#DickandDamiWeek2019

[brucewaynehomeforangrychildren]

~~ nightwing + flamebird ~~

[cdelphiki]

Damian didn’t scream.

That was the first thing Dick noticed.  Aside from his own internal panic of shit shit shit the kid’s been shot, of course.  Even though it was just with a dart of fear toxin and not like, an actual bullet, it still got Dick’s heart racing just a little quicker.  

But Damian wasn’t screaming.  Dick had seen each of the other kids on fear toxin, as well as hundreds of random civilians.  There was always screaming.  Crying, shouting, screaming.  And yet, Damian was doing none of that.  

Keeping the kid in his peripherals, Dick finished taking out Scarecrow and tied him up nice and pretty for the GCPD.  It was actually fairly easy, since he, too, was unnerved by Robin’s lack of screaming.  The tiny little 10-year-old’s apparent lack of fear.  

“Robin?” Dick asked as he slowly approached.  It was clear Damian was hallucinating.  At least, Dick thought it was.  Since Damian had quit fighting and was standing there, stiffly. He just wasn’t scared.  

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, kneeling down in front of Damian as he did a visual scan of the boy, his hands hovering an inch or so from Damian’s body, afraid to touch him and risk setting him off, “can you hear me?”

In response, all Damian did was take in a deep breath and let it out slowly, through his nose.  A move Dick recognized as meant to calm one down.  To slow a heart rate and keep panic at bay.  

So perhaps Damian was scared.  Did he know what was happening then?  And was responding accordingly?  Staying calm because he knew none of what he was seeing was real?

Dick had no idea.  

“Hey,” he said gently as he loaded a clean syringe up with a full dose of the antitoxin, “I’m going to give you some medicine that will make it stop, okay, kid?  Can you hear me?”

Damian didn’t respond, so Dick very carefully grasped onto Damian’s upper arm, testing the waters to see how violent a reaction he’d have to touch.  Considering normal Damian was quick to kick or punch, or as Tim had discovered the one time he ‘accidentally’ ruffled Damian’s hair, bite, Dick was preparing himself to defend against a ruthless, violent attack.

Instead, Damian gasped, almost inaudibly, as he shut his eyes tight.

“It’s okay, D,” he said as he gripped a little tighter, allowing him to stab the syringe right into Damian’s thigh.  Straight through his uniform.

The boy didn’t even flinch.

But then Damian said, with an almost unnoticeable shake to his voice, “I’m sorry.”  If one didn’t know Damian, it would have gone unnoticed.  But Dick did know Damian.  He’d been the primary caretaker…. Well that was probably actually Alfred.  He was the one who got them to sleep and eat and such.  

He’d been the primary emotional caregiver to Damian for nearly six months.  Ever since Bruce died.  

“What for?” he asked in as soothing a tone as the Batman gravel would allow, “You’re okay, you did nothing wrong.”

While he let the antitoxin run its course, Dick pulled out his batphone to let Gordon know Scarecrow was ready for pick up.  The entire time, he kept his hand on Damian’s arm, making sure he stayed put.  

The boy didn’t move.  He didn’t try to pull away, even as his body began shaking, ever so slightly.

“Robin?” Dick said, pocketing his phone and looking back over at the boy.  

“Please,” Damian whispered.

The hint of desperation in Damian’s voice was enough to make Dick drop the Batman voice all together.  “Please what, bud?” 

“I’m sorry.  Grayson- I- I’m-”

“Shhhhh,” Dick said, running his free hand up and down Damian’s arm, trying his best to sooth the panic he could see rising in the boy.  Why wasn’t the antitoxin working?  It should only take a couple minutes, and Damian only seemed to be getting worse.  

“Its okay.  You’re okay,” Dick started to repeat, as he stood, “Come on, we need to get you home and synthesize a new antitoxin.”

“Grayson, please,” Damian choked out, in a painful sounding aborted sob.  The poor kid was struggling not to cry, now, and that only seemed to make it all worse.  

Dick wanted nothing more than for Damian to go back to not being scared.  

Was he ever not scared?  Or had the fear just become so intense that he could no longer hide it?

He didn’t even want to think about the implications of a 10-year-old being able to hide his fear so well, he appeared to have none while on fear toxin.

“What is it?” he asked softly, dropping back down to a crouch so he could brush his fingers across Damian’s cheek before checking his pulse.

“I apologize, I-”

His pulse was racing.  At least 150bpm.  “You’re okay kiddo, you’re okay.  It’s okay.”

Just as a tear escaped out of Damian’s domino and down his cheek, Damian tensed up.  He quickly swiped it away as his entire body went completely rigid, all trace of emotion vanished from his face.  “It was a mistake,” he said stiffly, “I can be better.  I promise.  I will.  Please.”

Dick let go abruptly, just so he could pull Damian in close, squishing his tense little body right into his chest. Because that’s what this kid needed right now.  A hug.  

A hug and probably a lifetime’s worth of therapy.  But they could all use that, so Dick wasn’t really one to talk there.  

“Don’t send me back,” Damian whispered, both unbothered and unnoticing of his new position being crushed in Dick’s arms.  

“I would never,” Dick whispered back, wishing beyond hope that his words would penetrate whatever hallucination Damian was stuck in.  

When Dick was tripping on fear gas, he’d watch his parents fall to their deaths.  Then watch Bruce.  Then Jason.  And Tim.  And Alfred.  Babs and Wally.  And probably Damian, now, too.   

Tim, as far as Dick could tell, usually saw everyone he loved die.  Everyone important in his life turn their backs on him and leave him all alone.  

Bruce had usually witnessed each of them dying.  Collapsed down onto the ground and cried for each of his children.  

Damian, though.  Damian apparently saw himself getting kicked out by Dick and sent back to the League of Assassins.  He tensed up and waited for the blows to come, for Dick, or whoever Damian was seeing, to take their disappointment in him out on him physically.

His favorite little kid was so used to being hit that he didn’t even try to fight it.  The same kid that fought everything.  That screamed and bit and stabbed for a simple hair ruffle.  For looking at him the wrong way.  

“Oh, Damian,” he whispered, blinking back the tears that had started to well in his eyes.  Crying right now would not be good.  He needed to get them home.  And with the sound of sirens growing closer, he needed to get them out of there soon.  

Dick stood, only letting go of his grip on Damian enough to scoop him up into his arms and carry him, bridal style, to the Batmobile.  He wrapped his cape around the boy tightly, as if the trembling mess of a child in his arms could be comforted by it. 

Damian didn’t speak again.  In fact, he seemed to completely leave his body.  His heart-rate slowed down as his breathing became steady.  The trembling stopped, and he just lay there, in Dick’s arms, completely limp as Dick continued walking them to the Batmobile.

With a deep breath, Dick tried to get the hand that was clamping down on his heart and making his entire chest seize to let up.  There was nothing he could do about any of this until he got them home and made a new antitoxin.  Until the fear toxin was out of Damian’s body, nothing he said or did would fix anything. 

