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Nothing around him felt real, yet every sensation was too sharp and too painful. His breathing and heartbeat were fast, and he felt lightheaded and dizzy. His throat hurt. He was pretty sure he was crying, which only made him panic more. He’s not supposed to cry, not supposed to show weakness.
Weak. He felt weak. Damian hated feeling weak. He dug his fingernails into the flesh of his forearms, trying desperately to ground himself. He could feel his heartbeat across his whole body, pumping too much blood into his limbs, prepping to run or fight or—
Through the haze of emotion, Damian heard the door open. Great, his worst nightmare. No one was allowed to see him like this, but he couldn’t exactly stop it from happening. He could only hope it was someone he trusted, like Richard or Father.
As the door slid further open, Drake stepped into the room. The worst possible candidate.
“Yo, Damian, dinner is—” His face changed to something akin to disgust. “Hey, Damian, are you okay? What’s wrong?” He closed the door behind him.
It isn’t disgust, Damian realized with a start. It’s worry.
But there was no way Drake was worried about him. Why would he be? Damian clutched at his arms tighter as if coiling around himself could keep Drake out. He turned his face away, not wanting him to see, to judge.
His heart pounded even harder, and not only was he dizzy, but the room was also now spinning slightly. He felt nauseous. He was going to throw up. He was definitely going to throw up, there was no doubt, he was going to—
All at once, he became aware of his surroundings again. He was in his room, sitting on his bed, and… there was an ice cube in his mouth? He spat it out into his hand and looked at Drake, who had at some point moved to sit next to him on the bed. He was holding the cup of ice water that had been on Damian’s bedside table.
“Little trick I learned a long time ago. Put an ice cube in your mouth, and your body shifts its focus from blind panic to confusion. What happened?”
Damian scowled and took the cup from Drake, putting the ice back inside it.
“Look, I understand if you don’t want to talk about it. I know we’re not exactly close. I know you think I’m gonna judge you or something, but I’m not. I get it. I’ve had panic attacks before; we all have. Dick, Bruce, Cass, all of us.”
Damian drew his knees up to his chest, crossing his arms and turning further away. He didn’t believe Drake. He may not like Drake or approve of him in any way, but he had to admit that he seemed like he had his life together. At least for the most part. There was no way he, too, had such embarrassing outbursts.
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s a normal thing that happens to people sometimes, especially people who have suffered trauma. Look, I…” Drake hesitated, taking a breath. “I used to feel like I didn’t belong here, like I wasn’t good enough. Still do, honestly. I was so terrified that any minute, someone would figure that out. That they’d realize and, and hate me. Kick me out. Laugh at me. That fear… It feels awful. Most of the time, it’s manageable, but sometimes it’s… paralyzing.”
Damian shifted his head slightly, a little more towards Drake. Not because he cared or anything, but because everything Drake was saying could be potential blackmail material in the future. Clearly, Drake didn’t take it that way, though, and kept talking.
“All I want to do is curl up in a ball and hide. I can’t breathe, can’t think any thought besides, ‘they know, and they hate you’ over and over again. It feels awful. The last thing I want when that happens is for someone to see me in that state. It would feel mortifying. But it isn’t. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Damian wiped his eyes roughly with his fist. He wasn’t still crying, not at all.
“So… If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. If you want to kick me out, I won’t be offended by it. But if you do want to talk, I’ll listen. And I won’t judge you. I promise.” Drake finished.
“I… I fell asleep, and I had a dream that… that Richard was killed and I couldn’t save him. That it was all my fault.” Damian hadn’t meant to start talking, but the words had just fallen out. Hot shame burned through him; Drake didn’t need to know his personal business, and Damian certainly didn’t need to be talking about his nightmares like a little kid.
Still, it wasn’t the first time he’d had dreams like that. He’d watched practically everyone he knew die while he was powerless to stop it. The dreams always left him in at least a cold sweat, but every once in a while, he woke up like he did today. Shaking, crying, and struggling for air as icy rivers of fear flowed over him. It was nice to finally acknowledge that instead of ignoring it.
“Yeah, I’ve had dreams like that too.”
“You have?”
Drake nodded. “I’m going to tell you something Bruce told me back when I was Robin. ‘There are always going to be people that you can’t save. Beating yourself up over it only wastes time that you could spend actually making things right.’ If Dick got killed, even if it was your fault, you know that he wouldn’t blame you. We all make mistakes; we all fail to save people. Dick, too. I guess… I guess what I’m trying to say is, if what happened in your dream happened in real life, you’ll still have people there to support you.”
They sat in silence after that. The only sounds were their breathing and the occasional sniffle from Damian (although he’d deny that vehemently, he does not sniffle).
Damian couldn’t help but wonder what Drake was thinking. Sure, he said he wouldn’t judge, but people had lied to Damian before. But what would Drake get out of lying to him? With what he had told Damian, there was no possibility of blackmail. They were even. There was only one reason he could think of, but he pushed it away immediately. It was too embarrassing to even think about. Despite the fact that Bruce Wayne was his biological father and had legally adopted Drake after his parents died, they would never be family. They would never be brothers.
