Chapter Text
It was the kind of organized chaos it always was with fights in Gotham. His siblings effortlessly took out the henchmen, while also demonstrating a clashing cacophony of fighting styles that made an annoying ache flare up behind Damian’s temples if he looked at it for too long. So he didn’t, instead taking out another thug with a precise blow to the jaw. He only spared a millisecond to watch the man crumble before he proceeded to sweep out the legs from under a woman approaching him.
“Robin, seven o’clock!” Red Robin called from across the room, and Damian quickly turned to see the smallish figure of a man hiding behind a stack of crates fiddling with a device in his hands. It looked like typical alien tech. They’d been having a string of cases relating to illegal trading of the stuff lately.
He launched himself over some boxes, giving himself a chance to strike from above. Within two kicks, the man was lying on the ground, the device no longer in hand.
Damian carefully went to pick it up. They didn’t know how it worked, and until they did, it was better to avoid accidentally pushing any buttons. Especially if the man had already started turning it on before he’d been struck down.
Nightwing’s call of “Robin!” reached him only after he’d noticed the shadow of an object being slung his way by a thug. One who was fortunately not only very strong, but also very bad at aiming. He sidestepped easily and gave the approaching enemy a forceful kick in the guts, clutching the device to his body to avoid it being taken.
Darkness engulfed his vision as silence rang in his ears and for a long moment, Damian feared something had temporarily taken his senses. But even after a few seconds, nothing changed.
The sounds of fighting had ceased completely.
No bright spots were dancing before his eyes, as would be the effect of a flash bomb.
The temperature had dropped considerably. The smell of wood, leather, and sweat had been replaced by the stench of urine, rotten food, and burnt plastic.
In fact, once Damian’s vision adjusted to the new environment, it turned out the location was completely different as well. Instead of the warehouse, surrounded by fighting, he stood in an alleyway, utterly alone.
The nightly sounds of the city Damian had become all too familiar with in his years protecting Gotham began filtering in. Shouts drifting from the windows of apartments, crying, the rumble of the occasional car driving past one or two streets down.
He looked down at the device in his hands. About the size of a game controller, encased in sleek metal with barely any buttons. Had he pressed any on accident? No, his hands weren’t even near them. So then why…
His eyes roamed over his surroundings again. He could recognize the street the alleyway opened into as being located just on the border between Crime Alley and the Bowery. The warehouse had been in Chinatown.
Teleportation, then. But also time travel – he could remember the moon had been at the first quarter when he had looked at it just a few hours ago, but it now seemed more like a waning gibbous moon being half-covered by the city smog.
Taking a deep breath, Damian pressed his hand to his comm. Nothing. Wrong frequency, perhaps. He tried another channel. Still nothing.
Great. This either meant time travel (most likely with a considerable jump) or dimension travel. Damian wasn’t quite sure which one he’d preferred.
He didn’t have the required tools on his person, and getting into contact with the necessary people would surely turn out to be quite the hassle. Damian cursed internally.
First things first, he stashed away the alien device into his utility belt. He would have to get to a safe location before examining it and seeing if he could perhaps get himself back the same way he came. If not, he’d-
Hurried movement at the edge of his vision made his eyes snap up to the rooftops. Not a second later, a birdarang was embedded in the building’s wall right at the fire escape. A small yelp followed. Then a muffled thump as Damian watched a small shadowy figure take a panicked step back and promptly fall on their backside.
The only light sources were a lamp inside the building behind Damian and the flashlight the shadow had dropped, but they sufficed. Even from this distance, it seemed obvious a silhouette as tiny as that could only belong to a child.
A child who, with great effort, proceeded to yank the birdarang out of the wall. They appeared to be staring at the object for a few seconds before small hands grabbed the fire escape’s railing in a flurry of movement. Damian blinked, only to find the child’s face pressed up against the railing as well when he opened his eyes.
The bad lighting and the shadows of the alley made it impossible to make out the child’s features. Well, besides the gaping mouth and the wide eyes locked on Damian.
“Robin?” The child’s shriek was so high-pitched the word came out barely recognizable. Fortunately, Robins kind of had to be good at recognizing when someone called out for them.
