moment “It looked like it hurt, and I wasn't sorry,” He mumbled, his thoughts swirling in his head. “I shoulda left you right there.” There is shame to his voice, something Tim barely even caught.
“With your hostages, my heart and my car keys,” Tim kept on singing, his gaze on Damian.
Damian rolled his eyes with a huff. “You don't know me.”
Both of them stared at each other before Tim chuckled, making Damian break down into a whole “how dare you laugh at me!” cycle.
As the milk started to boil, Tim grabbed the handles and poured the hot milk into the mugs. “Alright, we should be done.” Tim nodded, sliding one towards Damian. “We only have store-bought marshmallows. They might not be vegan.” He sighed, opening the base cabinet and looking into the snack basket. The marshmallow package lay under a roasted chickpea flour packet. Tim reached his hand out, tugging the marshmallow from it.
“Never mind,” He grumbled, staring at the empty package. “Dick probably ate it all. We just bought it yesterday for the trip. How can he be this fast?” Getting up and throwing the plastic into the trash bin, Damian was already onto grabbing his hot cocoa.
“The trip?” Damian asked, blinking and looking at Tim.
“Yeah. The vacation Bruce reserved for us all at ninth of December. He said we would be gone around 7 AM?” The young adult raised an eyebrow, grabbing his own mug.
“Drake.” Damian squinted his eyes. “Today is the ninth of December, 9 AM.”
Tim almost knocked over his mug as he choked on the sip of his hot chocolate, staring at Damian with wide, perplexed eyes. “It is?!” He asked, placing the mug. “Is that why none of them are here? They left without us!”
“It appears so.” Damian hummed, taking a sip. “We should follow.”
“We can’t follow them to Hawai, Damian. They left with the private jet and trying to get a ticket in this weather would be like begging for the summer to come back, it's futile.”
“I’ve climbed the mountain everest when I was five with only my underwear. I can manage.” The boy’s voice carried such confidence that Tim would ignore his words if they weren’t so unsettling.
He sighed. “And I don’t have a spleen. So getting sick could be the death of me.”
Damian raised his head. “We could improvise on that.” He hums for a moment before his eyes land on the kitchen and on the door. “We are under siege by the absent family, Drake. Shall we defend the fortress?”
Tim rolled his eyes so visibly they would come out of his eyesockets. “We’re just missing a plane, Damian. Calm your siege tactics.” He then took a sip of his hot cocoa. “We should call them.”
“Phone lines went out hours ago in Gotham due to the snowstorm, Drake. I assessed you would be the one to follow the news.”
“I am.” He shuffled and took a large gulp. “I just had reports to finish.” Tim let out a grumble and moved towards the door.
Damian watched after him, “Where’re you going?”
“To my room. I still have work to finish.” Tim sighed.
“You are insufferable, Drake.”
Once Tim was out of earshot, the teen squinted his eyes and moved with calculated ease, his steps carrying him into the house.
It was Drake’s fault if he couldn’t see the threat. They were in a huge manor, all alone, and rich. The best kind of materials to attract trouble and most definitely threats that lurked in the shadows. Without the Batman, they dared to stick their heads out into the light.
And Damian would draw his sword across their necks if needed.
So he started to move, zapping the front door, removing the red carpet on the outside stairs, weakening some of the wooden planks so they it could give beneath the intruders’ feet. He had tied small knives onto ropes, holding them up on the ceiling, waiting to fall on someone’s head and seriously injure them. He had locked every valuable thing into their hidden rooms, putting them away from eyesight.
Damian crouched behind the sofa, peering around the corner with narrowed eyes. Every creak of the floorboards sounded like the march of intruders.
“The hardwood floor will betray them,” he muttered, picking up a nearby broom like a spear. “Steel pots shall act as alarm systems. Should they trip… chaos will ensue.”
Meanwhile, Tim poked his head out of his room. “Damian… what exactly are you doing?”
“I am fortifying the manor, Drake,” Damian said, gesturing grandly toward the kitchen and hallways. “You are clearly incapable of perceiving the threat.”
