Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"This is all because you're allergic to physical affection"

Jon felt the eraser bounce off his back as he searched for a water-bottle in the cabinets. Grabbing two, he turned only for a second eraser to bounce off his forehead. Damian hadn't looked up from where he was sketching at the Watchtower meeting table, firmly planted at the end where Batman sits.

"I'm not allergic to affection hayseed. My genes are perfect." he retorted, his voice warped by his stuffed nose.

"If your genes were perfect, you'd be taller," Jon said with a grin.

Jumping on his Dad's lap, who had been watching Damian sketch in the chair beside his, he places the second bottle by his sick friend. A sharp laugh turned cough came from the other end of the table. Uncle Barry turned his chair and was studying the ceiling, trying to hide the obvious smile on his face. Aunt Diana was openly laughing, her chin resting in her hand. Damian's ears turned red but he said nothing, choosing to grumble something in Arabic under his breath.

The past four days had been long and tiresome, another wide-scale multi-city attack left everyone spread thin and exhausted. In the beginning, he and Damian were tasked with evacuating the east sector of Metropolis. While warning families and schools was a fairly quick job, they became stuck helping a daycare evacuate after the roads became impossible to drive on. Jon had to fly them out two at a time, while Damian herded them on the roof to wait their turn. Jon was nice enough not to tell anyone that Damian had used treats to keep the crying kids content. Although they may have been dog treats knowing him.

Now that he thinks about it, they most likely were dog treats. He may have been treating those toddlers like unruly puppies.

If that was the case then it was only karma that the cold that had been passing through the daycare was now picked up by Damian. Three days later, and Damian sounded like a Muppet. Jon hoped he could convince Tim to send him a copy of their mask feed video.

Now sitting at the table they were waiting for Batman to return with the other Bats and the files collected from the police departments, so they can debrief and all go home.

"Whatcha drawing?" Jon asked, leaning forward.

Damian moved the small sketchpad closer by tucking in his knees to his chest. He looked Jon straight in the eyes and stuck out his tongue. "I don't show true artistry to those who use the contraction 'whatcha'. My art deserves more respect".

"Are you drawing yourself taller?" Jon said sticking out his own tongue. Dad flicked him playfully at the back of his head.

"No. I'm drawing you in your true form. A literal hayseed".

This time Uncle Barry's laugh was too loud to hide. A smile broke through on Damian's face, betraying his secret pride at the reaction.

Despite the teasing, it was nice seeing Damian sketching in front of others. It had taken him a year to do so in front of him and even longer before his Mom even knew that Damian could draw. He remembers Damian's reasoning, given on a hot summer night years ago while sitting at the top of Wayne Tower.

"It reveals what I see. What I remember. It's like a glimpse in my brain, and I can't take that risk with just anyone " Damian had whispered, looking at the moving lights below them. "So does that mean…because I can see them, I'm worth the risk " Jon had asked, flipping through the worn pages of his friend's sketchbook. Damian refused to look at him, refused to even change his expression from boring neutrality. "Yes Jon, you're a risk I can take" he replies casually, but Jon could hear his heart beating and see the tips of his ears turning red. The smile on his face lasted all through the rest of the patrol.

"Maybe if I super hug you and squeeze, I can stretch you out. Like playdough!"

Damian raises an eyebrow, now reaching for the purple marker with a huff of laughter. "I have been hugged sufficiently in my time, thank you. Your hug of death is neither warranted or desired."

"Ah yes, sufficient!" Jon exclaims, flopping back onto his Dad's chest dramatically. "The great Damian has proclaimed the sufficient amount of hugs he has earned in his youth. Please give us your sufficient number oh wise one." He ends it with a flourish of hands as if writing on an invisible scroll.

To Jon's surprise, Damian responded.

"31 times if I remember correctly"

Jon's hands froze in midair. He looked at Damian, whose face was only inches away from his sketchpad, focused on some small detail no-one else could see.

"What?"

