Archive of Our Own ^beta

Talia had sent Damian her oh-so-“pleasant” message a few days ago. Nothing new, really—just her usual attempt to convince him that he needed to be on guard about his heir position. According to her, he had already lost the title of Al Ghul heir, and he absolutely couldn’t risk losing the title of Wayne heir too.

He had already secured the Robin mantle; he was Batman’s loyal partner and sidekick. But even if he was Bruce Wayne’s only biological son, he wasn’t the man’s only son.

Keep an eye on that red menace, his mother had said, insisting yet again.

Damian, despite never admitting it out loud, was hesitant. The older members of the family had told him he had nothing to worry about—Richard had repeated countless times that Damian was safe there and no one would ever kick him out. Bruce himself had confirmed it.

Technically, he was supposed to keep an eye on Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.

The one who was now Red Robin.

The one who was now the CEO of his father’s company.

But Damian didn’t understand why he needed to do that, considering he had once overheard Timothy himself saying that when Damian was old enough, he’d willingly pass the mantle to him. (Damian had been eavesdropping on a conversation between Bruce and Tim at the time.)

Even though he already felt secure in his place, Damian told his mother that yes, he’d keep an eye on Timothy.

And so he did.

The result… was not what either of them expected.

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The first time Damian was able to observe Timothy after the message was on a Monday.

The older boy usually wasn’t around Wayne Manor anymore. After the mess with Batman and the timeline incident, Timothy had moved to his own nest—an apartment relatively close to WE. Everyone who had been inside it (Richard, Todd, and Cain were the only ones who’d been allowed, even though Todd’s and Richard’s invitations were more… self-granted) said it was basically a miniature Batcave.

But on Sundays, Alfred usually prepared a special dinner before patrol and a special snack afterward.

Sometimes Timothy skipped the snack and only came for dinner—those were the days he claimed he was too exhausted and just wanted to go rest in his nest.

But there were also times when Alfred invited him twice and Cain was present too. Those were the nights he used his room at the manor and actually slept there.

Speaking of which—the whole family had been home the previous night. Cain had returned from her missions, and Thomas had stayed awake until their patrol ended so he could join the midnight snack.

But now, in the morning, the dining table wasn’t as full as it had been yesterday.

The only ones there were Alfred (not sitting, of course—just organizing breakfast for the rest of them), Timothy, Thomas (who woke up absurdly early every day because of his patrol schedule, poor kid), and Cain (a rare sight, since she usually slept in).

Damian being present was… interesting. He normally only showed up after Bruce or alongside him. But the others didn’t question it.

Damian had a goal. He hadn’t observed Timothy the previous night, so he intended to do it before the man could escape to WE as usual.

He was the CEO, sure—but did he really need to arrive that early every morning?

Here were some of Damian’s observations:

First: Timothy, when he sat near Richard, Todd, Damian, or Bruce, always kept a bit of distance. He’d go quieter, too.

But now, with Cain comfortably seated to his right and Thomas on his left, he sat close to both of them, showing them something on his tablet while waiting for Alfred to bring food.

He even nudged Thomas’s shoulder lightly and elbowed Cain, making the three of them laugh.

Second: Timothy was fast and efficient.

Damian already knew this—but the more he watched, the more obvious it became. Tim could explain two things at the same time (because apparently Cain and Thomas never agreed on what to ask), and both explanations were clear and objective.

Damian also knew Timothy was one of the best in the family at disappearing—almost as good as Cain. Tim often vanished right after patrol and wasn’t seen until the next one.

What made Damian uncomfortable was that Timothy didn’t disappear like a bat—he disappeared like an assassin.

And he did it better than Damian, who had actually been trained by assassins.

There was also a third detail—

Damian, lost in his unnecessary analyses while eating, didn’t notice Timothy stand up from the table. He only realized when Tim tapped his shoulder—just like he had done with Cain and Thomas. Actually… it was probably a different gesture, since the other two were fixing their hair afterward, meaning Timothy must’ve ruffled their hair the same way Richard sometimes did to him.

Damian snapped his attention to Timothy after the touch, but the older boy was already out of the kitchen, likely preparing for work.

Suddenly, an idea hit Damian. He didn’t have classes that day because of some complications, and combining his sudden curiosity about Timothy with the fact that he did need to learn about the company… he decided:

He was going to WE today.

The hardest part would be convincing Timothy.

Or so he thought.

He had gone upstairs, put on nicer clothes, and was waiting on the living room couch when Timothy came down the stairs in a suit, folders in one hand, phone in the other.

Their eyes met instantly. Damian jumped to his feet, ready to start convincing him.

But Timothy spoke first.

“Damian, would you like to accompany me to the company today?” he asked with a small smile—one he rarely, truly rarely, offered Damian.

