His welfare is of my concern
No burden is he to bear
We'll get there
For I know
He would not encumber me
He ain't heavy, he's my brother

~The Hollies

Chapter Seven

"Why'd you do it?"

Tim froze, not that anyone could see it in the dark. He didn't want to ever answer that question. Not because he didn't want to share, but because he didn't really know why he did it. At the time he thought that he knew why he was doing this. But know he was unsure why. Nothing had changed between them. He still hated the kid. The kid had still attempted to kill him multiple times. And yet he risked his life to bring Damian's back.

He could hear the annoyed finger tapping of Damian from across the bunker. He groaned and rolled over; reaching out to turn on the flashlight that he had just turned off.

"What do you mean?" Tim asked, in attempts to delay for a moment longer while he came up with a suitable lie.

"Don't pull that bullshit. You know exactly what I'm asking. Your intellect isn't as diminished that you don't know what I'm talking about." Damian folded his arms across his chest and glared at Tim.

Tim took a deep breath and prepared himself for an onslaught.

"I'm not sure why I did it."

"Pardon me?" Damian's eyebrows rose. That apparently wasn't the answer that he thought he was going to get.

"At the time I thought that I was doing something for Bruce, but now I'm not so sure."

Tim could see that Damian was very confused at this point. Unfortunately Tim wasn't sure just how to explain this whole situation to Damian without there be any violence. He wasn't even sure if he could explain it to himself, and he was the one who came up with this crazy plan. There was an awkward silence between the two.

"You mentioned my father. Did he have you do this?"

Tim let out a snort. A faint smile appeared on the grim face.

"Right. Because Bruce would have one of his sidekicks go and do a mission that would probably kill them. No kid, it's all me. If Bruce was going to have someone do this, he would have done it himself. And that would have been a whole lot messier."

"Then why was it you? You don't like me. You hate me."

Another faint smile.

"I don't like you, yes, but I don't hate you. I never wished you dead. I just wanted for you to give me the same type of respect that you give the others."

Damian looked away from Tim.

"I don't expect anything to change between us now that you're back. You can go right back to hating me after we get back to Gotham and being the most loved."

"I'm not."

"What?" Now it was Tim's turn to be confused. What was he talking about now?

"I'm not the most loved. My mother killed me because she couldn't accept who've I become. Father can't seem to get past the fact I was raised by assassins. Todd just doesn't care about anyone, and Grayson tries, but at times I feel as if I come short of what he wants as a brother."

"Oh? And who do you think would be the perfect model for Dick's brother?"

"You."

Tim froze again. Damian was jealous of him? And through all of this time, Tim thought that Damian simply hated his guts for intruding into a family that he wasn't born into. But Damian was wrong.

"I'm not the perfect model. Hell, I'm probably the worst example of a brother there is."

"It matters not to Grayson. He whines about your prolonged absences and frets over you like a mother hen. You just don't realize. The way his face lights up when you come back safe sickens me." Damian hugged his knees to his chest.

Tim fought the urge to cry, or laugh.

"You should try to look from the other side. Dick's face lights up with any opportunity to do anything. The same look is on his face when you manage not to stab me whenever we're in the same room."

"Tt. Whatever."

"You should call Dick by his first name once. And watch how his face lights up. That would probably make his year, of not his whole life."

It was Damian's turn to snort. The idea of using a first name making someone's entire life was ludicrous.

"You should get some sleep kid. There's been enough of the sentimental crap between the two of us to last a lifetime. Just remember what I said, alright?" And like that Tim flipped off the flashlight and lay down on his back. His shoulder protested greatly at the motion, but Tim did nothing for it.

He heard as the kid was shuffling around, but Tim closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift to sleep.

Dick was running through the house like his body was on fire. He looked around wildly for anyone. He avoided where Bruce would be brooding, there was no reason to add something new to his plate. Dick wanted to find Jason, but that man was as slippery as some of the criminals that they chased at night. Probably came from the times he was the criminal, er, anti-hero.

"Master Dick, I would be careful running around the manor in such a way. This is the way that people unintentionally injure themselves." Alfred took a close look at Dick's face. "Whatever is the matter Master Dick?"

