Damsel | T. Drake ✔

[16]

Since it wasn't Tim's turn for patrol, he was alone at Wayne Manor, going through the case files Bruce had initially been working on. He looked up as he heard a tapping sound at the window. Rather surprised, he drew back the curtain to see Ren out there.

He shifted back the glass pane to let her in but soon as the window opened, instead of stepping inside, she fell into his arms. He would have collapsed on the floor as well with her on top had he not steadied himself on time.

Seeing her in such a state had shocked him a lot and he held her so that she wouldn't fall, placing his hands on her back. But when he pulled back his hand, it was covered in blood.

"Holy shit, Ren, you're bleeding!"

Her suit was tattered from the back and even though the leather still clung together, he knew it was ripped. She didn't reply so he made her sit down on his bed, wiping his hand off before filling a glass with water which he made her drink carefully.

"What happened to you?"

"I'm fine," her voice was low from the pain, "just... Let me stay for a while here."

"You're clearly not fine," he remarked, "and you need bandaging. Wait here, I'll bring my kit."

But before he could leave, she grasped his hand making him stop and turn around to face her, "it's nothing."

"If you don't get at least some tincturing done, it will hurt even worse."

"No," she replied firmly, "I didn't come here for first aid."

He raised an eyebrow skeptically, "then why did you come here?"

"Because your place was closer than mine and I don't think I would have reached home like this."

"My point exactly."

"Tim, I just want to rest for a while. Then I'll leave for my own place. You can go back to whatever you were doing."

"Are you fucking crazy?" he retrieved his hand from hers and opened the cabinet where he kept his medical supplies, "I can't just leave you like this."

He placed the medical kit on the bed and opened it, taking out the cotton wipes.

"Tim, there's no need..."

But Tim placed a finger on her lips, silencing her, "my place, my rules."

Despite the pain a mischievous smile broke out on her features, and he immediately pulled back his finger, cheeks burning scarlet.

"You do know that I'll have to take apart the leather first before treating the wounds?" he asked as he climbed on the bed as well, sitting behind her so that he could treat the wounds.

"You'll find a zipper at the back," she remarked, "pull it down but be careful."

He did as he was told and cautiously pulled down the zipper, exposing her back that was riddled with sharp cuts that were still bleeding. "You really got into trouble tonight," he breathed in a low voice.

He was assessing that even though most of the cuts weren't deep, still a few would need stitches.

"I got into a fight with a gang that was led by a wolverine wannabe," she spoke.

"Wolverine?"

"He was huge with claws attached to his hands."

He realized that she was probably referring to Ubu, one of Deathstroke's men who was in charge of a gang at Gotham.

"And why exactly did you get into a fight with them?"

Since the cuts were too many and it could take a lot of time applying tincture one by one, he went to the cupboard looking for a towel.