Once he reached the Batmobile, he opened the passenger door and carefully set Damian down on the seat, detaching his cape as he did so he could leave it wrapped around Damian.  “I love you,” he whispered, as he pushed back Damian’s hair and planted a kiss on his forehead, “We’ll fix this, okay?  Just hang in there, bud.”

- - - 

It took far too long to synthesize a new antitoxin.  Three hours.  And that was with him and Alfred both working tirelessly on it.  

Three hours Damian was trapped in the hellscape that was his mind.  

After twenty minutes, Alfred had sedated him.  Dick knew being sedated while on fear gas or toxin didn’t end the nightmares, but it would prevent Damian from hurting himself or someone else in his hallucinations.

Not that he had done anything more than tremble.  

Dick hated to see him disassociate.  It killed him to see.  Because the kid was 10.  He was 10 and strong and very capable.  He could defend himself against anything, Dick knew.  

Had his life really been so terrible that the only option he had when faced with his greatest nightmares was to just disconnect himself from reality?  To pretend nothing was happening and go off somewhere else?

What horrors has he experienced, that this was his only option?  That not even he could escape them?

Grayson, please.

And… had he been begging Dick not to hurt him?  Or begging him to help him?

Once the antitoxin was finished and they’d given him two doses of it, Dick found himself sitting at Damian’s bedside.  He held onto one of Damian’s hands, while his other gently traced up and down his arm, trying his best to be soothing and comforting, in the way Damian would never allow while conscious.  

That’s how Alfred found him when he came down to check on Damian’s vitals some time later.  

“I knew,” Dick said, laying his head down in his arm next to Damian, “that he wasn’t treated well.  I knew his training was bad.  But Alfred-” he had to pause, because his voice broke and he had to clear his throat.  

When he looked up at Alfred, he noticed his vision was blurring, and he couldn’t even find it in him to wipe the tears away.  “I didn’t know it was this bad,” he whispered, just letting himself cry right in front of everyone for once in his life, “God, Alfred, how do we fix this?  No wonder he doesn’t trust me.  He doesn’t trust anyone.”

“Master Dick,” Alfred said, rounding the bed to place a hand on Dick’s shoulder, “I believe at this point, all we can do is be there for him.  Remind him of our love and be patient with him.  It is not as hopeless as you might think.”

“What if he never trusts us?” Dick said, sitting up and rubbing at his face, “Never believes us?”

Alfred just pat at his shoulder and said, “If we do not give him a reason to distrust us, he will, eventually.”

“He thought I was going to hurt him,” Dick whispered, turning his attention to his little brother’s face.  To the peaceful, sleeping, baby face of Damian Wayne.  “Whoever he thought I was, at least.  He thought-”

Alfred just squeezed his shoulder.

“How could they?  Alfred, how could they?”  After pushing Damian’s hair back and giving him another kiss on the forehead, Dick laid his head back down, right next to Damian’s, and let himself feel all the pain Damian never indulged in himself.  All the while, Alfred stood next to him, his hand still offering that comfort on his back as he cried.

- - -

Damian woke late that morning, nearly near lunch time.  Dick had carried him up to the penthouse, so he’d be in a more comfortable environment when he woke.  As much as Dick knew Damian loved the bunker, he figured waking up to a warm living room would be better than waking up in a dark, steel cave.

“Grayson,” he said, his voice thick with sleep, “What happened?”

Dick, who had been sitting on the floor, his back to the couch Damian was laying on, turned and smiled at Damian.  His hair was a mess and he was rubbing at his face like a normal little 10-year-old, annoyed at being woken for school so early.

“Dami, hey pal,” he said softly, grabbing the remote and muting the television he’d been watching, “How are you feeling?”

After sitting up, Damian scrunched his eyebrows at Dick, in that way he always did when trying to decide what to share with Dick.

“Honest assessment,” Dick added, softening his face to convey to Damian that he wasn’t going to be mad about anything.

“Minor headache.  That is all.”

Nodding, because that was probably accurate, Dick asked, “What do you remember?”

Damian took a long minute to think, his eyes narrowed before he finally said, “Patrol… Crane. We were fighting Crane, but then…. I- I’m not sure.” He looked at Dick, then around the room, as if he were checking out the environment to compare against the memories he had.  Trying to figure out how he got from one place to the other.

“You got dosed with fear toxin.”

“Ah,” Damian said, the confusion on his face completely vanishing as he nodded, “That would explain it.”

“Do you want to talk about what you saw?”

“No.”  The word wasn’t sharp, but it was quick to come, and Dick knew he probably had to accept it.  It didn’t mean Dick wasn’t going to talk about what Damian saw.  

“Okay,” he said, pushing himself up onto the couch next to Damian, “Can I have a hug?”

“Why?” Damian asked slowly, looking over at Dick skeptically.  Not with fear, though, Dick was relieved to see.  Just confusion and maybe a touch of disdain.  Damian really did hate physical affection, didn’t he?

“It’s been a rough night.”

“Were you injured?”

“No,” Dick said, smiling again, “But the kid I love dearly had to be sedated.”

“Tt,” Damian huffed, rolling his eyes as he looked away.  But a second later, he leaned toward Dick, the only invitation to pull him in for a hug Dick was going to get. 

So Dick did, squeezing as tight as he could without Damian protesting.  “I love you,” he whispered, fighting back the tears again, because apparently he was a mess now, “So much, Damian.  You have no idea.  Don’t ever doubt that, okay?”

“Did I say something,” Damian asked slowly, not pulling away but not melting into Dick’s embrace either, “while incapacitated?”

“Not really.  You were pretty quiet.  I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

Damian nodded and whispered after a minute or so, “I know.”

“And you know I’d never hurt you, right?  No matter what?  Not as a punishment, not as training, nothing.  I’ll never hurt you.”

“What did I say?” Damian demanded, shifting in Dick’s arms, turning his back a little more so his shoulder was resting against Dick’s chest.

“You didn't say anything.”

“Clearly I said something,” Damian said dryly, still wiggling in Dick’s arms until he was in a more comfortable position.

Dick had to stifle a smile at that, because not only was Damian allowing a hug, but he was basically snuggling down so Dick could just hold him.  He was probably telling himself it was for Dick, but Dick knew he didn’t have that level of patience for unwanted physical affection.  This was wanted.  

“What do you think you said?” Dick asked, bringing a hand up to comb through Damian’s hair.  To try and tame the bed head that had developed throughout the night.

The silence stretched, even as Damian reached up and grabbed Dick’s hand, pulling it away from his hair and back down around himself.

When Damian continued to stay silent, Dick asked, “Is this a fear you have, Damian?”

“No.”

And there was that word again.  That lie.  Because this time, it was said with less conviction.  With hesitancy.  And Dick knew that this time, if he just stayed quiet, Damian would start talking.

“I know it’s different here.”

“Good.  Good,” Dick said, shifting himself on the couch, throwing one leg up on it, so he could lay back a tad more comfortably with Damian, “That’s… good.”

“I…” Damian said slowly, very softly, “I like it here.”

“I like having you here, Damian.  I love having you here.”

As Dick started caressing Damian’s arm, just allowing the silence to envelop them, he realized.  Damian had never mentioned liking being there.  He’d never said anything about his preference of where he lived.  

