This is the first drabble I've written in... awhile, so I hope it's enjoyable!
Disclaimer: DC Comics own Damian, Tim, Stephanie, and the whole Bat franchise.
Damian had not thought of much when he had left the plush chair he had resided on for the past few hours in order to obtain a mug of hot chocolate. A simple pat of Titus's head, his sketchbook left open on his seat, and he was off in a vaguely sleepy haze to reach his goal. Patrol had been honestly grueling the night before.
If he had any clue that there was anyone besides the usual presence of Alfred and his father in the manor, he would have been infinitely more alert. Unfortunately, this knowledge was not gained until Damian headed back to his seat, a deep red ceramic mug clutched in one hand, only to freeze as he stared at two heads popping over the top of the chair, listening to a hushed conversation for a brief moment of furious shock.
That moment ended abruptly as the child dashed forwards, placing his mug hastily on a nearby coffee table, each movement both dramatic and full of an unspoken rage.
"What do you idiots think you're doing?" Damian's words were hissed through clenched teeth, causing Tim and Stephanie, who had been awkwardly sharing the seat and paging through his mistakenly abandoned sketchbook, to look up in surprise at his sudden appearance. Both had enough sense to look even slightly guilty at their actions, but the barely concealed smiles were enough to tell a different story to the boy, his anger growing intensely with each second passing.
"Are these of Titus?" Stephanie's voice feigned innocence as she turned an older page towards the artist behind it, the issue at hand being utterly ignored.
"… Well, obviously. He's sitting next to you; you should be able to recognize him, Brown."
Even in his fury, Damian couldn't help but commentate on his work. Curse his prideful ways…
"Yeah, looks a lot like him. Though he's a bit less sleepy here than he is right now," the ridiculous joke Tim sprouted earned only a huff from Damian as he crossed his arms, deep blue eyes narrowing.
"Well, forgive Titus if he is exhausted from a night of justice. It is rather pathetic that you aren't in a similar state, Drake."
The teen snorted a short laugh, and the child all but forgot what had upset him before as an entirely different set of frustrations overcame his thoughts.
"Your dog doesn't go on patrol with you, Damian. He's just being lazy."
Titus lazy? Blasphemy.
"Excuse you, Drake. Titus was waiting vigilantly as Father and myself were on patrol, not leaving Alfred's side until we returned home for the evening. Which, I may inform you, was actually in the early hours of the morning. Thus, he is rather tired."
"Aaand… you're kinda tired."
"Shut up, Stephanie."
Both of the older heroes stood as Damian's foot was slammed down in frustration, barely contained laughter written across their faces. The sketchbook was offered back to the boy, and snatched back with a huff.
It wasn't until they were leaving that his initial anger even reoccurred to him.
"Wait, why were you to even looking through my sketchbook to begin with-?!"