Damian was pacing back and forth in the corridor and hadn't even slept a wink the entire night. Every now and then he would stand by the glass door that separated him and Tim, looking inside to make sure that he was still alive. Every now and then, he would check that the line was still moving on his heart rate monitor.
Even though he hadn't been allowed to go inside when Tim was in a critical condition, he spent the entire night right outside the door, present and alert, forcing the doctors to keep him informed about his health each time they stepped out through that door.
After his surgery, Tim had been comparatively better but with the heavy dosage of anesthesia, he was still in a deep sleep. But by that morning, the doctors had allowed him and Richard to go in his room and stay close to him. So pushing the glass door a little, he stepped inside.
Damian had just returned from the cafeteria and was holding a cup of coffee which he placed carefully at the table close to Tim's bed. "I brought you some coffee, Drake," he mumbled, "now wake up, you asshole, or else the coffee will get cold."
But even though the words were what Damian was expected to say to Tim, his voice wasn't the same anymore. Instead of the harsh tone Tim was accustomed to hearing from her, Dami was at the moment speaking in low hushed tones as if not wanting to disturb him but also wanting to talk to him.
Even though he never showed it, deep inside he cared deeply for Tim. They were brothers after all, though not by blood but still true Waynes at heart.
Tim's heart rate was normal as he could see displayed clearly on the monitor and if not for the bandages and wires that were connected to him, one would assume that he was comfortably asleep.
"Look, this is why you shouldn't go sleep deprived for so long," he resumed even though he knew no one was listening to him but deep down he wished that somehow Tim could hear him at that moment, "because when you do fall asleep, you look absolutely ridiculous. Such a shame."
The coffee had gone cold by then but Damian made no attempt to remove the cup somehow hoping that the scent would revive him.
"And here I thought you could smell coffee from miles away. You really have lost your touch, Drake, if you can't sense that a coffee cup is placed right beside you."
With each word, his voice was becoming heavier with frustration. He wanted him to wake up so that he could tell him how much he hated him for making him go through all those stupid emotions that he chose not to feel. He wanted him to wake up so that he could tell him how stupid he had been and inform him that he had once again proven that he was the dumbest brother despite being known as the genius of their family.
But more so, he wanted him to wake up so that he could see those blue eyes again and finally be assured that Tim was going to be alright.
"I paid for this shit. Now wake up or else I will pour it down your throat myself."
Damian pushed his hands through his hair, keeping them back as he looked at Tim, tongue clicking in impatience. He wasn't used to seeing Tim like that and the sight was slowly driving him off the edge.
"You know what, Drake, just fucking quit this act," he hissed, keeping his voice down because he didn't want to alert anyone, "I know very well that you can hear me and you're just pretending to be asleep. Oh yes, I know you very well unfortunately. And you're having a good laugh right now, aren't you, seeing me like this? You fucking douchebag..."
He was standing by the bed as his fist clenched and unclenched every now and then, eyes fluctuating from Tim's sleeping figure to the heart rate monitor.
"What the fuck are you waiting for? Just wake up already! I've had enough..."
There was no change in the line that zigzagged on the screen as Damian glanced at it again, hoping for any sign that could indicate a positive change in Tim.
"If you are waiting for me to confess that I am worried about you and that I care for your sorry ass getting beat up by your own fucking girlfriend then keep in mind that it is never going to happen. You may as well go to hell already..." his chest was heaving as the words came out in a rush but still his voice was regulated enough so that no one would get suspicious.
He kept silent for a while, trying to get his breathing under control because he had never been through such emotions before and even though he could feel an odd itching in his eyes, he refused to let the tears come to the surface.
Damian Wayne didn't cry. And especially not for Tim.
He was schooling his features into that emotionless expression everyone was accustomed to seeing from him. But it was proving to be quite difficult.
"Somebody should give you an Oscar by now," he muttered, "pretending to be dead is what you're real fucking good at. I bet if the press found out and aired this footage of you playing dead, then someone will definitely cast you in some stupid movie that's all about dying and getting stuck in hospitals and just as shitty as your acting skills. Look at you, laying here as if... As if... I so fucking hate you, Drake..."
There was a slight change in the line that showed his heart rate but it was so minimal that Damian didn't notice as he resumed in a restrained but slightly cracking voice.
