A Game Of Chess

Tim glanced at his neighbor. He had been asked to look after the kid while the Wayne's went away for whatever reason and Alfred couldn't look after him. He had been in hospital for a nasty fall; Tim had sent the old man a get well soon card. He hadn't really had the greatest relationship with the youngest Wayne but if they were going to be in the same room for so long he may as well try to get along. There wasn't much in the way of video games in the Drake Manor; his parents didn't hold with such nonsense, it dulled the brain yada, yada, yada. But they did have a chess board and Bruce used to play with him when he came over to Wayne Manor, maybe Damian would like it as well?

Dusting down the old chess board Tim made his way over to the surly three year old. "Hey Damian, wanna beat me at chess?" Damian looked over with interest at the board and grabbed it out of Tim's hands. Tim took it as a good sign before Damian started chewing the pieces.

"No, no, Damian stop you're going to choke!" Tim panicked as he tried to remove the white piece form Damian's mouth.

"No! My chocolate!" Damian retaliated.

Finally, after much explaining and coercion on Tim's part, and downright stubborn refusal to co-operate on Damian's the two sat down on the floor and began to play Chess. Tim tried to play by the rules and tried to teach Damian the rules, but they were either going over his head or the child was deliberately not playing by them. Either way Tim was exposed to Damian's more creative side as the all of the pawns were now trying to get the black queen from the evil black king. No prizes for guessing who the black king was. Tim sighed; maybe he should have ignored Bruce and gone with Tag instead.

~time skip~

When Damian next had any exposure to the game of Chess he was six, and there was a box in Tim's room. It had been used often as the worn had lost its polish in places and there were scratches all over the place, the latch had worn a groove into the side and had become redundant. Tim was ill at the moment and couldn't do much, he didn't understand it the last time Tim had explained it to him but maybe this time would be different. If Tim was going to be a drain on his time with his family this was the least he could do to make up for that fact.

And if the plebeian could play the game, it must be too taxing right?

After his massive loss to Tim that one fateful day, Damian had been consumed with wildfire ambition to beat the boy at his own game. It had become a weekly fixture in their small lives; he even had a chart showing how many times he had won and how many times Tim had lost. Sadly both charts were still steady at a solid zero. But Damian would not give up, and if anyone dared say that he was getting close to the idiot, he wasn't, this was about his manly pride and that was all. He didn't enjoy spending time with the fool, not one bit.

~time skip~

When Drake's father had died Damian couldn't think of much to say. He had never been close to Tim and it would have been an honest lie to say that he felt sorry for his loss. Besides everyone had already said all there was to say, what more did they want him to do? And Father was going to take him in anyway, so whoop-de-do.

But there they were, four sets of eyes trained on him to say something comforting and be a good little boy but he had never been very good at that. Looking at Tim and seeing him cry his eyes out in such a pathetic manner was irritating. He was his rival and he wasn't supposed to be weak and why did he have to say anything to the boy?

Damian huffed as he turned his back on Tim, back straight and proud and unwavering in the face of his opponent's suffering. His voice filled with competitive, ruthless venom as he stated, "We shall have our match in the west wing library today, do not expect me to go easy on you because of this drake" and sauntered away. Bruce and Alfred would admonish him later and tell him that he was callous and should have been gentler with Tim's sudden loss. But Tim was happy. That was the Damian he was used to, and with all the changes that were going to happen he was grateful to have one thing that would not.

Tim had beat Damian again that day. And though he was loathing admitting it, Damian had made him feel lighter and more normal than any of the others had with all their words and sweet lies of better days. It may be bearable to live here if someone was as frankly honest with him as Damian. He might be able to make it out of this without becoming someone like Batman.

~time skip~

"There's a chess competition at school you know?" Tim remarked as he moved his bishop towards the king, he almost had Damian in check.

"What of it?" Damian asked frustrated, he was going to lose this one as well. Drake must have been cheating he was sure of it.

"How about a wager? You win more matches then I and I'll do your chores, you lose more and you do my chores for a week?" Tim asked as Damian moved his King one square to the right. Damian smirked.

"You know that those matches are done by age group right? The children in my class are all going to be utter failures; you would lose straight of the bat."

"But are you willing to bet a week's worth of chore on it?" Tim asked "And checks."

Damian grumbled. "Fine, you have yourself a wager."

~time skip~

Damian looked around the room for Jason. He, though his brash ways hid it well, was the only person who could help Damian in this task. The black and white checked board was tucked away in his little arms and the youngest Wayne looked for his brother. Not find him in the room he made his way down the corridor to the entertainment room when Bruce spotted him. Taking in the chess board in his son's arms he raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Drake and I have a wager. I'm going to beat more people than him at chess in the school competition." Damian stated in response. "I was looking for Todd to play against."

Bruce smiled. "Jason is out with his friends at the minute. How about you play a few rounds with me chum?" he asked. Damian paused to consider the pros and cons. "Fine." He stated and followed his father to the study.

~time skip~

Damian was seen doing Tim's chores the week following the competition. As it turned out even though Damian had won all of his matches, there were less player in his group and as such, even though Tim was not the champion of his group, Damian had lost the wager.

~time skip~

It was a dull winter's day when Damian had finally won against Tim. The two had spent hours over the board to make sure that there had not been a mistake. They had gotten the whole family involved and when it was declared that Damian had indeed won, he had let out a very childish whoop of joy. Cake had been bought and celebrations had been made. Dick had made a fake medal out of paper to give the grinning thirteen year old.

But Tim stood on the side-lines, a small sad lonely smile delicately plastered on his face. He knew that this meant that Damian had gotten what he wanted and that the games would now stop. Quietly the teen made his way out of the celebrations and sighed into the cold foggy night. His breath was misting over and he was thinking of irrelevant things when Bruce's hand came to rest on his shoulders.

~time skip~

"Everything okay Tim?" Bruce asked. The concern in his voice was comforting, but did nothing to alleviate the loss that Tim felt right then.

"Yeah, just, you know." Tim shrugged, hoping Bruce would get it. Either he didn't or was just being difficult, but Bruce shook his head in a negative fashion. "Damian, just – we don't get along on the best of days you know? And beating me? That was our thing, his Great Game, since way before Dad's death, and now, now its come to an end as well I-" Tears started to flow down his cheeks as he tried to hold back a sob.

Bruce held him close, noting how much taller the child had become since that day. He murmured into Tim's ear, "He's only just started Tim. The matches mean as much to you as they do to him. You're brothers now. Even if you both deny it till your blue in the face."

Tim nodded not believing a word that Bruce whispered.

Tim had just been back from detention when he found Damian in his room, on his bed, chess board open and waiting for him. Tim looked at the kid weirdly and asked, "what's with the board lil' D?"

Damian rolled his eyes and fixing Tim with his most patronising look, "-TT- I know that you were old Drake, but really? Losing your memory already? Its 7."

"But you beat me? Isn't that the end?" Tim enquired not sure what to make of the situation.

Damian shuffled under his gaze, and if he did not know any better he would have said that Damian was blushing and fidgeting. "Plebeian, I have seven years' worth of losses to make up till I consider you beaten. Now are you going to play or shall I consider this a forfeit?" Damian huffed, his face as still as stone.

Tim dumped his bag and jumped on the bed, "A Robin never forfeits." Tim stated a wide honest grin on his face.

"-TT- you won't be Robin for long Drake."

Tim just laughed.

AN: and over the years they played and played and when they departed this world they did so as equals as the competition had ended on a draw. Damian was p***ed about this till the very last. The end :P

Honestly I had no idea how to end this and yeah…. Hope you liked it!