Chapter Text
“B!!!! BRUCEEEE! Bruce!! Get over here!” Stephanie exclaimed, her eyes puffy and red, her cheeks inflamed and swollen. The sickly display was emphasized by the sight of her nose —bright red, like a cherry atop a vanilla sundae.
Stomping and yelling in a garbled and mucus filled voice, Stephanie stood above a smirking Tim in the grand living room, sniffing every so often, her eyes filled with mirth. Sitting crossed legged on the loveseat in the corner of the room —the best vantage point in the space, as the teen pointed out on several occasions, Tim waited patiently with an innocent smile and wide eyes as his family entered the room.
Dick and Damian together strolled into the room first, the pair differing in their reactions to the outburst. Damian looked upon the scene with morbid curiosity as he placed himself against the wall closest to the door, keeping his exit as close to himself as possible. If the scene descended into madness —which it usually did when Drake was involved, Damian thought to himself, it’s best to be ready for anything. Dick, however, immediately jumped between the two, scanning his siblings for injuries before asking,
“What’s wrong Steph?!? Why are u calling B?” Dick, the trained vigilante he is, began taking in the scene. A screaming, red-faced and angry Stephanie, glaring a hole into the face of a relaxed Tim, sitting with his laptop open in front of him, holding a glass jar of … purple glitter? The more Dick studied Tim’s controlled facial expression, his face betraying no ounce of guilt or suspicion, the stronger the gnawing feeling in his stomach grew.
“Never mind, I don’t want to be involved.” He said, backing away from the scene until his back hit the wall beside a now very confused Damian.
Damian watched the interaction closely. He saw his elder brother, who he has grown to trust and respect as both a person and a hero, see something in Drakes face, something he himself could not. To Damian, Drake seemed to behave as his usual self. He sat with his work in front of him, probably working on something for Wayne Enterprises or a case for their nightlife. He seemed to be overworking himself again, as evidenced by the two separate mugs of coffee that were empty on the table in front of him and his eye bags, a permanent fixture on the teenagers face, had darkened since he had seen him last.
Tim smiled at Richard, the smile he usually reserves for those who he kept in his close regard. It was not uncommon for Tim to smile at Richard, Cain, Brown, Alfred, or any of his colleagues at Titans Tower.
Although Damian has rarely, if ever, seen this smile directed towards himself, he did not think it was one to cause alarm. But, for a reason he did not yet understand, this expression caused…something akin to fear to flash across the eldest's face as he immediately retreated to the direct right of Damian, his training instinctually getting him as close to the exit as possible. His eyes did not leave Drakes face during the action, like a dog keeping a worrisome figure within its sight. What did he see in his face that could have caused this sort of reaction?
A quick glance at Brown revealed her flinching back away from Drake as his fingers fidgeted with the lid of the glass container that was filled with glitter. Never opening completely, but getting close a few times, Drake continued to lazily screw and unscrew the lid. The action caused Browns face to grow from pinkish in hue to almost crimson in an instant. She stepped back from the loveseat quickly and threw her head back in a scream while stomping a foot.
“BRUCE! BRU—-ACHHOOO!” A loud and echoing sneeze interrupted her shouts.
Bruce entered the room slowly, with deliberate caution. Knowing his children he could have been called down from his office for a number of reasons, varying from innocuous arguments they wanted his thoughts on to a full on brawl he needed to break up. From the tone of Stephanie’s yell, it seemed this time it would be closer to the latter. His eyes roaming the room critically, gathering intel using the expressions and body language of his children, all displaying very different reactions to the situation at hand.
Stephanie looked sickly, her breathing a bit labored as she stood red faced a few feet from Tim who seemed the most relaxed out of everyone else in the space. He glanced at Damian and Dick who stood with their back against the wall, Dick with a nervous expression on his face while Damian seemed confused. His eyes landed on Tim once more, and he glared at him once he began to understand the dynamics of the situation. Tim kept his gaze unflinching and unfettered, raising his hand to give him a small wave.
With a sigh Bruce sat down on the couch and gave a look to Stephanie, indicating he was ready to listen to her side of whatever this situation was. Needing no more prompting Stephanie stood in the middle of the space, closer to Bruce than to Tim, and cleared her throat. “I know this sounds crazy but you have to believe me Bruce. You know Tim almost as well as I do, so you know he is capable of doing something as petty, insane, and and— AND CRAZY! as this..” Stephanie looked around the room for the first time, and felt her face heat up. She took a deep breath before saying, “Tim made me allergic to glitter?” Suddenly she felt a lot less sure of herself than she did when she first walked into the room. She just accused Tim of hacking her immune system and giving her allergies to a type of plastic.
She almost took back her words until she remembered walking into the space and seeing a container of glitter, her glitter, in Tim’s hands. She recalled last nights torment as she ransacked her room trying to find the culprit of her newly found allergic reaction. Her skin was itchy, her eyes were puffy, and she could barely go a full minute without her eyes watering. As the night went on she soon realized the closer she got to her scrapbooks and art stations, the worse her symptoms got. Narrowing it down this morning she came to a realization. With shaky hands she brought one of the containers of glitter up to her nose and took a hesitant sniff.
She sneezed.
She knew, after last weeks incident involving just a bit of glitter and Tims work bag, who was responsible for this.
Damian looked to Drake once more, his face and demeanor unchanged. It was clear that Drake was the perpetrator in this situation, but giving someone an allergy? Surely even Drake wouldn’t be capable or readily willing to do such a thing, especially to someone he considers a close friend? Brown did show symptoms of moderate allergic reaction. All signs, Browns anger, Richards trepidation, and Fathers glare at the boy, pointed towards Drake being guilty. But how? Or more importantly, why? A feeling he hadn’t noticed before was slowly growing in his gut. He couldn’t parse what it was quite yet, so he catalogued it for further analysis later.
