Sleep

by lacemonster

Pennyworth lets it slip that Bruce and Dick used to sleep in the same bed. Damian uses this information to make Dick's life a living hell. But what starts out as teasing quickly becomes serious as the past is dredged up and fears come to surface. As Dick must adjust to the burden of the cowl, Damian must learn to become a hero, and both must learn to work together.[Warnings inside]

Warnings: Explicit sexual content; underage/dub-con; age difference; moral ambiguity; angst/fluff/smut; canon-typical violence

Pairings: Dick/Damian; references to past Dick/Barbara and Dick/Helena

Credits: This is a non-profit, fanmade work. All characters are owned by DC. Both the fanfiction and story cover were created by me, please do not repost without my permission. Story cover typefaces are: Adobe Jenson Pro Regular and Orator Std Medium, both of which have been legally purchased and are not being used for commercial purposes.

A/N: I originally posted this story to Archive of Our Own in October 2015. I created a FF account so I'm transferring a lot of things over. I'm always open to feedback and constructive criticism, but considering the age of this story, I will probably not be making any serious edits aside from typos, formatting, and things of that nature.

As mentioned in the warnings, this story contains underage, sexual content. Please do not continue to read if things of that nature upsets you. Any upset reviews that did not adhere to the warnings will be ignored and deleted.

This is a Dick/Damian story through and through, but there are some mentions to Dick's previous relationships, particularly with Barbara and Helena.

This story takes place during Grant Morrison's Batman and Robin run. As a result, this is Dick and Damian when they first started to work together, so they start off on rocky terms. I tried to stick as close to the canon as possible but it had been years since I read the run before I wrote this, so I apologize if there are any plotholes/mistakes. At this point, this fic is pretty old so I will probably not go back and fix anything.

To give some background to this story, this was the first Batman fanfiction that I completed and posted. Looking back on it, I feel like I've grown as a writer and there are some things I would have done differently... but that being said, there are moments to this story that I still enjoy, and this story holds a special place in my heart. It's really exciting to be back on FF after so many years and I can't wait to share this with you all. Thanks and I hope you enjoy!

---

Dick grunted as he hoisted up the weight. Sweat was creeping down the back of his neck as he was finishing up his set when suddenly, he heard footsteps. The small shadow looming over him made it apparent who it was, even as Dick kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Dick exhaled.

Not now, he thought, exasperated.

"Grayson," the tiny menace piped, as if Dick wasn't already aware of his unwanted presence.

"What?" he managed to breathe with the last bit of his exhale, trying to stay concentrated as he counted the seconds of his pose in his head.

"Is it true?"

Fuck it. Dick placed the barbell on its hooks and slid towards the end of the bench, sitting up. He glared at Damian but the boy simply stared back, not the least bit intimidated.

"I'm a little busy for guessing games, in case you haven't noticed," Dick said as he grabbed a towel off the mat. Damian's brow furrowed, looking almost annoyed—as if he expected Dick to just know what his vague question was.

"Is it true, about you and my father?"

"You can be more specific than that," Dick said, wiping his face. "You seem to spare no detail when you talk about anything else."

Damian wrinkled his face at the jab but didn't comment on it.

"Pennyworth said you used to share a bed with him. Is it true? I'll know if you're lying."

Dick stopped, removing the towel—his hair splayed out in multiple directions. He stared Damian down, trying to figure out the boy's angle. The new Robin had a serious expression on his face. A moment passed before Dick finally admitted he had no idea what Damian was planning—per usual—so he decided to be honest.

"I mean, yeah. I guess. Why?"

"Gross," Damian said without hesitation, wrinkling his nose.

"Fine," Dick said with a huff. "I'll entertain you: what's on your mind?"

"What else? You two sharing a bed."

Brat. "I was like, ten."

"And?" Damian said, quirking an eyebrow. "Still gross. My father was Bruce Wayne. Batman. Not some cuddly teddy bear."

"Damian, it wasn't like that at all," Dick said, scowling. He tossed the towel, landing it perfectly into the basket across the room. He grabbed his water bottle and got up to leave, hoping Damian would buzz off. He was quickly disappointed.

"What could possibly have justified it? And for how long did it happen?"

His tiny partner kept cutting off his path, trying to get his attention. It was like dodging a cat... although Damian's yipping made him more comparable to a dog. Finally, Dick stopped, unable to keep avoiding him. His first reaction would have been to glare at the boy—but he knew Damian well enough to know that wasn't how to play things out. Instead, he pretended to be flippant.

"Why do you care so much? It's kind of unlike you," Dick said, raising an eyebrow. At that, Damian finally seemed to shut up.

However, the boy's eyes still burned with a desire for answers. Dick sighed.

"I used to have nightmares," he finally confessed. He raised his arms. "Happy now? You got your answer. Whoopdeedoo."

"Tt. I should have suspected as much."

Now it was starting to get hard to remain cool-headed. Dick frowned.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nightmares?" Damian said with a scoff. He shrugged. "Its pretty juvenile, if you ask me."

"What, you never had a bad dream before?" Dick said, choosing not to comment on Damian of all people using the word juvenile. "You never ran to Talia in the middle of the night after dreaming about a big bad monster under your bed eating your favorite shuriken or something?"

Stupid, Dick scolded himself. He couldn't believe he was stooping to League of Assassin jokes. This was Tim Drake levels of snark coming out of him, but he couldn't help it—the boy just got under his skin sometimes. They had just started partnering up, and while Dick couldn't deny that the boy was talented, it was still difficult becoming adjusted to one another. He had little patience for Damian's disobedience.

Damian hardly seemed fazed but the dark look in his eyes hinted that his respect for Grayson dropped a little. Dick did his best to shrug it off.

"I still don't get why you're so worried about it."

"I'm not worried."

"Maybe you're jealous?" Dick said, wrapping an arm around Damian's shoulders and pulling him in. Damian bristled. "You're always welcome to my bed if you want to cuddle up to Batman the teddy bear."

"Get off, Grayson. You're sweating all over me," Damian said, trying to shrug him off, but Dick just wrapped him in a hug and started laughing. "Gross—knock it off!"

Damian might have been small, but he was still well-trained, and the elbow to the stomach still hurt. As Dick wrapped his arm around his abdomen, Damian slipped a few steps away. He sniffed once.

"...tt, you brought this upon yourself."

This was true.

"Also, the answer is no."

"Huh?" Dick looked up.

"I don't have bad dreams," Damian clarified. He didn't say anything else, and he walked off, finally leaving him alone.

Dick rubbed his ribs and made a mental note of two things: one, never hug Damian against his will, and two, have a long talk with Pennyworth.

