Chapter Text
Damian wakes with a start. The kind where you’re soaked in sweat, face damp from tears, and breathing as ragged as a man who’s been narrowly saved from death. It’s not entirely false, at least in Damian’s case. He’s been close to it more times than he can count.
The steady clicking sound coming from his clock feels like it’ll burst his eardrums. Everything is so loud. Everything aches. Everything is uncomfortable. He chucks a book from his nightstand (curtesy of his wanders about the library, never really in there to read. It’s just an excuse to be near his siblings) at the clock. It bounces off slightly and thuds to the floor. The clock stays fastened to the wall.
Damian lets out a growl of frustration and stands up from his bed, back popping in protest at the sudden movement. He almost loses his balance when his vision blurs and his head goes light. He lets neither impede his journey to the bathroom attached to his bedroom. His vision clears when he finds himself in front of the mirror. He drags a calloused hand over his face, eyebags sagging down at the movement.
“Tt. Pathetic.” He scoffs.
He runs cold water into his hands and lathers it over his face and the back of his neck. Then he just stands there, staring at himself. He wants to cry suddenly. Wants to scream. Wants to cause pain just to stop the buzzing in his limbs. Instead he just stares. It’s pointless to do any of those things. It’ll only draw unwanted attention to himself. He shuffles from the bathroom, sweaty palms dragging across the doorframe like they’re afraid to let go.
He looks at the alarm clock next to his bed, it reads 3:46. He turns off his set alarm and heads from his bedroom. Some early morning training will suit him, he won’t be sleeping any more anyway.
He lands himself in the Batcave and heads over to the training area, but just before he reaches the racks of wooden practice weapons, he catches sight of something oddly still in the corner of his eye. He glances over, this thing having caught his attention.
Drake. Eugh. Why is he even here? So annoying.
He’s sat at the Batcomputer, eyes wide as he scrolls and types, mouth slightly agape like he’s waiting for a fly to buzz in. He looks like a pasty ghost compared to the dark of the Batcave, it could almost deceive someone, the way the light reflects off his paleness, creating the illusion of a second computer. Alfred the Cat (or Pennyworth, as Damian calls him) is curled up in Drake’s lap. He isn’t even paying any attention to the creature! Damian sighs sharply through his nose, Drake does not even look up. Damian decides this imbecile is not worth his time and starts going through his morning workout.
After around forty minutes, Damian feels eyes on him. He turns his head just slightly to Drake’s direction. Ugh. He’s staring.
“What?” Damian barks.
Drake just raises an eyebrow. “You’re up…early? Can I say that? I dunno, you’re always up at the asscrack of dawn…this just ah,” Drake gestures toward him, tongue clicking slightly. “…seems a bit earlier than usual.”
Damian frowns. “And you are here much later than usual, Drake, your point?” He says with extra venom.
Drake just shrugs. “Had stuff to do.”
Ugh. This man is infuriating!
“Whatever, Drake.” Damian hisses, turning his back to the other man. “I did not come down here to converse with you.”
A beat.
“Wanna spar then?”
The offer catches Damian off guard. Sparring…with Drake? Normally he’d find it laughable but he’s grown to slightly tolerate the man. Damian can mildly admit that Drake isn’t entirely incompetent. “Fine.”
————————————
Tim’s on the opposing side of the training mat rather quickly. He didn’t take much time to stretch and he didn’t change either. He stares at Damian, takes in his rigid posture, his tense expression. Tim knows Damian won’t ever open up to him the way he could. (and frankly should. Tim is still his big brother! Well…at least one of them.)
“C’mon, Dames, show me what you got.” Tim taunts with no real heat.
Damian doesn’t react to the nickname as they slowly circle each other like vultures.
The tension is thick.
Tim slices through it first, despite his training and better judgement. He needs Damian moving and distracted from whatever is bothering him. At least until someone else can make Damian feel better.
Tim knows what it’s like to feel alone.
Tim knows what it’s like to want a distraction.
Their wooden weapons clack together over and over.
Clack. Clack. Clack. Crack-
Damian lands a hit to Tim’s side. It stings a little but Tim doesn’t even need time to recover as he pulls a counterattack. A few moments later and they’re just tussling on the mat. All tumbles and flying limbs.
“Ukk- DRAKE! GET OFF!” Damian practically squeals and Tim keeps him in a headlock, calf pinning down his knees.
“Say uncle-“ Tim teases before getting a head to the nose. He’s disoriented enough that muscle memory kicks in and now they’re fighting instead of tussling.
At least Damian doesn’t look tense anymore.
————————————
They lay on the mat catching their breaths for a while.
“You are insufferable.” Damian grumbles as he reaches for his water bottle.
Drake doesn’t reply.
Typical Drake.
Talking only when it is annoying.
Being silent only when it is annoying.
Damian should not have agreed to spar with him.
His gaze flicks over to Drake’s form, he looks exhausted.
“Perhaps,” Damian says after a moment. “You should rest.” His voice is clinical. It’s like talking to Damian’s father.
“Perhaps.” Drake just shrugs nonchalantly, like he’s above everything. Ugh. Typical Timothy.
Damian gets up and leaves.
————————————
A few hours later Damian, while he’s sat in one of the entertainment room’s lounge chair, gets a random and rather unwelcome message from Timothy. He opens it immediately, merely because he is curious. Timothy never sends him anything.
It is an Instagram Reel of two cats fighting over a toy. Underneath the attachment is: ‘Cass said it’s us lol’
Is Timothy reaching out? Gross. Not that Damian doesn’t necessarily…not appreciate the sentiment but…the way he went about it is so…’ick’, as Brown would say.
Drake gives Damian the ick.
Also, it is very obvious Cassandra Caine did not say that. Not that Damian has the means to prove it. Call it a gut feeling. Anyway, that just makes this more embarrassing on Drake’s part, not that embarrassing is a rare word used to describe Drake.
He does not reply to the message.