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When Tim Drake pulls into the driveway of Gotham Academy to pick up his little brother as a surprise, he's not expecting to be greeted with the sight of Damian Wayne standing in the middle of a group of kids with a kid twice his height and size towering over him and shouting at him.
The blood boils in his veins and Tim can barely blink before he's getting out of his Bugatti chiron (the kind he only takes out to flex his money on rich assholes, the kind he decided he needed today to ensure people back off his demon brat). The crowd parts for him like a sea, their eyes widened in awe.
Tim is going to make them wish they had gone home immediately. He is going to make them wish they had never said a nasty word about his baby brother, he’s going to ring them by their necks—
He’s going to ensure they fear him for the rest of their lives.
“Silence,” He commands, voice level. Immediately, a hush falls over the crowd and Damian turns to face Tim with a look of annoyance (pain, pain, grateful—) . Tim didn’t even need to raise his voice to get their attention.
Proves how pathetic the kids are.
Is he being really rude to middle schoolers?
Yes, but he doesn’t care about their feelings as much as he does Damian’s.
“Damian, go wait in the car.”
“Drake, I will not—”
“Go.”
Damian turns tail and heads for the Bugatti Chiron. Some of these kids seriously ooh and awe the car. A lot of the kids at Gotham Academy come from rich families— but none of them are as rich as the Wayne’s, much less a Drake-Wayne who has studiously invested all of his money over the years until he’s developed his own fortune that could rival Oliver Queen’s.
Though, Damian is obviously the richest person in Gotham. Son of Bruce Wayne, set to inherit the fortune if things go the right way because god forbid any of his siblings accept B’s money, and heir to LoA, where Damian is essentially a prince in his own right.
Not to mention Tim is genuinely considering putting Damian in his will to inherit his fortune as well. It’s not like Tim has anyone else to leave it to, he’s not sure if he wants children— much less if Bernard wants children. Damian makes the most sense to leave it to when Tim dies.
After ensuring that Damian is safely inside the car, Tim turns to the rest of the students still loitering around, his gaze venomous. Tim may be significantly older than these brats, but he’s not going to let that deter him from giving them a piece of his mind.
“The next time one of you badmouths my brother, to his face or behind his back,” Tim starts, voice low. The kids seem to unwillingly lean closer to hear him better. “I will personally have Black Bat pay you a visit.”
That seems to startle the kids into jerking away. Some of them look almost deathly pale. They shouldn’t be, it’s a well known fact that Black Bat isn’t corrupt, can’t be bought— none of the Bats or Birds can. But she is, according to the general public, the most moral.
So if one of the richest men in Gotham tells you he can get her to talk to you.. Tim supposes it’s kind of scary.
Oh jeez, Bernard is going to tear him a new one for threatening a bunch of ten year olds.
Tim doesn’t bother with another remark, he simply spins on his heel and whistles a tune as he makes his way back to the car where he left Damian. He slides into the driver seat with one last jaunty wave to the parents picking up their children. He slams his door shut, revving his engine and pulling out of the driveway.
He glances at Damian, expression softening at the way his little brother is curled up on the seat, knees pressed against his chest and his chin resting on his knees with his hands wrapped around himself. Tim’s heart aches at how vulnerable the position is for Damian.
“Damian,” he prompts.
“Drake,” Damian parrots blindly.
Tim sends him another look.
“They are not the kindest,” Damian mutters, shifting to press his body against the door of Tim’s ridiculously expensive sports car. Tim hums in agreement, effortlessly navigating the car through the traffic.
“Was something not done about it last time? Do I need to call a meeting with the board?”
“I can handle it.”
“You don’t
need
to.”
Damian is silent after that. Tim takes that as confirmation that he needs to have a meeting with the board at Gotham Academy. He’s going to make them understand how bad it would be to lose the Wayne’s favor.
He hears a tiny sniffle and Tim has never pulled over faster. His car slides into the parking lot of some store or another, and he’s unbuckling his belt faster than he can comprehend. Within seconds, Damian is in his arms, curled on his lap and sobbing into his chest.
Tim’s heart aches. He pulls Damian impossibly closer, curling his fingers into inky black hair and gently scratching his nails against Damian’s scalp. He hums a quiet song his own mother used to sing to him before she had died. He treats Damian like Janet Drake treated him and hopes for the absolute best.
Damian sobs into the silk suit that no doubt costs a fortune. He crinkles the sides in his tiny fists, holding on tightly as the force of his tears threaten to shatter him entirely. He gasps for breath, his lungs feeling as though they’re constricting in his chest with each inhale.
He cries into his big brothers chest and lets Timothy hold him.
It’s a bit strange, having Timothy’s arms around him. It’s never quite happened before outside of their public personas, where Damian would find himself exhausted at gala’s and Timothy would use it as an excuse to go home early. Those times, Damian would find himself being sweeped into Timothy’s arms like a toddler, one of his brothers arms pressing underneath his thighs to support him while the other pressed Damian’s head against sturdy shoulders.
Damian had, reluctantly, felt safe even when he knew it was a facade so Timothy could get home and go and patrol while Damian silently made his way up the stairs to his bedroom, gazing out the window in search of stars he knows he won’t find.