Another observation: Timothy almost never smiled. And when he did, it was always small.

Damian, still a little stunned, simply nodded.

No protests, no arguments—they were on their way to WE.

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Damian could only describe the day at the company as boring.

For most of the morning, he sat on the couch in Timothy’s office, reading random books lying around. Tim had said he could wander around and meet the employees, but… no, thank you.

Even bored, Damian stayed focused on his mission and watched Timothy.

He saw how calm he stayed even when someone yelled at him over the office phone. How his leg bounced rapidly when he seemed anxious while trying to explain to a very stupid investor what was best for the company. Or how he politely declined his assistant’s offer for a break, asking instead for something with a decent amount of caffeine and something to chew on.

Soon enough, it was lunchtime. Damian was hungry and ready to demand food when Timothy glanced at him.

(Also—when did Damian start referring to him by his first name internally? Wasn’t that a privilege reserved for Richard and Alfred? …and technically Bruce, though he mostly called Bruce “Father.”)

“Damian, let’s go eat.”

He didn’t ask. He just said it and walked out of the office.

Damian grumbled but followed. He figured they were heading toward some kind of staff cafeteria.

They walked in silence until Timothy broke it.

“Why did you want to come with me today? Were you watching me?”

The teasing tone made Damian shiver slightly.

“Tt. Don’t be ridiculous, Drake. I simply need to understand how the company I’ll eventually lead works. And today was convenient because I had no classes.”

“Oh, is that so? Sure, sure.”

Tim hummed, sounding amused.

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Lunch was not what Damian expected.

Timothy hadn’t asked what he wanted to eat—but somehow, the meal chosen matched Damian’s tastes uncannily well. Damian would never admit that.

And they didn’t eat with the other employees. They ate in a small private room, complete with a mini-fridge, four chairs, and everything else.

It was surprisingly calm. Timothy asked him a few things—like what he thought of the company so far, what he’d noticed… trivial topics that Damian answered in short sentences. Apparently, those were enough.

When they returned to Tim’s office, Tim paused at the door, staring at the doorknob for a few seconds. Damian felt a chill.

Whatever made him stare at a harmless doorknob like that must have been serious. But he opened the door anyway.

What Damian saw made him want to criticize Timothy immediately.

On the floor was a set of perfectly wrapped books, a box—likely chocolates—and a single white rose paired with a black-dyed one.

So Timothy was dating someone new and didn’t want Damian to know? Who was it this time? According to Brown, Tim had reconnected with that blond ex-boyfriend after clearing up the rumor that Tim had cheated on him with Red Robin. But Jon also enjoyed talking about how Kon-El wouldn’t shut up about “his Rob.”

Honestly, Damian wouldn’t be surprised if Tim was dating both. Timothy was the absolute worst in the family when it came to relationships—maybe even worse than Richard or Bruce in their prime.

But Damian realized he was wrong when he noticed a red paper attached to the golden ribbon binding the roses. A letter, perfectly folded. The writing on the front read, in elegant gold:

Hello, Detective.

And the handwriting—Damian recognized it.

It was his grandfather’s.

“Drake, why is there a letter in my grandfather’s handwriting here? And why is it with you and not Father?”

Damian asked, examining the letter without touching it.

He watched Timothy breathe out, finish putting the newly gifted books on the shelf, store the chocolates in a drawer that… already had other boxes, and then turn around to gently untie the roses.

“I usually just throw them away. One sniff and you’ll pass out instantly. But since you’re curious, read it.”

Timothy unwrapped the roses and handed Damian the letter—with the golden ribbon still attached. Then he shoved the flowers into a bag, crushed them, and did something else Damian didn’t quite catch because he was too focused on reading.

He read it once. Unbelievable.

Then he read it out loud.

“Dear Detective,

How goes your disappointing journey with the Batman?

You know, I still believe you would be far better at my side. Your mind is too brilliant to be wasted following the bat’s rules. What a shame.

But today I’m not here to discuss that. I would like to know if you enjoyed getting rid of the spies I sent after you. Normally you would send them back, but I haven’t received anything yet. I’ll have to send someone to investigate, you understand, don’t you?

Has the little detective finally abandoned the bat’s most important rule after getting annoyed with my men? I would love to know.

Take care, Detective.”

Damian stared at Timothy in disbelief.

“Oh? He wants to know what I did to the last ones he sent? Nothing. I just left them somewhere. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with them.”

Timothy had disposed of the roses and was now sitting at his desk.

“What does that even mean? Why does Grandfather call you ‘Detective’ and send you these… gifts?”

Damian clicked his tongue, tossing the letter onto Tim’s desk.

“Getting your grandfather’s attention was… rather unlucky, I admit. But it was inevitable if we wanted to bring B back.”

