Chapter Text
It’s the coldest recorded winter night in Gotham for the last 20 years.
Snow fell silently, mixing with the colored lights of a city prepped for the Holidays. The scents of treats from bakeries in full production for the season wafted in the air, overpowering the normal stench of Gotham pollution. The cacophony of car horns, foot traffic, and human chatter was muted from the powdered precipitation collecting in large banks on the roadways.
It would have been a lovely sight to memorize for a painting, save for the fact that Damian was currently concentrating on not shivering out his Robin suit.
Despite having lived in Gotham for three years now, the fourteen year old had yet to acclimate to the cold of the city. He- like Mother- was more accustomed to hot climates where loose fitting clothes were more common.
Damian had been fascinated when he’d experienced his first winter in Gotham. He’d never seen such soft snow before, nor experienced the cozy bustle of the American holidays. Back in Asia, snow (when it’d occurred) was a harsh slurry that froze to every surface it covered. Despite the harsh contrast between his younger years and his life now, Damian grew to love winters in Gotham.
But he could not get used to the biting cold.
Gotham was far more humid than the League outposts on the other side of the planet, and its air dug into Damian’s skin like a particularly insistent pest. Father and Richard did their best to help. Father changed the materials of Damian’s suit to be better fitted with the freezing temperatures. Richard hid heat warmers in Damian’s pockets. But even with their efforts, Damian could never quite shake himself of the cold.
The young Robin wiggled his toes in his boots, trying to stimulate blood flow while he sat perched on a rooftop overlooking the north end of Gotham. It was a quiet night, most inhabitants of the city far too occupied with trying to stay warm. It meant little to no criminal activity that warranted Bat intervention. It meant the exertion of a chase or fight that would typically heat Damian up wasn’t occurring tonight. Subtly, so as to not alert his companion of the attention, Damian tilted his head to change his view.
Timothy stood a few feet away, tapping at his wrist display, unmoving against the biting air.
They were assigned together for the night. After a particularly nasty fight with rogues a week ago, Damian wasn’t allowed to patrol on his own, and no other family member was available.
Father had played into his “Brucie” persona too well and was now suffering a broken foot. Richard was busy with a case in Bludhaven, and Cassandra was assisting him. Todd was in one of his moods.
So it was Damian and Timothy tonight.
Had it been a year or more ago, Damiam would have protested the notion vehemently, perhaps even violently. But he welcomes it now with the fervor of a weary man chasing a good dream.
The development of their relationship has stagnated since Timothy came to Damian’s defense against Lex Luthor. They certainly were spending more companionable time together: Damian liked to clean his sword in the room while Timothy sat hunched over his laptop researching, and Timothy would slink into Damian’s art room like an alley cat and take naps while he painted. But they had yet to have another moment as that night when Damian had fallen asleep comforted in his brother’s arms.
He knew that he was partly to blame. Both were far too used to their old dynamic of barbed comments and ill-disguised maiming attempts to have a drastic change in their relationship, even if things were better. They still fought verbally and physically, although the latter was far less common.
Even now, as the brothers watched over their city, Damian was too prideful to ask Timothy if they could move, could find a warehouse to shelter in, or even go home early.
But he was so cold.
A shiver raced up his spine, and Damian fiercely stamped it down. Timothy did not appear affected by the cold, which meant Damian should be able to handle it as well.
Wind raced between the skyscrapers and pierced through his cape and tunic. His mask did little to protect his face. Damian squeezed his eyes shut. He just wanted to be-
Warm.
It’s warm.
That’s Damian’s first thought as Timothy crouched down and wrapped his cape around the smaller boy. The weave must be different from Batman’s or Robin’s because the cold vanished immediately. Damian hasn’t felt this warm since he’d been wrapped in Mother’s blankets when he was little.
His breath hitched.
“Alright, Robin,” Timothy said, voice muted by the drifts of snow. “It looks like we’re done for the night. No rogues have been spotted and Oracle’s gonna keep an eye out. Let’s go back home and get you warm.”
Damian lowered his head in embarrassment. Timothy had noticed.
“Chin up,” Timothy poked his cheek. “I’ve always run cold, so I’ve had years to develop a blend of fiber for my suit to keep me warm even in the winter. Half of it’s not even from Earth. B and Nightwing’s attempts got nothing on me. Okay?”
Damian nodded. He moved to give Red Robin his cape back, but gloved hands stopped him.
“You hold on to it,” the older vigilante said. “I can make you one later, but until then I can’t have you turning into a popsicle before we get back, now can I? A Robsicle, if you will.”
“You’re an idiot,” Damian snapped. He frowned. “What about you? Won’t you get cold?”
Timothy smiled. “Eh, it’ll be worth it.”
Oh.
The tips of Damian’s ears grew hot.
“‘Sides, I got another cheat card I can pull out.”
Damian furrowed his brows, curious.
Timothy stepped back, cocking his hip as he lifted his head. “Hey, clone boy, got a minute?”
Oh.
A beat, then, “I’m not a taxi service ya’know.”
Kon-El, Connor Kent, floated down to the rooftop next to them. He was dressed in his typical attire, skintight suit, heavy black boots, and leather jacket. His sunglasses were pushed up and held the iconic Kent curls away from his face.
“You’re going to leave an innocent kid and his little brother out in the cold?” Timothy asked, waltzing over to the other. Damian watched the clone carefully.
“You’re nineteen,” Kon-El sniffed. “And neither of you are ‘innocent’.”
“Potato, po-tah-to. Tomato, to-mah-to. I’m right, you’re wrong,” Timothy grinned. He threw an arm around leathered shoulders, turning back to Damian. “You see, Robin, the best thing about having a team is the subordinate who has TTK to keep you warm and the ability to fly you anywhere you want to go.”
Hmm, Timothy did have a point with that. Damian’s eyes zeroed in on the super’s hand that lifted and curled around Timothy’s waist. Nevermind, point be damned, perhaps Father was right with his ‘no meta heroes in Gotham’ policy.
Damian could apologize to Jon later for his change of heart.
Before he could say anything, however, his brother turned to the intruder.
“So what d’ya say, care to take us home?”
“Your ‘boss’ is so going to kill me,” Kon-El muttered, but he tightened his grip around Red Robin (much to Damian’s horror), and reached his other hand out to Damian. “C’mon Demon Bird, we gotta be touching for it to work.”
Timothy pinched his shoulder. “Don’t call him that.”
Damian scowled. He had Timothy’s cape and was warm enough to make it back without the help.“I will not-” (A gust of wind. Timothy shivered.) “-hold your hand!”
He slapped away the appendage, opting to clamber up Timothy’s back.
“We can go like this,” he demanded.
Kon-El shrugged. “Sure thing, kid.”
A few minutes later they were touching down in the forest on Wayne property, the secret entrance to the Cave several paces away. And fine, Damian could understand Timothy’s reasoning for calling the clone. It was rather nice to have such a quick way back on a night like this.
Perhaps the super was an acceptable presence in the Wayne family life. But then again…
“Call if you need anything,” Kon-El brushed non-existent stray hairs from Timothy’s forehead.
His brother leaned into the touch. “Okay.” His face looked-
“Disgusting,” Damian hissed, and stalked into the Cave.
Timothy’s cape was still wrapped tight around him.