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Damian hadn’t known what was going through his father’s head when he allowed Timothy Jackson Drake to become Robin. Despite the older boy’s unwavering determination, he was a fragile human, a child.
Neither Richard or Jason before him had been so breakable, the oldest being a winged siren and Jason afflicted with lycanthropy. Even Stephanie had her own abilities, even if being a Banshee wasn’t the most useful of all powers.
But Timothy was a human, unafraid of the supernatural and bold enough to declare to Father, the most feared vampire in Gotham, that he would take the place of his deceased golden child.
It was strange for Damian to think back on, the brief overlap of time between his arrival and Timothy’s unwilling resignation of the role of Robin. He had treated the title of Robin as a symbol of honor, but somehow differently than Damian himself viewed it. To Timothy, it was who he was as a person, and when he had to give it up, although graciously, Damian watched in real time as Timothy closed himself off from everyone, but especially Damian himself, the boy to take his place.
Damian now, two years later, knows the depths to the situation he hadn’t been able to see before. He had reflected with the help of Dick’s kind conversations and Bruce’s brief mentions of times past. The jealousy Damian used to hold for Timothy developed into an understanding of his role, how his absence really affected his family.
But as he quickly found out, Timothy’s resignation wasn’t the rightful passing of a mantle to Damian that he had been led to believe. It wasn’t even the attempts of murder he had tried countless times against the teenager.
Timothy was dying, heart failure. A secret kept by the eldest members of the family as to how this occurred, only revealed after a rare night of drinking from Richard.
It had been poison, something Richard or Jason would have easily brushed off, but not Timothy. Not the only, fragile human who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.
That revelation, a year into his time as Robin, Damian suddenly found one thing to be true and frighteningly obvious in hindsight. If Timothy died, his father would fall apart just like what had happened with Jason. No matter how jealous Damian had felt in the past, he would not let his family fall apart.
He refused to let Timothy die.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Despite how quiet Damian was able to be, the window still creaked on rusty hinges. The groan only added to the ominous atmosphere of the hospital, all white walls and near silent beeping.
Damian landed silently, his cape fluttering in the frigid night breeze and one hand gripping onto a bouquet. He didn’t bother closing the window, not with his sights set on a familiar pair of blue eyes, half lidded and looking at him with a dull curiosity and what might be a glimmer of amusement.
Tim was silent, as he tended to be around Damian. He didn’t blame him, Damian hadn’t given him many reasons to willingly talk to him in the past. His eyes fall from Damian’s own and land on the bouquet, only briefly flickering over his Robin suit. His mouth twitches up, a mockery of the smiles Damian sees haunting the manor, big and happy.
“Chrysanthemums, red spider lilies and white lilies.” He mutters, only audible with Damian’s superior hearing. “So, is it my time then?” His piercing blue eyes raised back up to meet the white of Damian’s domino mask. There’s so much weight to those words, yet Tim says it was such a note of grim amusement it wouldn’t be out of place as dinner time discussion. Damian knew he would decipher the message behind the flowers, he did after all use Tim’s own flower language book from his desolate room in the manor.
No words come to mind, so instead the younger teen steps forward and places the bouquet down on his bedside table, adjusting it just to do something with his hands.
Damian feels Tim’s eyes leave him, like a physical weight is lifted. “Does Bruce know– no. No of course he doesn’t, he would never put that responsibility on your shoulders.”
Responsibility, like Tim knew the time was coming, the time when someone of his own family would decide to put him down like a dog. That thought has a lump forming in Damian’s throat and he pushes it away, latching onto something else, something important he needed to know.
“Are you ready to go?”
Silence lapsed and Damian finally turned his attention back to Tim, vaguely surprised to see the smile was still there, maybe a bit weaker but more than Damian was expecting.
“Do I get a choice?”
Did he get a choice? If Tim were to tell Damian to leave right now, would he listen? Just looking at Tim had a deep, twisted emotion rising from the depths of his heart. If Tim honestly just told him to go home, would he?
The rigid quiet was interrupted by a cough tearing itself out of Tim’s throat, having him bent over and hand clasped across his mouth. Damian could only watch as Tim pulled back with a grimace, a coating of blood on his palm. Tim didn’t even bother wiping it away, he just leaned back, looking more exhausted and pale than before.
His eyes found Damian’s again, blinking slowly. “Well regardless, I think my time is up soon anyway.” There was no humor or ironic smile on his face. No trace of that glimmer in his eyes.
Damian clenched his jaw, that unhealthy rise of heat making his head a little fuzzy.
Even if it was selfish, Damian didn’t think he’d leave if Timothy asked him to. There was too much on the line for him to sit idly as someone from his coven family died. He didn’t know why Bruce hadn’t done anything, why Dick hadn’t insisted Bruce fix Timothy, but if no one was going to do anything, he would.
Damian lowered himself down onto the hospital bed, internally grimacing at how uncomfortable it was. How had Timothy survived here the last month? There was a moment of hesitation before Damian swallowed and grabbed Tim’s hand. He heard the human’s heart beat jump just a bit in what he hoped was surprise and not fear.