"I've been hugged 31 times since I was three, before coming to Gotham. A sufficient number." He said again as if talking about tomorrow's temperature.

The room went quiet, and Damian was oblivious to it all, making faces at his sketch and unaware of the room's rigid silence. He heard his Dad's breath hitch and Aunt Diana's bright smile was slowly slipping off her face as she did the calculation.

Uncle Barry was the first one to break the stagnant air. "So four times a year on average you were hugged," he asks quietly, his hands gripping the edge of the table.

"More or less. Some years were more than others." Damian reached for the blue marker, missing the horror on Uncle Barry's face. "It was an area Talia chose to indulge me on".

Four times a year? That’s less than he got from his Mom and Dad in a day. And indulge? How is that indulging? Four times a year is just - he didn't even have a word for that. He just felt a hollowness in his chest.

He turned to look at Aunt Diana, as she held her face in her hands. Uncle Barry was looking at the ceiling again, but this time to hide the rage on his face.

Looking at his best friend, what hurt the most was the ease at which he spoke. As if only 31 hugs in 7 years was enough. That they were so far and few between that he could keep count. What hurt the most was that Damian didn't even see how sad it was. He spoke as if it was a funny childhood memory.

Jon looked up at his Dad's grief-stricken expression that was locked on Damian. Sliding off his lap, he made his way around the table and to Damian's chair. He pressed himself into Damian's side -a tight fit with the two of them on Batman's chair- and wrapped his arms around his friend.

"You're heavy hayseed," Damian grumbled, but shifted his arm around Jon, circling around him to grip his sketchpad again.

Jon wanted to hold his best friend and give him hug number 32. Or whatever number he was at now after living in Gotham the past 5 years. He cast a look at his Dad again, only to see him looking off to the side, a tense hand holding his jaw.

Eventually, Jon knew Damian would look up and do his scan of the room, only to see everyone upset. He knew from experience that it would only shut Damian down, thinking that he had done something wrong again. He couldn't let Damian see them sad.

He looked at the drawing, which was a beautiful school of Jellyfish. Splashes of purple and a halo of blue, made them pop from the page and seemed to glow against the dark blue background. "That's pretty" Jon points out quietly. "What are they?"

"They're Aurelia Aurita. Commonly referred to as Moon Jellyfish. Tropical creatures that are bioluminescent." Damian explains, a hint of excitement in his voice.

"Tell me more," Jon asks, resting his head under Damian's chin. Damian lets him, shifting back so Jon can lean into him. Jon tightens his arms more securely around Damian's waist, eyes never straying from the perfectly placed lines his best friend adds on. As his friend rambles on about the Jellyfish and their unique evolutionary history, he feels the hollowness in his chest subside. But he doesn't want to let go of him just yet, and Damian makes no move to push him off.

Chapter Text

He was tired and he honestly didn’t want to face the three happy musketeers that are Diana, Clark, and Barry. They were always smiling or joking and after four days of running around being Batman, he just couldn't handle their positive 'go get em tiger' attitude.

In the back of his mind, he can hear Jason's voice make fun of him. Accusing him of being "the human grumpy cat. You and this cat have the same cosmic energy I SWEAR"

With a huff, he turns back to Dick and Tim, who are trying to trip each other while walking despite both of them holding a stack of police files. Tim's short stature seems to be helping him win.

"Enough. The both of you." Dick shoots him a sheepish smile, but Tim only sends a tired glare. Mumbling something about almost having him where he needed.

"We'll leave the files here, and once a plan for a proper debrief is set and the most pressing concerns are handled we can -"

"- Go back and get patched up and yada yada. We get it B." Dick interrupts with his signature trouble-making grin. "The faster we do this, the faster I can get home to Alfred's hot chocolate. So chop-chop" With that he skips past Bruce, far too eagerly, and enters the main Watchtower area.

As Tim passes him, he mutters "I should have let you trip him".

Tim gives a snort of laughter before Bruce follows after both of them into the main room.

