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Damian had found, over the course of his tumultuous life, that he often seemed to feel emotions too late. The delay had spelled the end of more than one friendship over the years, leaving him with a hollow silence which sorrow would only fill weeks or months later. He’d always been so quick to anger in his youth, swift to snarl and yell and hurt. But guilt was so far behind. As was joy, sadness, and love.
But the emotion Damian truly wished had come to him at the right time was worry.
These days, he worried more than anything. About his father, struggling to keep up with family and work. About Jason, still recovering from nearly going up in flames. About little Dickie, who was just becoming accustomed to life at the manor, although he still missed the circus.
He worried about Tim.
He knew he and Tim were distant now. His worry for his little brother, like everything else, had come too late. They’d had barely two years of a close bond before Bruce had died. Well, been lost in time.
Damian had been harsh with Tim in the past, he knew that. He understood the harm he’d caused when Tim had first entered the family. But they’d gotten past that. It was one of the few relationships that Damian’s anger hadn’t ruined. He and Tim had been close. There was a time that Damian knew everything about his brother.
Then Tim left. It wasn’t a fight, not really. It was Tim feeling like he wasn’t believed when he said Bruce was alive. Tim had joined Damian’s grandfather, something which had both shocked and angered the eldest. But that anger had swiftly dissipated after Bruce’s return. In its place was worry. Worry for his sweet little brother who’d been through hell at the hands of someone Damian knew was a monster.
It had been a full year since then, and Tim hadn’t returned to the manor. He lived alone, and Bruce just let him. Jason missed him, and Dick had begun to ask questions about Tim that were becoming increasingly difficult to answer. And Tim… Tim barely ever even answered calls. He looked more exhausted each time Damian saw him. He wasn’t doing well, that much was clear.
Despite all the worry he felt for Tim, Damian still managed to screw up.
He only realised a week after, when he noticed a day circled in his calendar. Tim’s birthday had passed. He hadn’t sent so much as a text. There had been a hectic case, a long journey to Central City and back, and an uncomfortable visit to Arkham.
Damian felt awful. He had already missed Tim’s eighteenth, and now he’d forgotten his nineteenth. And, judging by the look on Bruce’s face when he’d brought it up, so had their father.
So Damian did the only thing he could think to do. Tim wasn’t fond of people showing up unannounced, but Damian didn’t really care at that moment. He swung by a fast food place to procure a suitable dinner. He knew any gifts he got would be painfully obviously last minute, so he stuck to his plan of dinner and a movie.
Tim’s apartment building was quiet at this time of night, the only noise piercing the cold air being that of a dog a few blocks away. The foyer was empty, lit only by the flickering light outside the stairwell.
A short elevator ride brought Damian to the correct hall. He stood silently for a few moments, wondering if Tim’s extensive security had already alerted the young man of his presence. Damian hadn’t really thought of what to say. How to apologise. How to meet those pale, hollowed eyes that always looked at him so blankly.
He knocked before he could overthink things further.
There was a long silence, followed by a door slamming. Soft footfalls preceded the door creaking open.
Damian’s heart melted, just a little. Tim looked half asleep, hair fluffy and clothes rumpled. He was wearing one of Bruce’s hoodies, likely pilfered years ago.
Tim frowned up at Damian, confusion furrowing his brow. “What’s wrong?”
“Hello, to you as well,” Damian tilted his head. “There’s nothing wrong.”
“Hn,” Tim didn’t seem to believe him, leaning around the doorframe to glance down the hall, as if expecting someone to be chasing Damian.
Damian sighed, shaking his head. “I forgot your birthday.”
Tim stared blankly at him for a few moments too long.
“I’m here to apologise,” Damian held up the bag of food.
Tim shrugged, turning away to head back into the apartment. “‘S’fine. I forgot, too.”
Damian winced, following his brother inside, closing and locking the door being them. “That… doesn’t improve the situation."
Tim made no reply, gesturing for Damian to set the food on the kitchen counter.
The apartment was as Damian remembered from his few visits. Sparse, a little cold. Like one of their safe houses rather than a home. It hurt just a little more to think of Tim spending his days here, all alone.
