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Damian is not thinking about his new siblings. He just so happens to be in a bookstore, just so happens to be picking up some books Jason and Duke requested, and just so happens to see a game that is played with coding fundamentals.
He sighs and throws it into his cart.
Tracking Timothy down in the gigantic manor is surprisingly easy, seeing as the kid does not yet seem to realize he is allowed to go anywhere he wants. Damian finds him in the first floor family room, messing with a rubik's cube.
Damian stares at Timothy. Timothy stares at Damian.
Damian clears his throat. “I got you something.” He holds out the game.
Timothy gets up and grabs the box, studying it closely, eyebrows furrowed. He looks back up at Damian. “Why?”
Damian blinks. “Because I thought you’d like it?”
Timothy’s eyes fill with tears. Damian is not quite sure what he did wrong. Shit, abort mission.
Before Damian can flee the scene of the crime, Timothy runs at him. Damian braces for a hit — not that the nine-year-old can pack much of a punch — but instead finds small arms wrapped around his waist.
Huh. Maybe Damian did not mess up as badly as he thought.
Of all the new children in the house, Jason is by far the most pleasant. When Father bugs Damian about “bonding” with the boys, Damian is able to honestly say he did so with Jason. That is, the two of them sit in the library, on opposite ends of the same couch, reading different books.
One of Damian’s therapists, back when Father was able to make him go to such things, talked about “parallel play” — an early stage of childhood socialization where kids will play simultaneously and near each other without interacting. The therapist had thought Damian was socially delayed due to his upbringing and, granted, might have been right.
Damian doesn’t go to those appointments anymore — he had fought tooth and nail, and Father had eventually given in. He does, however, still enjoy sitting in silence with another person, each doing their own thing.
Which is how, without purposefully seeking each other out, Damian and Jason find themselves sitting next to each other in the library every night after dinner. Sometimes the others drop by — Tim and Duke play chess (Tim always wins), Bruce brings his paperwork downstairs, Dickie perches on top of the bookshelves and watches.
But tonight it is just the two of them. Damian notices when Jason starts turning pages slower than usual, hands rubbing his eyes.
The younger boy yawns. He lists a touch to the side, head bumping into Damian’s shoulder.
Jason freezes. Damian freezes.
“Sorry,” Jason whispers, righting himself.
“It is fine,” Damian says.
Jason stares at Damian for a second, gaze calculating. Then Jason slumps the rest of the way onto Damian.
“Tired?” Damian asks, vaguely amused.
“No!” Jason yawns, even as he burrows further into Damian’s side. “You’re just a good pillow.”
Jason cracks his book back open and makes a valiant attempt at continuing to read. But slowly, his eyes droop closed. His book dangles from his fingertips. His breathing goes even and quiet.
Damian carefully plucks the book out of his hands and puts it on the table. Then, he returns to his own book — definitely because it’s rude to leave while acting as someone’s pillow and not at all because he’s enjoying himself.
Damian misses peace and quiet. He thought he might get some, now that Duke, Tim, and Jason are at school, but his plans for relaxation had not taken Richard into account.
The boy stares at Damian with his big golden eyes.
Damian stares back.
“Lonely,” Richard declares. His lips are pulled down in a pout.
“What am I supposed to do about that?” Damian asks. He cannot exactly get in the car and go pick Duke, Tim, and Jason up early from school.
(Well, he technically could, but he is not going to.)
Unprompted, Richard climbs onto the couch and into Damian’s lap. The boy is cold to the touch, burrowing as close to Damian as he can. Damian sighs. The little talon has been becoming more comfortable in the manor, but Bruce (and even more so Duke) stressed to Damian that it is still important not to scare him off.
Richard breathes into Damian’s chest, chubby hands gripping Damian’s t-shirt. He is warmed up by proximity to Damian’s body heat, so it is not completely unlike one of Damian’s cats curling up in his lap.
Damian tentatively runs a hand through Richard’s hair. It is soft to the touch and smells like baby shampoo. The boy hums and presses closer to Damian.
It’s actually kind of nice.
