Work Text:
Tim just wanted to grab an energy drink from the kitchen, just wanted to keep working on the brutal case that was currently kicking his ass.
But Tim doesn’t get nice things.
He could have just walked past the suspicious noises of crying coming from the linen closet. But something in Tim’s vigilante brain clocked this as some victim, and before he knew it, Tim had swung the door open.
What he hadn’t expected to see was Damian’s tear streaked face looking up at him in complete vulnerability. The sight only lasted a second, but for the first time in a while, Tim had truly been able to glimpse an emotion on the boy’s face other than anger, neutrality or disgust directed towards him.
Okay, that wasn’t fair, Tim could see Damian had been trying, despite how… convoluted his attempts at a truce had been.
But now, just because the kid hadn’t been actively trying to kill Tim for a few months, Tim would feel bad to just close the door. That’d be more of an asshole move than Tim was willing to use on a literal preteen, no matter how stabby he’d been in the past.
The issue was, Tim also had no clue what to do as he looked down at the curled up boy furiously wiping his face from tears.
“Go away Drake!” Damian tried to scoff, but it sounded far too wet to be effective.
Surely that was his cue, right? Although the longer Tim thought, the more he realised how many times he’d seen movies where the person begging to be left alone actually wanted company. Curse you inaccurate TV shows that were his only comparison to real life as a kid!
Tim sighed and came to a decision. If Damian was going to put in effort for a truce, Tim felt obligated to take that stretched out hand. He’d deny later he’s been wanting a little brother for a while.
Tim lowered himself down into a cross legged position just in the doorframe of the closet. He stayed silent, watching as Damian’s breathing slowly stopped hitching. Tim had to stop the smile on his lips when he recognised the breathing pattern Dick had taught Tim so many years ago to help panic attacks.
When Damian finally looked up, a tired glare set on Tim, he spoke.
“What happened?”
Maybe it was his calm voice or just because Damian looked so tired, but the younger boy didn’t make a snarky comment or reply in anger, he just looked down.
Observing his face, Tim noted the red eyes from crying, messy bed hair and, most worryingly, the red scratching marks around his neck.
It was an easy conclusion, one Tim and most of the other Robin’s had faced.
Nightmares.
There were only so many years of training, beating up people and holding people in your arms as they bled out a child could take until their psyche took a hit. Tim could only imagine how much worse it had to be for Damian, brought up to be the perfect assassin and successor.
“I-” Damian choked, lowering his chin to his knees. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
Tim watched Damian closely, chewing on the inside of his mouth. He hadn’t had much time to memorise the boy’s mannerisms, but the way Damian kept his hands in view and shoulders slumped, he wasn’t really afraid or angry.
“Nightmares?” Tim wasn’t even sure Damian would hear him, but his green eyes snapped up, looking so bright, even in the dark of the room.
Damian nodded discreetly, hunching his shoulders in on himself. He looked ashamed, like they were something to feel bad about.
Looking down, Tim pondered on just how to lead this. He wasn’t equipped to help Damian in such a sensitive topic. He’d rather Dick or even Bruce was here to lead it, help Damian through whatever haunted his dreams.
But they weren't there, and Tim couldn’t just abandon a child to cry in a linen closet. So Tim adjusted himself until he was leaning against the door frame, eyes cast to the wall behind Damian.
The words had formed before he’d had time to think about it. “You know… I have nightmares. So did Jason and Dick, it’s something we’ve all gone through.” That wasn’t even counting Steph, Barb and Cass, all victims of this lifestyle one way or another. “But usually when that happens, we’re able to go to Bruce. He can’t take them away, but sometimes it helps to have him there.”
Tim didn’t like going to Bruce, it wasn’t his place when the arms that held him also held the last dying Robin. But Damian was different, he was Bruce’s blood son.
“But– doesn’t father see it as weakness?” His voice was almost meek, a work Tim didn’t know Damian could be described as.
Tim’s blood boiled for the child that had to worry every waking moment about disappointing Bruce, the man just grateful Damian was alive, let alone a functioning human.
Swallowing past the disgust, Tim spoke in a lowered voice. “Is that why you hid? You didn’t want Bruce to see you cry?”
Damian’s face shut down, and for a moment Tim worried he’d pushed too far.
That was until his face started twitching and lip trembling. It was all Tim could observe before Damian had burst into tears.
His small hands came up to rub at his face, but the tears kept flowing.
There weren’t any words that came to mind, Tim’s brain scrambling for ways to help him, to fix all of Damian’s problems.
But there was nothing he could say as Damian cried in near silent, wracking sobs. Nothing he could say, but… maybe…?
Tim had Damian’s smaller frame in a hug before he could fully think about the possible consequences. As Damian locked up, body going rigid, Tim thought about the many ways Damian could be planning to gut him for his audacity.
But to his utter surprise, a feeling he’d started to grow used to, Damian leaned into the touch, his hands curling into the fabric of Tim’s shirt.
In that moment, Tim realised what Dick saw in this child. He wasn’t just some assassin that had tried to kill Tim, he was a child with nightmares and horrors of his own.
Tim didn’t think he could go back to ignoring the scars on Damian’s body or the way he flinched at Bruce’s voice when it got too reprimanding anymore.
If Tim could do something to take the weight off this child’s shoulders, he would go to the ends of the earth to do so.