Ok, so I rebelled against writing anything even remotely Damien for a long time because Damien = no Bruce and that made me sad. However, I have to bow down to the fact that he is indeed a psychological conundrum that can be very fun to exploit so, here it is, my first Dami. Hope you enjoy and tell me how I did at characterizing him. Happy Thanksgiving all and God Bless.
Dick's soft breath whistled through the night. He sat up, listening to the nightingale call quietly. A warm summer breeze trickled in from the open window, pushing his hair back from his face. He flexed his shoulders, powerful muscles seemingly taking a life of their own as they rippled beneath his scarred flesh.
He gave a thin sigh and ran a hand down the spine of the boy next to him, fingers tracing the shape of each vertebra. The boy moved slightly and gave a mew. He opened his mouth and yawned like a cat, tongue curling. Then, he fixed his sleepy eyes on the man above him. Immediately, the weariness darted away, replaced by cold indignation. He wrinkled his nose and gave a snort.
"What are you doing Greyson?" he growled, muscles tensing in light of a perceived attack. But, Dick was in no mood for Damien's foul temperedness at the moment.
"Ohh, give it a rest Damien", he snapped, "I'm not in the mood. If you must know, I came in here to check on you." Damien was slightly taken aback at being snapped at. Dick was agitated, that much was obvious. He gave a little shiver, despite the fact that the room was warm, and gazed at Dick. Dick, realizing his mistake, closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.
"I'm sorry Damien", he said gently, "I shouldn't have snapped. I hurt your feelings, forgive me." There, now that sounded more like the Greyson he knew.
"I wasn't hurt", Damien replied defensively, "but if you're going to have your little temper tantrums, have them elsewhere." Dick gave a whistling sigh. Damien wondered if he shouldn't have snapped. Feeling a sudden, strange need for reassurance at Dick's unusual distress, he, practically involuntary pushed his head up against Dick's thigh. The contact was reassuring and, though Damien hated to admit it, felt good.
Dick looked down at him, somewhat surprised, but not really. He put a hand on Damien's head. Within the boy, a silent battle raged, his pride screaming for him to push away the contact, the vulnerability, on one side, and on the other, the desperate need for acceptance pleading to remain within the confines of the semi embrace.
The side he had pushed more deeply down into the confines of his soul won and he remained. But, he could still feel the agitation boiling beneath the surface of Dick's seemingly calm exterior. "What's wrong with you?" Damien asked softly. "Not that I care or anything", he added quickly at the end, his voice hardening.
Somehow, this seemed to amuse Dick and a small smile crept up his face. Damien, assuming he was being made fun of, pulled away from Dick's touch, sitting up with a dark glare. Dick gave another sigh and shrugged. "That's no answer", Damien challenged.
"I miss him", Dick said softly, "tonight especially I suppose. Tim figures he's coming back, but I can't allow myself to hope, for fear of being let down again." Damien cocked his head, trying to contemplate the older man's feelings for a moment. There was much about people he didn't understand.
In his education early on, Damien's teachers had never thought to instruct him in the strange discipline of normal human feelings. He had never considered it important because they had never bothered with it. Now, however, he could see that the things people felt governed the world. It was both unsettling and intriguing to think about.
But, Damien felt fear as well, fear enough for him to voice his thoughts. "What will happen when he comes back, if he comes back?" Damien tried to voice the question in a nonchalant manner, as if he didn't care about the answer either way, but his voice came out sounding strained, as if he had a stake in the outcome of things that no one but he could understand.
"I don't know", Dick replied, "I suppose I'll step down as Batman and go back to being Nightwing. Actually, it'll be rather nice, not having all the responsibility. I'm looking foreward to it, if it really happens. What with Pyg, Red Hood and everything that's been going on lately, Bludhaven will be a much welcome change." He rubbed his head and glanced over at Damien. There was apprehension still swimming in the boy's eyes. It took a moment and another sly comment from Damien for him to realize why.