"I bought coffee for you, I stayed up the whole night for you, I have rushed from the pharmacy to the operation theater with your stupid medicines and other stuff that you obviously didn't need about a hundred times, I could be doing anything in the world right now but I'm here... And yet you have the audacity to not even acknowledge anything. Just lying here as if you don't even know how much shit I've been through for you. For you, Drake, for Timothy Asshole Drake."
The line had sped up but Damian was so worked up that he didn't look up at the heart rate monitor, his eyes were just fixed on Tim, hands gripping the frame that had been put up around his bed.
"You know what... You win. You fucking win this time... Now just quit this stupid act and say something... Anything... Because I bet any word from your mouth is going to sound absolutely fucking dumb..."
The veins on his temple were prominent and his chest was heaving with the rage and frustration that was building up inside him.
"If you hadn't been through a surgery and there weren't a hundred doctors here to check up on you, I swear to God I would have punched the living daylights out of you. I would have punched you so hard that you would have forgotten any other injury you've been through. You have no right to make me feel this way, Drake. I bet you're enjoying seeing me getting worked up over you, I bet you're still waiting for me to give you a confession right now. And tell you what... Just fucking have it. I... I... I can't take this anymore. So the second I admit, I want you to fucking wake up that instant or else I swear I'll do something we will both regret."
His grip tightened on the frame and his green eyes were welling up despite all his efforts to hold himself together.
"I care for you. You should have figured out by now but of course how could you? I fucking care for you and I do give a flying crap when you're concerned. And right now if you don't wake up then I won't be able to suppress it all inside me anymore. I swear I'll do something terrible, Drake, then the doctors will kick me out and Grayson will be so fucking disappointed. So if you don't want any of that shit to happen, then open your eyes already. You can call me a loser, an asshole, a douchebag, a demon, a gremlin, even fucking Lucifer! You can call me whatever the fuck you want but just at least open your eyes."
He closed his eyes keeping back the tears that were threatening to escape because according to him, crying wasn't something he could do. It wasn't manly. It was for the weak and he wasn't weak. He didn't cry. And he could not bear to cry for such a lost cause like Tim Drake. A while passed in utter silence and the only sound that could be heard was Damian's heavy breathing and his heart hammering in his chest.
But the silence was broken at last by a low groan and his eyes flew open in alarm, looking down straight into Tim's blue irises. Damian almost stumbled back in shock upon seeing Tim looking back at him with a smile playing on his face. He blinked twice to make sure that he wasn't just imagining it.
"Loser," Tim's voice was a rasp but the smile widened and it seemed as if he was going to laugh.
"Don't you dare laugh at me, you good for nothing moron, or else your stitches will burst open," but he breathed out in relief at last, the color coming back to his cheeks as he looked at Tim, shaking his head, "then I won't be responsible for the pain and further surgeries that you'll have to face."
Tim had heard most of Damian's confession and he was looking back at him with a fond expression in his eyes, "Dami..."
"Shut the fuck up, you're not supposed to speak," his breathing was turning back to normal and even though he should have been angry, out of relief he didn't get the time to stop the smile that had broken out on his face, "I bet you're happy now, aren't you? You've got what you wanted, you two faced little bitch. I so fucking hate you."
Tim was still smiling at him, his blue eyes dancing in amusement, "love you... too... bro." And then he turned his head to the right where the coffee was placed on the table. It seemed as if the scent had reached him at last.
"You can't have it," Damian lifted the cup and Tim looked back at him with wide pleading eyes but he simply shook his head, a chuckle escaping him, "no coffee for you until you fully recover. That's your punishment for putting me through such a lot of shit." Then as if in an attempt to punish him further, he walked over to the dustbin placed in the corner of the room and threw the cup in, making sure that Tim saw it.
Tim's eyes followed the cup as it disappeared and he almost flinched at the sound of the cup hitting the bottom of the bin. "Asshole," he breathed, face set in an expression that clearly indicated that he was deeply saddened by the loss of the coffee cup.
"It had gone cold, by the way," despite himself the smile hadn't yet vanished from Dami's face as he replied, "but you fucking deserve this. Tell you what, I'll bring a cup of coffee for you at each mealtime and dispose it in the dustbin right in front of your pathetic eyes."
***