Chapter Text
“No.” Bruce said sternly, talking to Damian.”You don’t understand, and you never will if this is how you act.”
The room goes quiet, the tension thick enough to be cut with a spoon. Damian seems to almost flinch at the hard tone. It was only a minute movement, and nobody seemed to notice.
Dick seemed as if he wanted to intervene in the confrontation, but before he could Damian beat him to it.
“How don’t I understand?!” Damian all but yells back, “I’ve been doing this for years father!”
“You are just a CHILD Damian. You don’t understand, you just don’t.” Bruce said with an air of finality in his voice.
Damian stills. The reaction is immediate, like every muscle in his body locks at once. His shoulders draw tight, spine straightening as if he’s bracing for something. His hands curl into fists at his sides, nails pressing into his palms hard enough to sting, but not enough to draw blood. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe properly, like his chest isn’t fully expanding and the heavy tension in the air isn’t letting air into his lungs. He just stands there with Bruce’s words hanging in the air around him.
Damian knows he can’t deal with this anymore. His chest is too tight, too close to cracking. His breath comes out in quiet puffs, but it’s not like anyone is paying enough attention to him to notice that. He clenches his fists harder, and can feel the small droplets of blood soaking the underside of his nails.
Damian scoffs as he looks around only to see the pitying glances from Dick and Jason. The understanding they seem to think they have.
Bruce ignored him in favor of his work, not even acknowledging him. He acts just like grandfather does...
The constant treating him like a child, and it’s not only Bruce, it’s the others as well.
There is only one person that doesn’t treat him like a child, a burden, or a project.
The feelings are building too quickly for him to stay here. They press in from all sides, hot and suffocating, crowding his thoughts until he can’t separate one from the other. Anger, humiliation, hurt— all of it tangles together, rising higher and higher in his chest, until it feels like it’s about to leak out. If he stays, he knows he’ll either say something he can’t take back… or worse, he’ll lose control entirely.
He can’t have that, it’ll just make everything worse.
He simply turns away from the group.
Bruce didn’t notice him leaving, or if he did he made no signs of it.
He paused briefly at the entrance to the cave. It was only a second, but he didn’t look back, couldn’t look back.
“That wasn't right Bruce,” Dick says as soon as Damian is out of sight.”He may only be a child, but he needs guidance, not negligence.”
“We all know how that turned out last time.” Jason mutters under his breath, although he knows the others probably heard it.
Both Dick and Bruce freeze at the words. Bruce simply turns away saying,”He needs to learn.”
Jason fully decides to speak up, finally tired of Bruce’s crap, his voice is layered with a deadly precision meant to pick him apart piece by piece.”Bruce, you need to get your shit together. Yes, he is young, but so were all of us. The only difference is that he is your real child. You need to treat him like he is your child, not your soldier. If you wait too long, he might not even want to be that.”
Jason’s statement was heavy, but if Bruce even heard it, he showed no signs of it.
At the obvious dismissal Jason scoffed before storming out of the room.
Before Jason can leave he makes brief eye contact with Dick showing his anger with Bruce. Dick easily reciprocates the feelings.
---
‘I need to get out of here.’
As soon as he's out of line of sight Damian is running through the manor trying to stay calm. He doesn't feel safe here, not now. The only thing running through his mind is that there's only one person that is always there even if it doesn't seem like it. He pushes himself harder, trying desperately to get to somewhere safe before the tears can start falling.
He doesn't fully know where he's going but subconsciously he knows.
He throws open the door and rushes inside jumping on the person occupying it.
“Damian, wha—” Tim started, startled, the words cutting off as he felt the smaller boy trembling in his arms. At first, he thought it was just a shiver, but then the shaking worsened, turning uneven and desperate. He was quiet, like he was trying to be overlooked.
Tim knew that feeling all too well, he hated seeing that on his younger brother.
Although he would never truly admit it aloud, or at least didn’t think he ever would, Damian was his brother.
Tim pulled back slightly, just enough to get a better look.
Damian was crying.
Domain wasn’t one to ever show vulnerability to anyone. What was worse was that these weren’t the kind of tears that fell over something small. But the sobs of someone who was broken and pushed one to many times.
There wasn’t much Tim could do, he was not used to this, or anything relating to comforting people. He wasn’t lucky enough to have that, but he will make damn good sure that Damian doesn't have to go through that either.
Tim sat there rubbing Damian’s back in hopes of calming him down. To Tim’s horror, it did the exact opposite.