---

Dick yawned. His body ached all over. Patrols in Gotham were always rough, and he knew that he earned a few bruises. He couldn't help it—the batsuit was so bulky in comparison to his Nightwing uniform, even with the adjustments, and he was still getting used to fighting in it. The cape was the worst part. Once he gave up the cape as Nightwing, he decided he never wanted to go back. So much for that.

Dick seethed slightly as he remembered a moment earlier in the night, when he kept stepping on his own cape, and Damian's stupid face as he tried to stifle his laughter.

But overall, it was an easy night. It was not yet dawn, but Dick closed the curtains anyways. He never slept well in the Wayne manor, not since he left for the Teen Titans. It never quite felt like home once he went off on his own, even when it greeted him with open doors.

He just was never used to how empty it was. Sure, the manor was luxuriously decorated, but its large floorplan allowed for a lot of open space. It didn't have the cozy comfort of a cramped circus trailer or a dorm room in Titans Tower or a one-bedroom apartment.

Bruce's death only seemed to make it worse. Dick swore that Bruce's ghost stared him down from every corner of the house, making sure that he wasn't ruining his legacy.

Dick plopped down in the giant bed in the middle of the giant room and hid under the giant covers. His body was so exhausted from running around that he was actually starting to feel his eyelids grow heavy.

He had finally shut his eyes when there was a loud knock at the door.

At first, Dick thought he imagined it. Then he heard it again. Assuming it was an emergency, Dick quickly turned on the lights and headed for the door, expecting a grave-faced Pennyworth. Instead, he got something completely else.

Dick blinked twice before he realized what he was seeing was real life and not an illusion.

"Damian?"

The young Wayne said nothing as he shoved past Dick, a pillow brushing between them as the boy squeezed through the doorway.

"Whoa, whoa, Damian, what are you doing?" Dick asked but he was ignored. However, the answer was made clear when Damian tossed the pillow onto Dick's mattress.

"I believe you invited me," Damian said.

"Since when?"

"Since our talk earlier in the evening, when you were finishing your training. You explicitly said that I was 'always welcome'. Well, here I am."

It took a moment for Dick to realize he was referring to their talk from what seemed like so long ago. Damian locked eyes with him, as if challenging Dick to back up on his words. It worked—Dick did begin to feel uncomfortable.

"Well, I did, but I thought we were joking." As he said it, Dick realized his mistake: Damian never joked.

"I could leave if you want."

"Well, I mean... it would be kind of strange if you stayed, don't you think?" Dick said. Then he figured out what Damian was getting at, especially when he saw the beginnings of a smirk on the younger crimefighter's face. Dick frowned, unwilling to lose to Damian's little game. He shrugged, playing aloof. "Actually, fine. You're right. Knock yourself out. You want the side by the door or the side by the window?"

The sparkle in Damian's eye instantly fizzled out. Dick almost laughed out loud—did he really expect him to just roll over? If sleeping together was going to bother anyone, it was going to be Damian, who could barely even stand being hugged.

"The side by the window."

"Sure. Do you want to lay on my chest or should I spoon you?" Dick said it sarcastically but Damian's face soured nonetheless.

"I don't know what spoons have to do with anything, but you are not to touch me, if that's what you mean."

"I can't believe you," Dick said, shaking his head. "All this just to poke fun at me? You can drop the act."

"I'm insulted, Grayson. It's not an act. I just want to bond Batman-to-Robin, per your unusual methods."

The kid needed acting lessons.

"What are you wearing anyways?" Dick said, changing the subject. He squinted his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"You look like a grandpa," Dick said, eying the black button-up pajama set with a quirked eyebrow. "You don't even have kid pajamas?"

"I may be young but I'm not a kid. This sleepwear is sufficient. What did you wear when you were my age?"

Superman shorts. "Uh."

"Tt. Whatever. So when are you changing into yours?"

"I am in mine," Dick said, looking down at his shirt and boxers.

By the way Damian looked at him, Dick might as well have just said that he slept in a pigpen every night.

"Whatever. Let's just go to sleep."

Dick was too tired to argue. He climbed into bed. When he turned over, he saw Damian climbing in. Damian fluffed his pillow once before turning on his back on top of the covers, his hands crossed over his chest. Dick stared at him long and hard for a moment before he realized that Damian wasn't going to move.

"Wait, are you sleeping like that?"

Damian opened an eye. "Yes?"

Creepy. "You look like Dracula."

"I fail to understand the comparison."

"You've never seen Dracula?"

"I've read Dracula."

"Doesn't count."

"What do you expect? I'm not actually going to lay on you."

That was the final straw. Dick couldn't go through with it. Damian couldn't even sleep like a normal person.

"Damian," Dick said with a sigh. He laid his wrist on his forehead, trying to settle himself down. "That was all a joke—"

"I know. That's why I'm not going to do it."

"No, I meant all of it was a joke. Yes, I did share Bruce's bed, but it wasn't bedtime stories and cuddles and teddy bears. What I said about the nightmares—that part was true. Sleeping next to someone at night was... comforting. But this? This is ridiculous."

"You should have stopped me sooner. I'm already half asleep."

"Your eyes are wide open and we're talking. There's no way you're—"

"What's the big deal, Grayson? If you have a nightmare and start snivelling in the night, you'll have someone next to you."

This fucking brat. "You know what? Forget it. Do what you want. Just don't hog the blankets."

"I don't use blankets."

"I... what?" Dick paused for a moment before shaking his head to himself. It was late, he was tired, and there was no way he was going to open up a whole new topic. "No, of course you don't. What was I thinking?"

Regardless, Dick pulled out the cover-all from under him and threw it over the younger crimefighter. Damian wrinkled his face but took a deep breath and said nothing.

The lights went out. Dick was fuming in place, repeating choice insults in his head until it kept him up. Finally, he forced himself to calm down... and eventually, when most of the fire was gone, he allowed himself to relax.

Moments later, Dick heard light breathing. He turned his head slightly, watching Damian fast asleep. Dick still thought the sleeping pose was a bit creepy, but he couldn't see Damian's crossed hands with the covers over him, he could only see his sleeping face.

Dick fell asleep shortly after.

---

Dick awoke to the sound of curtains being drawn and light pouring in. His face scrunched up as he was rudely awakened, before he willed himself to open his eyes. He was greeted by Pennyworth, who was staring at him with a peculiar expression, one eyebrow raised high.

Dick blinked slowly before turning over. Damian was still sleeping, frozen solid in the same position he was in last night. Dick groaned lightly at the memory and rubbed his eye before turning back to Alfred.

"Don't give me that look. This is your fault," Dick said, scowling. Pennyworth shrugged silently and left it at that.

