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There is something that leaves you hungry after you die. Some aching, bone deep, scraping starvation that only an animal has bubbles up to the surface. Dying and coming back saps every last bit of energy from your body, draining everything you have. It almost feels like you have to restore your humanity yourself.
It’s not something Damian wants to talk about with Jason. Jason is sensitive about his death. Even if he makes jokes about it the second it’s brought up he gets snippy.
So instead, he sits in the kitchen of Wayne Manor, petting Titus and chewing on a block of cheese. He had gathered everything he could get his hands on, no longer having the ability to be picky. Titus lets out a whine and Damian hesitates to give him a piece. He immediately feels bad after, but he’s so hungry. Titus licks his face in thanks.
Shuffling sounds from upstairs startle Damian. He fumbles for his sword, letting out a low animalistic growl. He’s more worried about his food than his safety, which says a lot right about now. All common sense is wiped from his brain. He forgets that his house is shared. Titus perks his head up in curiosity, looking around for the threat.
Drake trudges down from the stair case, not quite noisily but it’s an almost thing. It’s a shared Bat trait to walk quiet and stealthy, something drilled into all of them as soon as they start training. Drake doesn’t seem to notice him, his eyes foggy as he drags his body over to the coffee machine. His eyes blink one at a time blearily. He pauses, yawns, and then turns on the coffee machine.
Parts of his suit are on, but not all of it. The bare skin of his shoulder reveals fresh stitches. His hair is a wreck—all oily, matted, and sticking up—and his hands shake slightly as he messes with the buttons on the coffee maker. Dark circles make themselves known under his eyes. His lips are chapped and bleeding, dried blood clinging to them.
Damian’s chair creaks and Drake’s head whips up, suddenly alert. His eyes land on Damian and he tenses ever so slightly. It’s subtle enough that only a Bat would notice it.
Drake looks from him, to Titus, to the block of cheese in his hand with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow. Damian narrows his eyes right back. He lets out a sigh and drags his hand down his face.
“What are you doing up, Damian?” The taller boy said, fatigue clearly weighing on his limbs. Damian narrows his eyes further.
“What are YOU doing up, Drake?” He retorts indignantly, clutching his pile of food like a lifeline.
He sighs, clearly deciding the effort will take too much energy to argue. He gestures over to the coffee pot. “Casework.” He mumbles. A lie and they both knew it, though Damian didn’t care enough to pry. He gave Damian a look that said, ‘your turn.’
“…Got hungry.” He mumbled, staring down at Titus whilst stroking his fur. When he finally looked up, Drake was staring at him with a thoughtful look on his face. Damian’s mood quickly switched back to suspicious as he glared back.
It went on like that for a few minutes, until Drake moved his eyes to the sword still in his hands from when Damian heard him coming down the steps. Damian lifted his chin up challengingly. Drake just nodded and turned around—turned his back to him.
He saw what the movement meant, an offering of trust. It was foolish of the taller boy. You never turn your back to an opponent. Both of them knew that. Still, he sheathed his sword, and looked at the other boy curiously. Damian traced his movements with practiced precision.
Drake raided the fridge, gathering ingredients carefully. He didn’t grab anything meat related, setting a multitude of things on the countertops.
“If you’re hungry I can make you something. No offense, but that doesn’t look all that appetizing.” Drake said casually, glancing back at him with a deadpan expression. He still had his back turned. The gesture was intentional. It was meaningful. It was a question Damian still hadn’t answered, not verbally, not physically, not even to himself.
‘I’ve put my trust in you, will you trust me as well?’
Damian stayed silent, watching the other boy work. The coffee pot dripped, the noise loud compared to the quiet atmosphere of the room. He could smell the coffee going and it made his stomach roar back to life. He flushed as it made a loud rumbling noise. Timothy turned his head to flash him an amused smile.
The stove clicks on as Timothy grabs a pan and two plates. Damian’s cheese is forgotten until Timothy reaches over and grabs at it. Damian snarls as menacingly as possible, but he only adds it to the nondescript ingredients on the counter. He puts things in the pan and Damian stops tracking his movements so intently.
When Timothy finishes his dish, he scoops some onto a plate for himself and Damian, silently taking his place at the table.
He slides Damian’s plate to him, and the smell makes his mouth water. He peers down at the dish infront of him. It’s sweet potato curry. He doesn’t even realize he’s eating without checking for poison first. The flavors flood his tastebuds. He can’t tell if it’s the hunger that makes the food so delicious or if it’s the dish itself. He decides he doesn’t care.
The food on his plate is finished in record time. He licks his lips, but his stomach still grumbles.
Timothy simply slides his own plate over to Damian with a nod and gets up to make more. Titus has fallen asleep by now, head resting on Damian’s lap.
Timothy talks as he makes another dish. He chatters on about whatever’s happened in the past week and whatever’s happening now.
The clone is back, apparently, though Tim swiftly corrects him when Damian calls him that. He corrects himself from ‘The Clone’ to ‘Kent’ to ‘Conner’. Tim nods his head in satisfaction.
Father is back as well, which means Dick won’t be Batman anymore and Damian…
He looks to Tim. Will Tim be Robin? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if father even wanted him as Robin in the first place, let alone as his child. Damian hesitates.
“Now that he’s back. Father—Bruce, as you call him… Does that mean you’ll be Robin again?” His voice is smaller than he intends it to be. He clears his throat quickly.
Tim’s face softens, and he abandons the task at hand to place a comforting hand on Damian’s shoulder.
“Hey. We’ve had our disagreements on this. But I think one thing we can agree on, at least now, is that we don’t want to fight over it anymore. Yeah?” Damian nods solemnly. Tim continues on, “Then we won’t argue about it. I have a different name now, different missions, hell—a different life. I won’t take this from you.”
A mischievous look crosses Tim’s face and his eyes twinkle, the sober mood gone in a flash. “Good luck with Bruce. He can be a handful.” He pats Damian’s shoulder once before finally making his way back upstairs to his room. “Goodnight, Damian.” He whisper yells.
“Goodnight, Tim.” He whisper yells back, and he can practically feel the smile Tim has on his face.