Like he didn’t want to get his hopes up.  Didn’t want to admit to someone he even had a preference. It was always just ‘acceptable,’ the plans they made.  Moving to the penthouse. Dick being his guardian and Batman.  Fighting crime and being homeschooled.  

‘Don’t send me back,’ he had begged.

“And no matter what you do,” Dick said, squashing down all the emotions that bubbled up at that, “I’ll never make you leave, either.  This is your home, Damian, and you’re always welcome in it.”

Damian nodded and turned around so his face was half hidden in Dick’s shirt, so Dick let him.  He pulled the blanket down from the back of the couch and over them as he pretended not to notice Damian cry his silent cry.  

Carefully, Dick reached down to the floor for the remote and unmuted the television, allowing the sound of the Nature Channel take over the room, and he spent the rest of the morning laying there with his little brother.  Just holding him and reminding him he’s loved.

[preciousthingsareprecious]

I’m thrilled to announce the themes for this year’s Dick and Dami week! Thanks to everyone who submitted a theme idea and thanks to @laquilasse for helping me with everything from the banners to figuring out how to set all this up. This year is going to be a lot of fun! 

The tag to use for this week is: #DickandDamiweek2019 Remember to use this when posting your work so everyone can find it. I’ll do my best to reblog anything applicable to the week each day. 

Themes

 April 8th- Dynamic Duo/Nightwing and Flamebird

 April 9th- Paparazzi

April 10th- Fear Gas/Injury

April 11th- Music

April 12th- Training

April 13th- Rain

April 14th- Separation/Reunion 

Rules 

Keep it Gen

You can create any kind of content you’d like

Tag appropriately

Remember to use the #DickandDamiWeek2019 tag so everyone can find your post

Now that you’ve got the themes and rules, get those creative wheels turning! We’re so excited to see what everyone comes up with this year! 

[omgiamwish]

Injury

[dickanddamiweek]

Yeah uh quick question for all the very lovely creators this week: why y’all going SO HARD on the angst like DAMN I am WOUNDED

[unavenged-robin]

Day 1 - Dynamic Duo/Nightwing and Flamebird 

The first time Damian hears the story of Nightwing and Flamebird he’s too drugged out to really follow it. He’s lying on a stretcher down in the batcave, an IV strapped to his arm, bleeding out from seventeen different wounds. The severe blood loss makes his head feel light and he only catches a word here and there, while Dick’s voice lulls him to sleep.

He doesn’t understand why Grayson’s telling him all that useless stuff about these old Kryptonian’s heroes who have nothing to do with the two of them. He knows Grayson still holds an inexplicable affection for his previous identity as Nightwing, but that too is hard too comprehend to him: Grayson should be happy to be the Batman now, because being Batman is so much better than the secondhand identity he had conjured up when Father had taken away Robin from him ― although Damian’s not so sure anymore that this is how the story went: Mother’s always told him that Father expected only the best from his partners, and that if they proved not to be good enough for the job he would not hesitate to find others, which is why Batman had so many different Robins over the years. Damian, of course, would’ve solved that problem once and for all by being the perfect partner his Father deserved. That’s what Talia used to say, and Damian never really had a reason to doubt her until now.

Still, the facts remained: Grayson was Batman now, and Damian was Robin, and they were perfect, better than any other Batman and Robin before (and that wasn’t Father’s fault, of course, but of his Robins’. Even Grayson had admitted that when he was Damian’s age, he was not as well trained as him). Nightwing was a relic of the past to which Grayson insisted on clinging on for no reason whatsoever, only out of a stubborn sentimentality that, in Damian’s opinion, he should have overcome already.

And he would like to say all of that out loud, explain to Grayson why he doesn’t need those stupid fairytales he’s sputtering out, but he’s too weak, too tired, and he just wants to rest.

*

Dick knocks on the open door and stands on the threshold of the room with his hands in his pockets, wearing his best smile the same way he had once wore the cowl. He hadn’t felt like smiling as he’d climbed the stairs to Damian's bedroom, but that doesn’t matter right now.

“So, I’m gonna get going”, he says, leaning against the doorframe.

Damian raises his head from the book he’s reading just to shoot him a brief look.

“Okay”, he answers, and to give credits where credits are due, the kid doesn’t sound angry, or betrayed, or hurt. Dick just happens to know better by now.

He sighs and lets himself into the room. It’s still mostly empty, a bit like how his other room back at the penthouse used to be before Dick managed to convince the kid to add at least some books and a nice sword collection up the walls. But, even empty, this room is still familiar, like the Manor is familiar, the home Dick didn’t think he would’ve ever come back to again. But Bruce’s here now, Bruce’s back. This is home again, and Damian will learn to love it the way Dick had. The penthouse was just temporary anyway, they all knew that.

Dick sits at the foot of the bed, crossing his legs over the new comforter Alfred’s bought for the kid.

“You know I can’t stay”, he starts, because they’ve had this argument over and over, and having to repeat those words still hurts every time, but they’re necessary and Damian needs to hear them, and Dick’s ready to deal with all the kid’s protests all over again if that’s what it takes. But this time Damian doesn’t ask him to stay.

“Take me with you then”, the kid says and he’s not looking at him, he’s still holding up the book in front of his face like a shield between himself and Dick, and Dick had wanted to hear those words coming from Damian’s mouth, he’d hoped to hear them ― and at the same time he’d also been scared to hear the kid make that request. Because the truth is that there’s nothing in this world Dick wouldn’t give to grant him that wish, no one he wouldn’t fight to keep the kid with him. Except for Bruce.

He can’t do this to Bruce. Not now, not ever.

So he smiles again, even if Damian still refuses to look at him, just to keep his own voice in check.

“I can’t do that either, kiddo”, he answers.

Damian’s grips on the cover of the book stiffens just for a moment, as the boy takes in yet another rejection. Dick opens his mouth to reassure him, but Damian’s quicker than him.

“Because Robin belongs to Batman?”, the kid asks from behind his book, and Dick’s forced to pause.

“Because you belong with your dad”, he answers gently and the words taste bitter in his mouth because they’re true. “This is your home, and Bruce is your father. I know things were complicated with him before, but you wanted to know him and he wanted to know you, and now you both have the chance to do so. I know you want this, Damian.”

Damian doesn’t answer right away, but Dick can see the top of his head shaking.

“You don’t know what I want”, Damian says eventually, and now his voice is hard and dismissive, and Dick supposes he deserves that.

But I know what you need, Dick doesn’t say. It wouldn’t matter. Damian would feel betrayed anyway and there’s nothing Dick can do about it but to wait for time to heal the wound enough to allow the kid to understand why he’s doing what he’s doing. Dick knows he will. He’s a smart kid.

“Listen, Bludhaven is not that far away”, he continues quickly. “I promise you I'll come home every time I can, and if I can't, well, you know where my apartment is.”

Dick slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a key. He places it on the bed at Damian's feet.

“You know, I never gave Bruce a copy of this”, he says. “But I want you to have it, okay?”

That’s enough to convince Damian to put down his book. He looks at Dick, then at the key lying between them.

