DamiTim 7.…to shut them up.
Have a side of Banshee!Tim with your order
Tim does not get hurt. This is a truth that Damian has carried since a child; since he was held in cold arms and whispered stories he couldn't yet understand; since he saw Tim materialize and rematerialize out of view. Tim is a creature of death. He can kill and revive in a single breath.
It has never occurred to Damian before that he would not simply do so again. It has never occurred to Damian that it hurts him to see them hurt.
It is why he is so thoroughly rocked when, that night, instead of a blade going through his stomach, it goes through Tim's instead.
There's a banshee scream that blows the foe away, bleeding from eyes, nose and mouth; Damian cannot focus on it. He cannot see anything other than the black of Tim's blood beginning to stain his suit.
He must say something over coms as he scoops Tim up, because Nightwing and Wraith cover them immediately when he retreats.
There are words in his ears as he swings through the night but he does not register them. It's not until they're in a safe house and he's yanking the zipper to Tim's suit down that he starts hearing anything at all.
"I need to take the knife out," he tells Tim. The blood is cold on his hands, like the rest of Tim, and it does not help the nausea in his gut. Damian has long since been desensitized to gore but in this moment it does not feel like it.
The knife comes loose. He packs the wound and finds himself at a loss.
"Do you need stitches? I do not know how healing works for you."
"Damian," Tim tries.
"How do you replace your blood? Will a normal transfusion work?"
"Damian," he tries again, taking his face between his hands.
Damian resists as he runs through what he knows of beings like Tim. It is frustratingly little.
"I'll call Zatanna--" his words are stolen as Tim presses a firm kiss to his mouth. It takes a second for his brain to reboot, to process this new event. It's then that he finally realizes he's shaking; how shameful.
"There," Tim says gently, gloved fingertips running over Damian's suddenly wet cheeks. "It's alright, baby bat. I'll be fine."
"You took a killing blow for me," Damian croaks out. "Why?"
"I guess I grow weary of watching you die, knowing I could stop it before it even happens."
"But your blood--"
"It'll replenish. I'll just need to go hunting to regain my energy."
He settles some at the knowledge. "Do not do that again."
Tim smiles a ghastly sort of smile, eyes twin pits of shadow. "No promises."