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“You’re wrong.”
Tim doesn’t look up from the tablet. “About what?”
“Your read of the ambush,” Damian says. He’s standing too close. Deliberately. “You misjudged the second shooter.”
Tim scrolls. “I accounted for him.”
“You underestimated him.”
“And yet,” Tim says, “we’re not dead.”
“That is not the standard.”
Tim finally looks at him. “What do you want, Damian?”
Damian’s eyes flick briefly to Tim’s shoulder. Blood. Not a lot. Enough.
“You were slow,” Damian says.
Tim blinks. Then laughs once, short. “You’re seriously lecturing me right now?”
“You took a hit because you paused.”
“I paused because you were in the line of fire.”
“I was not.”
“You were.”
Damian steps back, folding his arms. “Your attachment clouds your judgment.”
Tim’s jaw tightens. “You running ahead without backup clouds everyone’s.”
“I do not require—”
“—backup,” Tim cuts in. “Yeah, I know. You’re perfect. Congrats.”
Damian’s lip curls. “Sarcasm is a poor substitute for competence.”
Tim shuts the tablet off. “You want the truth?”
Damian nods. “Always.”
“You’re fast. You’re lethal. And you don’t think past the next five seconds.”
“I think efficiently.”
“You think short-term.”
“That is rich,” Damian says coolly. “Coming from Bruce Wayne’s replacement.”
That lands. Damian watches it land.
Tim exhales slowly. “You’re not Batman.”
Damian’s eyes sharpen. “Neither are you.”
“No,” Tim agrees. “But I’m the one who pulled you out when the floor gave way.”
“You interfered.”
“You were stuck.”
“I would have escaped.”
“Eventually,” Tim says. “With a collapsed lung.”
Damian says nothing.
Tim gestures at his own shoulder. “This? This is nothing. I’ve had worse.”
“You should not have,” Damian replies. Not concern. Observation. “It was inefficient.”
“Yeah,” Tim says. “Story of my life.”
Damian turns away. “Do not do it again.”
“Get used to disappointment.”
Damian pauses. “If your judgment fails again, I will not compensate for it.”
Tim nods. “Fair.”
A beat.
“…You still should have moved faster,” Damian adds.
Tim smirks tiredly. “You still should stop trying to die at twelve.”
Damian glares. “I am not trying to die.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Damian leaves without another word.
Tim watches him go, then mutters, “Asshole.”
He checks the mission log again.
And quietly adjusts the margins—
because Damian never will.