If there was one thing that did make him feel at home, it was Alfred's cooking. One bite of Pennyworth's french toast and Dick was sent back to his days of living at Wayne Manor as a boy. He would sit at the table, eat and once in awhile, if Bruce was feeling up to it, he'd get up early to join him for breakfast before Dick went off to class. With Bruce's busy schedule, the only chance they had to really interact was during patrols. Dick would secretly look forward to the mornings where Bruce would come down to spend time outside of the uniform.

Dick stared at the empty seat across from him as he sipped his coffee.

"Morning, Master Damian," Alfred greeted, never moving from the stove.

Dick blinked when Damian climbed into the seat he was staring at.

"Alfred, I'll have a cup of oolong, plain. Eight ounces." When Dick looked up at him, Damian added, "Please."

"Of course. Can I get you some breakfast as well?"

Damian stared at Dick's plate. "What is that?"

"...french toast?"

"What's in it?"

"...toast?"

"And egg, milk, a hint of cinnamon and served with syrup and powdered sugar. I'd be glad to make you a plate, Master Damian."

"No thanks," Damian said, grimacing. "I'll stick to the usual."

"You've never had Alfred's french toast? You haven't lived," Dick accused, pointing a fork. "Alfred makes it better than anyone else."

"Thank you, Master Dick."

"The last time I heard a similar claim, it was Drake prattling on about Pennyworth's tiramisu. I should have known Drake would eat something so horrendously sweet." Damian paused before adding, "No offense, Pennyworth."

"None taken, Master Damian. Though if it helps, I could skip the sugar and the syrup."

"Alfred makes this one thing... this pear thing... I don't remember what it's called but it's great," Dick said, thinking out loud.

"My poached pears recipe, Master Dick?"

"Yeah, that's it. Those are great. It has a spice to it—less chocolatey and rich than tiramisu."

"Tt. I can't imagine anything being worse than Drake's sense of taste. I'll consider it."

The table was silent as Dick chewed on his breakfast and Damian sipped his tea. Pennyworth eventually sat a plate down in front of Damian, his usual with a piece of plain french toast on the side.

---

Dick rolled his head, trying to get rid of the crick he was feeling in his neck. His shoulders felt stiff from burdening the weight of the cowl and cape on his body for so long. If Dick could go back in time and speak to his boy-self that followed Bruce everywhere, he'd tell him that being Batman was overrated.

Dick sunk into the giant plush mattress. He laid there for a good moment when he felt a stirring that he hadn't felt in a long time. Dick tried to count in his head the last time he had felt this—it had been so long since he had some time to himself. Starting out as Batman had been rough, combining hours of training and patrol that left him so exhausted that by the time he went to bed, he always passed out right away.

He was getting a little better at it now. His body was tired beyond reason, certainly, but Dick imagined that all this hard work deserved a little bit of self-indulgent payoff. His heart began to beat a little bit faster, excitement running its way through his body. Burying himself up to the nose in the heavy covers, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, slipping them down just enough.

Heat beginning to rise in his face, he slipped his hand down, his palm rubbing over himself. He closed his eyes and breathed softly through his nose, his arousal beginning to grow when—

A knock.

Dick stopped short, his eyes opening. A knock again. Dick scowled before pulling up the waistband, any excitement he was experiencing quickly dying out, and went to answer the knock.

This time, Dick went to the door without expecting Alfred. He wasn't wrong when he opened it.

"Go away," Dick said, starting to shut the door when Damian's foot blocked it from being closed.

"You promised."

"Well, I lied. Okay? Now go to bed. Your own bed."

Damian looked at him with a deep frown, and even though Damian tried to act like an adult, there was something so awfully childish about that frown. Not childish in the way of being selfish or greedy, but childish in the way of naivete and expectations. It was so unlike Damian, something too human that made Dick's heart sink a little.

He did promise. Dick remembered what it was like to be young and expect people to keep their promises. He wondered when he became an adult and that all changed, when promises were easier to make and harder to keep. Running his hand through his long bangs, mentally reminding himself that he would eventually regret this decision, Dick opened his door all the way. Damian quickly shuffled in and set up his sleeping place the same way he did the night before.

Dick once again yanked the covers and threw it on top of Damian. Damian wrinkled his nose slightly but did not fight back. Dick went to bed slightly frustrated, but the eventual sounds of Damian's light breathing seemed to soften his temperament, and Dick didn't feel a single trace of anger when he shut his eyes.

---

Dick stirred in his sleep, unwilling to open his eyes. He dreamt that he was on a boat. The ocean was restless, the waves rising and lowering, twisting and pulling... but even when the imagery faded, he was aware that something was moving, and it wasn't until he realized that he had stopped dreaming did he open his eyes.

Eyelids fluttering open, the night was still dark. However, the curtain had cracked open, and moonlight peered through the window, casting a shed of light onto the bed. Grayson rubbed his eyes as he began to wake up, his memories returning to him.

The sheets began to pull off of him. The cold air hit his chest and suddenly, he remembered. He turned around, only to see Damian turned on his side instead of on his back.

Dick was too tired to think of it as odd, he just rubbed his eyes again and groaned sleepily. He reached to yank the blankets back, but the boy suddenly turned to him and stilled, and Dick blinked as he finally became alert.

Damian was still fast asleep and his brow was furrowed, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was murmuring in his sleep though Dick couldn't make out the words. Dick stared, almost bewildered.

He's having a nightmare, he realized. After Damian teased him incessantly about having nightmares as a kid, Dick hoped for karma. However, seeing the complete look of distress on Damian's sleeping face didn't feel like justice—it just made him worried.

"Damian," Dick said calmly, not wanting to scare the boy. He reached for Damian's shoulder—small, but strong—and gently shook him. "Damian."

Damian's brow seemed to wrinkle in confusion at the whisper of his name. Dick shook him again and was unprepared when a hand suddenly reached for his throat.

While the grip around his neck was tight, the boy was still young and the size of his hand just wasn't right, and Dick was much stronger. Fighting back wasn't a concern—but what panicked Dick, aside from the suddenness of it all, was seeing Damian. Damian's eyes seemed to look past him, his crystal eyes dazed, confused—

Scared.

"Damian!"

Suddenly, as Dick called his name, Damian seemed to snap back to reality, and he immediately let go of his release. Damian's eyes travelled the room, trying to grasp his surroundings. When he finally came to, Dick managed to regain his breath.

"Why did you wake me up?" Damian immediately demanded. Dick glowered at him as he rubbed his neck. It hurt, even if it wasn't close to being a real danger.

"You're not even going to apologize?"

"Reflex. It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't tried to disturb me. You should be more careful."

