Title: Snapping in and out.

Author: Rea Treoni

Rating: T

Characters: Damian Wayne and Tim Drake.

WARNINGS: um, blood, curses, stuff.

Disclaimer: I don't own any Batman related character. They are DC Comics's.

Tim blinked and before he could notice anything around him a voice behind him called him in the tiniest of whispers.

And as soon as he turns around, he suddenly has a bleeding pale Damian in his arms.

Not Robin. Plain, civilian, ten years old Damian.

His breath stops for a second before coming back in short panicked breaths. He gathers the unconscious boy in his arms –because he's not dead, his little brother is not dead– and pulls him closer; his hands roaming all over his little body trying to find the cause of his brother's falling, trying to find the pulse he desperately needed as it was his own,

"Damian." he calls in the softest voice he can but in the big empty room he's in it seems like he's screaming.

Then again, maybe he was.

Nothing seemed to make sense because suddenly Damian's in his Robin suit minus his domino mask, and the injury he couldn't find before is now right before his eyes: a big gaping hole in the middle of his small chest, blood still pouring out of him, making him more pale by the second and Tim doesn't think he's breathing until he hears the sound of gasping and coughing because he's not getting enough air, just like his brother in his lap, and what's happening, not again please.

"DAMIAN." He calls again to deaf ears, before shaking him roughly. The ten years old's face remains motionless, he actually looks at peace, the whole opposite of what Tim's feeling right now.

"No, no, no, no. Come on, work with me for once, Kiddo." He pleads, padding his cheek, aching for a reaction, but nothing came. Tim let out a broken sob. "Please, please, I can't lose you again. Damian please."

Then, a twitch. The tinniest twitch you can imagine but the biggest ray of hope Tim Drake has ever seen in his life.

"Drake." Someone answers him and Tim may brake down with relief at the weak voice of his brother.

"You're okay. I'm here. I got you, little brother. I'm gonna make sure you're okay." He reassurances because that's the only thing he can do: promise and promise again until it came true.

But Damian's eyes just looked back at him sadlt, almost with pity. There wasno usual anger or annoyance.

"How many times, Drake." He hears and Tim doesn't understand.

"What?" he asks confused, screaming and yelling at himself on the inside because they don't' have time for small chatting when the kid is still bleeding, but Damian's look is starting to haunt him.

"How many times," Damian repeats: weak, broken, sad. "do I have to die for you to be able to protect me?"

Tim's breathe hitches, and his mouth is wide open, no sound coming out.

"Wha –"

"You failed me." Damian cries, shaking his head slowly. "You just keep failing me. I keep dying because of you."

"No! Damian, no!" Tim exclaims desperately, cupping both cheeks of his little brother with his hands and pulling him close to his face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm trying, Dami, God, I'm trying to be better for you –"

"And yet," Damian cuts off, a trail of blood on his chin "Here I am: dying, again."

Tim just gap incredulously, denial written all over his face as he shakes his head. "No, you're not – I won't let you die – I can –"

"Can you?" came the challenge, as skeptical and untrusting as it can be, and Tim freeze.

"Can I?" he echoes, trailing off, fill of uncertainly.

"That's why I thought."

Tim bit his lower lip, keeping his sobs on the inside. "Damian, please, just – give me a chance. I can save you."

"It's too late, now."

"No, please. No. I can't lose –"

"You already have, brother."

Suddenly, as if all of the conversation had been just an illusion, Damian goes limp in his arms, and all color is drained out of him: gray skin and blue lips, his eyes half lidded and unfocused, staring at nothing.

And Tim screams. He screams until his throat is raw, and his eyes are dry but he keeps shouting: at the skies, at himself, at his family, at the universe for stealing his little brother, again. He heaves and he nuzzles Damian's cold face against his own like a lost puppy, begging him to come back, promising that he will be better.

But then he snaps out of it and Tim is able to open his eyes groggily. He blinks a few times, in an attempt to get used to the minimal sunshine that came through the gapes of the closed curtains. He feels the softness of his bed and the tangled sheets around his body, just as a strong smell of French toast and the tropical febreeze Alfred likes to use in their rooms because he says they don't get vacations often enough.

"Ah, Drake. Finally awake I see."

The teen jumps, and he's pretty sure his heart jumps along with him at the painfully familiar arrogant voice. He ignores the protest of his sore neck and turns his head towards the voice.

There, on his right side, Damian Wayne, in plain grey sweat pants and a totally not his size hoodie, sat in Tim's favorite chair he uses to watch Netflix marathons, with a closed book on his lap, watching Tim's movement with a bored and yet watchful eye, his elbow resting on the arm chair while he presses his cheek against his cheek.

Tim jerks off and sits up in a second and Damian straightens up, raising both hands towards his brother, already moving to prevent the idiot to injure himself more but Tim just sat there, blinking at his brother and the ten years old can't help but arched an eyebrow at Tim's dumbstruck look.

"What –" gasps Tim but Damian cut him off smoothly.

" Last night. Scarecrow. New fear toxin. You being dumb and getting hit with it. Antidote took a while to take effect." Damian narrates curtly, waving his hand in the air as if it happened every day. "It was my turn to watch over your sad ass." he explains his presence briefly, not wanting to elaborate more than that, as he picks up a prepared glad full of water and handles it to his gaping brother.

Tim takes the offering glass without thinking and keep blinking, staring at Damian who started to squirm udder the older teen's gaze but then, in a hear beat, Tim leaves the glass on its former place and waves at Damian, telling him to come closer.

The ten years old scoffs but obliges either way, rolling his eyes in the process. Once he was close enough, Tim doesn't waste another second before grabbing the younger boy by the back of his neck and pulls him a little down with him until their foreheads are touching.

"Hey," Tim calls as he closes his eyes, concentrating on his kid brother's heartbeat on his hand. Damian hums in response "Please don't die."

He feels Damian tense for a second before he relaxes and sighs almost exasperated. He's not stupid, unlike his brothers, he has an idea what his brother saw during his state, if his screaming and calling his name desperately through sobs and tears gave him a clue about it.

"I will do my best on not to, Drake."

"I will protect you."

"I know."

"I will always protect you."

"I know, brother."

"I love –"

"Tim."

The teens opens his eyes and meet's Damian's intense gaze.

"I know." He says yet again, and Tim can hear the silenced 'me too.' at the end.

It makes him smile.

"Can you let go now?"

Tim shakes his head with a weak chuckle. "Nop" he says, before pulling Damian all the way down until he's lying on the bed with him, his tired mind demanding sleep but his heart aching for his brother.

Damian just huffs and let out an annoyed 'tt', crossing his arms over his chest but not moving further than that, letting his brother have his dose of physical contact.

Minutes later, when Dick and Jason arrived to scene and smiled knowingly, Damian just flipped them off the finger.

Hope you liked it!