“Father wouldn’t need it anyway”, he objects after a moment. “I wouldn’t need it.”

Dick smiles again, and this time he even feels it a little bit.

“I know that, you little bat”, he answers. “But I want you to have it anyway. Do you understand?”

Damian blinks, then he sets his mouth in a serious line and nods solemnly at him.

“Yes.”

Dick feels his smile softens and he reaches out to poke at Damian’s bare foot.

“I love you, kiddo”, he says fondly, and he hopes Damian knows how true it is.

Damian just goes back to his book and Dick takes the hit quietly. He’s not expecting any other answers from the kid, so he stands up and walks to the door. It’s not a bad way to leave things, after all.

But Damian’s voice reaches him when Dick’s almost out in the hallway already.

“You told me a story once”, the kid says nervously, and Dick knows right away what story he’s talking about. He remembers it so well.

That’s why he doesn’t turn back, why he doesn’t tell Damian that yes, he’s thought about it since the very beginning. Batman and Robin belonged to someone else, too many people were involved in it. Nightwing and Flamebird could’ve been theirs. Something new, or so old to be new again. It would’ve been nice. It would be wrong.

“I told you lots of stories, kid”, he answers, with his back still turned. He’s coward enough not to want to look into Damian’s eyes as he deliberately hurts him. “Just be good for your dad, okay?”

Time will heal that too, won’t it?

[hexwake]

Catching up on dick and dami week with some ds arts! From top to bottom it goes: music (more like singing?), paparazzi, training, and fear gas. 

[schweeeppess]

Smile!

a/n: Dick and Dami week day 2's prompt was paparazzi. I hope you guys enjoy :3

Dick laughed, walking with Wally to his place as he dramatically retold a story, cup of coffee in hand and shades hiding his eyes.

“Uh, Dick?” Wally paused in his storytelling, squinting at something behind Dick.

“Yeah?”

“We've got company.”

Tensing, Dick very pointedly did not let the smile on his face drop, and did not turn to look behind him. Instead he grabbed Wally's arm, tugging on it once.

“What kind?” he hissed through his tight grin.

Wally waved a hand in the air, getting Dick's cues and laughing like Dick had said a joke. “The creepy stalker Tim kind,” he answered after the fake laughter.

“Oh my God,” Dick groaned, hiding his face in his unoccupied hand. “That's the fifth time this week, and it's not even Wednesday yet.”

His best friend genuinely laughed then, and Dick grabbed his arm and speed-walked to try and lose the paparazzi.

“And I hate that I got what you meant when you called them the creepy stalker Tim kind.”

“Is it not accurate?!”

“Wait ‘til I tell Tim.”

“Wait for me to tell him you got it.”

...

Damian sighed lying on the grass of the Manor's vast yard with Titus and Jon. Titus was dozing to Damian's left, and he pet his dog distractedly as he spoke with his teammate.

“We're friends, Damian!” Jon insisted, sitting up and looking at Damian.

Rolling his eyes, Damian tutted. “We are not.”

“Am I really that unlikable?” Jon whined, flopping back on the grass.

Damian sighed, closing his eyes. “No,” he gritted out. “You are an acceptable companion, Jon.”

“So we're friends then.”

“We are teammates.”

“I'm taking that as a yes.”

Only a few beats of silence lasted before Jon spoke again, and Damian was tempted to sigh once more.

“Hey, Damian?”

“What?”

“Who's that?”

Sitting up, Damian looked around. “Who?”

Jon straightened and pointed toward the bushes around the fence of the Wayne estate.

In an effort to make out what his friend was talking about, Damian squinted, leaning forward a bit.

A glint caught his eye and Damian hissed, jolting to his feet.

“Nosy undesired stalkers,” Damian answered. Turning sharply, Damian started back for the manor, Titus at his heels. “Come, Jon. I believe Pennyworth should have snacks prepared.”

“Your butler is the best! Can I borrow him?”

“No.”

...

“You know,” Dick said, flopping backwards on the couch in Bruce's study. “Sometimes I wish you weren't rich and famous.”

Bruce raised a brow and looked up from the papers he was working on. Dick was staring at the ceiling, so he couldn't catch his son's eye, but he still looked over nonetheless.

“Why do you say that?”

As Dick opened his mouth to respond, Damian threw the door open, a greatly displeased air around him.

Sighing a little, Bruce looked over at Damian and asked, “Yes?”

“Father, I demand you file restraining orders against the photographers that continue to interrupt my day anywhere I go. They hover around my school!” he hissed, tossing his book bag at the couch and hitting Dick in the gut with it.

At Dick's low “Oof,” Damian looked over at him and raised a brow.

Bruce's own were furrowed and he asked, “What were you going to say, Dick?”

“Well, actually, it was something along the lines of what Damian said. I wasn't going to ask you to get restraining orders, though,” he answered as he sat up. He smiled at his little brother. “Hey, Dami.”

Damian nodded. “Grayson.”

Bruce frowned. “I'll see what I can do, boys.”

“Thank you, father.” With that, Damian was walking out of the study for his room, presumably to change out of his uniform if Bruce knew his son well enough.

Dick smiled. “Thanks, B.” He hugged Damian's bag close, resting his chin on it, and said, “So. What're you working on.”

Bruce shook his head, a smile twitching at his lips. Looking back at his work, he humored his eldest by informing him on the newest developments in the company.

...

“This is ridiculous, Richard. You look like an old man.”

“I used to do this with Jason when he was a kid!”

“I fail to see how that argument helps. Todd is a nonsensical fool, I am not.”

“That's mean, Dami, and I don't think you're giving him enough credit, but we're not discussing that right now: Just put the wig on!”

Damian's glare intensified, and he narrowed his eyes. “You have yet to explain your reasoning for this,” he said.

Dick rolled his eyes and shoved the blond wig at Damian along with the baggy clothes and shades, wearing a grey wig, fake moustache, and oversized clothes himself.

“To dodge the paparazzi, Damian.”

Damian opened his mouth, light pink dusting his cheeks and ears as he closed it and accepted the clothing and wig.

“Fine,” he muttered, entering the bathroom and emerging minutes later with everything on.

“Whose clothes am I wearing?” Damian sniffed, looking down at them.

“Oh, that's just stuff I found in the guest room,” Dick answered dismissively. “I raided Jason's closet for my clothes.”

Damian gave Dick the most unimpressed look, adn Dick grinned.

“You look adorable, by the way.”

His little brother flushed, scowling. “Tt. Are we going to watch a movie or not, Grayson?”

Dick laughed, hugging Damian quickly before leaving to find an inconspicuous car.

As Damian walked with him he asked, “You did this with Todd, when he was younger?”

“Oh yeah, whenever I visited. We'd dress up and see who could make the worse outfit.” Dick smiled thinking back on it. “I won almost every time, but we'd go out and do fun normal stuff. Go to the arcade, get ice cream, watch a movie…”

Damian nodded, but noticed Dick's smile start to slip. He frowned. “Grayson?”

“I… We didn't do it much, actually. I was still angry with Bruce, and, really, I only got close to Jason a few months before he… died.”

