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It had been barely a day since Damian’s throat felt like it had closed up and dropped to the pit of his stomach. Twenty-six hours since that horrifying moment when the drones had hit and Drake’s comm had cut out. The brief silence that stretched afterwards still echoed in his ears, a moment of shock and disbelief that hung in the air as they waited for something—anything—that showed he was somehow still there.
In the hours that followed after they confirmed what they all already knew, the Manor had grown suffocatingly silent, broken only by the sound of muffled crying behind closed doors.
Robin hadn’t even had to sneak out of the Cave tonight. For once, Grayson had said nothing as he geared up and sped out into the city on his motorbike, but he was grateful for it. He didn’t want to have to explain where he was going and why. The truth of the matter was too tangled up in his mind to explain easily, and admitting he was breaking into Drake’s apartment would undoubtedly cause Grayson to jump to false conclusions about things like “feelings” and “how he was holding up”.
Which was ridiculous. Robin was fine. He just needed to escape the suffocating stillness of the house, and the only reason why he was actually doing this was because it was his duty to check on something important in Gotham. Nothing more.
And anyway, Nightwing would have insisted on coming with him if he knew, but bringing him to Drake’s apartment so soon after the incident would likely just cause the man more distress.
Gotham was unnaturally quiet tonight, Damian observed, but that was to be expected. He doubted many criminals would be stupid enough to risk running into the Bat tonight, not after word had started to spread about Red Robin’s disappearance. As it was, Damian didn’t have to stop for anything as he sped through empty streets, and he parked in the alleyway behind a tall apartment building downtown without incident.
A minute later, Damian landed lightly on the windowsill to Drake’s apartment. The windows were dark and the curtains were drawn shut. On any other night it wouldn’t have been unusual, but this time the sight made him draw his cape around him a little tighter. Damian was almost completely silent as he took out his lockpicks, but still his arrival had not gone unnoticed. A chorus of loud, demanding meows just inside the window urged him to work faster, and Damian made quick work of the lock and subsequent alarm system before slipping inside.
He was immediately greeted by a ball of fur headbutting his legs, and Damian quieted the cat by scratching behind her ears until she started purring. He had met Drake’s cat, Irene, a few times before this, almost always by himself. (Not that he would ever admit to sneaking in to see her when Drake was out).
Or that he cared about the wellbeing of the apartment’s other occupant. A little bit. Sometimes.
Irene pulled Damian away from his thoughts with a hard headbutt and another demanding meow. The corner of Damian’s mouth twitched and he followed her over to the kitchen counter, feeling a touch remorseful. It had been a long, hellish night, and no one had even thought about checking on the cat left in Drake’s empty apartment until about an hour ago.
“I’m sorry you have been left alone for so long. You must be hungry.”
Unsurprisingly, Irene didn’t respond. Damian pulled a can of premium cat food from the cabinet closest to the sink and hunted for her dish. Damian recognized the brand. For all his faults, at least Drake had good taste in proper cat food. Damian found the dish with the day-old dried remnants of her last meal and glanced back at Irene, but she was ignoring him now, instead looking back to the window he had come through.
She was still waiting for Red Robin to come back.
The thought made Damian spin back to the counter. He washed and dried her ceramic dish in silence and emptied the can of strong-smelling food into it. Irene padded over and meowed. Damian knelt down and placed the dish of food in front of her, which she began eating without any further hesitation. Damian sat next to her and leaned his back against the wall, taking a moment to really examine the apartment for the first time since slipping inside.
The room looked like he had never left. It didn’t surprise him, there was no way Drake could have known when he left for patrol that he wouldn’t see the place again, but the apartment looked lived-in. Like he would still come back at any moment.
Damian took note of the papers stacked haphazardly on the table and kitchen counters, no doubt following a system of organization that made sense only to Drake. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, with a closed laptop and pile of books scattered on the rumpled bed. The red sweater on the floor had been one of Drake’s favorites, and looked like it had been used as a cat bed frequently in the last week. Typical, for Drake to so easily surrender an item of clothing to a cat who would just as happily sleep in a bed of her own.
“Spoiled girl,” he said to Irene beside him, who ignored him completely and continued eating.
Spoiled indeed. Drake had loved this cat, had been so excited when he brought her home. The weight on his chest returned, and Damian shut his eyes tight and pressed the back of his head against the wall. Breathe in, breathe out.
His breaths evened out after a minute or so, but he made no attempts to move from his position, leaning back against the wall, knees now drawn up to his chest. If he kept his eyes closed, he could almost imagine that nothing had changed. That Drake would return from his patrol at any moment and yell at him for breaking into his apartment again. That they would bicker until his brother eventually gave in and crashed on the couch after irritably telling him not to make a mess of anything. Damian would help himself to whatever food he knew Drake liked best solely to irritate him before going home, and neither of them would breathe a word of it when they saw each other next.
A soft head nudged his hand, and Damian opened his eyes to Irene watching him closely in the empty apartment, and the reality of the situation hit him full force.
Tim Drake was gone. Leaving behind a cat who would never understand what had happened, and a brother who would never get another chance to make things right between them. To show that he didn’t actually hate him.
Damian scooped the waiting cat into his lap and ran his hands through her fur. She rubbed her face on his shoulder before settling down, and a lump caught in his throat. It wasn’t fair. All Irene would ever know was that one day Drake had left, and Damian was the only one who came back.
Damian curled around the cat he was cradling on the kitchen floor and shut his eyes tight. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t.
He only felt sorry for Irene. Because as incompetent as Drake was, Irene had had a home because of him. And now?
Damian buried his face in her fur. His breath hitched painfully, and he felt tears wet her coat as he began to cry.
“I miss him too.”