He sobs a little harder. His eyes open, lashes clumped together with tears as he stares at the difference between their skin colors. Damian’s own has lightened a bit without the sun, but he’s still darker than Timothy. Noticeably darker.
Timothy is the same pasty white everyone at school is. Damian is the outlier, the one who so obviously doesn’t fit in. He’s different, too different. When he speaks, it’s obvious English was far from his first language, accent heavy on his tongue.
He’s too different from the kids at Gotham Academy, and everyone but him could tell. He didn’t fit in, and when you don’t fit the mold that’s been out for generations before you—
When a person doesn’t fit the role, it’s made clear what society thinks of them.
Damian Wayne, Latest Wayne Charity Case, Labeled Unsettling By Peers At Gotham Academy.
Damian Wayne, Heir To The Wayne Fortune, Causes Scene At Martha Wayne Foundation Fundraising Gala
Gotham’s Elite Worry For Their Children Being In Close Proximity With Someone Like Damian Wayne: Exclusive Interview With Kaius Crowne
To name a few.
Damian had printed most out, cutting out the pieces that dug the deepest and keeping them in a hidden box. He doesn’t think anyone will really go snooping through his bedroom but one can never be too sure.
He closes his eyes again, pressing his body more closely against Timothy’s and praying his big brother doesn’t let him go. He doesn’t like this, it’s too unlike him but he’s pretty damn sure he’s going to shatter into a million pieces if he’s no longer held like he’s someone prized possession.
Logically, Damian knows that’s strange. People don’t like being treated like objects. But, for as long as Damian can remember, he’s always been a weapon. Sharp and fatal, he’d been used as an extension of his Mother and Grandfather, killing their enemies and being put away until his next chance to be used.
Now, he longs to be treasured like Todd treasures his weapons. Todd names them, cleans them with the upmost care. It makes Damian feel strange, it’s wrong to want to be treated like Todd treats his guns but the man is always so careful and gentle and Damian wishes that sentiment could be turned on him for once.
Is he not a weapon worth caring for?
He sobs a little harder, not even noticing when Drake begins driving anew. He just knows that when he turns his head, he opens swollen eyes to see the city racing by him.
Drake has started driving with Damian on his lap, and none of them are protected by a belt.
Americans, always thinking they can get away with being reckless. If Drake gets in a car crash, it’s very like Damian would break his back. He sniffles, shifting closer.
Damian supposes he can overlook it if the man will keep holding him like this.
When they finally arrive at the Manor, Damian’s tears have long since dried, his sniffles turning into quiet sighs. Tim’s shirt though, is still wet with a rather large stain on it. He slides the car into the driveway, not bothering to get inside the garage.
Damian is still curled on Tim’s lap, face buried in the crook of his shoulder. It makes Tim want to coo and pull him closer but he can already see the door cracking open, the entire lot of their family poking their heads out.
Fuck. Somebody must have filmed and posted Tim’s little defensive stunt. That can either mean the Wayne’s got a standing applause from the general public or their stocks are currently dropping because Tim had the audacity to threaten the children of the Elite.
Ugh, this is going to be such a pain in his ass. Damian’s lucky Tim got his head out of his ass and started seeing the brat as his little brother. Not that Tim will ever regret it, but its not like he regrets giving the brat the cold shoulder either.
“Damian,” Tim sighs eventually. He runs his fingers through Damian’s spiky hair, nudging him gently. “We’ve got to go inside now. The others are waiting for us at the door, do you really want them to come here and see you on my lap?”
“Drake. Let go of me,” Damian grunts, digging sharp nails into Tim’s sides. He winces, shifting in discomfort and seriously considering opening the door and tossing Damian down onto the cement of the driveway.
Tim sighs, releasing his grip on his baby brother— no matter how reluctant. Not that he would ever admit that.
“Come on Dami, let’s go.”
“Do
not
call me that.” Damian growls, tossing himself out of the window. Tim blinks, a slightly confused expression on his face. Why the hell would Damian toss himself out of the window of an
UNmoving
plague? He shakes his head, stifling a grin as he
opens
the door and climbs out of the car. He can feel the full weight of the entire family on him, and he feels distinctly uncomfortable.
Bruce stands at the forefront of the group, eyes narrowed and arms crossed over his chest and just generally exuding an air of bullshit not allowed. Behind him stands Dick and Jason, pressed shoulder to shoulder. Dick has an openly worried look on his face while Jason sports a wide, mischievous grin.
The others are standing on their toes, heads barely poking over the shoulders of the two eldest boys. Tim sighs to himself, walking towards them with Damian trailing behind him like a little puppy.
This is going to make for a very long conversation.
It’s beyond awkward once they get inside the family room. Everyone has propped themselves up around the room, the girls — Barbara, Cass, Steph — are sitting on the couch, Jason sitting between Cass’s legs as she yanks his curls back into a braid of some sort while Steph throws in random purple clips.
Tim has sprawled himself out on the setee, leaving an open space in case Damian decides to settle besides him when he gets tired of standing by the window (what is with this kid and windows?) as stiff as a ruler. Dick is standing nervously by Bruce’s shoulder — the ever present shadow of the Bat.