Just because it happened often didn’t mean Damian was particularly skilled at or happy to interact with civilians. It had turned out to be the kind of thing no amount of training would make him better at, no matter his efforts. Damian’s Robin would always lack the comforting aura of his predecessors. He’d been eager to hide this shortcoming, though. Hence the avoidance of such situations whenever possible.
For better or worse, the kid didn’t mind taking over the talking for now. “You threw a birdarang at me!”
Damian had to suppress a wince. His family would not be happy with him throwing projectiles at a civilian. Much less a child.
“I had intended it as a warning shot. Are you injured?” he asked in reply, moving towards the stairs to check on his accidental victim.
When he arrived at the fire escape landing the child was sitting on, he was met with a frown and a mouth pulled to the side in a critical grimace. Pale eyes studied him, screening him from head to toe now that he’d come close enough.
“You’re not Robin.” The boy – Damian could now see it was a boy – stated. Then, before Damian could respond with a biting remark, the kid gasped. “No, you’re Robin from an alternate universe!”
He watched as the boy broke out in a childishly elated grin. “That is so cool.”
“Keep your voice down,” Damian said then, for several reasons. Most important being the fact they were in a neighborhood very unsafe for children to shout around in at this time of day. Secondly, in case this reality’s (or time’s, whatever) Batman happened to be near, Damian didn’t want to call attention to himself yet. Last but not least – although he would never admit it to anyone – Damian was frankly feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment, be it the dimension (or time) travel, or this strange child in front of him, or a mix of both.
The boy nodded, instantly quieting down in shame, albeit the excitement bubbling under the surface was still clearly visible.
“Sorry, Robin,” he mumbled.
“You need to go home. Tell me where you live, and I shall-”
“You look a lot younger than this world’s Robin... At least two or three years. Did Batman adopt you later? Or did you time travel besides hopping dimensions?”
Damian stilled at the question, body going rigid as he stared at the boy. Really looked at him, properly, perhaps for the first time since the beginning of their meeting. The lighting (or lack of it) had made it quite difficult to pick out anything past the black hair and light eyes, but now that Damian focused on it, he recognized that eye shape, the way the boy furrowed his eyebrows, the two birthmarks just below the left ear.
Albeit hidden behind the still-lingering baby fat on the boy’s face, those features clearly belonged to Drake.
Because his day hadn’t been going bad enough yet, obviously. Of course, the strange child had to be his future brother.
They had learned to tolerate each other with Drake a while back, but that quiet acceptance didn’t extend to his brother’s toddler version. He had better things to do than play nanny for a bothersome little freak with a hobby of disregarding his health.
Timothy Drake or not, though, he still couldn’t leave a child to fend for themselves in Gotham. He had heard in snippets of the absolutely reckless behavior Drake had displayed as a child and the clear excitement over Damian’s presence wasn’t very promising now. In his stupidity, Drake would surely do something as idiotic as attempting to follow Damian if he left now.
He puffed out his chest as he straightened up. “I am not adopted.”
Drake- Timothy waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, you’re his ward, I know… When did he take you in? What’s your dimension like?”
“No. I am his blood son.” Damian ignored the rest of the questions, crossing his arms over his chest. “How old are you?”
Timothy raised his eyebrows in surprise and interest before forcing a mask of calm to come over his face. It’s clear he wanted to ask more but reigned himself in. “Why do you want to know my age?”
“Just answer me.” Damian scowled, eliciting a soft blush to darken Timothy’s cheeks – though it was hard to see in the dim lighting, the boy’s paleness certainly helped. And here Damian thought the vampire appearance had only developed after Drake had become Robin.
“Nine...”
Damian hummed as he took in that information. If Timothy was nine, that meant Richard must have been around fifteen or sixteen. That set him at around nine or ten years into the past. Batman would have been around for a while but was still far less experienced than in Damian’s present. Also…
“You should be aware of Batman’s identity by now, then.”
Timothy looked up at him in alarm, then quickly averted his gaze. Warily, he nodded, shifting and squirming under Damian’s gaze.
It felt weird to look at such an innocent, shy version of his menace of a brother.
“How do you know? Do- I mean- Do we know each other in the universe you’re from?”