And yet… there was no other explanation Damian could think of. Timothy must care about him.
“I came in here to tell you that dinner’s ready. We’re pretty late now, but we can still go down there if you want. If not, I can bring you up a plate later.” Drake said.
“I’m fine here. You go. I don’t need to be coddled.”
Drake frowned. “I’m not—” He took a breath. “If you really want me to leave, I will.”
Damian said nothing. Part of him wanted Drake to stay, but the overwhelming majority was convinced that he didn’t need anyone. He was fine being alone, and in fact, he wanted to be alone. Drake clearly wanted to leave, and Damian had wasted enough of his time. He might as well tell him to go.
“I’m taking your silence as an invitation to stay.” Drake flopped back onto the bed. “Your bed is way more comfortable than mine. I’m totally stealing it.”
“You’re... going to steal my bed?”
“Yep. I’m gonna swap the mattresses when you’re not paying attention.”
“I doubt you could pull that off, Drake.”
“You wanna bet?”
-----
Bruce was confused. Tim and Damian hadn’t fought in a solid week. He supposed that was a good thing, but it was also concerning. Were they planning something? If they were getting along, they had to be scheming.
Well, not so much ‘getting along’ as ‘Damian’s not threatening to murder Tim 24/7’.
In the cave last night, Tim had commented on Damian’s fighting technique in a way that made Bruce sure he would have to physically separate the two, but Damian had just ignored it. That wasn’t like him.
Most parents would be happy that their children were getting along; he knew that, it was just… suspicious. You know, when it was his kids. He could ask about it. He could, but he won’t. He’ll leave it alone, and things will go back to normal eventually.
That’s what he thought, but after another week passed with no arguments between the two and no evidence of scheming, he was incredibly concerned.
Bruce found himself alone in the cave with Tim one night, both working separately on cases, and decided he should ask. After all, if things were this calm between them, there had to be a reason, and nothing he could think of was good.
“So, uh,” He cleared his throat as Tim looked up from his work. “What’s going on with you and Damian?”
Tim just shrugged and turned back to his work. That wasn’t good enough.
“You haven’t tried to kill each other in two weeks.” He tried again.
Tim looked up again with a sigh. “It’s more like Damian hasn’t tried to kill me in two weeks. Ask him.”
Bruce had already thought about asking Damian and decided he wouldn’t get a straight answer. Damian still felt he had something to prove to him; he couldn’t be vulnerable with Bruce. He’d thought Tim could; he’d known Tim could. He’d ranted to Bruce about Damian in the past, more worried about him than angry with him, so why was this different? What had happened?
He called Dick the next morning. Damian wouldn’t talk to him, but he would talk to Dick. The phone rang three times before he finally picked up.
“Hey B, what’s up?” His voice held the lightly cheerful tone it usually did.
“I need you to talk to Damian.”
“Uh, anything, in particular, you need me to talk to him about?”
“He and Tim haven’t fought in two weeks.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
Bruce sighed. “Dick, think about it. Damian and Tim haven’t fought or argued in two weeks. Tim won’t tell me why.”
“Look,” Dick said. “I’m sure it’s fine, but if it helps you sleep at night, I’ll drive down for a visit, talk with Damian and see what I can find out.”
“Let me know what he says,” After a pause, he added, “Thank you.”
“Anytime. See you soon.”
Bruce hung up after that. He didn’t know what he hoped to come of this. He’d thought of every possible outcome of his (attempted) conversation with Tim, and while him brushing Bruce off had been on the list, it still managed to surprise him a bit. The list of possible outcomes of Damian’s conversation with Dick was comprehensive too, yet somehow he knew that whatever happened there would surprise him as well. Maybe he just hoped that his boys were growing up and maturing, capable of putting aside any grievances they had with each other and keep things civil. Bruce didn’t know, and he didn’t like not knowing things.
----
Damian was suspicious. Richard hadn’t been planning on coming back to the manor until next Sunday, and that was just to be for dinner. Now he was staying overnight. When asked, Richard said he’d just missed them too much, but Damian didn’t buy that. Richard was an adult with a life of his own, perfectly capable of waiting four extra days to see his family. He must have an ulterior motive.
His suspicions were confirmed when Richard knocked on his bedroom door that afternoon. Richard only knocked if he had something serious to talk about; usually, he would barge right in and quite rudely make himself at home.
“Come in,” Damian called.
Richard closed the door behind him and sat down on the bed, much like Drake had done a few weeks before. Damian quickly put that thought out of his mind; he didn’t need to remember that embarrassing interaction right now. Or ever.
“So,” Dick began.
Damian frowned. “Nothing good ever happens when you start a conversation with ‘so.’”
“Hey! That’s totally untrue.” He said a bit offended.
A pause in the conversation. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Oh, just, you know,” He hesitated. “How are you?”