Once he enters the room he freezes. Peripherally he sees that Dick and Tim have done the same.

The room feels heavy as if something has happened. The three happy musketeers don't look too happy. Barry looks like he has aged in the half-hour since he left the group in the Watchtower. Diana and Clark shoot him a small smile, but he can tell it's forced. That something is occupying their minds far too much to be genuine.

With a cough, he strides forwards towards the table. This seems to unfreeze his sons, and they approach as well. His eldest ruffles Damian's hair, who has taken up occupancy with his friend on Bruce's chair. Tim lightly bonks Damian's head with the files, which is met with a low growl. That only seems to make Tim happier.

With a sigh, he grabs another chair. There is no way he can kick his kid out of his chair, let alone with his superpowered best friend clinging onto him. He refuses to show that he heard Dick's teasing whisper, calling him a softie. Because he didn’t hear it and he isn't a softie.

He starts the meeting without so much a peep from the others. Typically by this point, Barry would have already annoyed him with something and Diana's positive catchphrases would have earned her a glare by now. Yet no one said anything. They answered when they needed to or when they had information to share, but beyond that, they remained stoic.

Even Dick and Tim were sending concerned glances around the table, clearly as confused as Bruce.

This went on for the entire meeting. It was eerie, to say the least. Bruce almost missed their annoying personalities, but maybe this week had just left them tired.

When the meeting adjourned, no one moved to get up. 

"Boys, get yourselves cleaned up. Head on back to the cave and I'll join you soon". He said and gave a pointed look at Dick. I need privacy with them.

With a nod, Dick gets the message. "Alright, anyone from Gotham under 6ft has a date with hot chocolate." He says too enthusiastically, narrating like a carnival worker. He grabs a distracted Tim who had been typing on his laptop and pulls him up. "Please find the nearest exit, don't leave any valuables, and have a wonderful evening".

Damian slides off the chair and gets up, stretching out his arms above his head. Jon's arms let go reluctantly. Damian turns to his friend to bid farewell, only for Jon to shoot forward and hug him once again. Burying his face in Damian's stomach, he squeezes hard enough that Damian gives out a sharp exhale.

Damian makes no effort to hug back, but he does open his sketchbook to neatly rip off a page. When Jon pulls back he places it in his hands. With a flick to his friend's forehead, Damian heads toward the door.

At the entrance, he pauses and turns back. "Father?"

Bruce nods and says "In a minute. You boys head on down first and I'll follow". Damian's brows furrow in confusion but he just nods and turns to Dick.

"You might want to carry Timothy. The last time he was here he thought walking with his face was a good idea", he turns and walks out.

A disgruntled noise comes out of Tim, who follows close behind him. Possibly to chase after his brother and start bickering. "I fall asleep standing up one time…"

Dick shoots a wink over his shoulder before following his brothers out of the room.

After he is sure they are too far to hear them, he turns back to the group. It's so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Diana's face is blank, and Clark looks like he wants to say something but is opening and closing his mouth like a dying fish. Barry has chosen to have a staring contest with the ceiling tiles. Or maybe he is just blinking really fast.

He waits for Clark to ask Jon to leave, only for the boy in question to pipe up. "You should hug Damian more," he says firmly, pressing the page ripped from Damian's sketchbook to his chest.

Bruce blinks. Hugs?

"What is going on?" he asks, turning to the others.

Diana clears her throat, her expression betraying nothing. "Damian has revealed - although he sees no fault in this- that he has been hugged 31 times before coming to you."

"An average of four times a year for 7 years" Barry adds, now turning to face Bruce.

Bruce grunts. He leans back in his chair. Now he knows why the room felt so somber. Damian often revealed aspects of his childhood, without fully recognizing the absurdity or cruelty of his past circumstances. He was so normalized to the abuse of the league, that he talks about it today with nonchalance. While those who are around to listen are left to feel the pain of how unfair his upbringing was.