Damian nodded. There was no use trying to hide it from Timothy now. He would have to have Timothy’s memory erased, anyway, right before he went back to his time and his reality. As for the others, he should avoid messing up the timeline too much, if this is merely a time-travel-scenario and not a parallel-universes one. He didn’t want to alter the past drastically lest he end up in a completely different present. Messing with the past had the tendency to turn out bad.
Timothy got even more excited at that. Damian hadn’t thought that possible, frankly. He could see the boy mouthing ‘so cool’ while he gripped Damian’s birdarang tighter. It was a wonder he hadn’t cut himself with it yet.
Suddenly, though, quiet contemplation scrunched up the boy’s face as he took in Damian’s quasi-permanent scowl. It seemed to elicit a sudden mellowness as Timothy went on to speak quietly. “Are- Are we friends?”
Damian turned away, looking down onto the street littered with trash and people smoking or chatting about definitely illegal things.
He heard a quiet sigh behind him that got cut off by a hoarse cough.
“You need to go home, Timothy. Following Batman around during his patrols is not only dangerous but will also make you ill.”
When he glanced back, Timothy was fidgeting with his hands, birdarang discarded in his lap.
Eventually, he nodded and got up shakily, leaning down to grab his flashlight as well.
The light fell on Timothy’s leg for just a second, but it was enough to reveal the dark spot on the boy’s blue jeans. The fabric was ripped at that spot as well.
Damian immediately grabbed a hold of Timothy’s twig arm, making the boy flinch vehemently. That reaction nearly made Damian hiss as he led the flashlight in his brother’s tiny hand to shine on the spot on his leg again.
It didn’t appear to be a particularly deep cut and it had already begun clotting. Still, a long slash nonetheless, though it didn’t require stitches. Proper disinfection would definitely be necessary, however, especially after it had happened in Crime Alley of all places.
“You’re injured,” he stated. “Most likely from the birdarang I threw earlier.”
Saying it aloud caused a twinge of embarrassment to rise within him.
“Oh.” Timothy considered the wound. “It’s fine. I can treat it at home. Can… Can I keep the birdarang, though?”
“You can’t be trusted to treat even a simple cut properly, Drake,” Damian bit out automatically. “And yes, you may keep the weapon. As long as you’re careful not to injure yourself with it.”
“Uhm, thanks? Thank you very much, I mean. But I can really take care of it. I’ve done it before.”
Belatedly, Damian realized he had just insulted a nine-year-old. One who hadn’t become Robin yet, and thus didn’t go around neglecting injuries and illnesses for days to finish up cases. Who didn’t backtalk Damian whenever he voiced an opinion. Who didn’t stay up for an entire week with only coffee as fuel and then proceed to act like a know-it-all despite that. (At least Damian sincerely hoped this child didn’t stay up for that long.)
Still, Father and Richard had drilled into him the importance of looking out for teammates. And Timothy was, as much as Damian disliked it some days, exactly that, even if not at the moment. Him being a civilian child made the obligation to help even bigger, perhaps.
Damian was only doing this out of obligation. No other reason.
He kept up eye contact with the unnervingly large blue eyes in a staring contest of sorts for a few seconds. There was just no getting used to how tiny Timothy was. And how different. So…childlike. Curious, but not in the paranoid-invasive way. And excited, but he also withdrew quickly into this quiet, shy, prim-and-proper persona. Damian didn’t know what to make of that.
“I will permit further questions to my person while I treat your injury.”
Timothy’s eyes lit up at that. He had seemed a bit on the fence about letting Damian handle it before, but that bit of bribing swayed him.
“Alright.”
Damian watched as the boy rolled up his pant leg to give access to the wound before taking a seat on the rusty fire escape stairs.
It was probably not the best place to treat an injury.
Not like they hadn’t had to do it at worse locations before.
Carefully as to not step on Timothy’s feet, Damian moved past him and crouched down on the step below Timothy’s.
The wound in front of him was a clean and sharp cut, as expected from a birdarang. A handful of other scratches peppered the pale and soft skin, some more faded than others. Clumsy injuries from following around Batman and Robin, surely. Childish and innocent. Nothing compared to Damian’s or future Timothy’s scars.