Tim raised an eyebrow, balancing his freshly made coffee. “Threat? We’re the only ones here. The only threat is… me spilling my drink.” He took a sip. “Those do not look safe at all.”
“That is precisely why you are expendable, my traps are made to fear,” Damian replied. He rolled a ball of aluminium foil and set it near the entrance like a makeshift cannonball trap. “Now, stay back. Observe the perimeter!”
Tim sighed and sat down, shaking his head. “You’re turning the manor into a war zone over… missing a plane? Alfred will outta get us.”
Damian whipped around, eyes blazing. “This is strategic preparation, Drake. Should the father return unexpectedly, we shall be ready.”
A loud crash echoed from the living room. Damian froze, then whispered, “Intruders! Advance!” He leapt onto the sofa, brandishing the broom like a sword, narrowly missing a hanging curtain.
Tim groaned. “Damian… those are just the curtains falling off the rod.”
“False alarm,” Damian said, lowering the broom, but only slightly. “They will not deceive me twice.”
He crouched again, calculating angles, assessing potential attack vectors, and mumbling to himself about improvised tripwires, rolling cans, and strategically placed cocoa mugs.
Tim sipped his coffee, unbothered. “You’re basically Kevin in a Batman suit. If not a bit older.”
Damian’s glare could have been a frozen steel. “I am more capable than Kevin. Observe and learn, Drake. Observe and learn.”
Tim sighed in defeat. “Something's never changed.” He turned back and moved towards his room. As he stepped up, he accidentally stepped on the marbles. They gave out under his feet, and his coffee mug decided to slam onto the wall full force as he hit the ground with a loud thud.
“Damian!” He yelled, getting up and holding his head. Damian had sharply turned towards him, blinking. “Be careful with your traps.” He scolded and sighed, staring at his coffee all over the wall.
He was just glad it wasn’t his special personal mug. Just a plain old one. But the loss of it would still make Alfred fume.
Damian’s eyes scanned the kitchen like a general surveying a battlefield. “The intruder has been identified,” he muttered, crouching beside a cabinet. “Prepare for phase two.”
Tim, rubbing his head, groaned. “Phase two? I’m the intruder here?”
“Drake, you are the intruder if you fail to respect the defences,” Damian said, picking up a rolling pin. He attached a length of string to it and balanced it across the doorway like a swinging pendulum.
Tim’s mug still in hand, he froze. “You’re going to swing that at me?”
“It will merely warn the intruder,” Damian replied solemnly. He then set up two aluminium foil balls on the counter, lining them with purpose. “Should they breach the hall, these will be deployed as projectiles.”
Tim backed toward the stairs. “I swear, Damian, you’re turning this into a death trap for me.”
“That is irrelevant,” Damian said, raising an eyebrow. He then noticed a pile of marbles near the stairs. “Ah, the slippery floor has already been prepared. You will test its efficiency momentarily.”
Sure enough, as Tim tried to step toward the hall, one marble rolled under his foot. He slipped dramatically again, arms flailing, and barely avoided knocking over the swinging rolling pin.
Damian simply nodded in approval. “Efficient. Observe, Drake. The intruder will not survive phase three.”
“What is phase three?” Tim asked nervously.
Damian’s lips curved into a rare smirk. “The cocoa ambush.” He pointed toward the counter where a small puddle of hot cocoa simmered, topped with a precarious stack of marshmallows. “Should the intruder pass the marbles and foil ball defences, they shall be greeted by heat and sugar.”
“Are those the cocoa mix we made the hot chocolates with? Did you waste all that—” Tim took a step back. “I am the intruder, right? This is all against me?”
“Precisely,” Damian said with a triumphant nod, adjusting his stance like a miniature war commander. “Now… advance.”
Tim cautiously tiptoed forward, but every step seemed to trigger some new hazard: marbles rolled, rolling pins swayed, aluminium foil balls teetered ominously. He ducked a swinging spatula. By the time he reached the door, he was red-faced, drenched in cocoa, and holding a spatula he caught mid air like a shield.