He shrugged. Damian knew that was all he’d get, so he simply went to the couch and grumbled.

In the end, he even read one of the books his grandfather had sent Timothy—despite the confusion swirling in his head.

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When they returned to the manor, the car ride was silent. Timothy seemed unaffected, but Damian was restless.

Once Tim parked, he glanced at the younger boy getting out.

“See you at patrol, Damian.”

Damian only nodded and walked inside. Tim waited until he was fully indoors before driving off.

Damian felt like he should tell Father or at least Richard about the letters from his grandfather…

But he didn’t.

He kept that information to himself—something very valuable.

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Patrol time came. Robin was paired with Nightwing (normally he’d be with Batman, but the older vigilante was still in the city and insisted on joining Robin).

Batman was solo, but his patrol route was close to Batgirl’s (and therefore also close to Spoiler’s, because the purple one clung to Cass like a magnet that night).

The Reds—Red Robin and Red Hood—were patrolling independently as usual (it had become a joke in the family that they didn’t have black sheep, they had red sheep. Not a bad thing—just that the two Reds always functioned best alone).

They were all together by coincidence. Batgirl hadn’t left for her next mission yet, Spoiler was hanging around, and Nightwing was still in Gotham.

Everything was fine—until Robin had to split from Nightwing.

That’s when he was ambushed.

Not by just any villain—by assassins.

They knocked him out and tied him up. In the few seconds he remained conscious, he saw a red blur move behind the assassins. They immediately backed off, like scared dogs sensing a predator.

Red Robin stood there.

Somehow, he had arrived in time.

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Damian woke up in the Batcave infirmary.

Dizzy and disoriented, he sat up slowly, greeted by Richard’s worried voice.

“Dami! How are you feeling?”

Richard helped him up. Damian glanced around, seeing Alfred and Richard nearby. But what caught his attention wasn’t them—it was the pile of four teens on the other infirmary bed.

“I’m fine, obviously, but what—”

His throat hurt too much to finish. Water was handed to him, and while he drank, Richard explained:

“When we split up, you were cornered by some of Ra’s men and hit with a powerful sedative dart. You dislocated your arm in the fall and have a few bruises. They tied you up, but whatever they planned, they didn’t get the chance. Red showed up, scared them off, and got you out of there.

He took a few cuts and was exposed to the same sedative, but he still got you back to the cave. He woke up already, but fell asleep again from exhaustion.”

So Timothy had been hit too. That explained why he was lying in the next bed, with Cain lazily draped across him while Brown and Thomas played a quiet “who am I” game nearby.

Damian felt something itch in his chest seeing Timothy sleeping so peacefully.

Maybe… maybe he’d even thank him later.

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After dinner, Batman benched Robin for the night due to his injuries.

Red Robin was also grounded by Alfred’s orders. He was just sitting there, focused intensely on something on his tablet.

By some miracle, it was the second night in a row he’d be sleeping at the manor.

Damian approached, making his presence obvious so he wouldn’t startle him, and peeked at the tablet. He didn’t fully understand, but it looked like some kind of schematic for Todd’s helmet.

“What is that, Drake?”

Timothy turned to him.

“Jason helped me with something the other day, and I owed him some repairs on his helmet. Since I have nothing to do until I get sleepy, I figured I’d work on it.”

Simple explanation. Then he went back to circling points on the diagram and taking notes.

“I didn’t know you could draw.”

Damian knew about Tim’s photography hobby, but not this.

“My mother always appreciated art, so she put me through several courses when I was young.”

That was new. Tim almost never talked about his parents—it only made Damian more curious.

“What else do you do besides drawing?”

“I took classes on drawing and painting, sculpture, and music.”

A short pause.

“My mother wanted me to play something, but my father chose the instruments.”

“And which instruments did he choose?”

“Piano and violin. He said they were elegant and classic.”

“Do you still play?”

“Maybe I’m a little rusty. It’s been a while. But I think if I had the opportunity, I'd still do well.”

“And the sculptures?”

“I never liked them much. It was the first course I dropped—and I probably can’t do anything I learned anymore.”

They kept talking until Tim's answers grew shorter. Damian knew it was time to stop.

Alfred told them it was bedtime. Damian stood first.

He paused, back facing Timothy, and said quietly:

“Thank you… for earlier. On patrol.”

He left fast—but still heard Tim’s soft chuckle and a quiet:

“You’re welcome.”

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That night, Damian fell asleep thinking that his mother was wrong.

Timothy was certainly not a threat.

Threats didn’t risk their lives to protect you.

Threats didn’t sit and have trivial conversations with you.

Timothy was… interesting.

Damian would investigate him further.

That was a certainty.