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Damian slipped into the warehouse, sticking to the shadows, carefully silent incase there was anyone left inside. Red Robin had insisted that he could handle this bust alone, but father instructed Damian to follow behind.
The earlier check in had set Batman on edge. There was something in Drake's voice over the comms that father hadn’t liked. A shakiness, maybe? Damian didn’t know the older boy’s tells like his father did. He couldn’t hear what set him off.
Robin surveyed the room. By all means and purposes, it seemed abandoned, though recently. The room was in disarray. Tables were flipped, Damian saw stray bullets on the ground. There had clearly been a fight here, but he didn’t see the normal pile of thugs waiting for police pick up.
Damian tutted.
“Red Robin,” he said, barely glancing at the fallen figure on the other side of the room. If Drake was so pathetic as to let the criminals get away and fall to the ground after a lost battle then he could stay there. Damian didn’t care.
He did notice, however, that Drake didn’t respond to him, which was unusual.
“Red,” he said again, turning to his useless heap of a brother. Drake was sprawled over a pile of fallen crates, likely filled with the stolen cargo they were sent here for. His head dipped back over the far edge of the boxes, so Damian couldn’t see his face. He didn’t even acknowledge Damian’s presence. The whole scene made him… uneasy.
“Red,” Damian stalked forward. If Drake wouldn’t notice him by choice, then Damian would make him notice. “Get up. You can’t truly be exhausted after a mission like this, unless you’re more useless than I originally thought.”
He still got no response. The normal Drake would snap back at him with an annoyingly clever response that would make Todd snicker. Todd alway did have a poor sense of humor.
“Drake. What's wrong with you?” Damian shoved at his foot. Not even a twitch. Damian reached forward and grabbed the collar of Red Robin’s cape. Drake's head lolled at Damian's sharp movement.
Red Robin’s cowl slipped back off his head, but Damian couldn’t think of the security risk because Timothy’s eyes were blank and unfocused. The usually bright blue was dulled, looking almost gray. He’s not blinking. Why wasn’t he blinking?
“Drake.” Damian shook him again. “Wake up. Batman wished for me to retrieve you so we have to go.”
He watched for a blink, for Timothy to push his hands away and glare at him, but nothing happened. Drake just lay still and the room started shrinking around them.
“Why are you—” he must be faking. He’s faking because Damian had insulted him earlier, had made a snide comment about Drake being in the manor again. He was faking because he was annoyed. Damian knew he knew how to do it. They all knew how to play dead, father had taught them. They all knew how to slow their heartbeat, how to not blink, how to stay perfectly limp.
Damian didn’t want to do this right now.
“Get up! Stop this at once and let’s go! I don’t— I don’t want to play this game. Wake up.” It was a game. It was a game and Tim was faking because there was no way that Red Robin would be taken down by some lowlife criminals. Red Robin who could pull people back from time lines. Red Robin who could go head to head with Ra’s al Ghul and win. Timothy was stronger than this.
“Timothy,” Damian tried again, his knees hitting the edge of the crate. Timothy should be up and lecturing him about using names in the field now. He should be ruffling Damian’s hair in that way he does to annoy him after a petty argument. He should be standing up, and walking out of this warehouse, and he should be breathing.
“Please— stop it! I don’t want— why are you doing this? Why won’t you— just get up so we can go home! I want to go home now!” Damian’s hands shook around Tim’s cape. His eyes were burning and he couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs.
How was he supposed to explain this to Father and Richard? Father was right to be worried about Tim earlier, and Damian selfishly wished that Batman were the one who had followed Red Robin instead of him. What would Richard say when they all knew that if Robin had gotten there sooner, then Tim might still be alive?
Everything would be different now. Cassandra might go back to Hong Kong, she had only stayed in Gotham this long because Tim had asked her to. Jason might get violent. The manor would fall silent again when Duke closed himself off after another tragedy. Dick would stop smiling for real, instead it would be that fake one he put on when he was hurting, the one that always had sad eyes. And how was Father supposed to cope when Timothy had always been the one to bring him back from darkness?
Damian didn’t know how to fix those things. He didn’t— Tim was supposed to fix those things! He hadn’t taught Damian how to do that, and despite what he liked to say, Damian didn’t know how to do everything Drake did.
He didn’t know how to fix his family and he didn’t know how to get this feeling to go away.
He tipped his head forward to rest on Tim’s shoulder. The pressure in his chest kept growing. He waited for the inevitable implosion. The ringing that echoed around the room was almost deafening.
Tonight was supposed to be easy. They were supposed to go out and take care of business and come back home where Alfred would reward them for a night of no injuries.
But now Damian knew Tim wouldn't be walking into the manor with him. He wouldn't drive Damian home on the back of his bike. He wouldn’t let Damian steal the last cookie off of his plate and pretend not to notice.
Damian's breath hitched. His eyes felt hot and heavy as fat tears dripped down his face. He sobbed and he screamed because his big brother was dead and he didn’t know what to do.
“Tim—” his voice broke as his throat started to close up. “I— I don’t— I want to go home now. Please— get up— you can’t do this, please—”
Damians locked his arms around Tim’s waist, but he didn't get the hand tentatively placed on the nape of his neck. He didn’t get the hand gently running circles into his back. Damian didn’t get the treatment he’d grown used to from their scattered awkward hugs and it’s like he’d gone up against Mr. Freeze and lost.
“Please—”
“Robin.” Damian’s head whipped up to look at his father standing in the doorway. No— how was he supposed to—
He turned his eyes back to Red Robin and jerked back in surprise. His hands were covered in blood. Timothy was covered in blood. There’s a gash in his head and bullet holes in his chest and a slash through his stomach. His limbs were twisted in an unnatural way, bone poking through the skin. Blood dripped down Tim’s face, leaked from his eyes, and— how had Damian not noticed? He had no doubt that his own face was covered in blood as well, and it all felt too hot and sticky, and a wave of nausea rolled over him. He glanced back to his father, he saw the man’s eye flickering between his sons.
