Tim had just settled into his desk chair, ready to enjoy a rare moment of peace, when his door slammed open with enough force to rattle the hinges.

He nearly dropped his coffee.

Damian stood in the doorway, his usually composed face slightly panicked, green eyes sharp with urgency.

“I require transportation to Target,” Damian announced, voice clipped.

Tim blinked. “What?”

“Now.”

Tim frowned, setting his coffee down slowly. “Okay, first of all, knock. Second, why the hell do you need to go to Target?”

Damian exhaled sharply, clearly impatient. “It’s for her. It’s for beloved.”

That explained nothing. Obviously he knew who he was referring to, the girl had practically lived at the manor since they were 5. They’ve been pretty much codependent since then.

Tim just raised an eyebrow.

Damian scowled, shifting on his feet, before lowering his voice slightly. “She— she’s bleeding.”

Tim shot up from his chair. “What?! Where?!”

Damian rolled his eyes, face definitely not red. “Not like that, Drake. She—” He crossed his arms, glancing toward the hallway, voice dropping further. “She got her period, okay?”

Tim blinked again, processing.

Then he smirked.

“Ohhhh,” he drawled. “Ohhh.”

Damian’s glare could have cut glass.

“I do not have time for your idiocy,” he snapped. “We need to go— now.”

Tim leaned back against his desk, enjoying this way too much. “And you’re coming with me to buy—”

“Obviously.” Damian straightened, expression deadly serious. “She is my best friend. She needs me.”

Tim let out a low whistle. “Y’know, most twelve-year-old boys would rather die than be caught in the—”

“I am not most twelve-year-old boys, Drake.”

Tim sighed dramatically, grabbing his keys.

“Well,” he said, clapping a hand on Damian’s shoulder as they headed for the door. “Hope you know what brand she wants to use, Romeo.”

Damian shoved him off.

“Shut up and drive.”