Damian Wayne knew he had messed up. First, he (the far superior Robin) had fallen unconscious. Second, he hadn't questioned what she knew. Overall, he was regretting a lot as he sat in the kitchen, eating one of Alfred Pennyworth's cookies with Tim Drake staring at him.

Tim leaned his arms against the counter, watching closely. Something was off with the fifteen-year-old — he hadn't been insulted yet.

Damian was deep in thought. He knew where the fellow teenager, who had made the best pancakes, lived. He could always make her confess to what she knew — she had to know something about him. Why would someone offer help and not try to figure out his identity? After all, hadn't he been exposed before?

Tim, sensing the tension, snapped his fingers loudly right next to Damian's left ear.

Damian practically jumped out of his skin, nearly falling off his chair. The distant, vacant look on his face morphed into aggravation. "What?" he snapped.

"What's up with you?" Tim asked, his arms now back where they were. He preferred peace and quiet, but not at the expense of Damian's unreadable silence.

"Nothing," Damian scoffed, narrowing his eyes. He didn't like the way Tim was looking at him.

The nineteen-year-old grabbed one of the cookies, raising an eyebrow. He could read Damian better than the boy liked to admit. He knew the telltale signs of something being wrong, especially after Damian had gone off the radar the previous night.

"Where were you last night? We were worried you had died or something." Tim continued, watching as Damian tensed. "Hell, Babs couldn't find you, even Virgil couldn't find you."

Damian glared at Tim, trying to mask how bothered he was. "You tried to stalk me? I'm a trained assassin. Why did you think that would work?"

Tim sighed. "Because it's Virgil. I'm almost certain he's been hacking since before he was in the womb."

"That's impossible."

Tim blinked at him, another sigh escaping his lips. "Anyway, whatever happened is bothering you more than you're letting on." He pointed out, moving to the breakfast bar to make himself some coffee. "You don't have to talk about it, but I'm here if you want to. Or I'm sure Dick, Virgil, or Bruce will listen. Even Jason will, if you tie him down."

Damian rolled his eyes. He wasn't about to tell Tim that he'd failed, that he had let some random criminal get the upper hand and knock him out. That he hadn't even bothered to question or threaten the girl who had stitched him up.

"It's okay if you got hurt. We're human, not invincible."

"If I wanted a motivational speech, I'd revive Martin Luther King. But I haven't, so."

"I'm just saying—"

"Well, don't."

The two looked up as Virgil García entered the kitchen. Virgil, Tim's boyfriend and Jason Todd's best friend since childhood, didn't live with them but frequented the kitchen at all hours. He grabbed a cookie from the plate in front of Damian.

"You don't live here."

"I don't see your point," Virgil responded, wrapping his arms around Tim's waist. He pressed a kiss to the skin of Tim's neck, biting it slightly. "As long as the cookies are being made, I'm gonna keep showing up."

No matter the fact that he had never lived in Mexico, and barely lived with his parents anymore, Virgil still had a faint Mexican accent. It wasn't as strong as it used to be, but it was stubborn, and he was proud of it.

Tim turned his head to glance at his lover, pecking him on the lips.

Virgil pulled away, setting himself on the counter near the fridge and opening a book. "Tim, go away," he said, grabbing the carton of orange juice and pouring it into the glass he had left earlier.

"What?!"

"Go away," Virgil repeated, picking up his wooden bookmark and tossing it at Tim. It narrowly missed.

"You're all so mean to me." Tim declared, tossing the bookmark back at Virgil (and hitting him in the face) before leaving.

Damian raised an eyebrow at Virgil as the kitchen door shut. "What do you want?" he asked the older teen.

"Use protection."

"I don't need a shield."

"I mean a condom."

Damian's eyes widened. "I—what! No, that's gross."

"Well, condom or baby."

Damian stared at Virgil as the older teen read his book, his face blank. "I'm asexual."

Virgil nodded. "That's cool. But if you ever change your mind, use protection. Asexuality is a spectrum, and you're full of curiosity. Who's to say you won't want to try it one day? You don't like not knowing something."

Damian silently begged Virgil to stop talking. "Right, I'll keep that in mind," he said, his lips pulled into a thin line.

"To be fair, kid, it's either you get the talk from me, Dick, Tim, Jason, or Bruce."

"I'd rather you."

"That's what I thought." Virgil turned back to his book. "Uh, I support you, by the way."

Damian blinked at Virgil, unsure of how to respond. He stood up and left the kitchen, forcing the smile off his face as he walked into the hallway.