The first time Bruce was put in that position he could barely function afterward. He had to lie down and think about the story Damian had told him. It rattled around his head for weeks afterward.

"That sounds about right" he mutters with a sigh. He sits back up and looks at the group. Their neutrality turns to horror. Maybe they had held out hope that Bruce would reveal otherwise.

"He said that Talia indulged him with 31 hugs. How can anyone believe that is more than what should be given?" Clark asks, anger pushing through.

"He doesn’t realize it as less, because he has nothing to compare to." Silence. "Plus with the league, they don't typically reward you with affection. They just lessen one's pain as an incentive."

"Shit" Clark mutters. Blowing out his breath.

Bruce felt bad. He knew it hurt them to see a child in pain, let alone have to hear abuse but be unable to change anything about it. God knows if Bruce had the choice he would go back and prevent all that pain.

"You need to go hug your kid man. None of this cold Batman shit at home" Barry says, staring fiercely at Bruce.

Bruce meets Barry with a look just as strong. "What he has at home is the opposite of what he was given in the league" Barry's eyes soften, so he adds "He doesn't have to count them anymore. They're not so hard to get."

Barry nods and sighs, pushing himself up. Clark and Diana follow suit.

Clark pulls up Jon from the chair, who for the first time looks up from the page in his hand to stare at Bruce. "If you don't hug him enough I will. I'll even break your no Meta in Gotham rule to do it", he announces with all the confidence of a super. Clark just ruffles his son's hair.

"Don't think I don't know that you already sneak in" Bruce huffs. A small part of him warms in relief, that his son has a friend that would be willing to go to all lengths for him. This friend however doesn't even look guilty at Bruce's revelation.

Diana moves towards Bruce and places a kiss on his cheek. "Give him some love from us. And do bring him more often, he's sweet."

Bruce just grunts and walks towards the exit. He graciously ignores Barry's comment on him being 'a man of a great many words'.

Besides he needs to go give his son a hug.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Damian is hard to read and even harder to predict. There always seems to be a pattern but when you try to use it to predict his behavior it never pans out the way you anticipate.

But Dick knows Damian. He can read him better than anyone.

Its why despite years of telling him that resting and healing are important, he isn't surprised to find Damian's bed empty. Honestly, he should have known better than to assume anyone is this family takes their health seriously.

With a sigh, he shuts the door to Damian's room. The Manor is silent and dark. The sun had yet to rise and no echoes of noise gave away his brother's location. No noise and Damian's knack for being his health's own worst enemy left only the cave.

All in a day of piecing together the puzzle that is his baby bat.

The sound of grunts and the dull slap of something being hit welcomed him first when he opened the cave door. The cold air hit second, far colder than it was normally kept. As he made his way down, he could see Damian throwing punches at a swinging sandbag. His throws were sloppy and weak, exhaustion so painfully apparent.

I don't remember Alfred clearing you." Dick says with a sigh, but Damian doesn't even bother to spare him a glance. He is far too vigilant not to have heard the cave door open or the sound of him descending the stairs.

"I cleared myself." Damian grunts, his punch barely moving the sandbag at this point. His hair falls limp in front of his eyes, none of its usual gel to keep it perfectly coifed. So he didn't bother with his morning routine. Interesting.

"You know that’s not how that works Dami." Dick sighs, grabbing a towel haphazardly thrown nearby.

Damian strikes for the bag, only for Dick to reach out and grab his wrist. With a glare, Damian tugs it back, to no success. Dick can see the fire start to die in the teen's eyes, the pause in his adrenaline making everything crash.

Slowly he tugs Damian down as he sits on the mats. That’s all it takes for Damian's legs to give out, following Dick to sit on the floor. It's ungraceful and uncoordinated.

Dick quietly wipes the sweat off Damian's face with the towel. His flushed cheeks are still a bit round from baby fat, but he doesn't look so young as he once did. His jaw is much sharper, and his cheekbones show the Talia in him. He's no longer his little baby brother. The one he could pick up and carry to bed, or the one who would hide under Batman's cape. But he was still impossibly adorable. (and his greatest pride.)