Damian didn't like the pained look on Richard's face so he said, “You can make up for lost time now that he has returned. Stop being sad, we are going to watch a movie and eat popcorn, and I look abhorrent.” He again looked down at his clothes. “Who makes clothes look baggy on purpose?”

Dick laughed a bit. “People who like it,” he answered. “And you're right, Damian. Thank you.”

“When am I not?”

Dick just laughed again, and Damian smiled a little himself, though he'd deny it until his dying breath.

[flutterpotter]

Day 2 of DickandDamiWeek2019. Theme Paparazzi.

They're outside of a Wayne charity gala, Dick is grabbing one of Damian's arms to prevent him from throwing a small knife at a particularly annoying reporter.

(Please don't repost) Likes and Reblogs are appreciated. ^_^ 

[fandom-scribe]

Dick and Dami Week: Day 2 - Paparazzi

Title: Carried by Haters, Spread by Fools, Accepted by Idiots

Word Count: 1,937

Author’s Note: Uh… not much to say. I’m gonna complete these prompts no matter how long it takes :/

Trigger Warning: Implied child abuse. Didn’t actually happen, they’re just ugly rumors, I promise. Implied only by the haters, fools, and idiots ✌🏾

—

YOUNGEST WAYNE THROWS TANTRUM IN MALL

It doesn’t matter.

NEW WAYNE, NEW PROBLEMS: NEWEST ADDITION TO THE BROOD COST THOUSANDS IN DAMAGE

It doesn’t matter.

WAYNE’S BRAT ASSAULTS MAN, DESTROYS STORE

They don’t know anything.

BRUCE WAYNE ABSENT AS CHILD WREAKS HAVOC: WHERE IS HE?

Ignore it.

DAMIAN WAYNE: GOTHAM’S NEWEST DEMON

Ignore it.

BRUCE WAYNE: IRRESPONSIBLE PARENT

Ignore it!

It took everything within Damian to keep the words inside his head. He could feel them burning in the back of his throat like bile, a mantra that would be ineffective until he could hear them with his ears. With a stubborn grunt, Damian kept his lips firmly pressed together. If he spoke, he feared he wouldn’t be able to stop and Grayson might hear. Then Grayson would come and see the various articles opened on Damian’s phone and he would know exactly how much they bothered Damian.

They shouldn’t bother him at all.

Damian squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly, but it didn’t help. He could still see the words on the inside of his eyelids, could feel his body tingling as if the words were imprinting themselves into his skin, permanent tattoos to remind the world of his failures.

Tantrum. Problems. Brat. Havoc. Demon.

Every letter tormented him in a way that nothing ever had. He was Damian Wayne, heir to the Demon and son of the Bat. The opinion of a few sniffling, gossipping leeches should’ve meant nothing to him. But something about the words itched his skin, tearing at his very soul.

Tantrum.

Brat.

He was not a brat. He did not throw tantrums. He wasn’t a child. He was a protector and he was defending his stupid “brother’s”  honor, something that everyone would know if anyone had bothered asking him about what happened. Not even Grayson had cared, instead opting to march him to the nearest shelter - Wayne Enterprises - and leaving him in his office with a sharp “Stay” before going off to do damage control.

And stay he did, with nothing but those damning titles on his phone and a faint buzzing in his head.

Damian squeezed his eyes tighter, counting backwards from 10 in hopes of quieting his mind, but the buzzing only grew. The words swam in his brain like angry bees and Damian let his phone drop as he clamped his hands over his ears.

Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it!

The more he tried to erase the words in his brain, the more prominent they became. The buzz in his head grew louder and louder until it was a roar and then-

“Fuck!”

Damian jumped, eyes snapping open and hands falling to his side as Grayson stormed into the office. If the curse word wasn’t alarming enough, the rage behind the man’s usually cheerful blue eyes was enough to make even Grandfather’s most loyal ninja run for the hills. Damian stumbled back as Grayson blew through the office like a hurricane, not stopping until he reached the wall of windows on the other side of the room. “Just what we need! Fucking paparazzi!”

“Huh?” Damian asked dumbly. It wasn’t until then that he realized that the roar in his head wasn’t in his head at all, but was actually coming from the other side of the windows. Feeling somewhat dazed, Damian stumbled towards the window and peered out.

It was chaos, pure and simple. A mob of people swarmed outside of Wayne Enterprises, the crowd dotted with the frequent flash of cameras. Riot would be another good name for it, with all the police and W.E. security guards trying to push the hoard back. Damian swallowed painfully, his throat suddenly dry. He had fought many crowds but this was something else. They were here for him: here to rip him apart, here to expose every flaw and immortalize them for all of Gotham to drool over. One look at Grayson’s thunderous face and dread filled Damian’s stomach. He wasn’t sure if he could count on the man’s protection or not.

“Stay here,” Grayson snapped and, dammit, would he say something else!? Stay, stay, stay, like Damian was a dog or something.

“Where are you going?” Damian asked, pushing himself away from the windows as Grayson stalked back across the room.

“To deal with the crowd.”

“You cannot go out there! Those vultures will swallow you alive!”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, kid, and they won’t leave until they get a couple of statements. They’re like high society policemen, really. Dirty officers that will make up things to get their win, unless you disprove them with the proper evidence. Or words in this case…”

Damian raised an eyebrow as Grayson trailed off into silence, his brows furrowed in concentration as if he was examining a complicated case. Eventually, he gave a one-shouldered shrug, as if whatever he was thinking about was satisfactory enough, and moved to open the door.

“Okay, then I will accompany you! My word will be the greatest of evidence!” Damian exclaimed, puffing his chest out in a show of false bravado.

“Damian…” and the way Grayson said it had Damian deflating before the word was completely said. Grayson’s voice had lost the frustrated edge and icy tone, replaced with a bone-deep weariness that made Damian’s stomach twist with guilt. “Haven’t you’ve done enough for today?”

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.

Except it did. It shouldn’t but it did. Grayson was disappointed in him, again, just like he had been when they first started three months ago. It felt like a huge step back, one that made Damian want to punch something. But he couldn’t. That’s what got them in this situation in the first place.

“Oh no, Dami, please don’t cry!”

The sentence came like a punch to the gut, making Damian suddenly all too aware of the wetness on his cheeks. Grayson’s tone had changed again, this time to pity. He moved forward, arms reached out for the first time since the incident, eyes wide with regret and - no! No! Damian ducked out of reach, scrubbing at his eyes furiously. This was not allowed! Pity was the last thing he needed, the last thing he wanted. If Grayson was going to be mad at him then so be it! Any punishment would be better than this!

“I didn’t mean it like that, buddy, I swear,” Grayson continued and it only made Damian want to scream. Mean it like what? “It’s just not a good idea for you to go out there.”

“But–“

“Damian, you sent a man to the hospital. You destroyed a store. Nothing you say is gonna make this better. They’ll twist your words, paint you in a worse light. Let me handle this-”

“But you do not even know the full story!” Grayson paused for a second, taken aback by the outburst. Damian quickly continued before the man could stop him. “You didn’t hear what he said about Father! What he said about you!”