Bruce stands in the center of the room, back to the rest of the family and facing Damian.
In hindsight, this kind of feels like they’re all against Damian— isolating him in some strange way.
Tim shifts uncomfortably, glancing around the room but no one dares to meet his gaze. His stomach churns. That bad then? That bad... Tim won’t let Damian take any of the blame. He won’t.
Damian stares up at his Father defiantly, then quickly averts his gaze to the ground. They hadn’t made much eye contact at all since he arrived in Gotham, and Father has always been sure to be upset in the few instances that they’ve made eye contact.
“I—”
“Damian—”
Both Father and son freeze, unsure of how to continue. Who let two emotionally stunted individuals attempt to communicate without a mediator present again?
Father clears his throat. “Damian, I will admit freely that I haven’t been very fair ot you since your mother dropped you off with me. It has.. come to my attention,” Grayson coughs pointedly, “that you, perhaps, have not adjusted as well as I assumed you did. The blame for that rests purely on my shoulders.”
Father looks very constipated.
“I should have taken more time to ensure you were—” another awkward pause, Bruce’s voice is gruff and he sounds like the words are being forced out of him under threat of death “—well and that you had all you needed from me, from us. I can see that I failed you in ways that I never should have and for that I..”
A pregnant pause. Drake’s fingers tap impatiently against the fabric of his short, Brown opens and closes a hairclip repeatedly while Todd leans forward in anticipation. It brings a sick sort of feeling to his stomach.
“I apologize.”
Several people in the room choke, Brown even doubling over and gasping for breath. Damian is severely taken aback. Never once in his time here has Father ever deigned to apologize, much less to him.
“Father, I—”
Bruce clears his throat. “Let me continue,” he breathes in deeply and Damian can’t help but feel vaguely concerned that his Father is using too much effort to apologize. It might kill him to be this emotional or conversative. “Son.”
Why does that make Damian want to projectile vomit all over the antique rug that covers the flooring of the family room?
“I intend to do my best to make this transgression up to you, as long as you accept me.”
There’s a face that many of the girls at Damian’s school make when something happens and they find it mildly disturbing, they pull their face back into the throat, eyes moving to view the situation from the side.
That essentially sums up how Damian is feeling about this moment. In addition to the overwhelming urge to burst into tears.
Against his best wishes, his eyes immediately seek out Drake, who he finds looking equally disgruntled. As soon as their eyes meet, Drake’s entire character softens and he mouths one singular word:
Family.
Todd seems to notice the moment between the two youngest boys because he quickly glances at Grayson, having a seemingly silent conversation with nothing but their eyes. Grayson steps forward, coming to kneel in front of Damian like he’s some sort of— of infant!
“You will always be our family, Dames. No matter what names you call us, no matter the insults you direct at us. You’re ours in the same way we are yours, okay?” It’s said so delicately soft, with hands that reach out to cup his face like he’s the most precious jewel on the face of the Earth, or perhaps— of every single Earth and universe to exist.
Damian's bottom lip wobbles dangerously, and he sniffles softly. He wishes he hadn't. He wishes he wouldn't feel so vulnerable. It was one thing to cry into Drake's chest, another thing to cry in front of the– his entire family.
His family.
Isn't that something?
He has a family .
Grayson’s thumb gently caresses Damian’s cheekbone, eyes as soft as a cloud. Damian can not help but feel so undeniably vulnerable, and like he’s about to shatter into a million pieces, he absolutely has to glance at Drake, for the sake of his sanity if anything.
Drake is glancing at him softly, a gentle smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. It makes Damian feel more comfortable, in a strange sort of way of course. Damian rolls the word brother around in his head, trying to connect it with Timothy.
It doesn’t quite fit in the way he feels it should. Not in the way it fits Todd or Grayson (kind of) when he forces the word. His eyes immediately flick up to meet Timothy’s and the breath is nearly stolen from his chest when the only word on his mind is—
Akhi.
Damian exhales shakily then tears his gaze away from Drake. That was entirely too much emotions for him to deal with right now. There’s that suffocating feeling in his chest, the closing of his throat that signals that tears are on their way.
“Breathe, Damian, breathe,” Grayson commands, dragging his hands down the side of Damian’s body to grip his shoulders. Damian breathes in sharply, blinking the tears from his eyes.
He can’t calm himself down, he can’t. He pushes Grayson away, turning to face the corner to try and get himself under control. He chokes back a sob, hyperventilating slightly. His shoulders, despite his attempts to still them, shake violently.
In a flash of a second, Timothy’s blurred face appears in front of him. His hands reach up, tugging Damian down into a hug to end all hugs.
It’s everything Damian has ever wanted, everything he had ever admonished himself for craving.
He lets himself cry into Timothy’s arms once more, ignoring the looks that they are no doubt garnering with their pathetic display of emotions and— and—!
Care.
“Akhi,” Damian sobs, fisting his hands into Timothy’s hair.
“Sh, it’s okay. I’m here for you, Damian. Always,” his brother vows into his skin.
The words taste like forever.