Dick laughed but it was a bitter one. He could tell Damian didn't take to it kindly by the way he bristled defensively.

"You were having a bad dream. You kept tossing and turning. I was trying to wake you up."

Damian was quiet as Dick's words seemed to sink in. He kept his gaze fixed on the bed. Dick noticed that Damian was wrenching his fingers in the sheets, a sign of frustration, though the new Robin was trying to be subtle.

"I told you—I don't have bad dreams."

"Maybe you don't remember them," Dick offered. Even though it normally frustrated him when Damian tried to act tough, all he could think about was the distressed look on Damian's face, and all he wanted to do after that was help. "What I do know is that you definitely weren't comfortable in your sleep. How often does this happen?"

"What are you, deaf?" Damian shot back with sudden ferocity. "I told you—"

"I know, I know. You don't get nightmares, or at least, that's what you want me to believe," he said, rolling his eyes. "Damian, I just want to help—"

Damian responded to Dick's help by throwing a pillow at his face. He immediately got up and left, presumably to his own room. Dick wanted to chase after him, but the insult stung too much, and it was too late in the night to deal with Damian's stubbornness. When the door slammed shut, Dick buried his face once again in the pillow—letting out a frustrated cry.

After his muffled pillow scream, the room was quiet again. Dick fell back into the bed. There was no more shifting in the mattress, no more tugging on the blankets, and there was plenty of room to roll around in the big bed to himself. Dick laid on his side, facing the empty half of the bed.

He shrugged the blankets up a little higher over his shoulders, the room felt oddly cold. He remembered Damian's face—not the one of fear, but the one before that. The face he saw before they fell asleep. It was relaxed—something that almost felt relieving, from a boy that tried so hard to act like a man. And above all, it was peaceful, from a young warrior that seemed to never settle down.

Dick's gaze lowered at the thought, a twisting feeling in his chest. He wondered if he should have handled things differently. He wondered if it was too late to help.

It took a long time for him to fall back asleep.

---

Dick descended the long staircase leading into the batcave, a walk that had once seemed so daunting until it became so familiar he could do it with his eyes closed.

He remembered making these treks with Bruce. The clock would strike a certain hour and Dick would go running, searching for Bruce in the manor, and he was always the one to lead the way down. At that time, Dick wanted nothing more than to be Robin, except maybe Batman, and was perfectly content with living his life fighting side by side with Bruce.

Dick wondered when that all changed. He wondered when wearing a yellow cape suddenly wasn't enough. He wondered when wearing a black one was too much. He wondered when Batman and Robin, the dynamic duo, became so distant.

The light sounds of Damian's training echoed through the caves. Dick made it to the bottom landing and moved towards the training area, the sounds growing louder.

Dick stopped short when Damian knocked off the head of a training dummy with a bo, the wooden head rolling to stop at Dick's feet. Dick stared at it for a moment before looking up.

"Surprised to see me?" Dick asked, offering a smile.

"Tt. Hardly. I could hear you from a mile away."

An exaggeration—but Dick wouldn't be surprised if it were true.

"Damian, I want to talk about yesterday."

"There's nothing to say," Damian said, and he resumed his training, smacking a second dummy in a practiced series of motions with his staff. Dick watched, body tense, as the staff struck various fatal areas.

"I know you want to deny what happened but I saw you. I know the truth now and I thought if we talked about it—"

"That what?" Damian said with a snort. He hit the dummy with a strike so loud that it echoed. He set down the staff, leaning against it. "We'd become best friends? That we'd be all chummy like you and Father were?"

"I am not Bruce. And you are not me," Dick said firmly, the sternness in his face so unlike him that even Damian paused. "But you have a serious problem—whatever is on your mind drove you to choke me."

"I told you—that was instinctive reflex. It's a trained reaction when I am disturbed." Gritting his teeth, Damian added, "And there is no problem."

"If you really believed that, then why did you come to me?" Dick said with a frown. For once, Damian kept his mouth shut.

Dick was still looking for an answer, and not unlike a parent scolding a child, Damian reluctantly answered.

"I thought it might help," he finally admitted. His voice was quiet, defeated in a way. "The same way it helped you. I was wrong."

Damian threw the bo to the floor and brushed past him, walking through the cave and up the stairs without ever once looking back. Dick wondered how many times Bruce saw the same image.

He wondered if it felt just as bad.

---

This time, Dick was expecting the knock—what he wasn't expecting was his door flying open without warning. Dick looked over at a fuming Damian, who strode over to where he was sitting and grabbed him by his collar.

"What did you use?"

"What was that?"

"Don't play dumb, Grayson. The lock. What type of lock did you use? I spent fifteen minutes trying to crack it before I gave up and tried to go through the window, only to find the same lock."

"Sorry, Damian, I don't know anything about a lock. Also, this house is ancient. I don't recommend messing around on the siding and roofing."

"Richard," Damian growled through his teeth, his grip tightening. Dick raised a brow.

"First name basis? Wow, you are pissed."

"This is either a stupid prank or your attempt to start getting chummy with me. I want access to my room now."

"Okay, I'll admit it. You didn't want to talk. So let's talk and I'll remove the lock that I had specially designed."

Damian's eyes searched his face, as if trying to find some additional hidden motive. Seeing that there was none, he let go of his collar.

"I'll sleep elsewhere. The cave, the living room, the floor, anywhere."

"Or you could just talk to me," Dick offered. Damian clenched his jaw. "I'm serious. You admitted that you wanted me to help you, so let me help you. Let's talk about it."

"I'll throttle you for real if you keep this up."

"Is it about Bruce?" Dick asked. Damian glared at him. "Talia?"

"Don't talk about my mother," Damian said, bristling. "Don't talk period."

"That's what my nightmares were about. My parents dying, the man who killed them, my life at the circus being pulled out from under me—"

"You're mocking me," Damian said. His voice steadily rising, he went off, "You're mocking me! You want me to feel bad about making fun of you but it won't work, Grayson, you know why? Its because I don't feel bad at all. I think you were a weak, snivelling child who couldn't handle a few bad nights of sleep. I think you wanted to use my father as a replacement for your own—but you can't. He's not your father, your father is dead—"

"So is yours," Dick countered.

"I'll fucking kill you, Grayson. I'll fucking—"

Damian was stopped short when a pair of arms suddenly enclosed him, pulling him down to the mattress. Dick felt Damian bristle above him, knew that the boy was getting ready to draw his claws out.

"What are you—"

"It'll help," Dick whispered, gentle but firm. Damian tried to wriggle out but it was a halfhearted effort, and Dick held him tighter to himself so he wouldn't escape. Damian stilled underneath him, the skin of his smooth cheek planted against Dick's chest.

