Chapter Text
Like all bad days, the worst day of Tim’s life started pretty damn good.
He was having a good hair day for once, his skin was clear and he was finally getting enough sleep at night to not fall asleep at his desk. The family was… doing better. Better than they had in years, certainly. They could sit through a family dinner without someone storming off or a plate being hurled at a head. They even had jokes! And movie nights! And no one had died in like… a year and a half!
Sure, Jason never stayed for long, and didn’t talk to Bruce for longer than necessary, and Tim and Dick didn’t usually spend the night, but it was leagues better than how it used to be. Even Tim and Damian were getting along better. Damian had, six-ish months after Bruce was pulled out of the timestream, gotten captured by Scarecrow after a breakout. Tim had to swoop in and save Damian from the damn operating theater that he was in (because Scarecrow would always be Scarecrow) after they’d both been hit by fear-toxin. Damian got absolutely got with a syringe of Scarecrow’s concentrated toxin, while Tim had only gotten a faceful of gas. Bruce had found them both, half an hour later, huddled in the corner, taking turns having panic attacks. Tim had, in his half aware mind, registered Damian as kid-scared-protect-guard and actually tried to fight Bruce.
After that, Damian actually… perhaps not sought out Tim, or even wanted to spend more time with him than necessary, but he no longer actively tried to attack him.
It was… nice. And it ended up getting even better.
Tim had always wanted a sibling. In his childhood, it was just him wishing for someone, anyone to play with. As an especially young child, he used to pray that his parents would come home from one of their trips one day with a surprise gift from the stork, or a baby they’d dug out from a tomb. He would imagine a little sibling, who he could teach about video games and Legos, or an older sibling who could pick him up on their shoulders or spin him around in their arms. This longing only grew stronger when he began watching the Bats. Seeing Nightwing racing Robin across the rooftops on a clear Gotham night, or Jason flicking Dick on the nose at a gala, was like watching Tim’s own daydreams come to life.
By the time Tim became Robin, he saw just how painful being a brother could be.
It didn’t stop him from seeing Dick, freshly grieving as he was, as his brother- even if, in the early days, Tim made sure not to overstep. It also didn’t stop him from wishing to be an older brother. It was clear that despite the pain that being one put him through, Dick loved being an older brother. He loved taking Tim out trainsurfing, taking him to the only greasy Chinese place in Bristol, having movie marathons in his apartment.
Tim wanted to be the one taking a kid out to the skatepark, to grab Batburger after school. God, Tim wanted to be an older brother so bad.
So, when Damian arrived, Tim had been… tentatively hopeful.
Scratch that. Tim had been overjoyed.
Of course, his dreams were quickly dashed by Damian’s pure hate and vitriol for him. He should have known it would be too good to be true. It would seem that Tim only got one brother who liked him, if Jason, who also happened to harbor pure hate and vitriol for Tim, was anything to go by.
It was a good thing they both hated him for the same reason- being Robin. Definitely helped Tim keep track of the many things people hated him for. At the time, Tim entertained the notion that maybe they could both go to Tim Haters Anonymous or something. They certainly wouldn’t be the only attendees. It’d actually probably be a pretty funny meeting, seeing as it would be filled with school age bullies and actually insane supervillains.
Tim figured he was just… not destined to be an older brother. Especially, six months and several murder attempts after Damian’s arrival, Bruce died and Dick had told him that he was being proverbially pushed out of the nest and into the waiting jaws of danger (in, perhaps, kinder words- or what Dick thought were kinder words).
Perhaps Tim was not destined to be a brother after all.
Then, of course, he went through the next several months of madness that was his journey to save Bruce from the timestream. When he got back… it was clear Dick had done what he could with the youngest Robin, but, for all his work, it didn’t stop Tim’s line from snapping. Of course, in that case, it hadn’t been entirely unprovoked- the hitlist was not Tim’s greatest moment- but it didn’t stop it from hurting.
Then, slowly, against all of Tim’s misgivings and apprehensions, things got better in fits and starts. Scars- well, maybe not healed, but they certainly got easier to hide.
Until, two years after that little kid first darkened the manor’s doorstep, and a few months after the Scarecrow fiasco, he asked for Tim’s input on a sketch of Titus. And, suddenly, Tim was taking Damian out to museums to see the art exhibits. Tim was going out on patrol with Damian. They had exactly three inside jokes that made them huff with amusement each time they were reminded of them. Sure, they didn’t race across rooftops like Dick and Jason used to- but that hadn’t really been on the table for Tim, either, not since Ethiopia. Besides, they didn’t need to. Both boys were content with just being able to exist near each other without pulling out a batarang.