Despite growing up, Damian still held onto those childhood comforts. Like trying to hide from Dick's gaze whenever he knew he was in trouble. Usually, that meant hiding in the shadow of his hood, but without it, Damian had opted to avoid looking at Dick as the towel swiped across his face. 

Dick's thoughts are cut off when Damian shivers. "Why is the cave so cold?" he asks, pulling Damian to sit in his lap. His baby brother may have grown but he's still small enough to fit pressed against his chest. 

"It was too hot" he mumbles into Dick's chest. Damian is radiating heat. His fever must be spiking up. Big surprise.

"The cave isn't hot. You're hot.", Dick presses his forehead against Damian's. "You're fever is up, which wouldn’t be the case if you were in bed."

Finally, Damian looks up at him. Dick was expecting embarrassment, exhaustion, maybe even annoyance. He gets all that, but unexpectedly he also sees desperation.

Case in point. Damian: the family curveball. You can predict but it's not always what you get.

"Couldn't sleep?" he offers, giving Damian a way out of explaining. But to Dick's surprise, Damian shakes his head no.

"Maintaining skills," Damian says quietly. He can see Damian scanning his face for a reaction.

"Was it necessary to do so while sick?"

"Yes." Damian breathes out, his eyes were a bit wild. He's becoming more anxious. Interesting. The sudden need to check his skills, rushing to do so without his usual plans and all whilst sick. The puzzle is starting to come together.

"Was there a breach in our security?" Dick asks.

"…No?" Damian responds, his face scrunched in confusion. So cute.

"So what does that make the manor?"

"Secure.", he can feel Damian relax as he admits those words.

"Secure makes this place…?" He prompts.

"Safe." Damian whispers, closing his eyes and letting his head rest on Dick's shoulder. With that admission Damian goes boneless, leaning entirely on Dick who holds him tight.

"If the Manor is safe that means WE are safe. If we are safe you don't need to confirm that you can still fight." Dick explains, "No one can get you and if they try - well trust me. They'll regret it. So no more training until Alfred clears you. Right?"

"Fine" Damian mutters. Good enough, Dick concedes. 

"Alright, in 10 minutes let's go get you cleaned up and back in bed." he hums, burying his face into Damian's hair.

"10 minutes?" Damian mumbles, confused.

"I want to cuddle you for 10 minutes, and then a few extra hours once you're in bed." He smiles, pressing a kiss to Damian's head. 

"I never agreed to that."

"Too bad. This is my good big brother reward." He sings. Knowing Damian, that'll get him going.

"No Richard"

"Yes Richard"

"Richard" Damian growls out.

"Yeeeesss Richard" he sings out again. "Richard gets cuddles. Now and later. If you say no, that means you think I don't deserve a good big brother reward."

Damian splutters, slapping his forehead against Dick's neck in annoyance. "You're being a child." he huffs.

"That has nothing to do with my reward," he says smugly. He knows Damian can feel the smile buried in his hair. 

Damian sighs, long, suffering, and dramatic. As if the burden of Dick's affection was far too heavy.  "Fine" he mutters.

Dick squeezes his little brother tight. A win for Richard.

Chapter Text

The manor makes him feel weird. It's familiar and foreign and he'd rather not have to face what the emotions bubbling up in his means. He'd rather just go back to his safehouse and stick to the alleyways that are his turf.

But when Alfred calls asking for afternoon tea then fuck it. He can stay in this hellhole for a few more minutes. The added incentive that boss man is at work and it's only him and Alfred seals the deal.

This is why after a few hours with Alfred, who had left to run errands, Jason is surprised to find another bat in the library.

In his favorite chair.
Reading HIS book.

With his bookmark removed and on the side table.

Damian was always the best at being an asshole in the pettiest of ways.

