I'm meant to be revising but I can't and I wanted to prove I was still alive so I wrote this. Enjoy.
I don't own anyone in this story.
.
.
Damian Wayne had not forgotten Grayson's birthday. He had purposefully ignored it. What was the point of celebrating a birthday if the owner never actually acted any older?
However, as the day approached, Damian began to feel tightness in his chest and couldn't push the date from his mind. A trained assassin, Damian had managed to keep the feelings at bay. But now, the night before, he couldn't stop himself imagining the smile on the young man's face as he opened presents from Father, Pennyworth, Todd and Drake and the sadness in his blue eyes as he turned to the young Wayne and saw nothing.
Todd and Drake had shown up the day before, their presents stashed in the suitcases and Pennyworth had been planning his present for ages. Even Father had spent a few days making sure everything was perfect. He had brought Grayson a motorbike but, in accordance with the young man's insane ideas that the price of the gifts do not make any difference as to how special they are, had got features customised. Pennyworth had contacted as many circus contacts he had, an amount that had slightly surprised Damian, and collected as much circus equipment as he could, having set it up in spare room that was set to become Grayson's personal gym. Todd had used the little funds he could legally secure and got a photograph reprinted and framed. The original, a photograph of the Teen Titans founders, had been destroyed in a fire in the base shortly after the young man had remade himself into Nightwing. Finally Todd had contacted all of the Teen Titans and asked them to sign the frame. Drake's gift was just as brilliant. He had created a film out of footage from as far back in Grayson's life as possible: some clips even contain Grayson and his parents.
Lying in bed, Damian decided he needed to find Grayson something. It was three in the morning; too late for ordering something online and none of the shops would be open before the time Grayson bounded down the stairs to celebrate his birthday. Sitting up, Damian ran his teeth over his lip before turning his attention to his drawing book. It was better than nothing, the young assassin decided, and if it calmed his conscious, he was willing to do it.
.
Creeping downstairs, expensive pencil set in one hand, notepad in the other, Damian scanned the area. The lounge had been decorated and a stack of presents, dropped off by various members of the League and Teen Titans, were piled down the side of the sofa. Glaring at the patchwork pile of wrapping paper, Damian flicked his gaze to the sofa. He remembered posing for a portrait nestled in the black leather. Father had sat to one side, with him and Grayson in the middle. Drake had sat on Grayson's other side and Pennyworth had stood behind them. The portrait had never been finished so, smirking, Damian began to draw, planning on adding Todd. Then, his pencil stopped scratching the page and the boy found himself remembering why the portrait had not been finished. He had gotten into a fight with Drake and a stray punch had collided with one of Grayson's ribs, already sore from patrol the night before. Pennyworth had been forced to lead the artist out while Father had taken Grayson down to the cave to check his ribs had not sustained anymore damage. Deciding it was not something his brother would not want to be remembered of, Damian tore off the page, crumpled it up and stuffed it into his pocket.
.
Damian was sure that he would find a good family memory in the kitchen but had begun to draw a picture of the one time Todd had helped Pennyworth make lunch. Then the food poisoning that had followed came to mind and a bitter taste filled Damian's mouth. Screwing the paper up, he had collected a drink to clear the taste.
The gym had offered little more success. Damian had managed to finish a picture of the group all training together and was about to duck up into his room once more when he noticed a lighter patch of plaster than the others and remembered that the moment had come before a vicious attack on the manor by the Court of the Owls. He screwed the drawing up and threw it in the bin as he walked past.
The garden had caught his gaze as he had walked past and the young man had considered drawing the group outside but could think of no days that their water fights hadn't gone wrong or one of them had been left out due to injury. He considered the garage but remembered that the place was still a mess from a fight between Grayson and Todd and then thought about the ballroom only to remember that Grayson said his times in the ballroom were some of the worst of his life.
"How can my family be such fools?" the assassin groaned. "Is there nothing we can do like a normal family?"
And that was when Damian realised what he needed to draw.
.
Damian was awoken by Grayson tearing down the corridor and groaned, rolling over in bed. There was a pause before Drake's smug voice rung through the door.
"Come on, Demon, Dick's up."
Growling to himself, the boy laboured to his feet. He crossed his room and shrugged on his silk dressing gown. On his artist's desk was his gift to Grayson and Damian studied it a final time, checking it was still presentable in the morning light. It was.
Delicately etched in black and white, Grayson sat on the floor, his handsome face decorated with an impish grin. His eyes sparkled even without their colour and a youthful wisdom lurked within the lines of his smile. On the other side sat Drake, a wide grin on his face as he offered an envelope out to the birthday boy. Todd lounged nearby, a smirk on his face, with his guns too well hidden to feature in the picture. Pennyworth sat on the edge of the sofa, hand resting over the presents as he prepared to hand them over. There was a smile on Father's face, drawn from Damian's own memories: the content smile Father always offered when his sons were happy.
And where was Damian. The boy had drawn himself next to the birthday boy, one of Grayson's strong arms holding him in close while Damian smiled up at his older brother with adoration that he would never express in words and would claim had been faked for the drawing.
.
There was a sparkle in Grayson's blue eyes as he stared at the drawing but he said nothing for a few seconds. Damian paused, unsure of what his elder brother thought of it. Internally the assassin believed he had proven Grayson did not practise what he preached and that the cost of a gift did matter. Then, slipping his arm around the younger hero, Grayson pulled Damian close and whispered that it was wonderful.