45A/N: This fic was totally based off a dream I had. Yeah, I have weird dreams. :'D
Enjoy!~
"That's way too much!"
Damian looked up, startled, as Dick slammed his fist against the kitchen's island counter. In his other hand was the house phone, held in a death grip.
"I say three," the man continued, shifting his position to lean against the counter. "Five, maximum."
While Dick paused, waiting as the person on the other end of the line spoke, Damian returned his attention to his cell phone (if anyone asked, he was not playing Angry Birds), still listening with half an ear to Dick's side of the conversation.
"Fine," Dick said, although he didn't seem fine at all with whatever arrangement had been made. "What's this month's totals so far?"
The answer Dick got also didn't please him, and he muttered a couple curses under his breath before saying, "I went on patrol with him a couple nights ago... Plenty. He was pretty pissed by the end of the night, but he didn't really show it, polite kid. Sometimes, I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. ...Exactly. Yes."
Damian feigned concentration on his game as he tried to figure out whom Dick was talking about, and to whom. He had a pretty good idea already and was just waiting for confirmation.
"So he'll probably be grouchy today?" groaned Dick. "Thanks, Jason."
And confirmation was as good as acquired now. If Dick was talking to Jason, then their topic of conversation had to be their stupid 'Harassing Tim' contest. According to Dick, it was a sort of "ongoing friendly competition" between Jason and himself wherein they both tried to annoy the hell out of Tim and scored themselves using some intricate point system they'd never even settled on. To quote Dick again, they could "never agree on how to distribute the points and Jason's a whiny brat who always gets his way." Damian didn't rightly care about the competition; he didn't oppose it, but he also took no part in it. Dick, though, took the whole thing very seriously.
"Hey, Damian," said Dick. "Stop playing Angry Birds and c'mere for a sec."
"I'm not—forget it. What do you want?" Damian asked grudgingly as he stood up from his seat at the kitchen table.
Dick beckoned Damian closer and, with exaggerated exasperation, Damian dragged himself to his mentor's side. "What."
"Will you do me a big favor?" Dick asked, lowering his voice even though no one else was in the kitchen.
Damian narrowed his eyes and hummed thoughtfully. "Depends on the favor."
Dick glanced around, then leaned down and muttered into Damian's ear, "I need you to kiss Tim onthemouth."
Damian jerked his head away. "WHAT?"
"I just need you to really freak him out for me," Dick explained.
...Oh. Understanding Dick's intentions now, Damian snorted and tried to cover his earlier shock. "Stop trying to drag me into your and Todd's immature games. I want nothing to do with them."
"Come on, you don't want Jason to beat me, do you?"
"If I cared, I suppose I might say no, except I don't," replied Damian.
Dick looked ready to start begging like a pathetic little puppy. "Please? I'll owe you one!"
Damian regarded him carefully, considering. What was a favor from Dick even worth? Not much. The best he could get was probably a week of no hugs.
...Actually, that sounded pretty good.
"Very well," he decided. "I suppose it'll be worth it, if only to see the look on Drake's face."
Oh, yes. Mustn't forget the added bonus.
Dick grinned broadly. "Thank you, lil' D!" And he made to hug him.
"No hugging, no nicknames, or no deal," said Damian sharply.
Dick halted immediately, looking very much like a kicked puppy. He earned the most apathetic of stares in return.
Tim walked into the kitchen, yawning. "G'morning, Dick," he said amiably.
Dick didn't respond (still staring at Damian like he'd been abandoned), and Damian didn't miss the way Tim made a point of ignoring him, but he still found it to be good timing anyways. He might as well get his end of the deal over with right now.
"Drake," he said, stepping towards him.
Tim, in turn, halted in his progress towards the refrigerator and took a step back. "What?" he asked warily.
Damian paced forward, but Tim kept backing up in time with him.
"Dammit, Drake, would you just keep still?"
"What do you want?" Tim asked. "And why does Dick look so upset?"
"It doesn't matter. Can I just—"
Tim wasn't letting Damian get within five feet of him, which was very frustrating. The way Dick was staring at them wasn't helping matters in the least.
Get close to the target, Damian commanded himself. Make him drop his guard.
"Drake," he tried again, "can I talk to you? Civilly?"
"What about?" Tim queried.
Improvise. "It's—I'd rather we talk in private. Could we go to your room or something?"
Tim glanced at Dick, who nodded vigorously in agreement. With a sigh, he looked back at Damian.
"Fine. But try anything, and—"
Damian raised his hands. "I won't." Damn, he's still too suspicious.
"What if I do this?" he offered, taking off his jacket and tossing it onto the counter. "See? No concealed weapons."
"Shirt," said Tim. "Pants. And your watch."
"...You're stupid."
"Thorough," he countered.
"Damian," put in Dick, "do as he says."
Damian whipped around to stare at him. Grayson, you so owe me extra for this, he fumed silently as he pulled off his shirt and pants. It took some extra coaxing for him to take off his watch—he really didn't want to leave his casebook in Dick's care, even though he was confident that the man didn't even know what it was.
Finally satisfied, Tim led Damian—now clothed only in his boxers—to his bedroom. "Okay," he said. "What's up?"
Don't let your annoyance—dammit, Grayson—screw this up. Act. Damian closed the door and took a deep breath, staring at his hand still on the doorknob and leaving his back to Tim.
