That night, Tim is simply staying at the Manor out of convenience. He doesn't do it often—only if medical treatment seems prudent or if there's a current threat or on those rare occasions when a kitchen experiment goes badly wrong.

Tonight happens to be a kitchen experiment gone wrong. Tim had accidentally grabbed the mustard gas rather than the mustard in a caffeine-deprived haze. It would be a few hours before even his superior ventilation system managed to render the apartment habitable again.

Dick is still recovering from a gunshot wound, and a freshly-caffeinated Tim doesn't mind running an extra patrol route as a special favor to his big brother. He even offers to take Damian with him because the little demon has actually been on his best behavior lately. Tim isn't at all surprised when the eleven year old refuses, but he offered and that's what counts.

He's almost fully suited up when he realizes that he left his new toys upstairs. The new spying devices that he was supposed to be trying out for the Teen Titans could actually make Dick's route easier once the older man returned. After a moment's consideration, Tim leaves his boots and cowl behind to sneak back into the mansion.

Alfred would pitch a fit to see Tim in costume upstairs—a very quiet, dignified fit, but there would definitely be sarcasm and maybe a touch of disappointment.

So he's not exactly intending to sneak up on Damian when he reaches the second floor, but Tim isn't expecting to find the boy wandering the halls rather than taking advantage of a decent night's sleep either. And since he's already sneaking around one Manor resident, it doesn't take any further effort to shadow Damian unnoticed.

He's a little surprised to find Damian knocking on Dick's doorframe, and at this point eavesdropping is a minor sin.

"Grayson." There's a muffled response. "Grayson, I wish to sleep in here tonight."

Dick makes a noise like an affirmative, and holds up his covers in invitation. "C'mere, Dami."

Damian closes the door carefully behind him, but Tim can hear the give of springs a moment later and the soft 'tt' sound. Then there is silence, and Tim gazes at the door in quiet contemplation of the unexpected exchange.

"Perhaps you might return to the cave, Master Timothy," Alfred offers politely from behind Tim, startling the teenager. He's also holding out the silver case that Bart had entrusted to Tim earlier. "There is a no costume rule in the Manor after all."

Not quite meeting the butler's eyes, Tim took the case. "Does that happen often, Alfred?" he asks, because it's still taking some work to wrap his head around the little demon acting like a child.

Alfred shakes his head minutely. "Not often at all, Master Timothy. Perhaps only as often as your kitchen-experiments-gone-wrong, hmm?"

That is Alfred-speak for 'only-when-Tim-stays-over' and it doesn't make sense. Damian isn't gloating over special privileges or rubbing Dick's favortism in Tim's face. If Tim hadn't forgotten the tech upstairs, he would have no idea that Damian wasn't sleeping in his own bed.

He points that out to Alfred as the Butler gently herds Tim back to the Bat Cave and patrol.

"And if that is the point, Master Timothy?"

Why on earth would Damian be hiding from Tim instead of sleeping? Tim isn't a threat—not like everything else they've been dealing with since … well, forever.

"And neither is Master Damian," Alfred states quietly as he deposits Tim on the other side of the grandfather clock. "Certain lists notwithstanding, sir."

Tim blinks, and wishes that he hadn't doubled back for the tech.

Sarcasm and disappointment.

Every time.

He might deserve it.