Damian watched as Drake sat beside a jumper, legs dangling off the edge of the roof, and he stayed hidden in the shadows. He wasn’t supposed to be out, having gotten benched because of a laceration in his wrist, but Damian was hardly going to sit and do nothing, so he figured he’d follow Drake, since he was the least likely to care.
So his brother knew he was there, watching.
Drake didn’t say anything once he was situated beside the jumper. He simply sat there, eyes on the ground below, facial expresson calm and body language relaxed.
It confused Damian–that Drake wasn’t doing anything.
But one thing he’d learned, however, was that Drake always had a reason for the things he did. It was like life was a game of chess, and Drake was trying to win as efficiently as possible; every move he made in the field–every last choice–was deliberate and planned. Everything he did had purpose.
And because of it, Damian waited.
“You gonna jump?” Drake spoke up, still looking down at the life below them, voice without judgment and ire, simply calm as if he were addressing a co-worker or an old friend.
Damian continued to pay attention, settling himself comfortably as he watched.
“Maybe,” the man replied hollowly. “I don’t see why not.”
Drake hummed, kicking his feet a little.
The man sat beside Drake and hung his head.
“What’s stopping you?” Drake asked.
“I… Don’t know,” the man whispered back hoarsely.
Silence again fell over them. This method was exceedingly lengthy, and Damian found himself doubting his brother. Nonetheless, he waited and watched, remaining silent and hidden.
The man faces Drake sharply, surprise evident in his body and expression that mirrored Damian’s own shock.
What was he doing? Drake knew he was there–he knew Damian was watching and listening–so why… Why was he speaking of his pain? Of his weakness?
Drake continued to stare downward, expression thoughtful.
“I have,” he said. “I’ve felt weak, lesser than, unloved, unworthy, and broken beyond repair.” Drake blinked, and Damian looked to the sky as it began to drizzle with a scowl. Drake’s uniform offered his head no protection against the rain–he’d get sick.
He blinked, realizing that Drake was still talking.
“I’ve held a knife to my skin, and I’ve thought about jumping without a line to catch me.”
“You can’t do that though,” the man answered, putting a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “You can’t.”
Drake slowly lifted his face to meet the man’s gaze.
The man paused, hesitating, and Damian waited for the response, curious as to what he’d say.
“Because… You’re a hero. If you don’t save the people Batman and the others can’t, who will?”
Drake smiled softly, patting the hand on his shoulder before shifting it off and returning his gaze to the city.
“I know,” he says. “But that’s not why I haven’t kicked the bucket yet.”
The man seemed confused, and Damian tilted his head a little as well.
Drake’s response was a simple one.
“My family. My brothers and my sister. My dad and my grandpa. My best friends and my friends. The people I haven’t met. The people I meet every day.” Drake nodded once. “They’re the reason I’m here to talk to you, even if they’re also the reason I felt so broken in the first place.”
Frowning a little, the man turned to look out at the horizion too.
“And what if you don’t have anyone?” he whispered.
“No,” the man said, shaking his head. “I don’t. You don’t understand.”
“I understand better than you think I do, actually,” Drake replied with a hum. “My dad… Something happened and he was gone; nobody knew where he was and we thought he was dead. My oldest brother took my job from me and gave it to my little brother, and my best friends had just died.” Damian winced a little, remembering how he’d been towards Drake in the beginning.
“I had to leave, because I was the only one looking for our dad. Eventually I found him and we brought him home, but…” He trailed off, sighing. “Things weren’t magically okay. My oldest brother and I were distant, and my little brother hated me.
“But I met some people who helped me get through it.” Drake smiled a little there, likely thinking about whoever he was speaking of.
Damian made a note to find those people and repay them for keeping his brother alive.
“I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t have anybody,” Drake finished. “I was there.”
He glanced at the other man when he asked, “Don’t you hate your brothers for what they did?”
Drake turned to where Damian was hiding, a soft expression on his face.
“No,” he said, simply. “No, I don’t. We’ve got each other now.” He turned to face the other man, saying, “If you really want to do it, I won’t stop you. But I’ll say this: Maybe try hanging in there a little longer, yeah? Time does a lot of things. Healing is one of them.”
The man sighed. “I’ve tried waiting,” he muttered. “Time just drags on.”
“Then take life one second at a time. Don’t focus on tomorrow or next year–focus on the next second, your next breath. It feels hopeless in this second, but it’s got more hope than it did when you walked out here, doesn’t it?”
Silence again befell them, and Damian sat, staring at his brother.
For the longest time Damian had assumed…
He shook his head, biting at his bottom lip. What he felt didn’t matter. Drake had considered suicide before, seriously, actually considered it.
And none of them had known.
“I’m just tired,” he whispered.
Drake’s grin was bittersweet as he gazed down at the ground.
A few minutes and words later, the man was walking back to the center of the roof for the stairs, shoulders hunched.
When he was gone, Damian walked out from his hiding spot and took a seat beside his brother, the rain continuing to fall around them, cars below honking and laughter drifting up.
“I don’t hate you,” Drake said, looking at Damian sideways, the bittersweet smile still on his face. “Maybe I was pretty mad at you for a few seconds, but I don’t hate you. I don’t think I ever really did.”
Damian tightened his lips, watching a black car below.
“I cannot say the same,” he finally replied. “I hated you. For a rather extended amount of time.”
“I do not hate you, brother.”
Silence lapsed, but it was a comfortable one. It hung around until Damian said, “You wouldn’t have… Killed yourself, would you? You won’t?”
The response was delayed so Damian turned his head to look into Drake’s domino.
His brother gazed back and tilted his head, humming a little in consideration.
“I might have,” he finally said. “Back then. I don’t think you understand just how bad everything was for me.”
Damian swallowed, pressing, “And now? Would you?”
Timothy shook his head, returning his gaze to Gotham’s skyline.
Sighing in relief, Damian nodded. If he were being honest, Damian wanted a hug, but he could barely voice as much. He wanted to make sure his brother knew he cared. Initiating hugs was still difficult, but maybe…
Damian faced the rest of Gotham too, biting his lip.
“I would like a hug,” he whispered, hoping that Timothy had heard him as much as he hoped he hadn’t.
His brother was mercifully silent as he wrapped an arm over Damian’s shoulders and hugged him close. Damian would deny he was quick to return the embrace, but he snaked both arms around Timothy’s waist as soon as he could, relaxing into the embrace.
“We’re gonna get sick,” Timothy mused.
“Tt. You might. I have a hoodie.”
“You’re not even supposed to be here.”
“Are you going to say anything?”
“Then I don’t see your point.”
Timothy laughed and Damian smiled a little.
“Right, kid.” Timothy ruffled his hair and Damian allowed it, a mild pout rising at the action.
The quiet that had formed after Timothy’s words were broken, again by the teen.
Forcing the words out, Damian said, “And I you, brother.”
And they stayed there for a little bit.