Damian was full on sobbing now, loud and ugly. He looked nothing like the prim and poised boy that he had seen just this morning.
“Please— don’t… don’t make me go!” Damian choked out between sobs, his words stumbling over each other. His fingers clutched tightly at Tim’s shirt, bunching the fabric as if letting go meant something terrible would happen.
Tim’s chest tightened. He shifted his hold instinctively, wrapping one arm more securely around Damian’s shoulders while the other came up to cradle the back of his head. “Hey, hey… it’s okay,” he murmured, lowering his voice to something soft and steady. “Don’t worry, Dami. Nobody’s going to touch you here. You’re safe, alright? I’ve got you.”
He gently rocked them without really thinking about it, the motion slow and careful. Tim kept up the quiet reassurance, shushing softly, repeating the same calming phrases even when he wasn’t sure Damian was hearing them. He focused on keeping his breathing slow, hoping Damian might subconsciously match it.
It took a long time.
The minutes stretched on, the intensity of Damian’s sobs gradually fading from sharp, panicked cries into quieter sniffles. His grip loosened only slightly, but the shaking began to ease. Eventually, he sagged against Tim, exhausted, his breathing still uneven but no longer frantic.
After about thirty minutes, Damian had finally begun to calm down.
Tim stayed still for a few more moments, not wanting to risk startling him. When he finally spoke, he kept his voice low and gentle. “Hey, Dami…?” he said quietly. “Do you want to get off me so I can close the door?” He hesitated, making sure to keep his tone light and non-pressuring. “You can lay on my bed, or take the chair… anything that works for you. Or you can stay right here. You don’t have to move if you don’t want to.”
He shifted slightly, careful not to jostle him. “Whatever makes you comfortable, okay?” Tim added softly, trying to give Damian as much control over the situation as possible. He knew how it felt to be in this situation, although it might not be right, but he did what he would have wanted. Tim hoped that would be enough.
It seemed as if Damian was thinking for a few seconds as the silence stretched. Eventually Damian shifted slightly curling into Tim more.
Tim felt Damian curl closer, and the smaller boy was pressing into him like he was trying to disappear. The movement was slight, but it said enough. Damian clearly wasn’t ready to move, and honestly, Tim wasn’t about to force him. He let a few seconds pass, one hand still resting lightly at the back of Damian’s head, thumb brushing small, absent circles like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.
“Okay,” Tim murmured softly, more to reassure than anything else. “You can stay. That’s fine.”
He glanced toward the still-open door, though, unease prickling at the back of his mind. Anyone could walk in. Dick, Jason, Bruce — even Alfred if he was worried. Normally that wouldn’t matter, but the way Damian was clinging to him, the earlier panic… Tim had a feeling being seen like this would only make things worse.
“Hey, Dami…” Tim said gently, careful not to shift too much. “I’m just going to close and lock the door, alright? Just so nobody barges in. You don’t have to move — I’ll keep holding you.”
Damian didn’t answer right away, but his grip tightened slightly in response, fingers curling more firmly into Tim’s shirt.
Tim took that as permission.
“Alright,” he whispered.
He shifted slowly, bracing one arm more securely around Damian’s back before pushing himself to his feet. The movement was awkward with Damian still half draped over him, but Tim moved carefully, keeping him close so he wouldn’t feel like he was being pulled away. For a moment, Damian tensed, his shoulders drawing tight, and Tim paused immediately.
“I’ve got you,” Tim murmured again. “Not going anywhere.”
After a second, the tension eased just enough for Tim to take a few careful steps toward the door. The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric and Damian’s uneven breathing against his shoulder. Tim nudged the door shut with his foot, then reached back to turn the lock.
The soft click sounded louder than it should have in the stillness.
Tim felt Damian relax, just slightly, the rigid edge leaving his posture as he leaned more fully into Tim’s hold. Tim stayed there for another second, letting him settle, before turning back toward the room, still holding him close.
Tim slowly walked back towards the bed, carefully avoiding the piles of random knick-knacks and organized files littering the floor near his desk. It was really a miracle that Damian had missed all of it in his rather unorthodox entrance.
Tim nudged a small pile of files out of the way with his foot. As he neared closer to his bed he drew Damian closer so he could sit down.
“Do you want to lie down? I don’t think your position is necessarily the most comfortable.” Tim said, trying to coax Damian into taking a nap, even if it’s a small one. After all, he knows from personal experiences just how shitty getting so worked up can make you feel, especially with how long Damian was crying for.