“It doesn’t matter what he said–”

“He accused Father of committing horrendous acts on you and Todd and Drake! He said that Father was behind Todd’s death, that it was a cover-up because Todd was going to go to the police and tell of Father abusing him! He called you incompetent, was spewing derogatory insults… he - he said that you were nothing but Father’s boy toy.”

At that Grayson simply sighed and shook his head, but it didn’t seem like he was going to interrupt. Damian knew he should stop by the words kept coming.

“I did not mean to attack him. I do not recall doing it, either. One minute I was simply waiting for you, then I heard him and everything went red. The next minute, there were people everywhere. They were touching me, Grayson. Pulling me out of the store like they wanted to hurt me. I did not intend to destroy the establishment, I was simply trying to get away. I could not find you and… and, I did not want them touching me.”

The room fell into silence as Damian finished, nothing but the roar of the paparazzi ringing in their ears. Damian felt small and pathetic, eclipsed by Grayson and lost in the huge room. Grayson was looking at him, regret and pity still shining bright in those blue eyes. He reached out a hand, as if to put it on Damian’s shoulder, but then hesitated before letting the appendage drop back to his side.

Both their shoulders slumped at once. Damian wouldn’t say it, but he didn’t mind Grayson touching him. Maybe Grayson had conditioned to it, but… well, Damian wouldn’t mind a hug right about now.

“Damian I’m sorry. I… I should’ve prepared you for this. Legally, it doesn’t matter what that man said. Freedom of speech and all that, y’know? You could be arrested for what you did. Socially… well, socially, this is the norm, I’m afraid. Those rumors are popular amongst the high society crowd. No matter what I say or how many punches you throw, that’s not gonna change. The rich will always be looking for the newest drama and those rumors are the only way their sick, twisted minds could rationalize playboy Brucie Wayne taking in a young, poor circus freak and a street rat. They don’t understand how the richest man in the city could lower himself to that, I guess. Therefore, Bruce must have a secret. Then Tim got roped into it: he was the heir to a fortune but the rumor wheel had already been spinning for years. Plus with all the bruises me and Jason had, especially around the legs… you can see where I’m going with this. I should’ve warned you. I guess I just assumed I had until your first gala, at least, before you heard something.”

“But that’s not right! Father would never–”

“I know he would never. You know that too, and that’s what’s most important. Maybe once upon a time we could’ve changed public opinion but the gossip rags are persistent. I like to believe that it’s the minority that buys into the bullshit. After all, Brucie Wayne is still Gotham’s sunshine child. As long as he stays on their good side and their good drama somewhere else, you won’t hear a word about those rumors. But there are people that truly believe it and you’re just gonna have to learn how to keep your cool around them. Violence will only make it worse. You understand?”

Damian stood there, stoic and pensive. His eyebrows nearly kissed as he scrunched up his forehead and his body slightly shook from how taut his muscles were. “Dami…” Grayson singsonged. “Dami…”

“Tt. Fine.”

“Great. Now come on.”

“Huh?” Damian eyes widened as Grayson held the door open for him. “I thought you said I had to stay here?”

“You was right, Dami, they don’t know the full story. While hearing it may not help, they should know that it’s their fault. That it’s their rumors that started all this. And I think you should be the one to tell them, if you want. A chance to defend yourself. But only if you’re comfortable with it. It’s a pretty big crowd…”

“I want to do it. I will show them what happens when you slander the name of a Wayne!”

Grayson snickered. “Damian…”

“With my words, of course. Promise.”

“Right.” Grayson gave a huge smile, eyes sparkling with a mischievousness that sent a shock down Damian’s spine. “Now let’s go tell the paparazzi exactly what we think of them!”

[theartofdreaming1]

For Dick & Dami Week, Day 4: Music

Headcanon: Dami really likes Dick playing the guitar. He even has a couple of songs played by Dick recorded and saved on his iPod - he listens to them when he misses his big brother 😊

[cdelphiki]

“This is slander,” Damian shouted, right in the middle of the checkout line.  Making even Dick cringe just a little from the shrillness of his voice.  

It was past midnight, and despite the darkness of night, the stillness of the late hour pressing a hushed atmosphere in the Walmart they’d wandered into, Damian continued to be as loud as humanly possible. 

Perhaps that’s what happens when nocturnal children are forced to take a night off.  They don’t get how to actually act in public at night.

“Inside voice, kiddo,” Dick hummed, not looking up from the word puzzle he was doing on his phone.  Anything to keep himself entertained.  “Hey, what’s an eight letter word for thief?  Third letter is an ‘R’” 

“What?” Damian said, then scowled, demanding, “Why are you not outraged by this?  They are soiling your good name and spreading false rumors.”

“Mmm, no.  That’s too many letters,” Dick said, smirking at how Damian’s scowl turned into a glower at the comment.  “What is slander?”

Dick didn’t have the chance to glance at the celebrity gossip rags sitting on the shelf next to him before one was shoved right in his face, much too close for him to read.  

All he could see was an image of himself walking, one arm around Damian as the kid was mid-sentence, clearly passionate about whatever he was saying.  Dick knew Damian had been talking about the movie they’d just watched.  A war dramatization.  Damian had been explaining every single detail that was wrong.  Right down to the buttons on the coats, which ‘would have been copper, not plastic, Grayson.  It’s basic knowledge.’

Without context, though, and without knowing Damian, the picture just made it seem like he was looking up at Dick in admiration.  Actually, it was an awesome picture and Dick wondered how difficult it would be to get his hands on a clean copy.  

Surely he’d be able to buy the picture off the Inquisitor, right?  Or hack into their servers and just take a copy?  How illegal was that, anyway?  It’s not like he would sell it.  Just frame it and put it in his living room.

“Grayson,” Damian snarled, snapping Dick back to reality.  That was when Dick finally read the headline.  ‘Is Damian really Bruce’s grandson?  Insider spills on Grayson’s secret teenage scandal.’

“Oh my God,” Dick said, grinning wide as he started laughing, loud and hard.  “I was 13,” he eventually said, wiping the tears fro his eyes.  His outburst drew more attention to them than Damian’s, and Dick wasn’t even sorry.

“This is not funny.”

“It’s kind of funny,” Dick said, tossing the magazine on the belt with the various art supplies and junk food they’d come to get in the first place.   Damian just had to have some titanium white paint for the portrait he was working on, and with it being nearly 1, only Walmart was open.  

Which was cool with Dick.  Walmart had Cheetos.  The Manor did not.

“Don’t support them,” Damian exclaimed, snatching the magazine up to put back.  

Dick just smiled and said, “excuse me,” to the woman behind them in line so he could grab the rest of the magazines from the rack.  

Letting out a horrified sound, Damian shouted, “Grayson!”

“Damian, kiddo, no one believes these rags.  Don’t worry.”

“But they’re suggesting-”

“And no one will believe it,” he said, setting a hand on Damian’s head and turning him forward, pushing him in that direction, so the person behind them could start loading her groceries onto the belt, “I mean, come on, kid, you’re the spitting image of your dad and since I’m quite famously adopted, it makes no sense that you could be mine instead of Bruce’s, okay?  You just gotta learn to ignore these things.”

“Then why are you purchasing six copies?”