Damian, standing on the counter like a victor, clapped slowly. “Phase one and two complete. Phase three shall be unavoidable next time, Drake.”
Tim groaned. “I’ve changed my mind, I hate you.”
Damian’s smirk widened. “Precisely what I expected, Drake. Now, for phase four…”
“Nope, I’m out.” He threw the spatula at Damian, who easily dodged it. He crossed his arms and sighed, his body burning because of all that cocoa.
Just as he stepped out, a thud came from the entrance hall.
“Intruders,” Damian said, his voice hissing and smearing cocoa powder on his cheeks, into two fine lines.
“What was that?” Tim asked as he straightened up, all of his exhaustion and playfulness turning full bat-mode.
Damian quickly moved towards the sound, doing tricks to avoid his own traps as Tim just stared at him. He was drenched in hot cocoa, oil, and some friendly bruises. He sighed and moved towards the drawer, grabbing a pocket knife and putting it into his pocket.
Then, with precise movements, he also avoided all of the traps, only triggering one knife trap that was perfectly made by Damian.
He could hear the sounds of the traps still going off. There were blade swings and more thuds. Some glass breaking.
The moment he snuck towards the living room, his blood boiled, and he straightened himself up with a loud sigh, crossing his arms.
There were two people in front of him. Both were wrapped up in colourful suits and looked so confused. The short one had a cracked egg on his head, and the other had oil on his chest and some hot cocoa too.
“Jon, Conner.” Tim sighed gradually, rubbing his temple. Damian was on Jon’s side, scolding him about how it was not right to sneak into someone’s house.
Conner gave Tim an awkward chuckle, floating to not trigger any more booby traps and his hands pulling the tired young-adult by the waist. “Bruce said to get you two. I didn’t know we would stumble upon a war zone.” He turned his head to Damian. “That was not cool at all, man.”
Damian shot a glare at him “Those traps were not for you, Clone.” His voice was filled with triumph as he looked at Jon. “I would have added kryptonite if they were.”
Jon huffed his cheeks. “Don’t you dare, Dami”.
“I make no promises, Beloved.”
Tim sighed and held Conner’s arm. “Sorry about all this.”
Conner leaned in and kissed Tim’s forehead. “Are you kidding, Tim? We are both covered in hot chocolate. I can’t miss who is at fault here.”
Tim subtly nodded and pressed his forehead onto Conner’s shoulder. “Though, let me ask a question. Why did Bruce send you? Buying us another private jet would work better.”
Conner hummed for a moment and nodded. “Well, actually…” He chuckled. “We were in a family trip with you guys, too. It was a surprise, and the moment we noticed you two weren’t there, we kind of flew here without asking anyone. We came here as fast as we could. But the plan is to carry you both to the vacation location.”
Tim raised his head and blinked at him before sighing and groaning, his head falling back on Conner’s shoulder.
Jon stared at them for a moment “Um, Tim?” he asked, drawing Tim’s attention to him. “Could we please all get a bath? We will help you clean all of this off.”
Conner laughed at that. “No, nope.” He raised his hand. “Tim is already exhausted as he is. You two clean it up.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to help them clean it,” Tim whispered enough to keep Damian from hearing him. He really didn’t want to clean, ask it to the rotting pizza he has under his bed.
“I am not in need of your assistance, Drake,” Damian grumbled and started to move to lift some of the marbles from the floor.
“Anyway.” Tim sighed. “I don’t want to trip any more traps, Kon. Carry us to my room?” He asked.
“Sure. Do you still have the shirts I gave you last month?”
“I wouldn’t throw them,” Tim grumbled, and they floated back to Tim’s room.
Jon looked after his brother and soon-to-be brother-in-law “They are too cheesy.”
“It’s cliché. Wouldn’t expect more from Drake.”
“But adorable,” Jon said with such a lovely voice that it almost made Damian gag.