This was from a prompt I got off my Tumblr. It's sad, and there are warnings for self-harm. No one dies though. It's ending is happy-ish. Read at your own risk.

It's a normal mission. Or at least, it should be. It's going well. The drug dealers are detained. The drugs laced with Joker Venom have been confiscated. In all actuality, it's over. All that Tim has left to do is sweep over the warehouse one last time for anything they missed and then drag Damian to the Batcave.

"Hands up!" a voice shouts from behind him. Tim stiffens and listens. Whoever is behind him is too far away to take out without out risking injury. Of course, they may not be holding a gun, but better safe than sorry.

"N-now turn ar-round," the man stutters, and it is a man. "Qu-quic-ck." A teen, he corrects. With his voice still dropping. Probably not much older than Damian. Tim hates Gotham for doing this to her people, sometimes.

"Okay, okay," Tim says calmly. Wise choice not to attack. The teen is holding a gun. His hands are shaky, but the safety is off and sometimes an untrained person holding a gun is more dangerous than a trained person. "Calm down. We can talk about this."

"N-no we c-c-can't," the teen bites out. "I n-needed tho-ose drugs for my m-m-mom. We need m-money. It's the o-only wa-ay."

"I can give you money, kid. You don't want this to be your life." Tim lowers one of his hands. "Give me the gun. Go home. Don't make a mistake."

The teen looks at the gun, then back at Tim. His eyes flicker back and forth a few times. And then his shoulder slump.

"O-o-okay," he breathes. "Okay."

He flicks the safety back on and takes a step closer. His hands are shaking more now.

"Red Robin!" Damian shouts. Of course it's Damian. Of course. "Step away from him now!"

The teen's eyes dart to Tim. Tim shakes his head. He didn't know Damian was right there. The teen looks terrified now. He swings around to face Damian only to trip on a rope and tumbles backward into Tim. They both fall off the edge of the warehouse walkway.

At this height, it's guaranteed death. Unless Damian can do something, which Tim doubts he can. And even then, someone's still going to die.

Falling is less terrifying than Tim expects. Especially when he feels someone's arms wrap around his waist and stop him from hitting the floor. A sickening crunch from below tells him that the teen wasn't so lucky.

"Drake," Damian is blabbering. "Are you alright? Oh God, I thought you were going to die."

They're on the floor now. Tim purposely doesn't look where he knows the teen's lifeless body is splayed. He knows he should. That he should check for a pulse, a way to save the kid. But somehow, he knows.

Damian doesn't seem to be frozen like him, however, and disappears, only to reappear at Tim's side a moment later. He shakes his head minutely. So Tim is right. The teen is dead. He didn't even know his name.

"He wasn't trying to hurt me," Tim tells Damian once he's able to think clearly, quiet voice portraying his horror easily. "He was giving me his gun."

In the end, Tim doesn't drag Damian back to the Batcave so much as Damian drags him. The last thing Tim remembers before being given sleeping pills is Damian watching him, face still.

When he wakes up he feels better. Fresher. Still sad and angry and horrified that someone so young had to die in such a way, but normal again. This type of thing happens in Gotham a lot, after all. And Tim is sure Bruce will help the family out. It's only too bad he's going to be too late for one member.

He's in his bed now, not the Batcave. Or at least in what used to be his bed. He has his own house now, and it's rare that he stays at the Manor anymore. He and Damian usually fight too much for either of them to enjoy it.

Damian. That poor kid. He must feel terrible. Responsible. But it's not his fault, even though Tim's words to make make it sound like it is. He's going to have to apologize to Damian. The poor kid has probably been chewing himself up about this.

If Tim hadn't heard Damian's shock, seen his terrified eyes after Damian had caught him, he might think his brother would be alright. But he did and he knows Damian won't be. God knows Bruce won't say anything comforting to Damian.

Tim, mind made up, goes to Damian's door and knocks. Nothing happens. Again, he knocks. Still, nothing happens. Is Damian somewhere else? Tim considers searching elsewhere first, but he's already here; he may as well enter the room to be sure Damian isn't just avoiding him. Doesn't just think he's mad at him.

Surprisingly, the door is unlocked. Tim opens it and is surprised to see Damian asleep on his bed, face slightly tense, but otherwise appearing untroubled. It's a bit late for Damian to be sleeping, but it's honestly not the latest Damian has slept after a rough night. Tim's not too worried about it.

Until Damian rolls in his sleep and Tim sees his wrist.

It's wrapped in a clean white bandage. One Tim knows wasn't there before patrol. Damian didn't receive any injuries on patrol either. Not there at least.

He can't help but unwrap it while Damian sleeps. That his brother doesn't twitch or wake up is a sign of how truly tired he is.

When Tim has it fully unwrapped he sees the wound. It's small, not a huge deal, not really. But it is. It really is. Because the wound is the tiny mark that only comes from razor blades. And slightly above and below it Damian has other healed marks, pale white against his dark skin. Some of them look years old.

Tim feels sick to his stomach. How can he not have noticed? How can he not have helped? This is Damian, his tough-as-nails little brother. The one that's never bothered by words. Ever! It's so wrong. So, so wrong. God, Damian.

He wraps the wrist the same way it was before he'd unwrapped it. What does one even do in these types of situations? He can't just leave it alone. At the same time, if he mentions it to Bruce, Alfred, or any of the others, Damian will never forgive him. Tim can deal with that though. He's used to Damian hating him.

"Deep breaths, Drake," Tim says to himself. He can do this. He can tell Bruce what's going on. Damian will hate him, but that's not as important as keeping Damian safe, from himself or others. This needs to be addressed.

"Drake, what are you doing in here?" Damian asks groggily.

Tim's eyes dart to Damian's bed. He's awake but doesn't seem to have a clue what Tim's figured out. Good. Now to just leave the room and go tell Bruce.

And then Tim hugs Damian.

"Drake, why are you hugging me?" Damian spits.

Tim pulls away and looks Damian in the eyes.

"I'm sorry I didn't know you were struggling and that I haven't helped. I'm sorry I haven't been able to protect you," Tim says seriously.

Damian looks at Tim, then follows Tim's gaze to his bandaged wrist. His face pales considerably.

"It isn't what you think," Damian tries.

"It's okay if it is," Tim says gently. "We'll get through this together. It'll be okay, Damian."

Then Damian slumps into Tim's arms, shoulders heaving in silent sobs. He squeezes Tim. Tim squeezes back tighter.

They'll figure this out. Tim knows they will. Together.