Damian pulled out a small first-aid kit from his utility belt and got to work. There was a small amount of dirt on Timothy’s leg, but the area around the wound seemed clean.
“When did you have your last tetanus shot, Timothy?”
“It’s Tim. And… when I was seven, I think?”
Damian took a deep breath and nodded begrudgingly. “Alright. Tim.”
Going off the guilty look in Tim’s eyes, he decided there was no need to point out that children needed a tetanus booster between four and six years old, not seven. He’d heard about the neglectfulness of Tim’s parents. Richard had brought it up once or twice as an explanation for whatever strange behavior their brother had displayed at the time. As if his dead parents’ previous actions were an excuse for his current failings.
“So why are you here? And did Dick Grayson still get taken in by Batman? Who’s your mom?”
Damian rolled the hand that wasn’t dragging a cotton swab with disinfectant over the wound into a tight fist. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to refrain from saying something harsh. After all, he did promise Tim would be allowed to ask questions.
“I am here because a device using alien technology was accidentally activated during a fight. As soon as I figure out how to operate it, I will leave. As for Richard, yes, he is my older brother. And my mother is Talia al Ghul, Daughter of the Demon.”
“...Daughter of the Demon?” Tim frowned, dragging out the words in confusion.
Damian finished cleaning the wound and quickly cut off a strip of adhesive plaster from the roll he carried around. It had small Batman and Robin symbols on it, supposedly to make it more popular with kids, at least according to Richard.
Tim certainly seemed to like it, giving him a smile as he went to apply it over the wound. It’s as if he’d completely forgotten about the confusion from just a minute ago.
Giving his handiwork one last appraising look, Damian stood up and looked down at Tim. “I will take you home now.”
Tim looked up at him, tilting his head to the side a lot like dogs tended to do – and that association was not one Damian wanted to have in mind when looking at Drake. But he had to admit, the eyes too large for the frail face, the eagerness, and curiosity all reminded him of the puppies he’d encountered at the shelters he volunteered at. And wasn’t that an incredibly disturbing and weird thought. This entire situation was turning out to be incredibly disturbing and weird, with his older brother currently being four years younger than him and all that that entailed.
“It’s dangerous for you to go alone,” he added as an explanation.
“I usually take the bus and then ride my bike home from the bus stop. It’s not that bad.”
“Tt. The bus barely drives at this time, Tim. Me transporting you would be much faster.”
The small boy looked away, considering it. “Okay.”
It was only now both of them seemed to realize the unexpected problematics of how Damian would carry Tim.
In the years they’ve known each other, Damian had done everything in his power to keep physical contact between himself and Drake to a minimum, though he had been slacking in recent months. Like the time he’d dragged an unconscious Timothy to his room after he’d passed out from sleep deprivation. Or when he had injured his leg and Red Robin had carried him to the Batmobile. Or when Richard had pulled both of them into a group hug. Damian still shuddered just thinking about that last one.
Tim, too, seemed unsure what to do, shifting his weight from one leg to the other after he’d gotten up, watching Damian expectantly with hands behind his back.
Finally, Damian resolved the building tension by lifting Tim’s left arm over his head and throwing the boy over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Within seconds, he was holding the small body securely with a grip on the legs and the right hand. Even if the unusually light weight felt odd and the bony frame poked into him uncomfortably.
Tim immediately let out a yelp at being picked up, as well, and squirmed in Damian’s grip.
“This… This isn’t very comfortable, Robin,” he mumbled. Damian probably wouldn’t have heard him if not for Tim’s head being right next to his ear. “Could we maybe do a piggyback ride instead?”
Damian couldn’t suppress an eye roll, hidden behind his mask. He set Tim down again.
“Sorry,” the boy hurried to apologize, even as Damian was already turning around and picking him up again, letting him wrap his arms around his neck as his legs pressed against the Robin vest as tight as they could.
Not trusting Tim’s weak arms, Damian pulled out some rope from his belt to secure Tim to him with a makeshift harness. He made sure to keep a tight grip on the boy, too, even as he ran across the rooftops and swung between buildings.