Damian had been looking forward to sleeping in after patrol. So he is more than a little annoyed to be woken up by a phone call at 10am. That annoyance turns to worry when he sees it’s from Duke, whom Bruce said was at the mall with friends and would not need a ride until later.
Damian furrows his brows. Duke had been so excited to hang out with some friends from Gotham Academy. He should not be calling Damian right now.
He accepts the call. “Duke?” he asks. “Is everything alright?”
Duke sniffles on the other end of the line. “Could you come get me?” he asks quietly.
Damian sits straight up in his bed. “Is everything alright? Are you injured? I can be there in ten minutes.”
“Everything’s fine,” Duke says. “I just want to come home. Please.”
“I’ll be right there,” Damian promises.
It is evident, upon arrival at the mall, that everything is not fine. Duke has done an acceptable job of scrubbing away the tear stains, but his eyes are still red and puffy.
“What’s wrong?” Damian asks.
“I was so excited to have some friends at GA,” Duke says. “But they just – they just abandoned me here. Why would they do that?”
Damian winces. He did not have the best time in middle school — he has been informed that he “lacked important socialization at pivotal moments of his childhood” that made it harder for other kids to understand him. But Duke is not like him — he’s fun and sweet and bright (literally and figuratively).
“I will eviscerate them,” he promises.
Duke lets out a watery laugh. “Don’t do that. Dad will be mad.”
“Fine,” Damian says. “Let’s go. We can stop and get frozen yogurt on the way home.”
Duke smiles. It’s not as bright as it usually is, but it’s something. Damian privately thinks he’s getting a hang of this older brother thing.
When they get to the car, Duke doesn’t go to the passenger door immediately. Instead, he follows Damian to the driver’s side, leaning forward to wrap his arms around Damian.
Duke leans his forehead into Damian’s chest.
“Thanks,” he whispers.
Damian swallows harshly, always acutely aware of how easy it would be to hurt any of his brothers. Of how much he doesn’t want to. “Anytime.”
Damian doesn’t want to be here. He’s not equipped to handle his brothers’ grief — or his own. But he is the oldest, and Bruce is gone, and someone has to keep it together while the world falls apart. Someone has to suit up and protect Gotham, has to help Duke and Tim with homework, has to make Jason hot chocolate when the nightmares of his mom ODing come back, has to keep Dickie from tearing apart the manor looking for Bruce.
Alfred helps, of course. Alfred always helps. But Damian can see the pain weighing on the older man, the way his heart breaks at the cycle repeating.
“Where’s Bruce?” Dickie asks, Zitka hanging from his fingers. He stares at the empty hole in the ground, as if Bruce is going to come crawling out of the grave.
“He’s dead, Dickie,” Duke says, fighting to keep his voice from trembling. He’s wearing the custom suit Bruce had ordered for next month’s gala. Duke plans on burning the suit when he gets home.
Dickie nods. “I know, but when is Bruce coming back?”
They have had this exchange five times already.
“Baby,” Damian says. He kneels down and straightens Dickie’s lapels. Duke can see his hands shaking. “He’s not coming back.”
“But I always do!” Dickie stomps his feet. “He said he’d be back!”
“Sometimes,” Damian starts. He clears his throat, letting his hands fall away from Dickie’s jacket. “Sometimes, adults make promises they cannot keep. But that does not mean they did not try. That they do not — did not — love you very much.”
“No!” Dickie stomps his feet again. “He said!”
Damian winces — they’re making a scene, and while Damian really wishes he didn’t have to care about the throng of reporters, he also doesn’t want Dickie’s breakdown to be front page news.
He pulls Dickie to his chest, ignoring the mud seeping into the knees of his suit or the way the boy thrashes against his hold.
Damian keeps one hand firmly on Dickie’s back and holds out his other arm. Duke collapses into him. Jason and Tim follow suit, until all five boys become a tangle of dress shirts and grief.
“It’s okay,” he whispers into Dickie’s hair. “I am going to make it okay.”
He says it as much for himself as for them.
Damian didn’t ask for brothers. But keeping them safe is a promise he intends to keep, even if it kills him.