Damian saw when it registers for father that Tim wasn’t moving, that he was soaking in his own blood. He saw the flicker that’s just his dad before the dark shadow of Batman descended around them.
Batman stalked forward, grabbing the back of Damian’s collar and pulled him away from Tim.
“No—” Damian scrambled to hold onto his brother but Father blocked him.
The broken gasp he heard from his father wasn't like anything he’d heard before. The man dropped to his knees, cradling his third son in his arms.
“What happened?”
“I don’t— I don’t know, he—
“You don’t know?” Batman glared at him and Damian flinched back.
“He was like that when I got here,” he could only whisper.
“When you got here.” Fathers voice was low and gravely. It was the voice he used for the lowest of the low and he was directing it at Damian. “You should have been here! You should have been faster!”
“I—” He knew that. He— if he had been faster then Timothy wouldn't be—
“You should have been here,” Father said, his voice cracking. He pressed his forehead to Tim’s hair. Damian had never seen his father cry before, but it left him shaking.
Damian listened to his father scream like he was being tortured, and shuddered. He dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself in mock comfort.
He put a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming, but it tasted like metal, sticky with Tim’s blood, and it made him feel sick.
It’s his fault. It’s his fault and if he had just been faster- if he had gotten here sooner—
Father would hate him. They all would hate him. He would be alone, and Timothy wouldn’t be here to fix it.
Damian couldn’t breathe.
“Damian.” Black spots invaded his vision.
“Damian!” His ears were ringing and the room was swaying.
“Damian!” Damian’s whole body jolts. His heart is racing and his eyes flicker around the room. A hazy fog melts away around him and he starts to make sense of his surroundings. A firm mattress beneath him, one of the ones from med bay. Squeaking bats and the steady beeping of a heart monitor. Fingers running through this hair with a lazy gentleness that makes him want to sink his head back into the pillow and sleep.
He follows the hand in his hair to an arm, a shoulder, a face. His eyes fill with tears again.
Timothy Drake sits next to his bed, his palm pillowing his chin. He has dark bags under his eyes but a soft smile on his face. Most importantly he’s sitting up and breathing.
“You— How?” Damian chokes out, and Tim’s smile turns a little sad.
“You had a bad run in with Scarecrow, remember? I was pretty far away when you called. I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you.”
“It was just—” just Scarecrow. Just fear toxin. A wave of relief that crashes over him, overwhelms him, and he doesn’t try to stop the tears from spilling out.
“Hey…” Tim starts as Damian presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “It’s… you’re okay. Everything’s okay, Damian.”
Tim wraps his arms around him, and Damian presses closer. It isn’t okay. Tim died. He’s never done that before. He hasn’t proven that he could come back. Damian doesn’t think any of them would make it through that.
The events of the night started flooding back to him. Red Robin and Robin were the only two in the city. That had very clear instructions not to do anything risky. To stay together and get back home on time.
They had split up about an hour in.
Killer Croc and Scarecrow had both made themselves known in opposite parts of the city. Tim had decided to take Croc, saying that there was less of a chance of Damian losing a limb this way, and “do you think you can take Scarecrow on your own? He can wait if you want backup instead.”
Damian had scoffed, offended at the very suggestion that Crane would be an issue for him.
He should have waited for backup.
Damian can see bandages poking out from Tim’s collar. He wonders how bad Croc had gotten, if Tim was sporting more injuries than he’d let Damian or their father know about. He wonders if Tim had let Croc go in order to help Damian instead when he got the distress signal.
“You’re injured,” Damian sniffs. He can’t quite figure out what he wants right now. He wants the attention off of him. He wants Tim to stop looking at him with those sympathetic eyes. He wants to stop crying. It's all too embarrassing.
But he also desperately wants Tim to stay in his sight line. He wants reassurance that his brother isn’t close to death.
He wants a hug.
“Yeah,” Tim sighs. “Just a little scratch.”
Lie.
“Wade was a little faster than I thought he’d be tonight. Turns out we should have gone to Crane first anyways. He worked out a new fear toxin, a lot stronger than the last one. Seems to make everything a lot more vivid.” Tim rubs his eyes. He clearly had to work hard to create an antidote tonight, and he was right. The visions were vivid indeed.
“Your reverberator had a leak. It was a tiny little crack right along one of the seams. Any of us could have missed it.” Tim’s talking like Damian is worried about a mistake. Like that was his biggest concern when he had just seen his brother's bloody corpse.
Mistakes happen, he knows that.
A mistake that results in Tim’s death is unacceptable. It was scary.
That is Damian's biggest concern right now.
“I should go get Alfred,” Tim says, pushing up from his chair. He winces as he stretches, and Damian grows more concerned. If Drake is injured then he should be in bed resting. He shouldn’t be walking around, not if he wants to make a quick recovery.
Damian snatches Tim’s sleeve as he tries to walk away, and the older boy pauses. Damian tugs, trying to pull him back.
Drake should stay in medbay to rest. He should stay close, where Damian had real physical proof that he’s alive and breathing. It’s just to— it’s not because Damian’s scared, it’s just proper protocol.
Tim shoulders relax and he comes back to Damian's side.
Damian shifts over, and Tim takes the spot beside him on the bed.
“I’ll just text him,” Tim says, and slides his arm around Damian's shoulder.
Then, with his head on his brother's chest, and a hand resting over his steadily beating heart, Damian falls asleep.