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The plume of fire was a brilliant bright spot against the inky black of the Gotham harbor. Vibrant oranges and yellows screaming for attention in the starless night. It wouldn’t be long until the yacht sank and extinguished the flame, but in the meantime, Damian sat on the dock and enjoyed the show.
He had some time to kill. It would take a while for word to spread, for the city’s dirty underbelly to catch wind of Robin’s final blaze of glory. As far as they knew, Robin had been on that boat, and he needed to keep it that way. Better to be patient, to let the rumor spread like a virus on its own before the next part of his plan.
Siren wails grew in the distance. Boat lights appeared on the water like street lights flickering to life at dawn, all rushing towards the wreckage.
They wouldn’t make it in time. Damian had made sure of that.
He crossed his legs and rested his wrists atop his knees, settling into a familiar meditative position. Patience was a virtue, one he had fought hard - and not without considerable ire - to obtain.
He checked his watch and twitched when he saw that less than half an hour had passed since he’d settled on the dock.
It was a work in progress.
He wondered if any of his fellow vigilantes would go investigate the explosion. Bludhaven was too far for Richard to have noticed anything amiss and Father had traveled north for civilian business, but Black Bat, Red Robin, and Spoiler could be found traversing the city. It was regrettable he wasn’t able to warn them of his plans, but necessary.
The lecture he’d receive later for it was regrettable too, but tolerable. Surely their frustration with his disregard for established protocol would take a back burner to their satisfaction with his success.
It was well put together and well executed. Clean. Efficient. Not dissimilar to the myriad of operations Red Robin had led.
Would Timothy be satisfied with his success? Unlikely. It would seem insignificant in comparison. He banished the thought from his mind, focusing instead on the rhythm of his breaths. The air was thick and salty in his lungs, pleasantly warm against his still dripping suit. Water lapped softly against the wooden beams of the dock.
The back of his neck prickled, instincts long ingrained in him warning of some threat approaching the otherwise tranquil pier.
Without a second thought, Damian slid silently into the water, letting it swallow him up to his jaw as he took a position behind a support beam so he could observe through the cracks in the wood.
For a couple minutes, there was unbroken stillness. Over the sound of waves and warnings, there was nothing.
Then a shadow fell over the dock.
Damian waited with baited breath, prepared to duck under the surface or haul himself up and unsheathe his blade.
The dock whined, weakly protesting the new weight it bore. Someone heavier than Damian, but not by much. An opponent only slightly larger than yourself could often be more dangerous than an opponent much larger than yourself. They had the benefit of strength without the drag of size.
There was no noise to betray the slide of Damian’s dagger out of its scabbard. He wasn’t wearing his usual armor, so he’d be faster but more vulnerable as well. If he moved immediately, he’d have the element of surprise, but the pull of the water would slow him.
He was halfway through considering his options when a single word jarred him from his deliberation.
A solitary, emphatic, “ Shit,” was hissed by the figure above him. And that voice was so familiar to him, it only took that one curse to recognize its owner.
Damian gripped the lip of the dock and peered over it at his adoptive brother. “Red Robin?”
Timothy whorled around, bo staff at the ready. The second he caught sight of Damian though, his shoulders slumped and he fell to his knees in front of him. “Damian? Oh my god.”
He thought to scold Timothy on his blunder, but didn’t have the chance before he was grabbed under the arms and heaved upward. He didn’t even have the chance to get his feet under him before he was trapped in a constrictive hold, two arms keeping him restrained.
A hug. It took him a moment to realize that.
It was different from the hugs he was used to; the brisk, but affectionate clasps from his father; the octopus-esque embraces from Richard that seemed to envelope him from head to toe. No, Timothy’s goal seemed to be to clutch him as close as possible, as though he would disappear if there was slightest bit of space between them.
“Oh my god. Oh my god, you’re alive,” Timothy said, his voice shaking. There was something desperate and frail in it that made Damian’s chest feel tight. “Are you hurt?” He was grabbed by the shoulders and pushed back at arms length so he could be examined. “What happened? Oracle had your location, but then your signal cut out and we saw the explosion-”
“I’m alright,” Damian reassured him. “My life was never at risk, it was all part of the plan.”
“You- you-” Timothy sputtered, “You little asshole!” He shook Damian by the shoulders and he resisted the urge to stab him for it. “I thought you were dead! Do you have any idea how scared I was?”
And Damian-
Well, Damian didn’t really know what to make of that.
Their relationship was no longer so antagonistic, but that didn’t mean there was much love between them. Of all the members of their family, he assumed Timothy would grieve him the least should he ever fall in battle. He’d certainly never done much to earn his warmth. But-
No. Of course. Drake was simply concerned that he would bear the brunt of Father and Richard’s wrath should Damian come to harm in their absence.
Damian scowled. “Don’t worry, I’m sure even letting me get myself killed would not be enough to tarnish Father’s opinion of you.”
Drake’s face scrunched up. “What? No, I don’t care what he thinks. What I care about is that you’re okay.”
Damian blinked.
He…hadn’t been expecting that.
“Why?” he blurted out without thinking.
Timothy scoffed, but his hand left his shoulder to cup his cheek, a soft gesture that reminded him of his mother.
“‘Cause you’re my little brother,” Timothy said, and the tenderness in his voice was unbearable. “And you’re the only little brother I’ve got.”
And what was there to say to that, really?
Timothy sighed and released him. He lifted a hand to his ear. “I found Robin. He’s okay. Yeah. I will.” His hand fell and his attention shifted back to Damian. “Everyone is pissed, you know. You’re gonna get an earful when we get back to the cave.”
“My mission isn’t finished yet.”
That earned him a grimace.
“You could-” Damian huffed, shuffling from one foot to the other in a nervous movement that he scolded himself for. “If you wanted to assist, I could- there are tasks that would be faster with two people.”
It was an obvious gesture of good will. It was common knowledge that Damian chafed at giving away any control. But the tight feeling in his chest was finally loosening, and he didn’t want it to return again.
Timothy stared at him just long enough to make him regret not stabbing him when he had the chance before replying. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that. Where to?”
And off they went, two Robins into the night.