Tim would almost describe it as feeling like a hangover, not like he’s ever drank or anything knowing that he’s 17 and multiple people here would kill him for it, but the massive headache, muscle aches, and the constant thirst. (Just go with it, please, I am 16 and know nothing about it so… I justify it because you lose electrolytes and get dehydrated from crying.)
Damian seemed to almost imperceptibly loosen his grip on Tim’s shirt. Tim took that as permission, carefully shifting and guiding him down toward the mattress beside him. He moved slowly, one hand still resting at Damian’s back, like he was afraid that even a little distance might undo the fragile state of calm he’d managed to build between the two of them.
The moment Tim started to pull away, Damian’s fingers tightened again, catching in his shirt and dragging him down with him. It felt almost unconscious, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Whether it be from pure exhaustion or instinct he simply couldn’t tell. Tim didn’t resist, letting himself fall gently onto the bed beside him so Damian wouldn’t feel abandoned. Like he did so many times before.
They ended up face to face, Damian curled tightly into him. Instinctively, Tim wrapped an arm around his shoulders, the other coming up to cradle the back of his head, keeping him close. He could feel the lingering tension in Damian’s muscles, so he stayed still, thumb brushing small, soothing circles against his arm.
“It’s okay,” Tim whispered, barely louder than a breath, even though he wasn’t sure Damian was awake enough to hear him.
Gradually, Damian relaxed further, his grip on Tim’s shirt loosening but never fully letting go. His breathing evened out, warm and steady against Tim’s collarbone. Tim stayed awake a little longer, making sure he was settled, adjusting the blanket with one hand and pulling it over both of them.
Only once Damian had gone completely limp letting the sweet feeling of oblivion engulf him did Tim finally allow his own eyelids to droop, until finally unconsciousness greeted both of them with wide open arms. The two boys fell asleep tangled together in the quiet room surrounded by the warmth and trust of the other.
—
Tim woke slowly, from a sliver of light coming in through his curtains. He was warm in a way he usually never was. Something solid was tucked against his chest, one hand fisted in the front of his shirt. For one disoriented second he thought he was dreaming before memories from the night before caught up with him.
Damian.
Still curled against him, breathing evenly in sleep.
He looked peaceful, it was a welcoming sight after the pained and panicked expression he had worn last night.
As if sensing the shift, Damian stirred. His eyes opened, blinked once, then widened slightly as he seemed to realize exactly where he was. He pulled back so fast Tim almost laughed.
“I’m sorry Drake, I’ll take my leave now.” Damian said quickly like he was flustered.
“Damian, you’re okay, I promise. Wanting comfort doesn’t make you weak, it makes you stronger.”
Damian eyed Tim with a strange expression on his face, and he reluctantly moved back over towards Tim. He positioned himself in a way that was most comfortable for both of them, he was slightly leaning on Tim, clearly still wanting some kind of physical comfort.
Tim was more than happy to oblige.
“You were really distraught last night, it really worried me. You don't have to tell me what happened, but if you want to, I’ll listen and I might tell you about some similar experiences I might have had, to show you that you are not alone, okay?” Tim said softly with conviction evident in his voice.
“You would do that… for me?” Damian said, confused, with a hint of hope in his voice.
With a small, soft smile on his face Tim says, “Of course I will, Dami.”
Damian fully relaxes against Tim, “Okay”
The room falls silent for a few moments, but not the usual tense silence, but a content one.
Damian takes a deep breath before starting from the beginning. “It’s not just Bruce and the others… everyone does it.” Damian says with a layer of deep emotions filling his tone.
“Take as long as you need, okay Dami” Tim says soft enough to hear but also provide comfort for his overwhelmed little brother.
Damian slowly nods his head, taking a second to breath before continuing on, “They all treat me like I’m a little kid, I wasn’t raised for that. I was raised to be the strongest, the best, everything they are acting like I’m not.”
Tim resisted the urge to respond. He understood exactly where Damian was coming from—far more than he wished he did. The feeling of not belonging, of being treated differently no matter how hard you tried to prove yourself, wasn't something he had to imagine. He'd lived it.
But this wasn't about him.
Damian rarely let himself be this vulnerable, and Tim didn't want to interrupt or accidentally make it seem like he was being pitied. Damian already looked tense enough, like he was bracing himself for judgment. The last thing Tim wanted was for his brother to think he was looking down on him.
So he stayed quiet and listened.