"So, I guess Drake'll go back to being Robin then." Realization flashed through Dick.
"And you're wondering what'll happen to you, that it?" Damien looked pointedly away and mumbled something suspiciously close to no. Dick smirked. 'Tim's done being Robin, Damien, he's too old to do that anymore. You'll work with Bruce as Robin."
"What if he doesn't want me?" Damien whispered, almost inaudibly. Dick put a hand on the boy's shoulder. Despite the fact that the motion seethed with sympathy, which Damien hated, he didn't shrug off the gentle weight.
"You're his son", Dick replied softly, as if that were the answer to all Damien's unspoken questions and fear. But kinship, and Damien knew this from first hand experience, did not always dictate the terms of a relationship.
Dick's voice gained a business like tone as he continued, not leaving Damien much time to ponder his words. "The only thing I'll regret about the whole affair is not being able to work with you. You were really starting to grow on me brat." Damien scowled maliciously and shrugged Dick's hand off his shoulder. Dick giggled.
Then, silence crept back between them like a wild animal. Both were unsure of what it would do next. Dick was the first to break the quiet that had settled over them like a blanket. "But", he murmured, "we probably don't have to worry about that at all. I don't really think he's coming back, whatever Tim says." Dick heaved an enormous sigh.
Damien peered cautiously over his shoulder at the older man and watched with surprise as he lay down on the bed, gazing up at the ceiling as if it held all the answers. Damien pretended not to care, but he was surprised by Dick's manner. Dick rarely, if ever, showed his agitation, yet here he was, overtly voicing his reservations. It was unnerving.
"Why do you miss him so much anyway?" Damien asked sourly, slowly lowering himself down a little ways away from Dick. Dick glanced at him and then gazed back up at the ceiling. " I didn't know him all that long, but he didn't strike me as the kind of person you would like. Mother says he wasn't all that nice. She says he was gruff and coarse and reminded her of granite." Dick gave a sigh.
"Ohh", he said softly, "he was, but he was so many other things too. You never really got to know him Damien, nor did you mother."
"My mother knew him better than you did", Damien challenged angrily.
"No", Dick said softly, a note of wistfulness in his voice, "no one knew him better than I did, except maybe Alfred. I lived with him for ten years you know, as many years as you've been alive. I've known him for longer than that though. He was one of the funniest people I ever met, once you understood his sense of humor that is. And he was caring, caring enough to take in a boy orphaned at a circus, a boy he barely knew."
"And he loved us, every one of us, Jason, Tim and I, even though we weren't even related. You know", Dick said, rolling over to face Damien, "he used to read me bedtime stories."
"No he didn't", Damien countered stubbornly, "not him."
"Sure", said Dick, "every time I asked. I'd sleep with him when I had nightmares too and he'd sing to me. Sure, he wasn't a great singer, but the fact that the Batman actually sang, that's pretty intense."
"Are you sure we're talking about the same man here", Damien asked, "my father?" Dick grinned and propped his head up on his elbow.
"I know", he said, "kind of a shocker, huh. You just didn't get a chance to get to know him all that well." Damien bit his bottom lip, deep in thought for a moment. Dick sighed. "Ohh", he said softly, "I miss him so much. He was my father too, you know. He raised me, mentored me, loved me. God, I miss him. Actually, you kinda remind me of him."
"I do?" Damien asked.
"Sure, you got the same bat glare, though not half as scary as the real one. And," Dick continued, "You've got his same nose." He reached out and tapped Damien on his nose. Damien gave him a glare and Dick grinned. The younger boy shifted his shoulders and relaxed onto the bed. Dick could still see the agitation tapering his form.
"You're his son Damien", Dick said insistently, "he loved you, in his own weird way."
"Love's overrated", Damien grumbled foul naturedly. But, instead of the playful snicker he had expected to elicit from Dick, all he saw was a look of sympathy cross the young hero's face.
"Ohh Damien", Dick sighed. "I bet you feel sometimes like nobody cares what happens to you."