“Want to show everyone,” he said absently, putting the divider down behind his giant bag of Cheetos and four bags of gummy worms.  Alfred was going to kill him if he found out. “And it’s a good photo.  You look happy.”

“I was happy,” Damian said petulantly, crossing his arms.  Acting as if this were somehow a point for him and not Dick.  

Dick just grinned and pulled Damian in, planting a quick kiss in his hair before he was forced to let go, due to Damian’s two finger jab straight into his kidney.  

“Hi,” Dick said to the cashier when she greeted them, trying his best to stand up straight and not whine at the pain Damian had just inflicted, but also not keep laughing at how hilarious it all was.  Because Damian was standing by the bags, arms crossed, an adorable little pout on his face.

“Find everything you need,” the girl asked, smiling at their antics, Dick assumed.

“Sure did!”

“Tt.” 

“Let’s go, kiddo,” he said, after he paid.  Dick took the bags and tried to hand Damian his, the one with the random paint brushes and tubes of paint they didn’t need, but the little punk spun on his heels and stalked off, toward the store exit.  “Let’s go get some milkshakes.”

Damian ignored him, of course, but did eventually ask, “Where would we get milkshakes at this hour?” just as they reached the car and Dick was tossing their bags into the back seat.

“Drive thru, duh.  Sonic is still open, pretty sure.”

“Tt.” Damian slipped into the passenger seat and waited for Dick to get in, then said, “I want a McFlurry.  Reece’s cup.  We have to go to the McDonald’s on Montgomery for that.”

Dick smiled to himself, letting the car fall into silence, all the way to McDonald’s.  He ordered two Reece’s McFlurries at the drive thru and parked so he could eat his without being pulled over for ‘distracted driving.’  Because apparently the police considered using both hands to eat ice cream dangerous and stupid.  That had not been a fun ticket to explain to Bruce when he was 16.  

He had hoped the ice cream would cheer Damian up, but no matter how much of it they ate, Damian just seemed to get more and more agitated as he clearly stewed in his anger about the gossip magazine.

“You’ve got to just laugh at this kind of stuff, D,” Dick eventually said, once they were about half way through their ice cream, “It comes with the territory.”

Damian frowned, staring down at the cup in his hands.  “It does not bother you at all?”

“This one?  Nah.  They’ve been calling me… promiscuous since I was 15.  Just the result of being good looking and Bruce’s kid.  I’m over it.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Damian pouted, setting his ice cream down in the cup holder between them so he could cross his arms. 

“No, it doesn’t,” Dick said softly, turning to face Damian, “but this time they’re accusing me of being the dad of a wonderful kid.  I can’t find it in me to be insulted.”

And that made Damian’s lip twitch as he looked away.  “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

Dick finished off the last of his ice cream and tossed the empty cup into his trash bag on the backseat, then dug out a pack of his gummy words to eat.  “Besides, I looked pretty hot in that picture, don’t you think?”

“Shut up, Grayson.”

“Yeah, the lighting was great.  And my hair was that perfect level of messy, where it looks like I tried to make it look that good without being-”

“Imbecile.  You look like a zombie that hadn’t slept in four days or showered in ten.”

“You sure you aren’t thinking about how you looked?”

“Tt.”  Damian picked his ice cream back up and took another bite, then abruptly said, “Arrogate.”

“What?”

“Eight letter word for thief.  Arrogate.”

“Oh,” Dick exclaimed, fishing his phone out of his back pocket to check.  When the word was accepted, he reached over and ruffled Damian’s hair.  “You’re the best.”

“I know.  You’d be lucky to have a son like me.”  

Grinning, Dick dragged Damian over for a quick hug, trying his best to avoid injury doing so.  “Son or not, I am pretty lucky to have you, aren’t I?”

All Damian did was smile.  The entire way back to the manor.

[terriandrre]

day 2: training

[omgiamwish]

“You’re being ridiculous. I have a hood.”

“Yeah, well... It’s tradition.”

Rain

[dickanddamiweek]

Dick and Dami Week Countdown

Hey guys! There’s five days to go before Dick and Dami week officially starts. If you haven’t started on your stuff for it then get moving! 

Reminders: 

Themes 

April 8th- Dynamic Duo/Nightwing and Flamebird 

April 9th- Paparazzi

April 10th- Fear Gas/Injury

April 11th- Music

April 12th- Training

April 13th- Rain

April 14th- Separation/Reunion 

Rules 

Keep it Gen

You can create any kind of content you’d like

Tag appropriately

Remember to use the #DickandDamiWeek2019 tag so everyone can find your post

AO3 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Dick_and_Dami_Week_2019

[unavenged-robin]

Day 5 - Training

The first time he puts Damian on a sparring ring the boy does his very best to try and kill him, and Dick has to use too much violence to overpower him. He ends up hurting the kid bad enough to need Alfred’s medical intervention, with a subsequent look of blatant disappointment in regard of Dick’s ability to handle the new addition to the family. Damian, on his part, looks insulted by the defeat, but doesn’t seem to mind the injuries at all. Dick knows that a secret part of the kid actually approves of his violence: if Dick hadn’t been able to beat him in a fight, Damian wouldn’t have deemed him worthy of the honor of being his mentor.

Doing what was necessary doesn’t help Dick feel better when he has to scrub Damian’s blood from his hands. Even without considering the family ties bonding them together, assassin or not, Damian is a ten years old and Dick’s responsable for him. As he washes away the last traces of the fight, Dick decides he can't do this again, that their next training needs to be different. The idea that this is what Damian expects from him makes him sick in the stomach, but he can’t tell that to anyone, except maybe Alfred ― who’s not going to offer him much sympathy, that’s for sure.

The next time they fight and Damian goes for his head in what could very well be a fatal blow, Dick grabs both of his arms, twists them just enough to hurt and forces the kid to his knees.

“No”, he says simply.

Damian looks up at him in anger, but also in surprise.

“No what?”, the boy asks, and Dick understands right away that he’s not mocking him: Damian genuinely doesn’t understand what he’s doing wrong. He releases the kid’s wrists and sits down on the mat in front of him.

“No lethal force”, he explains.

“You were supposed to stop it!”, Damian retorts indignantly, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand . “If you don’t think you’re up to me, then I suggest-”

“You were trying to kill me”, Dick interrupts him.

Damian’s eyes go wide and he makes like he wants to reply, but he stops just in time, and for a moment he just stares at him open-mouthed, in an expression that would be almost comical on him, were it not followed by a flash of shame that flushes up the boy's face even more than it already is.

“This is how I was taught to fight”, Damian answers, biting his bottom lip, and he tries to sound arrogant, to make like he’s the one in the right here, but his body’s already betrayed him, and Dick knows this is a lesson already learnt without him repeating what Batman and Robin stand for, why they don’t kill.

He feels a pang of compassion for the kid, but he’s smart enough to keep it hidden behind a solemn expression, the kind Bruce would’ve made in a situation like this one, Dick figures.

“It was a good move”, he says in all honesty. “We just need to work on it to make it effective without the risk of becoming fatal. Okay?”

Damian nods, then looks away, shame and anger still reddening his cheeks.