They still had their issues, of course. Damian ran off on him on patrol more often than Tim would like, and Tim very often went overboard and teased the kid just a little too much. More often than not they were irritated and angry with each other, or locked in a game of cruel “pranks” that was really just an ever escalating war of who could make the other angriest without being caught. A million and one other moments where their early problems with each other resurfaced. And, being the sons of Bruce Wayne, they shut down the moment feelings came into the conversation. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.
And Tim, in the months after they had begun hanging out, looked beyond Damian's angry and prickly exterior and found a thoughtful and caring- if extremely dangerous and traumatized- little kid.
There had been one day where Damian had even let Tim hug him, after a woman he had tried to save had died. There was nothing to be done, but… Damian still blamed himself. And Tim found himself aching for his little brother, because that’s who Damian had become to him. His little brother. His snotty, arrogant, spoiled, funny, clever, compassionate little brother. His wish, as imperfect as it ended up being, had been fulfilled.
And then Duke arrived, and Tim got two younger brothers, which was two more than he’d had before, even if Duke was never officially adopted. Despite the fights and grudges and murder attempts (mostly from one brother in particular. Duke was a joy, generally, except when he stole Tim’s energy drinks because “It’s not my fault we both like grape, Tim!”), Tim couldn’t love his little brothers more.
It was because of this that he and Damian found themselves alone, in Wayne Enterprises Research and Development Department.
Tim, now just head of the R&D department and a major shareholder instead of CEO of the megalith that was WE, had also found that he was, unfortunately, incapable of saying no to Damian’s puppy eyes. So when the kid had asked (begged) to go, on the grounds that it would be his one day (“Yeah, in five years.”) (“Please, Drake, you were three years older than me when you became CEO.”) (“...Fine. God, I’m worse than Dick.”), Tim had had no choice but to cave.
And it was nice. Alfred drove them to Wayne Tower, and even traffic was light that day. They got there early, so Tim decided that it couldn’t hurt to run to the cafe they both liked on Broome Street and treat Damian to a coffee (or hot chocolate, which Damian often preferred). Damian had been excited, even if he didn’t show it. They grabbed their drinks and, when Tim saw Damian eying a chocolate croissant- the kid seemed to have picked up a sweet tooth from Dick- he added it to his tab. Or, rather, Bruce’s tab. This cafe also happened to be a favorite of their father’s.
They enjoyed their treats on a table outside- for once, early October in Gotham was actually pleasant. They didn’t talk much, just listening to the noises of the street around them.
Often, afterwards, Tim wondered, had he been listening harder that day, if he could have stopped what happened next.
In Tim’s office, he shows Damian the assortment of spreadsheets and folders on his desktop, as well as the bullpen, where several members of Tim’s R&D team were working on the tech that, if all went well, would be siphoned to Marketing.
“It is a shame I cannot intern due to my age.” Damian had sighed.
“Hm… bring it up with Bruce, I bet he’ll be able to figure something out. It might not be a real internship, but I’m sure we can get you a role.” Tim spun idly in his chair, before rolling to his filing cabinet.
“I do not wish to fetch your coffees, Drake.” Damian sniffed.
“Hey, don’t forget who got your coffee earlier, brat. And, nah, Bruce wouldn’t make you stoop so low as to have to ‘fetch’ for us plebs.” Tim smiled, pulling out an old project request that he hadn’t gotten around to reviewing just yet.
“Timothy,” Damian started. Even with their increased closeness with each other, Damian still rarely called him Timothy. Tim looked up in surprise. Damian looked more nervous and awkward than Tim had ever seen him. He actually looked like a thirteen year old boy.
“Yeah, Dames?”
“Do you- do you think that, should I not wish to be CEO of WE, or become… Batman…” Damian whispered his father’s moniker, “that Father would still respect me?” He worried his shirtsleeve- a habit he absolutely picked up from Jon.
“Kid, Bruce would love and respect you even if you decided your sole purpose in life was to kill him. Just look at Jason.”
“No one respects Todd.” He snorted, before sobering. “I just mean… would I be disappointing him?”
None of Tim’s older brother practice had him sitting on the other side of an emotional conversation like this. How did Dick do it with so many younger siblings?
“You could never, ever, disappoint your Father, Damian. Or any of us. We…” Tim’s throat felt dry. He’d never… He was terrible at conversations like this. He hoped he knew what he was doing. “We love you, kid. You could do literally anything you want with your life, and we’ll all support you. Every step of the way. No matter what.”