Many of his moves elicited excited gasps or joyful shrieks from Tim. The more it happened, the more difficult Damian found it to connect the tiny boy on his back to Drake back home. The difference between the two was staggering.
By the time they reached Trigate Bridge, Damian’s feet were on the pavement once again. Bristol didn’t exactly have enough high buildings for parkour, after all. He still didn’t let Tim out of his grip, though. His weak and short legs would surely only slow them down.
“What’s your reality like?” Tim asked as they marched. Damian could feel the boy shivering from the night chill, but he couldn’t give him his cape without having to undo his rope contraption.
He almost put off answering with a dismissive click of his tongue. It would be neither useful nor necessary to tell Tim about the current familial situation of the Waynes. For one because he’d get his memories erased anyway, but also because it felt wrong to tell a child his parents would die within less than a decade.
Then again, if Tim’s parents were really never home, as Richard had told him… If he’d forget about it anyway…
“You can’t give this information to anyone else, understood?”
Damian could feel Tim nod against his back. Slowly and solemnly, as if he was taking an oath.
“You live with us. Father has a lot of children and a lot of family friends. We all aid him on his mission.”
“I’m a vigilante too?” Tim nearly let go of Damian in excitement, the huge grin obvious in his giddy voice. “That’s so cool. And I live with Mr. Wayne… So we’re kind of almost like brothers, right?”
Damian most certainly did not almost trip at hearing the happiness in Tim’s voice. It was simply unfamiliar to hear that sentiment expressed with such positive emotion. Drake (and quite a few others) tended to show displeasure in his presence instead, if the annoying remarks were anything to go off of. Which was ridiculous. He was the blood son, if anything, he deserved to be there the most.
“Yes,” he confirmed, putting care in not letting his voice crack.
“I’ve always wanted a sibling. I can’t imagine how amazing it must be to have so many.”
He didn’t know how to reply to that. Thankfully, he didn’t have to, as Tim was content simply leaning his head against the back of Damian’s neck and watching the scenery of Gotham at night growing more and more distant as they crossed the bridge.
Tim directed them to the bus stop he’d stashed his bicycle at. They walked the rest of the way to Drake Manor, with Damian pushing the small bike clumsily hand-painted in Robin’s colors while Tim sat on it, holding onto the handlebars.
Eventually, they passed Wayne Manor. Damian paused there for a minute, looking at the giant of a building with a scrutinizing gaze, trying to pick out any differences to the manor he knew.
Only the kitchen lights were on, signaling Batman either hadn’t finished patrol yet or was still working in the cave.
He should take care not to get his father’s attention in this reality. He could handle the alien device on his own, and the less people knew about him, the better. He would’ve preferred Tim not to know either. It would be a hassle to sneak into the Watchtower to contact someone who could erase the boy’s memory. Knowing Father, he would certainly object to the same treatment, even if it could potentially change his future. This version of Batman must be plenty inexperienced yet and stubborn enough to not make important sacrifices.
Before Tim could ask, Damian turned away from the manor and resumed the trek to Drake Manor.
It took them a bit to get there. In Bristol, being neighbors didn’t mean much – the lots were enormous. Damian had never been near Drake Manor, despite having lived in the manor next to it for the past three years.
Following Tim’s instructions, Damian entered the code into the electric lock at the gate. The black metal bars embellished with ornamental ironwork swung open slowly, and Tim jumped off the bike to run ahead and unlock the door. By the time Damian had abandoned the bike in the grass and caught up with him, he was only nearly finished.
“Thank you for taking me home,” Tim said with a smile, opening the double doors unceremoniously. “You… You could stay here while you set up your device? My dad has a toolkit. A-and it’s probably better to work here than outside. Or wherever you plan to go.”
Damian didn’t need his League training to be able to pick up the hope in Tim’s voice and body language. He was desperate to get Damian to stay, for whatever reason.
And… While not the most optimal, Drake Manor wouldn’t be the worst place to attempt to figure out how the alien tech worked. It was close to the Batcave, too. If Damian had to sneak down there for anything, it would be practical to start out from here.
“That would be acceptable.”
Tim’s face brightened. Before Damian could say anything further, the boy had already grabbed his hand and was leading him inside.