Dick stands up and offers the boy his hand to do the same. Damian pulls at his last strands of pride and promptly refuses, and Dick gives him a quick fickle on the nose as punishment.

*

Watching Damian fight becomes, for Dick, something that only Bruce would understand.

It’s not easy for the kid: Dick can see the struggle every time they train, every time they go out at night. He knows Damian feels the pressure to prove himself in front of him, and that’s a good thing, but it still worries him.

Every night he waits for Damian to make a mistake, to recoil instead of attacking, to soften a blow too much and pay the price for it, to risk his own life just because Batman’s watching and he wants to make him proud.

Dick remembers how it was like for him as a kid, so eager to show Bruce how good he was at combining his previous skills with the new ones, to impress him with his moves and his talent and his dedication to the cause. And of course Damian’s nothing like him, but about this Dick feels pretty secure in assuming they’re the same. In hindsight, Bruce’s role was a lot more difficult than Dick had imagined at the time.

And still, there’s this feeling in his chest, something new and soft. He had felt something like that with Tim, when they used to practice on moving trains, but it was a different feeling then, duller than this thing that warms him every time he watched Damian fighting next to him.

Because he can see it in the way the kid moves, in how he bends and how he leans when he attacks: he can see how Damian’s first instinct is always, always, a lethal one, and he sees how Damian keeps it under control without losing his footing, not allowing it to distract him even for a moment. Damian fights himself and his enemy at the same time and he always returns victorious, if only a bit ruffled.

Dick is impressed. And, just like Bruce used to do back in the day, he makes sure the kid knows it.

One night, after a particularly brilliant patrol, he puts an hand on Damian’s shoulder and says something Bruce’s never told him ― probably because he already knew it would not have been received well by him.

But Damian is Damian, and not Dick, so he smiles and ruffles the kid hair as he says: “One day you’ll be a great Batman, kiddo.”

He’s rewarded with the first real, happy smile he’s ever seen on the kid’s face, and just for that Dick feels almost like it will be all worth it.

*

Persuading Damian to skip their training turns out to be easier than Dick expected, considering that's the sole reason the child came from Gotham, abandoning his father to a solitary watch in the freezing winter rain. Damian himself doesn’t look much bothered by that treason, as he snuggles his feet under Dick’s thighs to keep them warm.

They made some popcorn with too little butter (in Dick’s opinion) and too much salt (in Damian’s opinion). After throwing several handfuls of it at each other, they settled down on the couch with a new horror movie that Damian had insisted on watching only because it was forbidden to Jon, since it was rated PG-14.

Dick had tried to object that Damian wasn’t fourteen either, but it had been a lost battle from the moment Damian had reminded him he was an assassin born and raised, thank you very much. Dick should probably have insisted more about his point, but the truth is that he was inclined to agree with Damian on the subject. The coup de grace, however, had been Damian saying to him: "Todd would let me watch it”. Jason would’ve been so proud to be used like this against him, Dick had thought.

He doesn't regret his decision ― partly because the movie has turned out to be short on real horrific scenes ― as he dozes off on the couch with the warm pressure of Damian’s body against him and a background music that should be creepy and instead seems perfect to lull him to sleep.

He’s almost asleep when Damian kicks him lightly in the side to attract his attention.

“Richard?”

Dick groans and refuses to open his eyes.

“No, I won’t make you more popcorn, you little brat. Especially since you’re so critical of it. Also I’m already sleeping, this is me talking in my sleep.”

He can feel Damian rolls his eyes even if he can’t actually see him.

“Richard!”, the boy protests. “This is serious!”

And to emphasize the seriousness of his intentions, Damian gives him another not so gentle kick on the shoulder.

“Ow, okay!”, Dick gives in, grabbing the wandering little feet and holding it in his hand to prevent any more kicking. “What is it, buddy?”

Damian takes a deep breath, but for a long moment he doesn’t speak, opting to keep his eyes still firmly planted on the movie still playing on the screen in front of them. A child screams with terror when a clown disguised as a leper walks towards him, and Damian finally finds the courage to open his mouth.

“What if I… what if I don’t want to become Batman?”, he asks, and his voice is soft and almost ashamed, and Dick doesn’t know what has brought this on right now, but he starts to think that maybe training was the kid’s last preoccupation tonight. “Do you think Father would be angry at me?”

Dick lets another long scream come and go between them.

“No”, he answers then, easily and in total honesty. “No, Damian. The only thing your father wants you to be is happy. And if being Batman doesn’t make you happy, then you shouldn't be Batman. It’s that simple.”

“It is a great legacy”, Damian comments.

Dick sighs.

“It is.”

No point in denying it when he’s been the first to uphold it when the circumstances had required it. Damian takes another deep breath, but this time he reaches for the remote and pauses the movie before turning to look at Dick with serious eyes.

“What about you?”, he asks. “Would you be angry?”

The question should maybe surprise him, but he doesn’t. Not at all. He lets go of Damian’s feet to wrap an arm around his shoulders and draw him closer to himself.

“No.”

Damian observes him for a good second before deciding to trust him. But he still doesn’t turn back on the movie, just keeps playing with the remote for a moment or two.

“And what if I became the next Nightwing?”, he asks eventually.

This too should be unexpected. This too is not. Dick would be a liar if he said he’d never thought of Damian wearing his costume, taking up his legacy. It’s a warm thought, even if it shouldn’t be: all his life Dick did all he could to try and escape this kind of thing. And it’s still kind of weird to hear the idea coming from Damian’s mouth because that means the kid has been thinking about it too and, like Dick, must have kept that thought to himself until this very moment.

An heartbeat go by and Dick feels overwhelmed by this whole thing, and to gain some time the only reaction he can think of is throwing his head back and laugh.

“Do you want to put me off business already?”, he jokes. “Do I have to sleep with a knife under my pillow?”

Damian hits him again, serious as ever.

“You should always sleep with a knife under your pillow”, he scolds him. “And you didn’t answer me.”

Dick lets the laugh fade into a fond smile, and finally he feels ready to say what he’s always wanted to say.

“I would be so very proud of you.”

Damian examines him carefully again, and whatever he's looking for on Dick's face, he finally seems to find it. He nods to himself, then he sets his mouth in a hard line and looks up at him again.

“And what if I didn’t became the next Nightwing either?”, he asks again. “Would you be disappointed then?”

And Dick knows this is a test, not very different from all the challenges to which both he and Bruce have subjected Damian during their continuous training.

“Never”, he answers with the same smile, and he knows he’s passed with flying color when Damian smiles back at him.

“Good”, the kid decides, then he presses play and goes back to watch his movie.

He doesn’t tell Dick if he’s really thinking of becoming or not the next Batman or the next Nightwing, doesn’t explain to him his plans for the future, and Dick’s proud of that too. He likes the idea of Damian considering his options, he likes the idea of Damian coming to the conclusion that he has, indeed, options.

It’s a big step forward for the kid he used to be.

“You know what?”, Dick says cheerfully. “I think I’ll make some more popcorn anyway. This time I’ll take care of the butter and you’ll decide how much salt to put on it. Deal?”