“Tim,” Damian began softly, placing the bag where directed. He tried to muster up the right words. “I don’t have an excuse. I even had it in my calendar.”
Tim leaned on the counter, rubbing a hand over his ever-tired eyes. “It’s okay. No- stop. I’m serious, it’s fine.”
Damian hesitated. He wanted to apologise. He wanted to know what to say, what to do. He wanted to wrap Tim in a hug until the boy finally told him everything.
Well, that last one might be somewhat achievable.
He held out his arms, offering. They’d never been particularly affectionate, another thing Damian wished was different.
Tim froze, his face becoming blank once more. For a moment, he looked ready to snap or move further away. But then he nodded, stepping forward until Damian could pull him close.
Damian held his brother tightly against his chest, pressing his face into Tim’s fine hair. He felt smaller than Damian remembered. Worn thin.
Tim remained tense, not leaning. Not trusting.
“Jason instructed me to pass along his apology, as well,” Damian murmured into Tim’s hair after a moment. He gently brushed a hand up and down Tim’s spine, hoping to ease some of the tension.
Tim didn’t reply for a while. Damian almost wished he’d get angry. Or cry. Or do anything but be silent and blank.
“I’m sorry, too,” Tim said softly, voice muffled against his brother’s jacket. “I’ve… been dodging calls.”
Damian nods. “I noticed.”
Tim drew in a shaky breath, squeezing the taller man a little. The action was a small, almost imperceptible tell. Tim was upset. More than he would tell his brother.
“Timmy,” Damian said gently, carefully cradling the back of Tim’s head.
The nickname seemed to tip the boy over the edge. He sobbed, painfully quietly, into Damian’s jacket. His shoulders shook under Damian’s hand as he finally broke down.
“There,” Damian whispered, a mix of relief and heartache pooling in his chest as tears bled through his shirt. “Just cry. You’re safe.”
More mindless reassurances were mumbled into Tim’s hair, a gentle background to the cadence of choked sobs. Damian found himself blinking back his own tears, the dull ache in his throat only worsening the longer Tim cried. But he wouldn’t break down, not now, with his little brother finally beginning to lean on him. He ran his fingers through Tim’s soft hair, focusing on the tangles with care.
Tim didn’t cry for longer than a few minutes, the sobs fading into hiccuping breaths. His body was slumped against Damian now, what little energy the younger man had clearly drained with the tears.
“Dickie said crying makes everything feel a bit better,” Damian hummed after a while, fingers still brushing through dark hair.
Tim huffed a little, and perhaps his mouth twitched upwards. “I kinda feel worse. I’m just… I’m tired.”
Damian nodded, pressing his cheek against the top of Tim’s head. “I know. Want to pass out on the couch?”
“Yeah,” Tim was definitely smiling a little this time, even if his breathing was still shaky.
Damian drew back, his hands moving instinctively to cup Tim’s tear-streaked face. Pale, red-rimmed eyes flicked up to meet his. Tim’s jaw was sharper now, his cheeks a little more hollow under Damian’s fingers.
“I’m not very good at this,” Damian admitted, ignoring Tim’s soft snort. “I’m trying to be better. I know you don’t trust me anymore, and I’m sorry for that.”
Tim’s pale hands came up to cover Damian’s. He didn’t reply. He didn’t say it was alright, for once. Damian thought that was progress, at least.
He led Tim to the couch, dragging the younger boy down beside him. Tim immediately tucked into his side. The lack of hesitation warmed Damian’s heart, bringing what was likely a sappy smile to his face. Tim didn’t notice.
The food could wait. For now, Damian switched on the TV, selecting a movie at random. Perhaps Die Hard would be difficult to fall asleep watching, but Tim seemed tired enough to doze off regardless.
Damian resumed brushing his hand through Tim’s hair, pleased when the younger went limp at the motion. In the coming weeks, Damian would visit more often. He’d call every day. He’d convince Tim, somehow, to come home.
But for now, he just held his brother. And for now, that was enough.