“You’re a surprisingly bad liar, Richard. What’s wrong?”
“Seriously, nothing! Tell me what’s new with you, anything happen with… anyone?”
Damian’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not entirely sure what your agenda is, but I am sure that I don’t like it.”
His shoulders slumped a bit, and he sighed. “Alright, fine. What’s going on with you and Tim? B says you haven’t tried to kill him for a while.”
Damian clenched his fists. “I don’t know what you mean.” He made sure to keep his voice perfectly even.
“Really?” Dick asked, eyebrows raised skeptically.
Suddenly, the sheets on his bed were incredibly fascinating. So many tiny threads woven carefully together, not a single one out of place. Perfectly uniform. He kept looking. A repeating pattern of thread—Vertical, horizontal, vertical. Vertical, horizontal—a snag. A thread out of place. He looked up, shifting his attention to the wall.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re not fighting anymore. He’s your brother; you shouldn’t fight that much. I just don’t understand why you stopped.”
“He’s not my—I don’t know. We just haven’t fought lately. Leave it alone.”
“Fine. You don’t want to talk. If you change your mind, come find me.” He stood, ruffling Damian’s hair on his way out.
Alone again. Whatever, he liked it better this way.
----
Tim had always worried about Damian. Sure, the kid could get on his nerves a lot, but Tim cared about him. Even if Damian hated him. Did Damian hate him? He didn’t really know. Honestly, the kid was so confusing. Every time they were in the same room, he tried to bite Tim’s head off. At least, before Tim had helped calm him down from the panic attack. Since then, Damian had been… avoiding him. Tim even intentionally said things he knew would piss him off in the beginning just to get a reaction, but nothing. For the past few days, though, he’d sort of left it alone.
He wanted to be closer with Damian. He wanted the kid to trust him. Damian didn’t have to like him, but Tim wanted Damian to tolerate him. So that’s why Tim was sitting in the parking lot outside Damian’s school. Usually, Alfred would pick him up from Gotham Academy, but today, Tim was going to take him to that arcade he was always at. He was going to spend some time with his brother.
Damian spotted him almost immediately after leaving the school. He didn’t look angry at seeing him, just confused. It could be worse.
Damian opened the passenger side door, throwing his schoolbag into the backseat before climbing into the car himself. “What are you doing here?” The question wasn’t asked with any malice, just curiosity.
“We’re going to the arcade. Put your seatbelt on.”
“Why are we going to the arcade?”
“Can’t I just spend time with you? Must I always have some hidden agenda?”
Damian just shrugged. It was impossible to tell what the kid was thinking. His face was always either totally blank or screwed up with anger. Tim didn’t think he’d ever seen the kid give a real, genuine smile. He’d seen him smile in pictures, but it was always clearly a staged, fake smile. He should really spend more time with the kid.
Tim shook himself out of his thoughts and put the car in drive.
----
Drake pulled the door open, and immediately both were greeted by the classic sounds of an arcade. Some unidentifiable pop song in the background, mostly covered by videogame sound effects, rowdy conversations, and skee-balls being thrown just a bit too hard.
The arcade was lit only by neon LEDs and the light emanating from various cabinets. It had that distinct smell—stale popcorn, spilled soda, cigarette smoke, and the metallic smell of quarters. The ugly 80s carpeting was sticky, matted, and faded under their shoes. School had just let out, so the place was crowded with kids and teenagers.
They went up to the counter to get some change. As he waited for the employee to finish counting quarters, Drake said, “I’m so going to beat your high score in Cheese Viking.”
Damian scoffed. “You wish.”
In the end, Drake didn’t even come close. However, he was scarily good at DDR (which Damian refused to play, it was much too embarrassing), and they made a good team at FPS games. It was actually fun. Damian hadn’t expected that.
They took a break after two hours or so to eat some shitty arcade nachos, the kind that came in a red cardboard container with cheese so yellow it hurt Damian’s eyes. They ate in silence. Damian was thankful that Drake wasn’t attempting to start a conversation; he had no idea what he’d say.
What did Drake even like? Damian had no idea. He knew Drake was good with computers, but that was about it. He knew more about Drake’s friends than he did about Drake himself. That was… sort of sad. Maybe he should spend more time with Drake. He hadn’t actually been bad company so far.
“C’mon,” Drake said after they’d finished eating. “We should team up for laser tag.”
“Don’t you think that’d be a bit unfair to everyone else?”
He grinned. “Oh, totally.”
Damian grinned back.
----
On the way back from the arcade, Drake had his Spotify connected to the Bluetooth in his car and hummed along to whatever song was playing. They still hadn’t spoken.
So Damian broke the silence. “This does not mean we’re friends.”
Drake grinned. “Whatever you say, gremlin.”
They weren’t friends. They were brothers.
Back at the manor, Damian got out of the car and headed up to his room with the intention of doing homework. Hanging out with Drake at the arcade had been fun, but it tired him out, and he flopped down onto his bed. His mattress felt a little strange.