"You're coddling," Damian grumbled. "Nightwing, the big mother hen."

Dick didn't bother to correct him. "We're having a moment. Shut up."

He did. Damian went still against him, his breathing began to slow, his gentle breaths feathering against Dick's skin. The room was quiet, and the built up tension began to relax—both in the environment and in the boy.

---

"Disgusting," Damian grumbled, scraping the gunk off his boot. The subway tunnels were eerily quiet, and the scraping noise seemed like a loud intrusion. Dick looked back to check on his partner, who was beginning to lag behind.

"Stop being such a princess and keep up."

"I thought you wanted me behind you to watch your back," Damian said, glaring.

I only said that because you kept running off, Dick thought, but he kept it to himself. "Hurry up. We're almost there."

They stopped a few yards later. Dick turned on the light attached to the Batman gauntlet. They had gone so far down the tunnels that the graffiti had stopped and there was nothing but dusty, faded walls. Dick flinched when a rat suddenly appeared out of thin air and ran across his path.

"That probably explains what you stepped in," Dick said, noticing a rat carcass. Damian let out a long sigh.

Dick scoured the walls until something small reflected in the light. "A-ha," he said triumphantly, removing the small camera.

"Great. Can we go now?" Damian said as Dick replaced the camera. "Tt. I hardly see the point in fixing it. What could it possibly pick up down here anyways? There's nothing here."

"It's just standard maintenance," Dick said, and he felt as boring as it sounded. He glanced over at Damian whose eyes were practically rolling in the back of his head from boredom. Dick was almost embarrassed to think that that was probably what he looked like when he was Robin. "Look, we're done. Easy as pie."

"Easy as what?" Damian said, not understanding the expression.

"Nevermind."

The two started making their trek back through the tunnels.

"This would probably be a good spot to hide a body," Damian spoke up. "No one comes down this way, ever."

"And you wondered why we set up cameras?" Dick said with a small smirk.

"Tt. Noted."

There was a small flashing light that indicated a communication signal. Dick adjusted the settings on his bracer, allowing the message to come through. He was expecting Alfred's voice, and was surprised to hear a feminine one.

"Batman," she said. "Do you have a minute?"

"Oracle," Dick said, in surprise. He caught Damian, a few feet away, rolling his eyes.

"Here we go," he grumbled. Dick shot him a look.

"What can I help you with?"

"I've been tracking some police reports and noticed some strange activity. I think I found a link connecting some crimes. Mind if I forward it to the Cave?"

"Actually, I think I'm pretty close to your location. Maybe I could stop by?" Dick said, heart racing a bit.

"You mean we," Damian said, eavesdropping on Dick's half of the conversation. Dick pointedly turned away from him.

"Sure," came a flat response, emphasizing that this was just for business. "Let me know when you're nearby."

Barbara turned off the link without as much as a goodbye. Dick's shoulders slumped.

"You can't be serious. You said this was it for the night," Damian said, rubbing his eyes—awkwardly shifting the mask around. Dick shrugged and started to lead the way again, the faint light in the distance beginning to grow.

"It's just a quick pitstop."

"Or we could just go back to the cave, as intended, and she can send the information to us, like she always does." Damian scowled. "This trip is obviously inefficient... but I suppose that's not the point."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dick said, as they neared the exit.

"Huntress filled me in on your little history."

"Huntress? From a week ago? I left you two alone for like, five minutes."

"Tt. What world do you live in? It was more like... ten minutes."

Huntress. Dick's face began to warm underneath the cowl. "Uh, Huntress. How much exactly did she tell you?"

"From the look on your face, probably too much."

"For the record, between me and her, it happened like... once."

"Oh," Damian said, stopping in his tracks. "She was only talking about you and Oracle."

Dick Grayson: former Boy Wonder and current champ of talking too much.

"This conversation stays between us," Dick said. "Batman-to-Robin secret. Capisce?"

"Whatever."

They reached the abandoned station, still heavy in midst of reconstruction. Dick climbed over the barricade and held his hand out to help the much-shorter Damian up. Damian looked at it reluctantly.

"What's the hold up this time?" Dick said, beginning to feel a little impatient. But Damian didn't take his hand, and Dick wondered at first if maybe it was the physical contact that was throwing him off. But after everything that had been happening recently, was it really that strange? After you hug someone, is a helping hand really any more personal? Dick changed his tune. "What's wrong?"

"I don't think we should go to Oracle's."

"What?" Dick said, confused. "That's why you're stalling?"

Damian bristled. "I'm not stalling," he said defensively. "I just don't think you should go."

This was a conversation they could have later. Dick motioned with his hand. "Well, you at least can't stay down there. Come on."

Damian looked at it uncertainly but eventually took it. Dick helped him over. Once over, Damian quickly brushed off his vest and started moving towards the exit. Dick raised an eyebrow.

"Are... we going to talk about it?" Dick asked, catching up to Damian's brisk speed. When Damian was angrily silent, Dick grabbed him by the shoulder. "Hey."

Damian stopped but shrugged off Dick's hand. Dick found himself surprisingly hurt. Why is that every step forward with Damian resulted in another two steps backward?

"I'm... sorry?" Dick said uncertainly. "I don't understand what the problem is but I'm sorry that you're mad." That part was genuine, at least. But Damian just glared back stubbornly. It was always hard for Dick to stay irritated—he was just too forgiving of a person—and his impatience began to waiver, namely because Damian was making his angry-pouty face. At first, Dick found the expression to be insufferable, but lately he found it to be oddly adorable.

Dick poked both of Damian's cheeks.

"What are you doing?" Damian said, slapping Dick's hands away. Dick laughed and Damian just scowled more. "Knock it off. Batman doesn't laugh."

"There's no one here but us," Dick said. He smiled. "Besides, I'm sure a laughing Batman could still be scary."

"Not when it's you."

"Tell me why you're so mad. Is it because it's out of the way?" Because he felt like teasing, Dick added, "Are you jealous?"

"No," Damian said at once. His brow furrowed and he threw up his hood and turned away. He muttered, "You're just going to get hurt."

Dick stilled at that, but before he could ask for clarification, Damian was already heading toward the steps.

---

They had to be discrete, so they slipped in through an open window. Barbara was already ready for them, however, and greeted them from her spot at the computer.

"Hey," she said, wheeling up to them.

"Hi," Dick said, smiling. Barbara handed over a flashdrive.

"Great," Damian said. "Now let's go."

"How much time do you have? Maybe we can discuss the files?" Dick said. He didn't confirm it with his own eyes, but he could feel Damian glaring at him. Barbara leaned back in her chair and adjusted her glasses.

