-Did someone order Damian & Tim brother content? No? OH WELL-
Ages:
Damian - 13
Tim - 9
Damian glared at his father as Bruce and Alfred held the door of the manor open. This was the final insult! All those years of Bruce Wayne not wanting a son, and now what?
"Come on, Tim, don't be shy. You're going to be living here."
A little boy shuffled over the threshold, into sight. He was pathetically short and a bit on skinny side, and was practically buried in his sweater. His huge eyes wandered around the foyer, a little glazed over. They landed on Damian, where he stood at the bottom of the stairs, hand gripping the banister.
"Hi." The kid gave a minuscule wave.
Damian scowled. He wanted to fly across the room and rip the child's head off. How could his father just do this? Ignore and resent him for years, just to foster a newer, different son to lavish his affections upon?
Damian glowered into his father, he needed a better explanation than this.
Bruce seemed aware of the tensions in the room. "Tim, this is my son, Damian. Damian, This is Timothy. He'll be like your brother while you're living here."
"I don't have a brother." Damian turned on his heel and sprinted upstairs, repressing the urge to spit at the new kid's feet.
He slammed his bedroom door and locked it. He glared into his carpet, seething. He took two quick steps forwards and kicked his bedframe as hard as he could. That hurt. And that made him angrier.
Damian grabbed everything within reach on his desk and slammed it off, onto the floor. He kicked his binder into the door, causing a deafening bang. In a fit of fury, he threw himself onto his bed.
He grit his teeth until his entire head hurt. He desperately tried not to break down, he didn't want his father's new son to drive him to actual tears. He didn't want to stoop that low.
After everything. After coming to Gotham, after becoming Robin, after all the trauma and humiliation of parental rejection, after laying in bed, pathetically hoping that his father would want him.
And Bruce Wayne just fosters another child. A son he actually wants.
Damian pressed his nails into his flesh, feeling a dampness form on the pillow case under his eyes. Even after years of trying to sever emotional ties, none of his barricades were strong enough to survive a blow like this.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been lying there, but the next thing he knew, someone was trying to open his bedroom door. "Damian."
Damian dragged himself off his bed and to the door. He unlocked the door and opened it an inch. He glared up at his father, praying his lapse in apathy wasn't obvious. "Yes."
"What do you think you were playing at earlier?" Bruce ordered, his voice was raised already. "You scared Tim."
"Good." Damian slammed his bedroom door and locked it again.
"Alfred says dinner will be ready soon." His father shouted through the door.
He didn't reply. He wouldn't eat if that new boy would be there. He wouldn't leave his bedroom, if he could avoid it. Bruce could enjoy his new son. In a few hours, Damian was leaving. He wasn't exactly sure where his mother was at the moment, but he would find her. And after that, he'd never step foot in Wayne manor again.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Damian was just taking a break from packing up his backpack when he heard a hand try his door handle yet again. "I KNOW!" He shouted, storming across to the door and yanking it open. "What?"
But his father wasn't there. Only a child in a faded yellow hoodie staring up at him.
"Sorry." He stammered. "I didn't know this was your room."
Damian bent closer to him. "Get. out." He growled. The child stumbled backwards and tripped. He hurried to his feet and sprinted down the hall. Damian snapped his door closed again.
The next time it actually was his father. Damian was just fitting the rest of his supplies in his bag, He strode to the door and opened it. "What?"
"Damian-"
"I'm not apologizing to him!" He tried to slam his bedroom door, but Bruce blocked it
"I'm going on Patrol. I need you to keep an eye on Timothy while I'm gone."
"I'm not babysitting him, Father!" Damian protested.
Bruce sighed, exasperated by his son. "Well, Alfred's busy checking his medical records, so you have to."
"How about you stay here with the child you adopted, and I'll go on patrol!"
"Damian, I'm not having this argument with you-"
"Fine." Damian replied, dangerously calm. "I'll watch him." He kicked the door shut and returned to his bed. He reached into his backpack and pulled out his Robin costume, throwing it across the bedcovers. He clearly wasn't going to need it any more. Batman had a new Robin.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Damian sat in the living room, leaning forwards with his forearms on his knees. He stared straight ahead at the bookshelf, listening his father's son amble about the room and explore.
He didn't care if the kid stayed in the living room like he was meant to, or got lost, or ran out into the darkness. Sure, Bruce would be mad, but Damian wouldn't be hanging around long enough to suffer the consequences.
Occasionally he saw the kid hang around the corner of his vision, staring, trying to get his attention in the most non-confrontational way possible. Damian ignored him. He knew the child wasn't confident enough to actually talk to him.
Honestly, did Bruce just want a non-confrontational child? Because that would make sense. Of course he'd want one he could neglect without any repercussions.