For now, Damian needed someone to hear him more than he needed advice. Tim would let him get everything off his chest before saying anything. If comfort was needed, he would offer it. If Damian wanted advice, he would give it. Until then, he simply stayed beside him, a silent reminder that he wasn't alone.
"The family isn't the only problem," Damian said. He clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms. "My classmates do it too. They look at me like I don't belong there. Like I'm some child pretending to be something I'm not."
His voice caught, and he hated it.
"I've tried ignoring them. I've tried proving them wrong. I've tried making them stop." He let out a shaky breath, struggling to keep it steady. "Nothing works. Every time I do something, they just find another reason to mock me. It only gets worse."
Damian looked away, jaw tightening. "And before you say it, I know it shouldn't bother me. They're idiots." His voice dropped, quieter now. "But after a while, hearing the same thing every day..." He swallowed hard. "It gets difficult not to believe them."
It took a minute to weigh the options, but after Tim feels Damian start shaking, he knows the answer.
It took Tim a moment to weigh his options, but when he felt Damian begin to shake against him, he knew what he had to do.
"Hey, Damian..." His voice was quiet. Careful. "You don't have to respond. Hell, you don't even have to listen. I just need to say this."
He couldn't tell whether Damian was paying attention, but he pressed on anyway. The words felt heavy in his chest.
Tim took a slow breath.
"I know our lives weren't the same. I can't pretend to understand everything you've been through." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "But I do know what it's like to feel like you don't belong. To walk into a room and already know people have decided who you are before you've even opened your mouth."
His fingers tightened slightly where they rested beside Damian.
"I know what it's like to try and try and try to prove yourself, only for it to never feel like enough. To have people treat you like an outsider. To spend so long hearing the same things that you start wondering if maybe they're right."
The admission hurt more than he expected.
"I'm not telling you this because our experiences are the same. They're not. I'm telling you because I don't want you sitting here thinking you're the only person who's ever felt this way."
Tim swallowed hard.
"You're not alone, Damian. You never were." His voice softened. "And as long as I'm here, you're never going to be."
Silence settled between them.
Tim almost stopped there. Part of him wanted to. Those memories weren't ones he enjoyed revisiting, and there was no guarantee Damian even wanted to hear them. But if there was even the slightest chance it would help his brother feel less alone, then it was worth it.
He drew in a slow breath.
"You might not know this," Tim began quietly, "but my parents kept me hidden from the world for most of my childhood."
He stared at the floor as he spoke.
"Most people assume it was because they wanted to protect me from the press. It wasn't." A bitter laugh escaped him. "It was easier for them to pretend they didn't have a kid at all."
Tim squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.
"I was left alone for days, sometimes weeks or even months at a time. I don't even remember when photography became my thing. I just know that looking through a camera felt easier than living my own life." His fingers tightened around the fabric of his sleeve. "Through a lens, everything made sense. Everything stayed at a distance."
He swallowed.
"When my parents were home, it wasn't much better. My mother..." He hesitated. "She had a way of making you feel small with just a few words. She hated being interrupted. Hated when I acted like a kid instead of the perfect little adult she wanted."
The next words were quieter.
"Sometimes I wonder if she medicated me just to keep me quiet. I can't prove it, but..." He shook his head. "There are things I remember, and things I don't."
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
"My father was different."
Tim's voice flattened.
"He drank. A lot. And if I wasn't what he wanted that day..." He shrugged one shoulder, trying to look unaffected and failing miserably. "Sometimes I went to bed hungry. Sometimes I was sent to my room. Sometimes I woke up with bruises that were easier to explain away than talk about."
The confession sat heavily between them.
"It stayed like that until Bruce came into my life. Once people actually knew I existed, hiding the evidence became harder." He forced a small smile that never reached his eyes. "They stopped leaving marks where other people could see them, at least."
Tim let out a slow breath.
"Anyway, that's enough about my disaster of a family."
He nudged Damian lightly with his shoulder.
"The school stuff is a little more relevant to what you're dealing with right now." His voice softened. "If you want to hear it."
Damian didn't answer.
Instead, he leaned his head against Tim's shoulder.
The gesture was small. Quiet.
But it was answer enough.
Tim's chest tightened.
"...Yeah," he murmured. "That's what I thought."
Tim took a shaky breath before continuing.
"When I was younger..." Tim began, his voice quieter now, "I skipped a few grades."
The words felt strangely small compared to the knot forming in his chest.
"Everyone acted like it was supposed to be some amazing thing. Teachers praised me for it. Adults told me how lucky I was." He let out a humorless laugh. "Nobody talked about the rest of it."