"I guess my roommate is out of town. Isn't it sort of late though, even for you guys?"

"We have time."

"No we don't," Damian cut in. "This could have just as easily been sent to us and discussed online. Or she could have compiled notes."

"Hey. I did offer," Barbara said, crossing her arms. Her eyes narrowed. "And I compiled plenty."

"Robin, why don't you wait here?" Dick said.

"Forget it. I'll wait in the batmobile," Damian said, heading back toward the window before Dick could say anything. Barbara arched an eyebrow.

"Charming," she said sarcastically, once he was out of earshot.

"He's... learning."

"Well, he did have a point. It would have been easier to send information."

Dick smiled sheepishly. "Its easier to talk in-person."

"Right," Barbara said, unsmiling. The tension in the room was already thicker and more awkward than Dick was expecting.

Barbara moved to her computer and began explaining the intel she had been collecting and evidence she gathered. Cut and dry, straight to the point. About halfway into her talk, Dick began to feel the effects of the long night.

"Are you... sleeping?"

Dick jumped at the word, the accusation deep in there. "No, of course not."

Barbara was frowning. Dick panicked.

"You were just talking about a matching murder in Metropolis."

"Dick," Barbara said, eyes growing somber. Dick knew the name-slip wasn't an accident. "Why did you come here?"

"I wanted to see you," Dick said, honest. He offered a smile, even though his heart was sinking. "Isn't that reason enough?"

Barbara looked at him for a moment, her gaze conflicted. Suddenly she let out a small laugh, not a particularly joyful one.

"Weird," she said, shaking her head to herself.

"What?" Dick frowned.

"Nothing. Well. It's seeing you in that suit. Its just... weird." She adjusted her glasses.

"Yeah," Dick said. He looked down at his hands, studying the black bracers and gloves. "It still doesn't fit right."

"And yet... somehow it seems right. Like it was meant to happen all along," Barbara said quietly. The atmosphere seemed a little darker as she said that. Dick just nodded slightly.

"I guess so. But it doesn't feel like me." Dick's hands dropped to his side. "Its weird wearing a cape and cowl. It's weird wearing this symbol. It's weird having a sidekick."

Barbara nodded slowly in understanding. Suddenly she smiled.

"What is it?"

"Sorry, it's just..." Barbara looked up at him. "Do you remember that time we were following a trail and we went to the botanical gardens, and you were imitating all the hedge sculptures, and Bruce tried yelling at you but he stuttered?"

"Hey!" Dick said, pointing a finger and lowering his voice a couple octaves. "You think this is a game? Stop hedging—messing with the hedges and get back to work!"

Barbara laughed out loud—a true, joyous laugh—and Dick followed suit.

"Sometimes I miss those days," Dick said suddenly, and the room fell quiet. There was a moment of conflict in Barbara's eyes, a look of sadness followed by a look of hardness, and Dick knew immediately that like so many times before, he said the wrong thing. He waited for Barbara to bury her feelings like she always did.

But suddenly she smiled. A small, almost sad, smile.

"Yeah. Me too."

Her eyes are genuine, honest. Too similar to when they were young and ran together, giving each other shy glances when they thought Bruce wasn't looking.

But as quickly as it came, it went.

"You should get back home. We'll talk about the rest later."

"Barbara." Dick doesn't want to leave. He finds himself kneeling next to her, blue eyes meeting green. The walls are back, Barbara's expression growing guarded and stony.

"You're right," she said. "It is still you under the suit. But you've grown into it. And I've grown up too. I'm not sixteen anymore."

She backs her chair away from him. He stood back up and left, his cape following his trail.

He returned to the batmobile, quiet and with a sense of heavy sadness. When he got inside, he expected Damian to be waiting to yell at him. Maybe there'd be an I-told-you-so in there too. But when Dick turned to look, Damian was curled up and leaning in the crook of the seat and the door, his hood still drawn up. He had passed out.

You're just going to get hurt.

To be truthful, Dick was a little hurt. But over time, he had learned to quietly accept the things he couldn't have. The way it had with his parents, or Bruce, or Koriand'r, or Barbara. He could never let go, but he could learn to accept what couldn't be.

He glanced over at Damian, and wondered.

He put the vehicle in drive.

By the time they arrived home, Damian was still out cold and Dick's eyelids were beginning to feel heavy. Alfred moved to greet them when they parked, but when Dick saw the dark circles underneath the butler's eyes, he offered a smile.

"You should go to sleep. I'll shut everything down."

"Are you certain, Master Dick?" Alfred said, yawning.

"Good night, Alfred."

"Good night, Master Dick. And good night to Master Damian as well."

Dick took off his equipment, feeling instantly lighter. He uploaded the files from Barbara's flashdrive before shutting down all the computers for the night. He went to grab Damian last, knowing he was still asleep.

"Damian," he said gently, shaking his shoulder. The boy opened his eyes, clenched them shut again, stirred once, and then fell back asleep. Dick sighed.

He unbuckled both the seatbelt and the tool belt. Gently peeled the domino mask from his face. The bracers went too. Dick threw it all carelessly on a table, figuring he could take care of the rest in the morning. He pulled Damian out of the car.

He was both heavier than he expected and smaller than he thought. As Damian leaned against him, his form cradled in his arms, all Dick could think of was how his body seemed to fit just right.

The ascent up the stairs brought back forgotten memories. They were distant, faded. Perhaps not even real, perhaps just a dream. But Dick thought of being carried up those steps, the swaying motion and the comforting warmth of a body keeping him between consciousness and unconsciousness. He remembered the smell of faint leather and blood and sweat, something once so unappealing having become as familiar and comforting as Mary's shampoo or John's cologne.

He carried Damian to the master bedroom without a second thought. Damian hadn't spent a night in his own bed in perhaps weeks now. He gently laid him on his side of the bed. Damian stretched but just turned over, still asleep. Dick took a seat on the bed and began to unlace Damian's boots, the strings slipping between his fingers. Damian made a soft groan as Dick propped him up, his body slinking into his, his head resting on Dick's shoulder. Dick carefully used one hand to unsnap the hood and cape and unzip the vest, the other arm steadying Damian.

As Dick reached to remove the shirt, he hesitated. He wondered if Damian would get the wrong idea, but he also doubted Damian would be happy sleeping in his clothes. He went for it anyways, rolling up the hem of Damian's shirt. His hand brushed against Damian's skin in the process, and Dick found himself pausing again. Damian was surprisingly soft.

Dick got about halfway before Damian finally awoke again. Sensing what Dick was doing, Damian separated himself and pulled off his shirt before plopping back down on the bed and grabbing his pillow for his head. Dick, eyes still heavy with sleep, decided to leave it at that. He lazily undressed himself before settling down on the bed.