Jason stalks forward and plucks the book from Damian's hands and scans the page. Damn, he's ahead of me.

"You got a death wish, short stuff?" Jason grumbles sending a glare towards Damian. He doesn't bother explaining why because by the smug look on Damian's face, he clearly knows what is ticking Jason off.

"If you can’t remember something as simple as where you last left off, then maybe Alfred should have you checked out," Damian replies, his voice nasally and rough. "Maybe your brain is finally matching your grey hair-"

Damian gets cut off when Jason opts to just sit on him. It's his chair anyways. "Get off you oversized-" Damian wheezes out.

"I don't have grey hair, it's white you brat. And only a streak." Jason says, easing off his brother but not enough to let him squirm his way out.

Damian wiggles around, hitting Jason with his elbows, trying to get him off. "OW! Okay OKAY! Your elbows are pointier than Tim's. I'll get off." Jason yells. He stumbles forward when a knee strikes him in his backside.

Jason whips around with a glare. "Don't make me sit on you again." he hissed.

Damian sticks out his tongue. "Don’t compare me to Drake."

"Shouldn’t you be at kindergarten right now?", he shoots back, rubbing his side. It's probably going to bruise, thanks to the little brat.

"Alfred says I'm sick," Damian says with a pout. Cute, Jason thinks. Wait no, Ew. Dick get out of my head, the bat brat ain't cute.

Looking closer, Damian's face is slightly flushed. Every time he breathes through his nose, a faint whistling sound could be heard. With a sigh, Jason sits at the edge of the seat, avoiding squishing Damian again. He rests his palm against Damian's cheek. It's far too warm for him to be in good health but not enough that Jason would be worried.

"Shouldn’t you be in bed kid?", that earns him quite the glare. "Or should I call mama bird to tuck his chick in?", he asks in mock sweetness, which gets him another elbow in the stomach. Worth it.

"All I am allowed to do is rest in bed," Damian whines. "I'm bored. I refuse to be in bed when I can't sleep. And this is the only thing that doesn’t give me a headache."

Something tugs on his heartstrings and he can only imagine Dick cooing at Damian's child-like complaints. Surprisingly, the thought of Dick only makes him more determined to rile the kid up more.

"Well tough luck buttercup, the book's mine. And unlike children, I can drive home and take my book with me."

His resolve dies quickly when he sees a flash of disappointment on Damian's face. The kid slumps his head back and gives out a sad whine. Damn, the meds must be strong, otherwise, healthy Damian wouldn't dare make that noise out loud.

"But I'm bored". A sad look gets sent Jason's way. The manipulative bastard. It's so out of character that it's clearly fake.

But he won't be swayed. He came for Alfred - ONLY Alfred. He'd done right by the old man. Now it's time to leave.

Because Bruce will be home soon, and he doesn't need to be here for THAT moment. That stupid look of hope on his face, making him feel bad that he has a home elsewhere. Only to piss Jason off as Batman, which makes him leave to that home he feels guilty having and it starts the whole cycle all over - OH ALRIGHT FUCK IT.

He can't stand the look Damian keeps giving him. That little fucker. That little piece of shit brother. Annoying, bookmark stealing brat.

Jason grabs Damian's legs and swings them so that they hang over the side of the recliner. Before the brat can complain, he assumes the same position beside him.

The chair is large, but not large enough for both of them. With some squirming and curses on both sides (and another elbow in the gut -OW DAMIAN!), they find a comfortable position.

They both lean back against one armrest, their legs hanging off the other arm. Damian is partially on his side, lying on Jason's chest. "I can't read in this position.", Damian murmurs quietly.

With a huff, Jason reaches for the book left on the side table from their earlier spat. He clears his throat and starts to read, trying to keep his voice from wavering. From the beginning because someone removed his bookmark, and keeping his eyes off Damian the entire time.

It's….nice.

He doesn't bring any attention to when the brat's head eventually ends up on the crook of his neck. Or when he clutches Jason's shirt.

