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Damian sniffled and peered outside the door of his room, into the penthouse's main room, on the lookout for Richard. If the man found him he’d surely be sent back to bed, and that would quite simply ruin his plans to patrol.
Richard needed someone by his side. It was Damian’s job to be that person. That’s why he was Robin, to keep Batman safe. And no stupid illness was going to stop him from achieving that goal. He just had to make it down to the bunker, get changed, and show Richard he was fine.
He sniffed again, trying to keep his nose from running, and deemed it safe enough to duck out and make a break for the elevator to take him down to the bunker. Damian hurried forward and was just about at the door when a voice stopped him.
“And just where do you think you’re going?”
Damian spun on his heel to find Brown standing in the middle of the room, with her hands on her hips looking far too proud of herself.
He straightened and huffed, “That is none of your concern.”
“Actually, I think it is.” Brown told him, letting a smile slip over her features, “Or did you forget the part where Dick told you I’d be coming over to keep an eye on you?”
Damian had indeed forgotten that particular piece of information. He had spent much of the day feeling cloudy and congested, and had done just about everything he could to sneak off for frequent naps designed to help his strength return so he could patrol. Richard must have told him while he’d been less aware than he should have been.
“I do not need a babysitter.”
“Because you’re not a baby, I know.” Brown told him, “You are, however, sick. With Alfred gone for the weekend Dick didn’t want you making yourself worse.”
“Tt, I am--”
“Dames, you slept most of the day and spent last night throwing up. You are sick.” Richard had appeared, as if from nowhere.
Damian wished he’d use his Batman skills less on him, and save them for the criminals. He would have told Richard as much, but he felt that left him open for another remark about his lack of awareness being ill.
“I am better now.” He declared.
It sounded convincing, his voice clear, and nose for a moment drip free, then a cough tickled its way up his throat he just couldn’t stop. He coughed, and then doubled over as the tickle valiantly tried to free itself from his chest. When at last he straightened, catching his breath, it was to face two very stern, totally unconvinced, expressions.
“Fine.” he said, voice hoarse, “But I will cover comms.”
“Babs has that covered. And Cass promised to be back in time to help cover the last half of patrol. We’ll be fine.” Richard told him, “If you want to join me again before next Monday you’ll let Steph stuff you full of chicken soup and crappy B-rated horror films.”
“I can--”
“You can manage, yes.” Brown and Richard said, in tandem.
The two stopped, turned to look at each other and laughed. Richard waved his hand for Brown to continue.
“I don’t know if you know this or not, but having someone help out when you’re sick makes things just a little less terrible.” she said.
Richard looked approving of the statement and Damian wanted to tell them both there was no need to team up against him like this. His head had started hurting, and exhaustion was creeping back into his body. The idea of soup and snuggling on the couch was an appealing one, and their arguments sound. He could trust Cain with Richard for an evening.
Damian huffed, “Perhaps.”
Damian had grown used to Pennyworth’s assistance the few times he’d fallen ill while living in Gotham. And having Richard by his side had made things far more tolerable than he thought they could be. Snuggling in bed with a sibling reading to him was far more preferable than lonely days with nothing to do. Or worse, whenever Grandfather had told him he needed to push through the illness and continue training.
Damian could take care of himself, but perhaps he did not need to.
“It’s settled then. You hit the couch. I’ll start on that soup.”
Brown gave him the most obvious air quotes as she said soup, but Damian could not for the life of him figure out what she might mean other than what she had said. When he looked to Richard with a raised brow the man only grinned.
“I’ll leave you two to it then. Try to make sure he’s in bed at a reasonable time?”
With that Richard abandoned Damian for the Bunker to start on pre-patrol work. Damian watched him go, and stood in the living room long enough that Brown had to usher him to the couch again.
“Go, pick out a movie. Any movie as long as it’s not Disney or the Princess Bride.”
Damian huffed, “I will have you know the sword fights in--”
Brown interrupted him, “I know it’s a good movie, I just watched it with Cass yesterday. Pick one of those horror movies Dick suggested. Maybe Tremors or something.”
“Must it be a bad movie?” Damian asked, settling onto the cushions.
He tugged a thick, fluffy blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around his shoulders, then leaned against the arm of the couch, content to stare at the television’s black screen.
“No,” Brown said, her voice much closer, "but sometimes bad movies are the best cure for the sniffles. That and ice cream."
She set two bowls down on the coffee table, and Damian pushed himself up to look inside. She had not gotten him soup, but ice cream instead.
“You are aware I have a sore throat?”
“Are you admitting to being sick?” Brown asked.
Damian crossed his arms and glared at her, “I believe I already did.”
Brown pushed the bowl towards him, “It’s fine, it’ll help I promise. And if the cold is too much I’ll make you some tea too.”
“Tea would be appreciated.”
“Fine.” Brown said, but did not seem bothered, “Just wait for the kettle to whistle and I’ll get you some chamomile.”
“With lemon.”
“With lemon.”
Damian nodded, and picked up his bowl, stirring the ice cream around a bit.
“So,” Brown asked around a mouthful of her own ice cream, “What do you want to watch?”
“What about The Mummy?”
Brown’s eyes lit up and Damian almost reconsidered.
“I would love to watch that with you.”
Between bites of ice cream, she rented the movie and got it set up, declaring they’d start after both of them had finished their treat. Damian rolled his eyes, but understood the desire not to want to clean up in the middle of the film.
Soon bowls were traded out for mugs of tea, and Brown was stealing part of Damian’s blanket as the movie started.
The tea helped soothe Damian’s throat, and the warm blanket had his eyes drooping despite the fact that he was totally enthralled in the movie. He shifted, sitting up, and then again, to lean into Brown, who had stolen more of his blanket at this point. Even with tea warming his stomach, the ice cream had left him chilled. Or maybe that was whatever bug he’d caught.
He leaned over, and then into Brown’s arm, finding warmth there at last. After a moment, she looped her arm around him, and tugged him closer until they were snuggling, the blanket wrapped around them both. Damian’s heavy eyes drifting even as he watched a plane battle its way through a supernatural sandstorm.
Damian was out before he even knew if they landed or not.