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Damian is weak. This is something he cannot deny. Regardless of his physical prowess, his above average intelligence, and his keen observational skills, he harbours weakness. His mother spent many years attempting to train it out of him. For a while, it was curbed, but it never left. He learned to hide this weakness, to abhor it, and be ashamed of it. That was the only way to survive.
Shamefully, though, he could never erase it completely.
He can hear breathing in the room. Slow, quiet and peaceful. It is a side of Timothy he does not see often, if ever. He presses his ear harder against the door, waiting in anticipatory silence for a few minutes before feeling confident that Timothy isn't faking it. He opens the door with an unusual gentleness, honing his lessons from the League to keep his footsteps light and breathing near impossible to notice. Though a heavy sleeper, Timothy has been trained to awaken at the slightest hints of something out of place, as have all in the family. Timothy's back is to the door, the weighted blanket that Jason got him last year pulled up near his chin. He does not notice the open door.
The light from the hallway spills into the room as Damian slips in before he closes the door with the same careful movements. He pauses, waiting a second, then two, but nothing in Timothy's breathing indicates awareness. Damian eyes the right side of the bed, where only a laptop lays as his opposition, before looking away. Mentally, he scolds himself for even considering such temptation.
Instead, he sneaks over to the closet, pulling open the door and fitting himself inside. The back corner is hollowed out, a small little space free of clothing and that is where he tucks himself. He pulls the little blue blanket that he’d brought from his room out and lays it over himself. He can still hear Timothy's breathing from behind the thin closet doors and, surrounded by clothes thrown haphazardly in the guise of cleaning, Damian can almost trick himself into thinking he's on the bed. He grabs a sweater and wraps it around himself. Shoved in the corner, covered in the smell of his brother and calmed by the slow puffs of breath outside the doors, Damian feels a sense of security he was never permitted with his mother.
He allows himself to be lulled into a dreamless sleep.
Damian can't remember the first time he did it. After Timothy returned from his quest to find Father, certainly, but the exact date is lost to him. After Ra's surprise visit to Gotham, Damian had suffered from night terrors frequently. He would wake, heart pounding and a scream he would never let escape caught in his throat. It prevented him from deriving any real pleasure or rest from sleep.
It was one such night that he awoke, shivering and sweat-covered, and he allowed his instincts to take over. Vision blurry from fear, Damian had stumbled out of his bed, tripping down the hallway and yanking open Timothy's bedroom door, far lacking subtlety. It was only thanks to the sleeping drugs that Timothy had requested from Alfred that he didn't wake in a chaotic surge of violence at the loud noise. Still, Damian froze. What was he doing at Timothy's door? Why had his fear-ridden body taken him here? He was not so naïve as to not acknowledge his own pathetic inclinations. He had always derived comfort from the presence of someone safe with him while he slept. If anything, though, he expected his nonsensical childish whims to guide him to Dick.
And yet, there he was, hand firmly gripping Timothy's doorframe and feet unsteadily crossing the room. It was illogical. He was not close to Timothy, did not fully trust nor understand him. Why was he standing at the edge of the bed, matching his shaky breathing to Timothy's deep inhales? It made no sense, but Damian couldn't stop himself from crawling onto the empty side of the bed and curling up beside Timothy. He hesitated before allowing his forehead to rest between Timothy's shoulder blades. It was the only contact he would allow himself. When Timothy remained stolen by the void of sleep, Damian melted into the mattress. Soothed by Timothy's heartbeat, Damian closed his eyes.
He left the next morning before anyone awoke.
Timothy noticed that someone had been in his room, of course. Despite Damian's insults, even he could not deny Timothy's superior sense of analysis and detection. No one in the manor owned up to it though and, with no proof of damage done, Timothy was forced to drop it. It should've been enough to scare Damian off. It should've been enough to ensure Damian never showed the same display of vulnerability again.
It was not enough.
Damian went back the next night after a nightmare. More aware of himself though, he chose to burrow in the closet. It was not ideal but it was the only way he felt confident Timothy could not discover him again. After all, for all his keen intellect, Timothy was somewhat of a mess and made no secret of that fact with his clothes scattered everywhere and piled up in his closet floor. He would not notice a sweatshirt moved three inches or a small corner untouched by clothes. Damian found himself sneaking in often, not always after a nightmare but always when Ra's was brought to mind. He determined that, subconsciously, some part of him saw Timothy as the only one who would be able to keep him safe against his once grandfather. Timothy's displays of power and cunning as Ra's stirred up trouble only enforced this conviction. In a world where people were pawns, Ra's saw Timothy on par with the queen. Ra’s acknowledged Tim as a danger. It was a five star review, in Damian’s mind. Hidden in Timothy's closet, hugged by his walls and listening to evidence of his presence, Damian was in the one spot on Earth safe from the his grandfather.
With Timothy by his side, Damian was able to sleep with the assurance that no one could touch him.
Damian wakes to the sound of feet pounding down the hallway. It is a frantic sound that jerks him awake, but anxiety only kicks in at the distinct lack of breathing from outside the closet doors. Timothy is gone. He opens the closet doors enough to peek out. The bed is empty, blankets thrown as if abandoned in a rush. Pushing the doors open wider, Damian crawls out of the closet and glances out the bedroom door. With no one in sight, he doesn't fear walking out and down the hallway. He wanders for a bit before anxious voices guide him to the kitchen. The most audible is Dick's.