It's nothing when Jason wraps his arm around Damian, holding him close. It's strategic. So the brat can't push him off without the both of them going down.

It doesn’t mean anything when Jason stops reading aloud and continues silently, because the soft whistling of Damian's stuffed nose says that he has fallen asleep.

He also pointedly ignores the click of Alfred's camera. Or when Bruce blinks owlishly at the two of them when he returns home. He just turns the page because THIS doesn't mean anything. It doesn't.

And he will continue to ignore Bruce who has been sitting on the adjacent couch, working silently on his laptop as Jason reads.

It’s the demanding brat's fault and he will let him know once he wakes up.

Chapter Text

The clock reads 3:18 am and he can't sleep. It could be due to a number of reasons. It could be the change in recent gang patterns at the dock, meaning something big is happening. What that is he doesn't know, but his brain won’t let him go to fucking sleep until he figures it out.

It could also be the rattle of wind hitting his window. It could be too loud for his coming down from its caffeine high to allow sleep.

It could be the air. There isn't any indication that it's the air. But it could be. Maybe his brain is awake trying to figure out how the air is keeping it awake. That could…be a thing?

Maybe its…Footsteps?

The sound of someone softly walking down the hall focuses Tim immediately. He can hear whoever it is, slowly makes their way close to his room and then it….passes. No hesitation. Nothing. The steps continue down the hall to the stairs, until Tim can't hear it anymore.

It's definitely not Bruce then. Having Bruce wander the halls isn't a surprise but would typically end with him checking in on everyone. His door would have been opened and Tim would pretend to be asleep like a normal functioning human until Bruce would go away.

But tonight the footsteps passed right by him.

Every part of his detective's brain is screaming at him to figure out who it is. Who is bothering to walk down the hall, leading away from their rooms? But his brain, desperate for sleep tells him that it's probably just Dick. Or Jason. Or a murderer.

Who could maybe chloroform him to drag him to his murder lair. But hey, at least he'll be able to go to fucking sleep before getting murdered. Sleep seems to be his chosen decision, as he begins to drift away.

Until the jingle of Titus' collar snaps him awake. The dog lets out a loud whine, before following in the direction of the earlier footsteps. Tim can feel his heart hammering, Titus never makes noise after dark unless something is wrong.

And why is he whining? Where is he going? Now there were too many questions left unanswered for the curious detective. He drags himself off the bed, grabbing some ratty slippers underneath his bed, and pulls the door slightly ajar. There is nothing in the hallways, but he can hear Titus whining on the first floor.

As quietly as he can, he descends the stairs following the distressed sounds of Titus. He reaches the kitchen and is met with a cold draft sweeping in from the open back door. The back door leads to the gardens behind the Manor but was always kept locked at night.

Titus was lying pitifully by the door, giving Tim a lick as he comforted the dog with a gentle head scratch. Clearly, the dog had followed someone down the hall but opted to remain inside where it was warm than follow whoever outside into the cold.

Tim walked out and thirty feet from the door stood Damian. The soft light from the open door cascaded onto the teen, painting him golden against the dark blue night. Tim's shadow stretched to meet Damian, and yet despite his obvious presence Damian didn't bother to turn around. Instead, his eyes scanned the sky, searching for something Tim couldn't see. 

The cloudy sky would occasionally break, allowing streams of moonlight to shine. But as quick as it came it would disappear, hiding with the stars behind the clouds. This dance between light and dark seemed to enchant Damian, as his eyes never left the sky.

Tim took a few steps closer, but he could barely breathe trying not to break the eerie tranquility. A gust of wind rattled the trees and made him shiver. He wasn't dressed for this weather, having only come out in his pajama bottoms and an old stretched-out long sleeve. Damian wasn't any better, dressed in sweatpants and a thin undershirt. And who knows how long Damian had been standing in the cold, dark garden. Tim couldn't dwell on that, the priority now was to get Damian back inside.