Tim stared at a spot on the floor.
"The way kids looked at me. The way they whispered when they thought I couldn't hear them. The way every mistake I made somehow became proof that I didn't belong there in the first place."
He paused, giving himself a moment to steady his voice.
"I spent a long time trying to earn my place. I thought if I worked hard enough, if I was smart enough, if I could just prove myself one more time, they'd finally accept me."
His jaw tightened.
"They didn't."
The words hung in the air.
Tim stared at the floor, watching his fingers twist together in his lap.
"The harder I tried, the worse it got. Every good grade was proof I was a teacher's pet. Every answer I got right was showing off. Every mistake was proof that I never belonged there in the first place."
He let out a slow breath.
"They didn't want some awkward kid sitting at the top of the class. They wanted me to fail. They wanted me knocked down to their level."
A humorless smile crossed his face.
"And eventually they got tired of using words."
His shoulders tensed.
"It started small. Shoving me in the hallways. Tripping me when teachers weren't looking. Taking my things. Then it got worse."
Tim paused.
"I spent years telling myself it didn't bother me. That if I just worked harder, ignored them, kept my head down, it'd stop."
He laughed softly, though there wasn't any humor in it.
"It didn't."
For a moment, he was quiet.
"There were days I dreaded going to school. Days I sat awake at night wondering what I'd done wrong. What was so fundamentally wrong with me that nobody seemed to want me around."
The admission felt like dragging broken glass from his chest.
"I started believing them, Damian."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"I thought maybe I really was the problem."
Tim swallowed hard before forcing himself to continue.
"But I wasn't."
He turned his head slightly, looking at Damian.
"And neither are you."
The room fell silent.
"If you ever need to talk about how awful bullies are, I'll listen. If you ever start questioning your worth because of what they're saying..." His voice softened. "Don't do it alone."
Tim's expression gentled.
"I spent too many years trying to carry that by myself."
His shoulder nudged lightly against Damian's.
"I don't want you doing the same."
For a long moment, Damian didn't speak.
The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing.
Tim didn't push.
He'd already said more than he'd intended to.
Beside him, Damian's hands curled into fists.
His chest felt tight.
Uncomfortable.
The feeling had started sometime during Tim's story about school and had only gotten worse the more he'd spoken. Damian didn't know what to do with it.
He hated it.
Because for the first time, he wasn't thinking about his own problems.
He was thinking about Tim.
About a child left alone for weeks at a time.
About bruises hidden beneath expensive clothes.
About a boy desperately trying to earn a place in a world that seemed determined to reject him.
The thought made something twist painfully in his chest.
"...You're an idiot."
Tim blinked.
"What?"
Damian kept his eyes fixed on the floor.
"You spent years listening to those people." His voice was rougher than usual. "You actually believed them."
A humorless laugh escaped Tim.
"Yeah. I know."
Damian's jaw tightened.
No.
Tim didn't know.
Or maybe he did, and that somehow made it worse.
His fingers clenched harder.
"They were wrong."
The words came out quiet.
Firm.
Certain.
Tim went still.
Damian swallowed.
"They were wrong about you."
The confession hung between them.
Tim stared.
Damian wished he would stop doing that.
"You were a child," Damian continued, his voice tightening despite his efforts to keep it steady. "None of that should have happened to you."
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Then Damian leaned further against Tim's shoulder.
Not because he needed comfort.
Definitely not.
But because moving away suddenly felt impossible.
"You are incredibly irritating," Damian muttered.
Tim huffed out a laugh.
"There he is."
"Tt."
But Damian didn't move.
Neither did Tim.
The room fell quiet once more.
This time, the silence didn't feel oppressive.
It felt warm.
Safe.
Tim leaned back against the headboard and let out a slow breath. The knot that had been sitting in his chest all evening hadn't disappeared, but it felt smaller somehow.
Beside him, Damian's shoulders had finally begun to relax.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Enough that he no longer looked ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.
Tim considered saying something else.
A joke.
A reassurance.
Anything.
Instead, he simply rested a hand on Damian's shoulder.
The gesture was simple.
Steady.
A promise.
Damian glanced at it briefly before looking away with a faint scowl.
He didn't tell Tim to stop.
For Damian, that was practically affection.
Tim smiled.
Outside the room, the world continued on as normal.
Inside, neither of them were quite ready to face it yet.
And for a few precious minutes, they didn't have to.