"I don't know, Bruce! I can't find him anywhere and it's not like him to just disappear like this! What if someone took him? There weren't signs of a struggle but they could've just cleaned up and his pyjamas weren't there which means he didn't change and you know he refuses to leave the house without changing!"
Father's voice is calmer but even he can't hide the undertone of fear. "Did you check the attic?"
Damian slips into the kitchen. He raises his eyebrows at the sight of all his brothers, his father, and Alfred all standing around the island.
"Check the attic for what?" Damian asks. Instantly, five sets of eyes shoot over to look at him. He refuses to outwardly cower under the weight of their gazes but inside, his chest tightens. Before he can snap at them for staring like imbeciles, a hand comes down and cuffs him on the side of the head. Damian scowls up at Jason.
"Jesus, kid, what the hell? You scared us," Jason scolds, the downturn of his lips not able to hide the worry lessening in his eyes. Damian feels a wash of shame for reasons he doesn't understand. Dick rushes over and puts his hands on Damian's shoulders, doing a vision injury check. Damian's scowl deepens.
"Are you okay?" Dick frets, running a hand through Damian's hair. "Where were you? Why'd you leave your room? We couldn't find you anywhere this morning!"
Ah, that explains the stress in the early hours of the morning. Damian flushes. He had, obviously, overslept this morning and was unable to get back to his room before the family woke up. They had likely panicked over discovering him 'missing' and, in his safety bubble, he had remained oblivious to their search. He ducks his head.
"I overslept," he admits grumpily. "I went to visit Batcow and didn't set an alarm."
Dick's grip on Damian’s shoulders lessen as he smiles slightly but Damian can't help noticing how Timothy's eyebrows furrow at the excuse. Despite this, Timothy says nothing. Jason, obviously noticing the same thing, looks between Damian and Timothy but ultimately shrugs it off.
Father sighs, drawing Damian's attention back to him as he runs a hand down his face. "I know you don't like Batcow sleeping alone in the barn, Damian, but you can't leave like that in the middle of the night."
Damian's cheeks do not puff up in indignation.
"Yes, Father," he grumbles. Father nods and walks over to pat Damian on the head. Damian will forever deny preening under the attention.
"Well then," Alfred says, "now that our boy has been found, we can start breakfast without further delay."
Damian tries his best to avoid Tim's suspicious glances the rest of the morning.
That night, Damian strictly prohibits himself from going to Timothy's room. It is much too risky after the kerfuffle caused by his disappearance this morning. On the off chance he sleeps in again, he will not be let off as easy. Unfortunately, this conviction is shattered when he jolts awake at 2 in the morning, haunted by a nightmare of Ra's hands forcing him by the throat to slip into the green. He chokes on the feeling of screaming underwater. He cannot control the trembling in his limbs. He throws the blankets off him like they're searing his skin and stumbles out his bedroom doors. A hand on the wall supports him as he drags himself to Timothy's room. His mind is too jumbled by terror to wait to check if Timothy is asleep. He clicks open the door and slides inside, closing the door behind him a little louder than usual. There is a distinct lack of deep breathing in the dark room.
He doesn't even notice until a bleary voice calls out, "Damian?"
He jumps, turning to see Timothy sitting up in his bed, laptop on his lap. Timothy's eyes are droopy with exhaustion but they sharpen when he sees Damian's face. Damian hastily wipes any tears from his cheeks, face flaming at being caught. Before Damian can even think of something to say, Timothy sighs and closes his laptop. He puts it on his nightstand and raises an eyebrow at Damian.
"Y'know, I checked on Batcow this morning, thinking you might be there," Timothy says and Damian face gets even hotter. "Funnily enough, you weren't. But when I came back here after breakfast, I found my closet open and this inside."
Timothy grabs a soft blue blanket from the ground beside him and holds it up. Damian's eyes widen as he remembers forgetting it this morning. Mentally, he curses himself out for the careless behaviour. To forget something so simple was an amateur move, one his mother would’ve berated him for. It demonstrates how he is blinded by his foolish desire for comfort. He is undoubtedly a disgrace.
He can feel tears burning in his eyes again, though these ones are for different reasons. At his quiet sniffles, Timothy drops the blanket and his whole body seems to soften. Wordlessly, he lifts the corner of his blankets and beckons Damian. Damian looks between Timothy and the open blanket hesitantly before shuffling closer. When Timothy patiently waits, still holding the blankets open, Damian risks climbing in the bed. As soon as Damian's on the soft mattress, Timothy lefts the blankets slip through his fingers and slides himself down to lay beside Damian. They stay there, unmoving and silent, for a few minutes before Damian finally relaxes and lets his body curl up in a comfortable position. Timothy takes that as an okay to run his hands through Damian's hair and hum softly. Damian's eyes get heavier with every note.
"You can sleep with me anytime you want, Damian. You don't need to hide it," Timothy says and Damian, half-asleep and too tired to be embarrassed, just grumbles wordlessly. Timothy laughs quietly but doesn't push it. Damian feels himself slipping into sleep and accepts it wholeheartedly.
He knows, with Timothy by his side, no one can touch him.