"Tim…Tim, he…he," Dick gasped out trying to formulate actual words. His hands rested on his knees as he tried to force the words out of his mouth while breathing at the same time.

"Take a moment to breathe Master Dick. Whatever it is, I'm sure that it could wait until air is back in your lungs." He paused a moment to allow Dick to catch his breath. "Now what was it that needed to be shared at this very moment?"

"Tim's not coming back."

"Whatever do you mean? Of course Master Tim is coming back." Alfred reached out and rested a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"No, he's not. See?" Dick shoved the letter he was holding in his hand into Alfred's.

Alfred allowed an eyebrow to rise before he looked down at the letter in his hand. He read the letter as quickly as he could before looking up to Dick with a panicked look on his face.

"Where exactly did you find this?" He asked.

"It was in Tim's room. He knew that I would go in there I suppose." Dick tried to remain calm, but there was no way to contain everything.

"Where exactly in Tim's room?"

"Under his pillow."

Alfred pursed his lips and brought his fingers to his chin. He thought for a moment before he opened his mouth once again.

"Don't you worry about this piece of paper Master Dick-" Alfred began.

"Why not?" Dick interrupted.

Alfred only took a breath before answering. Years of taking care of Dick helped in moments like these, where the young man's impatience took control of the rest of him, especially his mouth.

"I was there when the young Master Tim wrote it. It was an exercise to help him. He wanted to throw it out once it was over, but I told him to keep it. As a reminder at a future date."

"So he's not going to leave us?" Dick was having a difficult time wrapping his head around it. Just an exercise?

"Master Dick, you are quite tired. You've been awake for nearly two days straight. The stress of this situation is beginning to affect your motor systems. Please, sir, go and get some sleep."

Dick nodded and trod away to find his room or a sofa where he could lay down and find some sleep. He flopped on his bed face first before rolling over and began to snore. He didn't know that Alfred had been lying.

Damian was waiting. For what he didn't exactly know. Something along the lines of, how did they put it, gotcha! But there didn't seem to be any sort of that coming. Drake had simply rolled over and went to sleep. Like the whole incident wasn't life changing at all. Idiot.

But he still didn't really know why Drake did the deed.

Why was it difficult to figure out why Drake did it? It wasn't like he was the most brilliant person in the world. Damian could easily list off twelve people that were more intelligent than Drake. There were probably more out there, but he could care less about them.

Damian rested his head on his arm and stared up into the darkness. He had been positive that Drake hated his guts, but it seems that he doesn't. Drake doesn't like him, but that had always been evident.

But why?

Drake had said that he didn't know why he'd done it. On some level Damian believed him. The look on his face was very clear that he wasn't sure why he'd done it. But there was something else. Something that Drake wasn't telling him. And it wasn't like he could hack into a computer this time and figure it out.

He added all the facts up in his head. One, his mother had him killed before and now was sending assassins after him to make sure that the job is done. Two, Drake was the one to raise him from the dead. Three, no one from the rest of the 'family' had told Drake to do such a thing; it was likely that they didn't even know about it. Four, Drake wasn't sure why he did it. But there was something inside of him that knew why, even if he was hiding it from himself.

Damian gave a small groan. All of this thinking was giving him a headache. He supposed that it was the blow to his head. He could figure it out later. His head needed to rest for a little bit.

The smoke was thick in the cabin. He didn't understand why they didn't go outside to smoke, or at least open a window. It was very distracting for him. But then again he seemed like he was the only non-smoker on the entire ship. Currently he was trying to watch the TV screen, and the smoke was getting in the way.

"Would you be so kind as to move the smoking outside? I'm trying to watch the TV," he protested.

His cabin mate came over and clapped him on the back. He had a cigarette between his teeth and smiled with his yellowing teeth.

"What's so interesting that we gotta go outside to smoke one?" His gravelly voice growled in his ear.

"There was something about an explosion, and I can't tell you much else, cause I can't read the screen." He glared up at his cabin mate.

The other man glared back down at him, not moving to do anything.

"Jeez, enough with the sexual tension already. Just open the damn window," grumbled another member of the crew.

Giving up the stare, the crewmate walked over and opened the window. He took a few more drags on the cigarette before flicking it out the window and waving some of the smoke out.