"What's it to you?" Damien muttered, feeling suddenly uncomfortable as the conversation turned to him. Dick reached out and gently stroked the younger boy's cheek. Damien just gazed at him, no scowl, just a piercing stare that borrowed it's way into Dick's heart. Dick gave him a gentle look and then drew his hand back. Damien wished he had left it where it had been.
Dick closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. He could feel the bed shift beneath him as Damien moved warily towards him, like a starving wild animal approaching a questionable piece of meat. He could feel Damien's warm breath on his arm as the boy stopped, not daring, it seemed, to get any closer. Dick sat up and gazed out the window at the moon.
"I don't think I'm going to be getting any sleep tonight", Dick said softly, "do you mind if I read in here a while." Damien shook his head and Dick picked up the book he had brought in with him. He flicked on the lamp beside the bed and settled in, leaning up against the backboard, before beginning to read. Damien remained still for a few moments before cautiously lifting his head and placing it on Dick's thigh. He glanced up at the older man, trying to gage his reaction. Dick pretended not to notice, slowly taking in the words on the page.
Damien, inch-by-inch, moved his head further and further onto Dick's lap until he seemed satisfied and gave a heavy sigh, almost as if he had been holding his breath the whole time. Dick lowered one hand and ran it through Damien's hair. The boy stiffened, but after Dick repeated the gentle motion a few times, he relaxed. Dick rubbed Damien's hair, almost as if he were petting a dog, but more tenderly, and with an understanding that the figure in his lap had just entrusted in him a great deal. His hand roved down to gently stroke the boy's back and shoulders, acting as one who is desensitizing an abused horse to their touch.
Damien remained absolutely still through it all, fearing that if he moved, it might all go away and he would be back at his grandfather's house. For hours he lay as Dick read, until his eyelids grew so heavy, he could hardly keep them open and his body was filled with sleep. He didn't particularly want to fall asleep on Dick's lap, but he was so comfortable, he hardly wished to move.
It was then that Dick paused, hand resting on Damien's ribcage. He gazed down at the boy, who looked up at him with another one of his pleading, piercing stares. Dick turned off the light, placed his book aside, and lay back down on the bed. He reached out and gently eased Damien towards himself. He pressed him to his chest and pushed a few strands of hair out of Bruce's son's face.
"Don't ever assume that you aren't loved little one", he whispered, "there are people that care about you out there. Perhaps your mother doesn't, but I can promise you, I do. I love you."
"Yea", Damien said gruffly, "because I remind you of Bruce Wayne."
"No", Dick replied, "because you're Damien Wayne. That's all I want from you and that's all the reason I need to love you." He smiled at Damien, beaming so brightly, the boy was surprised the whole room didn't start to glow.
"I guess…I guess I kind of care about you too Greyson", Damien muttered, looking away.
"My lord Damien", Dick said in ersatz shock, "did those words really come out of your mouth?"
"If you're gona make fun of me…" Damien snapped angrily, pulling away.
"Hush", Dick soothed, "I was only teasing. Come on." He beckoned Damien closer. The boy moved in a little towards Dick, eyes begging for acceptance, yet body still stiff with apprehension and disgust at the yearning within his soul for acceptance, for contact, for love. Dick pulled him in and gently rubbing his back in small circles, his pacifying gesture easing Damien into enough security to lower his head to that it just barely touched Dick's sternum.
Dick placed a hand on the back of his head, holding it close. "Did you and my father used to do this sort of thing?" Damien asked softly, voiced etched with fatigue.
"All the time", Dick replied lovingly, "especially when I was around your age. It was one of his ways of showing he loved me." Dick closed his eyes and started to fall into slumber. Then, a tiny voice roused him.
"I guess I love you too Dick", it said softly. A big grin lite up Dick's young face. "But you can't tell anyone!"
"I won't", Dick replied. He took the boy's face in his hands and kissed the small forehead. "I won't."