"Lucky you, Drake," he mumbled. "It looks like you'll be getting what you wanted after all."
"...huh?"
Tim obviously didn't follow. Damian didn't expect him to, though; that was just the set-up to get Drake's attention.
"I said...you're going to be Robin again," he clarified. "That is what you want, isn't it?"
"—Wait." Tim moved towards him. "What are you talking about, Damian?"
"I—Grayson's cutting me off," said Damian thickly. "I can't be Robin anymore."
"Why would he—"
"He doesn't want me around anymore. He hates me. And my mother—my mother disowned me. I can't even go back to the al Ghuls. But isn't that nice, Drake?" Damian asked, forcing a tremor into his voice. "You'll be Robin, and I'll be out of your life. That's good, right? That's what you want, right?"
He hoped he hadn't been too melodramatic. Had he been convincing enough?
"Damian—I don't—Dick doesn't hate you," said Tim, stammering. "Why would you ever think that?"
"He said I'm a burden. Too much trouble and effort to look after and train. He said he'd have been better off...letting you stay on as Robin," Damian murmured.
He stiffened as he found himself with Tim's arms wrapped around him, pulling him against his chest in a hug. "Look, we'll work something out, okay? Don't worry. I'll talk to Dick. It'll be okay. There's—there's no way he can just cut you off like that. Why would he even..."
GRAYSON, OH MY GOD, YOU OWE ME SO FREAKING MUCH FOR THIS. THE IDIOT IS HUGGING ME. DO YOU HEAR ME, GRAYSON? HE. IS. HUGGING. ME.
But even beneath his rage, Damian was surprised. It had just started out as acting on his part—no, it was still acting, Damian was certainly not voicing any secret insecurities that may have crossed his mind before—but did Tim actually...care about him?
Well, it didn't matter either way. He had a mission to do here. So he twisted around in Tim's arms and tilted his head up. Tim's mouth was so close. He just had to raise up on his toes and—
The door flew open inwards, knocking Damian and Tim down to the ground.
"Ow." Damian rubbed the back of his head. "Who—"
"Ah, oh geez—I'm sorry! Are you two alright?"
Grayson. I am going to kill you. "We're fine," Damian growled, standing up.
'Did you—?' Dick mouthed at him, and Damian shook his head, no. Dick looked annoyed, and he said to Tim, "Sorry, I need to borrow Dami for a sec."
"Wait, Dick," said Tim. "About Damian—"
Dick pulled Damian out of the room and shut the door before Tim could finish his sentence.
"Idiot!" whispered Damian. "Why'd you do that?"
"It was quiet, so I thought—I figured I needed to witness it for it to count."
"I was literally just about to when you opened the door," Damian informed him fiercely.
"Well, sorry! Why were you standing so close to the door anyways?"
"It was the best place in order to appear—" he broke off abruptly as Tim opened the door again.
"Look, Dick, I know he can be difficult, but haven't you always said that we should—"
Dick nudged Damian meaningfully. Meaningfully, as in, 'Do it now.'
"—and I know I'm the last person you'd ever expect to stand up for Damian, but I—"
"Tt." Stop wasting your breath trying to defend me for God knows what reason. Damian moved to stand in front of Tim, stretched up, and—
"Pardon me, Master Damian, but is there a reason you are parading around the manor in your boxers?"
Dick pulled him back roughly, making frantic 'ABORT, ABORT!' signals with his free hand, and Damian recalled the only rule of the Harassing Tim competition: Alfred must never know. Otherwise, he would surely put an end to Dick and Jason's fun.
"Pennyworth," he greeted curtly. "I just wanted Drake to feel assured that I wasn't going to stab him while we had a talk."
Okay, well, maybe that wasn't the best way to word it.
"Nothing to worry about," Dick added hastily, glancing at Damian. "I've got it under control. Carry on. Please."
Alfred lifted an eyebrow, but apparently decided it was best for the three to sort out their problems on their own, for he merely nodded and left.
Damian sighed. Finally. Maybe now he could—
"'SUP, TIMMY." Jason clambered into the bedroom through the window. "Miss me?" He was probably here to rack up some more Harassing Tim points.
"Oh, for the love of—" Screw subtlety. Screw these stupid interruptions. Damian grabbed a fistful of Tim's shirt and yanked him down.
"Dami—mmf?—"
"Oh—am I interrupting something?" asked Jason. "Didn't know you two had something going on but, uh, I can come back later."
"This is so worth, like, a hundred points," Dick muttered to him.
After getting over the whole Ew-I'm-kissing-Drake-I'm-going-to-be-contaminated-by-Drake-germs thing, Damian relished in the fact that Tim's face. Was. Priceless. His eyes were stretched wide to a comical degree, and his face was positively red. Damian smirked against his mouth.
He waited a few seconds before pulling away, dragging his tongue lazily across his lips for good measure and causing Tim to look even more flustered.
"So, wait, the kid's in on this now?" Jason asked. "'Cause I say he automatically wins this month."
"Hey, he's on my team," Dick said quickly. "So any points get added to my total."
"Now, wait a minute, that's not fair!"
"Tt. Do what you want," said Damian, waving his hand carelessly. "As I've said, I want nothing to do with your childish follies." With that, he started down the hall.
"Where are you going?" called Dick.
"To put some clothes on. Unlike the rest of this pitiful household, I actually try to retain some semblance of dignity."