Despite himself, Damian almost felt bad for this new kid; he'd been taken in by Bruce Wayne. Poor kid didn't even know what to expect.
It took a few minutes for Damian to notice that a sound from nearby. He soon pinpointed it as coming from behind one of the far-couches.
Figuring that nothing mattered, as he would be leaving Wayne Manor for good shortly, he got up and followed the sound.
At first, he thought the kid had just tossed his sweatshirt behind the couch, but then he realized the kid was still in it. He was trembling a little, and emitting some sort of sniffling, whimpering sound.
Damian watched him shudder a little. Then he realized the kid was crying.
"What are you doing?" He asked accusingly. He couldn't help it. The kid comes in and ensures that Bruce will never need him again, and then cries behind the couch? What does he have to mourn?
The child, Timothy Drake, wiped his face with his hoodie sleeve. He looked up at Damian and turned back towards the wall. "I don't like it here."
"Good, me neither." Damian replied.
"Where is Bruce?" Tim asked, sniffling. "He just disappeared when we got here."
Damian grit his teeth. "Get used to it."
Tim looked up with his huge, sad eyes. "Is it always going to be like this?"
"Yes."
"Oh." The kid looked down again, lip trembling. "So what do we do?"
"Nothing."
"And Bruce ignores us?"
"Yes."
Tim sniffled a little. "I really don't like it here."
Damian watched him in silence as the boy curled up on the floor again, sniffling. He didn't like this, and not just because he hated this kid. No, as much as he despised this replacement, he was a hero, and saving people was his whole job.
"What was your name?"
"Tim Drake." He muttered.
"Well, Drake, do I have something to show you." Damian grabbed the kid's sleeve and hauled him upright.
"Wait, where are we going?" Tim asked, Damian was dragging him across the floor by his hoodie. "And it's just Tim."
"Here." Damian reached up and released he mechanism to the clock. He pulled Tim into the elevator. Seconds later, they were inside the huge, cold cave.
"Where are we?" Tim asked, his voice squeaky from fear. "What is this."
Damian inhaled, he couldn't believe he was doing this. "Timothy Drake, this is the batcave."
"...What?" Tim asked, shakily. "But, if the batcave is in Wayne manor, than Bruce Wayne must be-"
"Yes. And technically, it's under the manor."
"Then you're Robin!" Tim shouted.
Damian picked up a mask he'd tossed aside a few days ago. It was still next to the computer. "Not anymore."
"Why not?"
"Well, Bruce Wayne has a new foster child." He shrugged. "He won't be needing me anymore." He tossed the mask at Timothy, who caught it in both hands. "And I'm glad to go." He lied.
"You think he'd going to make me Robin?"
"He doesn't have a choice. I'm leaving."
"Where are you going?"
"To find my mother."
"Where's she?" Tim asked.
Damian shrugged. "I don't know, but she won't be hard to locate." He headed towards the elevator. "Godspeed, Drake."
"Wait! Don't go!" Tim chased after him. "Also it's just Tim."
Damian turned on his heel. "You're Robin now. Good luck."
"No! No I'm not! I just got here! and you're the only other kid! please! You're Robin, you need to help me!"
"How many ways do I have to say it?" Damian took the mask from Tim's hand and stuck it over his eyes. "You're Robin now. Save yourself, because I'm leaving."
"But I don't want to be Robin!" Tim begged, chasing him into the elevator. "Please! Please don't leave me alone!" He whimpered, tears filling his eyes under the mask. "Please don't make me live with just Bruce and Alfred! They won't talk to me!" He choked. "It's so lonely, please don't go!" The nine year old lost his fight and let out a sob, trying to grab on to Damian.
Damian shoved the kid off him. "I'll stay ONE WEEK. One week until you've taken your place as Robin, and then I'm leaving!"
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"DAMIAN DAMIAN DAMIAN!" Jason bounced around his eldest brother excitedly. "Bruce is bringing him home today!"
"I know, Todd." Damian slid Jason off his leg, trying to avoid getting any more of his brother's sticky fingers on his clothes.
"I'm not going to be the youngest anymore!!" Jason bragged. "Now I'm getting a little brother!" He announced, overjoyed. "How long now?"
Damian rolled his eyes. "Same as the last time you asked: an hour and forty-five minutes."
Jason rammed against him, giving Damian's legs a bear hug. "YES!"
"Jay, how about you go make sure his bedroom is prepared?" Tim suggested.
"YEAH!" Jason ran from the room.
"So, ANOTHER little brother?" Tim observed. "That's three now."
Damian ignored him, and sat back on the sofa, swigging his water. One hour and forty-four minutes to go.