He looked straight into Damian’s eyes. They were the same shape as his mother’s, and he had her lashes, too, but he had Bruce’s brows, which were furrowed in consternation. Sometimes, it was hard to reconcile the Damian of today- or, rather, that day- as the angry, ruthless assassin prince of three years before.
“You got that?”
“Yes… Yes, I got it.”
“Good.” Tim turned back to his papers, satisfied with Damian’s response. Tim Drake: 2, Wayne family emotional constipation: 458.
“Not that I don’t have any plans to take over the company, of course. That continues to be my goal. I just…”
Tim looked back up at the kid. Maybe he should take back that win.
“Prior to coming to Gotham, it was… my whole life’s purpose to succeed my Grandfather and take on the mantle of Demon’s Head. Then it was to take Robin, and eventually succeed Father. To do, be anything else would be… unthinkable. But now…” Damian stared at the floor.
“But now, you have so many options that you don’t know whether you should stick to the easy path laid out for you and ‘waste’ the other opportunities, or deviate and find your own path.” Tim finished.
Damian looked up sharply. “Yes, that’s… that’s almost exactly it. How’d you-?”
“I think everyone around me as a kid expected me to be like my parents- rich, flighty socialites who were still able to run a tight enough ship at Drake Industries. It was the same with being Robin. Even now, I can’t imagine a world where I’m not a vigilante. I think most of us feel the same way, especially where Bruce is involved. We’re all terrified of disappointing him, which is dumb, because it’s Bruce. Even Jason and Steph feel that, and they hate Bruce, like, 90% of the time.”
“You’re oddly eloquent today.” Damian observed. His shoulders had relaxed, and he leaned back in his chair. It seemed that his insecurities had been as dashed as they could be from one conversation.
“Yeah, don’t get used to it. I can already feel the part of my brain dedicated to emotions shriveling up and dying.” Tim said. “Just… remember we love you, ‘kay, kid? Even when you’re being a brat.”
Damian wrinkled his nose. “And there goes the eloquence.”
“And there’s the brat.” Tim flipped Damian the bird, who promptly kicked Tim’s shin. Tim kicked back, and Damian spun around to the top of the filing cabinet, before returning with a stapler, which he slung at Tim’s head. Tim dodged, and caught the stapler.
“Alright, alright, I give in! Christ, do you know what Lucius will do to me if I put a hole in the wall?!”
“Tt, it is clear you do not have the balls to fight me.”
Tim threw the stapler back at Damian, who flipped and, still in midair, kicked the stapler back to Tim who, too surprised to catch it, ducked. It clattered behind him. “If I knew we were getting showy with it I woulda gotten out my staff and batted it back to you.”
Damian stuck his tongue out at him and grinned.
They returned to their general silence, with Tim occasionally asking for Damian’s input on a proposition or a recent finding. Tim wasn’t convinced that this really was what Damian wanted to do- he had been so earnest, earlier that day. Even if it wasn’t, though, he was still damn good at it. He had an eye for the best plans of action, and incongruent prices.
Tim wasn’t lying, however. He would support his brother through anything.
Tim had been about to offhandedly ask Damian about his opinion on a case he was working on- some irrelevant string of missing bikes that Dick had shucked off to him for busy work- when Wayne Tower’s alarm blared.
“Fuck.” Tim hissed. This was bad. This was absolutely terrible, and Tim was a fucking idiot for bringing Damian here.
“Drake, what is it?” Damian asked as Tim shot up, racing to his secret compartment where he stored an extra RR suit. This one was a little more outdated, a little lower stocked, but no Robin could be a Robin without being resourceful. “Drake, whatever it is, I’m sure Signal can-”
“Damian, that’s the- fuck, do you not know Bruce’s alarm system for the Tower? That’s the LoA si-” Tim was cut off as another, different alarm rang out from the street below, mixing with the Tower’s siren.
Arkham breakout. Unknown players.
All hands on deck.
Tim began pulling on his uniform faster, clasping and zipping kevlar and leather with practised hands. Outside of duty, his hands always shook, all their hands shook- a vestigial result of years of constant adrenaline, toxins and PTSD, but in moments of stress, his hands were as sure as the day he first held his camera in front of him in the Gotham night.
“...Drake?”
Red Robin looked up. Damian looked… not frightened, but unsure.
“Okay, it’ll be fine. We have plans for this, this is why we plan. It’ll be fine, Damian.” He pulled on his cape. “We don’t have a uniform for you here, but I’ve got some extra dominoes and comms in the cabinet to your left, bottom drawer. I should have…” He unlatched a false back in a bookshelf. “Ah!” He tossed Damian a set of kunai.
“Do you know where the safe room is?” He asked as he put a comm in his ear.