"Happy?"

He didn't make a noise. He was focused on the program. What was on wasn't what he thought it would be. He thought that it would be a warehouse that had some sort of malfunction, or possibly radical terrorists targeting a religious place. It was neither one of those things. It was a jet.

A goddamn jet.

"What the hell? All this hubbub for a jet that exploded?"

He shushed whoever was speaking behind him. He wanted to know what was going on.

"And while there are no injuries that have been reported, the international authorities are looking into the cause of the explosion and are searching for those involved."

"International?"

"SHH!" He waved down the person behind him.

"The head of Wayne Enterprises, declined an interview, but an inside source claims that the passengers that were aboard that jet were the CEO's own children."

The screen switched from showing the news to show an image of the Wayne family at some charity function. They all stood together, but the two shortest ones were glaring at each other, like they were in the middle of an argument about something. Mr. Wayne was the only one actually looking at the camera, one of his other sons was trying to get in between the two glaring at each other, and the other one was staring someplace off screen distancing himself from the rest of the family.

"Hey! That one looks like the guy who paid passage," someone shouted from the back of the room.

"Shut UP, Geoff! You can't even see the screen through the smoke! Get outta here!" Someone else yelled.

There was grumbling as Geoff made his way out of the lounge and down below decks.

"Damn drunkard thought that we were escorting billionaire's kids across the ocean. I wish we were. Probably they would have paid better." There was a rumbling laugh echoing throughout the lounge.

But there was a seed that was planted in his mind. Could it possibly be that they were transporting a billionaire's children? But more importantly, could this be something that his employers would be interested in?

He stood and walked out of the still smoky room to the fresh air on the deck. The air cleared his head. He wouldn't be able to make any calls yet until they got on land anyways, so he had time to figure it all out anyway.

They were so close. So, so close. He could practically reach his hand out and touch the safety of the doorknob. But just as he was about to close his hand around the cold metal, he heard screaming behind him. He turned to see his little brother being impaled by a sharp sword. He went to scream out his name but no words came out of his mouth. He fell to his knees at the sight. Tears blurred his vision.

"You failed him. Just like all the others."

He looked up to see the man that he had admired for years scowling down at him. He opened his mouth to say that he had tried, when a sword was stabbed through his body as well.

"NO!" Tim shouted sitting up. Sweat was dripping down his face and down his back. He padded himself down to make sure that it was all just a dream and none of it was really real.

Tim fumbled around looking for his flashlight, and then fumbled a little more when he tried to turn it on. When he finally succeeded he shone the beam of light over to Damian's side of the crate. He held his breath until he saw Damian's chest move up and down with each breath that he took.

His heart was still beating rapidly from the dream. No, nightmare. Slowly he crawled over to the other side of the crate and sat by Damian's head for a moment. He really did look like a regular kid when he was sleeping. His scowl wasn't glued on like it was at waking hours of the day, and while he wasn't smiling, he seemed a bit relaxed.

Acting upon impulse, Tim reached down and pulled Damian into his lap and gave him a hug. He wasn't squeezing as tightly as Dick would, the kid was still asleep, but he just needed to feel him breathing against him. After carrying him around without feeling a pulse and breathing, he needed to be sure.

The peace only lasted for a moment before Damian started to stir.

"What are you doing?" Mumbled Damian.

"Shh."

"Unhand me! I do not desire to be held so!" Damian was becoming more and more alert with each passing moment that Tim held him.

"Suck it up brat. I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me little brother."

Damian's attempts to wiggle away ceased. He stared up into Tim's light blue eyes, his own widening.

Tim then realized just what he said. He didn't allow it to show on his face, but he was probably as surprised as Damian was.

"Did you just-?"

"I guess I did. Now sleep."

Tim watched as Damian shifted his face away from Tim's but yet snuggled closer in Tim's arms. Tim allowed a small smile on his face. Maybe things were going to get better after this. They would still be themselves, just maybe with the less of the killing attempts now.

"I know that you're grinning. Get rid of it before I do."

Tim only chuckled and held his brother more securely.

A/N: Don't you just love brotherly bonding? I'm so glad that you all are enjoying this story. It means a lot. As always leave a review, cause I love seeing them.