Archive of Our Own ^beta

Fingers clack on the keyboard, echoing in the empty cave.

A few backspaces here. A few jump-backs there. Time and time again. Ticking on and on and on. The screen blurring in the corner of his eyes in a mirage; future vision. Just the screen. Nothing exists beyond the screen and the click, click, clacking of his fingers on the keyboard.

He needs to get this done.

He needs to.

Failure is not an option.

Bruce needs this, and then WE need him, and then Gotham needs him. Again and again and again. No, failure is not an option. It's not even a contingency. How could it ever be?

Click, click, clack. The sounds, the tapping, echo in his veins and he twitches. (We do not confiscate guns, Robin, and Robin does not take guns.)

The screen frays and fizzles in sputters. A misfire of neurons. (Disassemble. Assemble.)

Failure is not an option. He twitches again. Failure is not an option. Shadows grow on the wall. Failure is not an option. (This is a magic trick.)

"Timothy?" and he—

(Watch Tim disappear.)

—

Damian didn't know what to expect when he went down to the Batcave. He supposes that is a lie, more often than not. He is not ignorant to Father's failures, nor ignorant to the failures of Richard. He has learned now and it was a necessary lesson.

When he came to Father, he was ten, a miscalculation, and nothing more. He knows this now, but when he did not— when he had some sort of childish and naïve hope that he could prove himself superior in his father's eyes by taking down the interlopers he held so high, like flesh and blood meant nothing —he did all he could to be seen as worthy. He hurt and he slashed and he rotted and he bit. He saw himself as human, but he was no more than a weapon to be pointed like Cain. He was no more than a rabid dog like Todd.

He was poison.

Richard— Grayson —had fed that hope one time, and Father did too. In fact, Damian is not so blind as to say they still do. For every 'righteous' assassination attempt, there was Grayson with his fickle comforts, and there was Father as distant and disapproving as ever. There has been nothing more than a metaphorical slap to the wrist and the weak reprimand of 'don't do it again', while Timothy accumulated the consequences of his actions.

Timothy, who for as much as he lashed out, gave him more than Father or Grayson ever did, ever could. Timothy who let him hurt him again and again and again, only to make a game of his own mortality and make it a lesson for Damian again and again and again. Timothy who pulled him to the darkest corners of the world Damian burned, kissed the top of his head, and said 'behold, there are no limitations of my love; for I will not hurt you nor will I abandon you'.

'As you are my brother, and I am yours. Burn the world and I will be your lighter. Right by your side; forever and for always'.

Damian has learned what family is through Timothy, his brother, his 'akh. He has learned it, and that it has nothing to do with blood, or flesh, or anything of the sort. No, it is this... feeling. It's a crude description, but how else would you describe the passionate dichotomy of pure love and mock ridicule that family entails?

Timothy may provoke him into fights that end with both of their bodies and egos bruised and broken, but it's in their eyes, where he's sure nobody is watching, that he finds this burning adoration. It's in the hidden corners and shadows that he finds their bodies intertwined into a fuzzy utopian warmth as they laugh— or if he's willing to admit it, giggle —about the Waynes. Damian has long since understood what it means to be a Wayne, and a Wayne is no family.

Though, others seem to be just that ignorant and blind. They seem to take his and Timothy's play fighting as truth and their personalities as direct opposites to what they are. Damian is no longer poison and Timothy is no longer a tool, yet that seems to be their roles in this mockery of a real and true family.

Damian was not surprised to find Timothy in the thralls of the computer. He was not surprised, and when he called out his name, he was not surprised to find a chained and lashing dog in the place of his brother.

Another lesson Damian has learned at the hands of Timothy is that false family— not the empyrean truth, but those who you love with all your soul and they give not back —has a way of conditioning you into a good solider. Grandfather has done so, Mother has done so, Father has done so, and Richard has done so. They have a way of twisting the entirety of your being into something you are not and it rots you from the inside out. Damian was lucky to have caught the rot early on with the aid of Timothy, but Damian can see the veins underneath Timothy's skin. He can see the discolouration. He can see the twitches and confusion. He can see the irrational anosognosia; Timothy repeating that he's 'fine' over and over and over—

So, no. Damian is not surprised when Timothy bares his teeth and growls, when he sees without seeing and becomes defensive. To be surprised would be to admit he was blind to the parasite of false family Timothy refuses to let go of, and he is not. He has seen the lost look that appears in Timothy's eyes when he thinks no one is looking. He has seen the way he bites his hands or stares blankly when another speaks to him, if only for a moment; the way he occasionally forgets that he's human. He is not surprised; he just wishes that, for once, there was a cure or treatment.

He knows Timothy has been infected for far too long for such, even if there was one. Damian would be loathe to ever let that dissuade him.

There are no limitations to Timothy's love, after all, so why should his be any different?

"Hello there." Damian says softly, rechecking his posture to be sure it's nonthreatening, "You're alright."

Timothy snarls. Damian's eyes trail the tension in his body, the way his eyes are a little too jittery and the way his hands are held up limply like he simply doesn't know what to do with them, and he offers a gentle hand.

"Come here."

Damian beckons Timothy over lightly. Timothy holds his ground.

"You're safe. Nobody will hurt you." Damian says softly. Not while he's here. Timothy stares at him, and Damian realizes he might not have the mental capacity to exit the chair at the moment. Damian breathes, and decides.

"I will come to you."

Damian takes a small step forwards. Every visible muscle is lax and relaxed. Unthreatening. Timothy does not startle. Timothy does not run. Timothy does not growl. Damian will not give him a reason to do so. He takes the necessary steps forwards, towards Timothy.

He holds out his hand.

He lets Timothy sniff it.

He nestles it in Timothy's hair.

Timothy melts.

"There you go." Damian scratches at Timothy's scalp gently and Timothy whines. "You're safe. You are in good hands."

Damian kisses the top of his head, and can't help but think of Grayson— his Batman. He can't help but think of those desolate times with just the two of them; Cain and Todd long gone, Thomas not yet a part of the Waynes, Father and Brown presumed dead, Pennyworth merely a ghost in grief, and Timothy...

It is not the legacy of Batman to disavow— abandon —his Robins. There will be no cuckoo birds in this nest.

Damian will see it so.

("Cass, did I get drugged with somethin' or is Demon Brat actually hugging an honest-to-god sleeping for once Timtam?"

Jason only half asks it from where he parked his motorcycle, bewildered.

Cass smiles mysteriously.

"Little brothers.")