“You are not benching me!” Damian hissed.
“If the League is here, then you absolutely cannot be in action. This is non-negotiable." He tried to channel his inner Bruce, before clicking into the Bat’s radio frequency. “Oracle. Do we know the escapees?"
“Drake, you are not my keeper! You cannot bench me!” Damian shouted.
“RR.” Batman’s voice thundered over the comm. “Is Robin with you?” For anyone else, this would have sounded stern, but Tim could tell Bruce was bordering on frantic.
“Yes, but he doesn’t have a uniform.”
“Father! Tell Drake he does not have the power to keep me here!” Damian snarled into his own comm, plastering the domino to his face.
“Thank God.” Bruce exhaled. “RR, your mission is to protect Robin at all costs. Stay in the Tower, stay safe.”
“Father!”
“But the breakout-”
“-Is being handled. It’s Two-Face and Scarecrow, which is… not great, but we’ll figure it out.” Oracle’s voice came over comms, interrupting Red Robin. “RR, get Damian to the safe room, now. You’re gonna have company in about 45 seconds.”
“Shit. Thanks, O.” Red Robin grabbed Damian by the wrist. “You heard her, ninjas in T-minus 40 seconds.”
“Unhand me, Drake!” Damian squawked.
“Names.” Red Robin murmured as he pulled Damian down the halls, past the secret panel in the wall, and down the long, industrial corridor to the most secure room in the tower, minus the Batcave below or the penthouse above, neither of which they had time to get to.
Red Robin pushed Damian into the saferoom,a 10’ by 15’ chamber fitted with several weapons (mostly to Tim’s liking, since this was on his floor), three kevlar vests, and a mini Batcomputer. He himself did not enter.
“Stay. Here.” He hissed to Damian, and was about to lock it when the kid put his foot in the jam.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then, if the League doesn’t kill you first, I or Dick will. Stay.” He kicked Damian’s foot, and slammed it shut. It locked automatically.
Turning around, he observed the corridor, analyzing it carefully. Its nature as a hallway would make a good chokepoint, but would make using his bō tough. He begrudgingly took his hand off of his staff, opting for his set of throwing knives. He didn’t love them, but they were all he had on hand in case of close combat.
Red Robin was surprised and more than a little wary that the League hadn’t shut off alarms and cameras. It was well within their power, even with Oracle presiding over surveillance.
It was almost like they wanted them to know they were there.
Red Robin stared down the silent corridor for another fifteen seconds.
Fifteen seconds that would haunt him.
It was almost like they wanted him to bring Damian to the saferoom.
How did Red Robin keep messing up so bad? He should have checked the saferoom before shoving Damian in.
Red Robin flew back down the corridor, slamming open the door to find a broad assassin with Damian in a chokehold. Damian had already stabbed the man with his kunai several times in the arm, but the man had not let go.
“Back the fuck away from my little brother.” Red Robin said, uncollapsing his bō now that there was enough space. Its weight felt familiar in his hands.
The masked assassin did not move, even as Damian kicked and stabbed and tore at him. Damian looked up at Red Robin, then above him, and opened his mouth-
Red Robin shot forward, but before he could get to Damian, a weight slammed into his back. He cracked into the ground, already twisting around to hit the attacker. Behind him, Damian shouted his name. Red Robin turned just in time to see the broad assassin plunge a syringe into his brother’s neck. He stared at Red Robin for a moment, mouth slack and surprised, before his eyes glossed over and he slumped into the assassin’s hold.
Red Robin’s attacker had retreated, returning to the broad assassin’s side, who now had Damian in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder.
“You’re gonna regret ever stepping foot in Gotham.” Red Robin hissed before he shot up from the ground.
Before he could reach the assassins, a resounding boom echoed from the wall behind them. The floor shook. Another one followed, and another, until Red Robin could not take a step forward the floor thundered so much.
The wall behind the assassins exploded. They were ready, but Red Robin was not nearly as prepared. He was flung to the ground. Luckily, the room, being a safehouse in a skyscraper in Gotham, was meant to withstand explosions. Still, though this was the League. They had bombs that could take out just about anything short of a Kryptonan.
Slumped against the wall, Red Robin watched through the smoke as the two assassins carried his younger brother away, through the tunnel they had exploded in the side of the building. He tried to crawl, but hissed as his hands- gloves now torn up- crunched on broken glass from the weapons case.
Distantly, he was glad that skyscrapers in Gotham were made doubly, triply reinforced. He’d seen enough buildings fall in his time to know that any other building in any other city would collapse easily.
There was nothing Tim could do but watch as his brother disappeared into the smoke, and his eyesight faded into black.