“Tim.” Said Bruce, as he studied his face again, trying foolishly to find a hint of a tell or guilt written on his expression.
“Bruce.” Tim replied in the same tone and cadence, the small smile never leaving his face.
“Did you…give Stephanie an allergy to glitter?” He asked, feeling ridiculous at the accusation. Directed towards any of his other children Bruce would not have taken the allegation seriously, writing it off as a gag his children were playing on him. But he knew his son’s capabilities and the extent of his pettiness when angered or irritated. This was completely within the scope of what Tim could do. The fact that he would go this far for a prank concerned him a great deal, but unfortunately did not surprise him in any way.
Tim looked Bruce in the eyes, unflinching. Looking somewhat amused, he answered, “I think you should ask Steph first if she has any proof.”
Feeling a headache growing, Bruce turned to Stephanie. Giving her an almost sheepish look he asked, “Do you—“
“NO Bruce, I don’t have any proof! Except for the fact that he’s holding the glitter I filled his briefcase with last week literally in his hands, RIGHT NOW.” At Browns exclamation, Tim’s smile widend slightly as his eyes narrowed.
“Steph, I thought you had nothing to do with the incident at Wayne Interprise on Tuesday? Didn’t you say so yourself, something about an airtight alibi?” At his sentences end, Drakes eyes slowly made its way to Richard, who tensed beside Damian. The elder almost audibly gulped, his guilt written clearly on his face. Whatever Drake was referring to, Richard was clearly involved. Drake turned his eyes back to Stephanie who was frozen in place, hands covering her mouth at her slip.
“What incident?” Bruce asked, eyeing both Dick and Stephanie, as they both squirmed in place under the older man’s scrutiny. Stephanie sighed, throwing her hands up into the air.
“It was just a stupid little prank, we didn’t know you had a shareholder meeting in the morning!”
“We?” Asked Tim, raising an eyebrow.
“Tim listen, I promise, I was barely involved, I was just in the room when it happened. I owed her a favor for… something,” Dick said, glancing quickly to Bruce, then back to Tim, “and … I love you please don’tshavemyhead.” He detached himself off the wall and made his way towards Tim, kissing him on the forehead before encasing him in a copyrighted Dick Octopus Hug, squeezing his younger brother tightly. Tim did not resist and received the hug with an exasperated sigh. Damian watched as Richard eyes scanned Drakes face. Finding some sort of answer in Drake’s seemingly unchanging expression, Richard released a sigh of relief before sprinting out of the room shouting, “every man for himself!”
Bruce sighed again and watched as his eldest son left the scene. Wishing he too could escape but knowing he couldn’t.
“Ughh OKAY, FINE! I’m sorry Tim. That wasn’t cool of me, I totally had it coming. Now could you pretty please make whatever you did stop? You do realize half of my belongings are decorated in glitter right??” Steph pleaded.
“I appreciate the apology Steph.” Drake said, amusement glowing in his eyes. “You should probably take a Benadryl. Specifically the Benadryl sitting in your locker downstairs.”
“Thanks for nothing B!” Steph yelled over her shoulder as she bounded out of the room in the direction of Bruce’s home office, where the entrance of the Batcave lay. Damian watched the scene before him closely. He didn’t know why he was still here. This altercation, as juvenile as it was, had nothing to do with him. But for some reason the feeling that began in his guts traveled up his body, a snake wrapping itself in his spine making his shoulders tense, his chest tight, and his head heavy.
“Tim,” Bruce stood as he spoke, looking him in his eyes. “I am updating your file.” He began the walk back to his office.
“Bruce,” Tim called after him, “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”
Damian watched as Drake turned back to his laptop and continued his work, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just been accused of biological warfare.
Even more concerning, Damian thought, was that he basically admitted to it, in front of Father no less, and instead of being reprimanded for the crime against biology he committed, he got an apology from his victim. Father hadn’t admonished him, Richard had basically retreated in fear, and Brown conceded to him with barely a fight at all. Drake had somehow shifted the entire ordeal in his favor, without saying more than 15 words or moving a muscle.
And lastly, the thought that caused ice to course through his veins, Drake had taken revenge against Brown for filling a briefcase with glitter. Although the act most certainly caused Drake embarrassment, if not complete humiliation, in front of his subordinates at WE. Still, however he did it, which Damian begrudgingly respected the skill and dedication needed to pull off revenge of this magnitude, he did give one of his ‘best friends’, as they called themselves, an allergy to something she held so obviously dear. Damian recalled all the cards, trinkets, and gifts Brown had given him over the years covered in the colored specks of plastic. The ‘just-desserts’ parallels of the incident at WE and the allergy to glitter were not lost on him. Damian was equal parts impressed and scared concerned at how well thought out this was.
The teen stood up finally, stretching out his limbs as his joints made popping noises. Damian watched him closely as he closed his laptop and gathered his belongings. The look of satisfaction and amusement that danced on his face froze as he noticed Damin still in the room, occupying the space near the exit. His face morphed back into a relaxed expression as he walked passed the younger. “See you later little D.” He said as he head towards the direction of the family wing of Wayne Manor, most likely towards his own bedroom. Damian watched him as he disappeared into the home, his mind continuing to run havoc.
If Drake would take his revenge as far as biological warfare towards someone he regarded as family, for something arguably benign, how far would he go against someone he wasn’t close to.
Someone he thought hated him.
Someone who tried to kill him.
How exactly would Drake enact his revenge on Damian himself?