Dick glanced over at Damian, who was finally undisturbed. His eyes travelled from Damian's shoulder in a line leading from his waist to his hip. Dick reached over, his knuckles brushing against Damian's skin. It felt every bit as soft and smooth as it looked. He dared to let his hand unfurl,the fingers resting on Damian as he sighed in his sleep.

Dick felt a sudden compulsion to trace his fingers over his body. He felt like he wanted to wrap his arm over Damian's side. The thought scared him, scared him enough to draw back his hand.

He had been alone for too long, he told himself. But it felt like an excuse for something deeper.

He stayed on his side, facing Damian's back. He fell asleep like that, their bodies aligned in the same position, but the space between them keeping them separate.

---

"Fuck," Dick hissed between his teeth, suddenly wincing.

"Too much?" Tim asked, immediately starting to loosen the new bracer prototype. Dick shook his head and stopped him.

"No, it's fine." Dick ran a finger along one of the straps closest to the wrists and said, "I've got a bruise right there and that strap digs right into it. But it's just a test so it should be fine."

"You're all sorts of beat up," Tim noted, re-tightening the bracer. Muttering, "Aren't you supposed to have back-up?"

The insinuation did not go unnoticed. "Down, boy."

Tim left it alone, silently working on fitting the bracer. Dick flexed his arm when he was done.

"Its... lighter."

"But more durable," Tim explained. "Make sure all the functions still work."

Dick went through the settings, controls different from the old one. He shook his head to himself, "I don't think I'll ever get the hang of this."

"Bruce had the privilege of being able to design most of his own equipment. You get stuck with whatever Lucius and I give you," Tim said, backing up in his chair. "I could move some of the settings to the cowl, if you want. I know you're used to adjusting everything on the Nightwing mask."

Somehow, thinking of Nightwing was the last thing Dick wanted to do. It brought back feelings of longing. The other night, he had a dream that he was still a Titan, and woke up thinking that he was in Titans' Tower—something he hadn't done in years. Dick stuffed the feelings and said, "No, it's fine. I'll just have to get used to it."

"Test it out in training before you take it on patrol. I already guinea-pig'd it, but it's better to be safe."

Tim helped Dick go through the controls to see if everything worked. Pennyworth came down at some point in the midst of their work.

"Master Dick, I feel that it's necessary to inform you that Master Damian has broken the display shelf," he said flatly. Dick frowned and glanced over at Jason's safely encased uniform. "The one in the manor," Alfred clarified.

"The... one with the vases?" Dick asked tentatively. When Alfred nodded, Dick sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He could still picture that shelf, perched above the fireplace with its pristine ivory and gold leaf vases sitting in a perfect row. "How much?"

"I can't begin to estimate. But while I will admit that the tall one was a horror to dust and I won't be missing it anytime soon, it was a family heirloom, dated back four generations in the Kane family."

"Is it still child neglect if the child is a trained assassin and survivalist? Is it too late to kick him out?" Tim said, earning a glare. "I'm joking. Kind of."

"When I first came to the manor, I broke the chandelier by climbing on it," Dick said, scratching the back of his head. Somehow, he already knew this wasn't the same thing. "Was it at least an accident?"

Alfred responded by simply raising his eyebrow. Nevermind.

"I'll talk to him later," Dick said, slumping in his seat. There was always something going on. Alfred nodded and went to set down a tray with a tea set and began to prepare two cups.

"How do you put up with it?" Tim asked, helping Dick remove the bracer.

"It's not so bad, when he actually listens."

"Which is never," Tim said. Dick averted his eyes, sensing the steadily rising energy coming from Tim. Tim never liked Damian, Dick knew that. He understood why, too. But unlike all the times before, this topic of conversation was beginning to make him feel uncomfortable. "How are you supposed to trust him with your life?"

"Tim, you don't work with him."

"Doesn't mean I can't worry about you."

"That's not what I meant. I mean, he's talented. Really talented. And he's not bad, just... misguided."

"No. People like Jason were misguided. People like Talia? Just corrupt."

"He's Bruce's son too, Tim."

At that, Tim seemed to grow quiet, though his face was still concentrated with thoughts. He pulled away the bracer and said, with a sigh, "I just can't imagine living with him. He's annoying enough on patrols. What's it like having dinner with him? Where does he sleep?"

Dick bristled slightly at the last one. He dared to glance over at Pennyworth, who was walking over with two cups of tea. Alfred knew exactly where Damian spent his nights but the matter went unspoken between them. Alfred never commented on it, didn't seem to show neither approval or disapproval. He just quietly let it be.

"He is surprisingly human, Master Tim," Alfred said. He raised a brow. "Shocking, I know."

Tim turned a little pink. "He's a person, yes, but I wouldn't go as far as to call him human."

Dick would have jumped in to defend Damian, but he was content enough to know that Alfred wasn't going to spill any of their secrets. Besides, the conversation was done. Tim had made up his mind.

Tim left shortly afterwards, leaving behind the prototype. Alfred and Dick shut everything down in the batcave and headed their way to the manor. The entire time, Dick felt an uncomfortable tension. Alfred was acting normal, fine, but Dick felt that it was time to address a few things.

"Alfred," Dick said. Alfred paused on the staircase to look at him. Dick felt hesitation when they locked eyes. He felt anxious, afraid that Alfred was going to respond in a way that Dick didn't want to hear, but he asked anyways. "Do you... think it's strange?"

Dick didn't have to clarify what. Alfred's gaze lowered in understanding.

"I think everything that happens in this manor is strange," he answered. Dick's heart sunk a little at that. He wasn't used to Alfred's disapproval. Bruce's, always. But Alfred's, never. Alfred was always the supporter. But then Alfred cleared his throat and added, "But I also feel that everything this manor provides is also necessary."

Dick stilled at that. Alfred continued.

"There are a lot of things that happen in this house that people, even I, will never understand. Things that even you probably don't understand." Alfred looked up. "I've had this conversation once before."

"Bruce?"

Alfred nodded. "For all of his wit and strength, you and I both know that Bruce was a very broken man. Before you, before the Family, I saw him as someone young and lost. And he was. When you first came to the house, it was a gradual change... Master Bruce was as fervent in his mission as ever, but the manor just had more... life. I think in many ways, the Family had saved Master Bruce. I think the bond between you two was important, albeit abnormal. Not quite friends, not quite family, and yet ultimately special and unique in its own way."

"Do you think it's the same as it was between Bruce and I?"

"Between you and Master Damian? I'm not quite sure. Master Bruce was broken, but Master Damian is..." Alfred trailed off, uncertainty in his eyes. But there was a layer deeper than that, a certain level of sympathy. "Master Damian is very difficult."