“I don’t hate you.” With steady fingers, Damian pulled off his domino mask, discarding it on the bed. He took care to look Tim directly in the eyes, hoping his sincerity would show in his gaze. By the hitch in Tim’s breath and widened eyes, it seemed to at least shock the teen. “I don’t think I ever hated you, I was… jealous.”
Tim’s eyes narrowed on Damian. It was identical to the expression Damian used to see when he was working on cases and figuring puzzles out. Then, his mouth formed into another smile, this one almost genuine, something different from irony. “Jealous of a ‘weak human’ eh?”
“Yes.” The answer was quick and simple, something Damian had gone over in his head countless times, always arriving at the conclusion that there was no better word to describe it but jealousy.
“Is this you telling me my death will be a mercy kill?”
The thought of a family pet being put down flashes in Damian’s mind and he can’t help but immediately shake his head, grimacing. Tim took that as his answer and opened his mouth to talk again, but Damian quickly cut him off.
“No.” He couldn’t help the tone of upset, eyebrows furrowed and voice sharper than he meant it to be. “You don’t understand what’s going on. You can’t–” Damian cuts himself off with an involuntary growl, turning his head sharply to the side to glare out the open window.
Tim’s hand weakly squeezes Damian’s. “Hey, don’t get angry. I’m not a mind reader, can you please just explain what's going on?”
Damian’s eyebrows furrowed. How could he even begin to explain anything? His teeth came down on his lip, gnawing. Tim gives him silence, the time to think and shit– how could he have even been as stupid as he was to push Tim away like he had? Sure, Tim had been a bit of a prick at times, but that was after the countless murder attempts he shot his way.
With his resolve strengthened with anger, Damian dropped down to his knees next to Tim’s bed in one smooth motion, his hand still grasping gently at the fragile teen’s wrist.
Just as another reminder of why Tim had been Robin, Damian watched his eyes widen in realisation, instantly figuring out everything Damian had been unable to say in words despite being on death's door. Damian couldn’t help that pull in his heart preen at how smart Tim was.
“Why are you doing this?” Tim’s voice was a croak. Damian couldn’t tell if it was fear or shock in his voice, but he hoped it was the latter. The last thing he wanted was for this to be anything but a positive memory Tim would look back on in years to come.
Damian’s jaw clenches in frustration “I don’t know why Father hasn’t done this himself, and I don’t know why everyone is willing to stand around and do nothing in the face of this obvious solution–”
Tim shakes his head, looking dazed. “No, why are you doing this?”
Ah. That.
Damian isn’t so delusional that he would deny reality. He knows about certain supernatural creature’s inclinations towards family and how certain groups are more– intense than others.
Vampire stories often revolve around a fair maiden being taken to be the bride of a vampire, whether the genre of the story is that of romance or horror. While there have been many vampires in history who have latched onto a romantic partner intensely enough to the point of taking them, it’s a lot less common than the media would portray.
Like bats, vampires are social creatures, preferring to surround themselves with family, with coven. It’s instinct, something that pulls deeply at a vampire’s being for connection and companionship.
But the stories of vampires being obsessive didn’t come from nowhere.
Damian watched Tim, that familiar and identifiable feeling of all consuming need for family washing over him. “You're my brother. I refuse to let my brother die when I have a solution.”
Tim’s mouth opened and all that came out was a wheezing, humourless laugh. “I really don’t have a choice, do I?” Damian almost feels bad when he sees the glazed look in Tim’s eyes.
Before he can second guess himself, before he can let the doubt and insecurity and what if’s take over, Damian pulls Tim’s wrist to his mouth and pierces the flesh with his fangs.
There’s a slight uptick in Tim’s heart, accompanied with a hitched breath, but as Damian drinks, Tim’s heart starts to slow.
That fuzziness in Damian’s head grows, Tim’s heartbeat is the only thing he can focus on until finally, as Damian pulls away, there’s nothing.
With careful control, Damian presses two fingers to Tim’s neck.
No pulse.
Damian swiped one of the batarangs off his belt and raised it to his palm, glove discarded on the floor. Pressing it down, Damian stood to hover over Tim’s body. With one hand he opens the dead boy’s mouth and lets the pooling blood drip in.
The sound of footsteps had Damian cursing under his breath, eyes narrowing on the silent heart monitor he had forgotten about. With speeds impossible for a human, he grabbed his glove and mask. He turned his attention to Tim, no hesitation as he picked him up, one arm under his knees and the other cradling his back.
Tim was incredibly light, and even if Damian didn’t have enhanced strength, he was sure he’d be able to carry him. It just made it all that bit easier to slip out the open window, leaving behind no evidence he was there but a missing teenager for the medical staff to worry about.
A smile pulled at Damian’s mouth as he felt an unfamiliar but expected tug at his instincts. A fledgling coven bond was forming.