In a few steps, he was beside Damian and gently grabbed his wrist. "Damian", he said softly, barely audible from the howling wind. "What's wrong?"

Damian glanced his way, his expression holding none of its usual determination of sass. His eyes scanned Tim's face, searching for whatever the sky hadn't granted him, but didn't say a word.

"Let's go in" Tim prompts, "it's cold and we can-"

"She loved the stars," Damian interrupts, his gaze going back to the cloudy sky. "we would climb up to the roof, and she'd know every myth for every constellation. She would talk for hours until either the sun rose or we fell asleep."

Tim could feel his breath catch in his chest, because while everyone knew Damian deep down still loved his mother, Talia had become a taboo topic in their family. Damian would never talk about her, outside of relevant cases or information. And when he did, it was with a cold detachment reserved for strangers, not someone's mother. But now Damian is talking about her fondly, of times that no one but they shared. And it left Tim to swallow a lump in his throat, listening to the love that Damian still carried for someone they both knew could never love him the same way.

"We weren't allowed much freedom," Damian continues, as if unaware that Tim could hear. "But sometimes under the guise of training, we would escape to the sea, where we would take a boat and travel using the stars. She said it was for survival, but I don’t think she meant mine."

As the wind howled again, Tim almost lost what Damian said next. "I wonder if once I left, was she ever able to escape to the sea. Or did I condemn her, when I left her behind?"

"No!" Tim grabbed Damian by the shoulders forcing his younger brother to face him. Finally, Damian looked at Tim. His eyes were cloudy and far gone. As if watching something unfold that only he could see. "She hurt you. She left you, and that’s not what someone who loves you is supposed to do. They're not to abandon you and leave you alone, left to pick up the pieces of what they shattered."

Tim's voice cracked, and the sky cracked with it, sending a flash of light and a thunderous clap with it. Cold droplets of rain fell in an unrelenting downpour.

Damian no longer was watching a distant film but was fully focused on Tim's words. It always made Tim uncomfortable, looking into Damian's eyes when he first came to Gotham. It was disturbing how much darkness those eyes betrayed, like a soldier with too many secrets to returning to who they once were. Now, it was just as disturbing but more painful to see. It meant that no matter how long Damian was loved, those eyes would never shed the pain it witnessed.

Tim gripped Damian tighter. "She doesn't deserve you. Nothing she did was fair to you." With that, he pulls Damian towards him and grips him tight. They're almost the same height, but he still bows his head to bury his face in Damian's shoulder. "She doesn't deserve your loyalty. Or your love."

His face feels hot and his eyes well up with tears. Talia didn't deserve Damian. And a small part of him, was angry from his own pain, his own childhood, years of waiting for someone in those empty halls to remember he was still there.

Eventually, Damian's limp arms circle around Tim and grip him tight, resting his head on Tim. He doesn't feel Damian shake with emotion, like what Stephanie or Bart might have done. He isn't surprised, Damian is more like their sister Cassandra; Accepting the pain and tragedy in their lives to simply be their cruel reality, and not worth the emotional turmoil that comes with denying such a truth.

But none of that mattered. Because at this moment as he held Damian, he knew he would protect him. No matter the cost. He doesn't know why tonight of all nights Damian chose to reminisce of his mother. Was it the fever that took him back to better memories? Or had this built-up longing been exposed by his current vulnerable state? Tim doesn't care to know. He'll stay by Damian's side until he won't search for warmth in someone as cold as his mother.  

"She didn't deserve you either" Damian whispers back.

Damian didn't need to explain who he was referring to. Tim knew. It echoed loudly in his mind, drowning out the screams of the storm. And despite years of doubting himself, doubting everything good that came his way, if his little brother said so then he was inclined to believe it too.

Tim pulled back and pushed Damian's wet hair out of the boy's face. "Come on," He tugged Damian's hand which he gripped tightly as they set off towards the warm manor. "Let's go back home."

END