"That much is certain," Dick said with a small smile. Alfred returned it, though it was a much more subtle smile.

"But one thing is also certain: you have a profound effect on people, Master Dick," Alfred said. It was a deep compliment, one that Dick almost thought was a joke until he saw the sincerity in Alfred's expression. "If anyone can understand Master Damian, it's you. I think it was fate for you two to work together. Even Bruce, I think, would have struggled with his patience. You, however, have a knack for understanding people. Even under the unfortunate circumstances, I'm glad you were able to take up the cowl and work with Master Damian."

Dick thought about what Barbara said. And yet... somehow it seems right. Like it was meant to happen all along.

Dick wasn't sure how to feel about that. As they continued their ascent up the staircase, Alfred added suddenly:

"Master Damian asked me an odd question yesterday."

"Oh yeah?" Dick said, smiling a little, expecting a fun story.

"Are you familiar with the story, The Bacchae?"

"Uh," Dick said. When Alfred looked at him pointedly, Dick frowned. "Hey, I punch people. I don't have a lot of time to read."

"The Bacchae is a Greek tragedy. The god Dionysus, in the form of mortal man, goes to the city of Thebes to take his place of god. Everyone denies Dionysus' dian blood, and so he punishes all who refuse to worship him and slander his mother's name. He creates earthquakes and fires, drives the doubters mad, and tricks Pentheus, the heir to the throne, to his death by having him killed by his own mother."

"Where are you going with this?" Dick asked, though he felt his thoughts were near the answer.

"The story ends with Pentheus' mother realizing what she had done, and claiming that their punishment had been excessive. Dionysus retakes his divine form and banishes Pentheus' mother into exile."

"That's it?"

"Well, he also turns people into snakes."

"But that's how it ends?" Dick said, raising an eyebrow. "He just destroys everything and becomes a god?"

"But Dionysus was always a god. It was about proving who he was and stopping the slander to his mother's name," Alfred said.

"But was it worth killing all those people?"

"That's what Master Damian asked," Alfred said, and he left it at that.

---

Everything was going wrong.

Dick quickly grappled onto the next roof, his stomach dropping as he made the swing. No matter how many years he did this, nothing could change the feeling of that first jump. Just as suddenly as he fell, he soared. The grappling line swiftly shot him up over the roof ledge.

He didn't bother to look back to see if Damian was keeping up. He ran across the rooftop and jumped onto a firescape on the other side. The flashing red and blue lights of the GCPD finally arrived, their cars blocking off the streets.

"Tt. Took them long enough."

Dick didn't respond at first, though he was relieved that Damian was right behind him. He was already prying open the window on the fire escape.

"If we hurry, we can catch him in skywalk," Dick said. "There's no way he'll risk running outside now, with all of GCPD out there."

"He wouldn't be running at all if the police had been in position," Damian said angrily, but he followed Dick nonetheless.

Dick hated himself for not stopping their armed man earlier. But without the GCPD as backup, it was too risky to run inside. Now all three hostages were dead and the man was on the run, fully armed.

They made their way toward the skywalk, and the familiar man made his entrance. They locked eyes and the man fired his gun. Dick and Damian both dove behind a nearby half-wall.

"This is not the position we should be in now," Dick said as the man fired more bullets.

"Should have decked him while we had the chance," Damian grumbled.

Dick withdrew his batarang, waited for a pause in the bullet barrage, and stood up and threw it.

"Agh!"

The noise didn't come from a stranger. Dick fell to his knees, grabbing his side. Damian grabbed him by the shoulders and tugged him down to the floor, just as another gunshot fired over their heads.

"What happened?" Damian asked, the most alert he had sounded all night. When Dick clenched his eyes, all he could see was flashes of black and red. He forced himself to open his eyes and moved his cape to look down at the wound.

A bullet managed to graze through his side, cutting both through the uniform and the bulletproof material underneath. It was a weaker part of the suit, directly on the side that was built finer to ensure mobility. A lucky shot.

"It's fine. It didn't go in. Hurts like hell though," Dick hissed through his teeth, grimacing.

"You're bleeding," Damian said, pointing to where the bullet had cut through the fabric. The color of his flesh wasn't even noticeable through the raw, red, angry wound. Beneath the fabric that remained was a darker, more saturated gray—blood puddling underneath the confines of the suit.

"I'll live. Now focus."

"We should smoke him," Damian said, reaching for his belt. "He's just one man, but he's going to keep firing and running unless we take him now."

"Do it. But be careful, he might start firing blindly afterwards."

Damian rolled the smoke bomb discreetly across the floor. Dick switched the vision settings on his cowl, just before the smoke went off.

They both leapt over the room divider.

"Are you shitting me?" Damian grumbled as their sensors indicated a body already moving up a staircase to the rooftop.

"We can still catch him!"

They pursued him all the way up the stairs, made it to the top of the exit, following closely behind their gunman. Damian reacted quickly, reaching in his belt for a bolas. He threw it at the gunman's feet and he quickly went down.

Before they could pursue any further, the gunman turned toward them with his gun drawn. Dick's eyes widened as realization hit him. There was nothing they could hide behind on this roof.

Instinct took over. He quickly turned around, sweeping Damian underneath his bulletproof cape and ducking them both down. With a loud noise that sent a jump to his heart, the gunshot fired.

Dick waited for the shots to follow, but none came. Everything was still underneath the cape, even Damian, and neither did so much as breathe. When it was assured that nothing else was happening, Dick dared to look over his shoulder.

A dead body laid on the ground. Dick's eyes widened slightly. No way.

Dick quickly moved to the dead man and checked his pulse. Dick's heart sank. He should have known it'd be useless. A gunshot that close, no one would have survived. Dick heard footsteps behind him, finally coming to a pause.

"I should have thrown a batarang," Dick said, frowning.

"You didn't know he was going to shoot himself," Damian said quietly. "It wouldn't have made it in time anyways."

Dick knew that. But it still hurt.

Dick radioed Commissioner Gordon to send up the GCPD. It was time for Batman and Robin to make their exit.

The trek across the rooftops was silent. The moon was still full and high in the sky, and the night wasn't close to done, even though Dick wished it was. He was ready to sleep.

He glanced over at Damian, who was quietly following, his expression unreadable as always.

"Are you okay?" Dick asked, coming to a stop. Damian seemed confused by the question.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Damian paused, rethinking his words. "I suppose it is unfortunate. But he bested us. It happens."

The vivid sight of that bloody and torn-up face still lingered in Dick's mind. "That's not what I meant. Bruce usually shielded me from seeing that type of imagery when he could. I shouldn't have let you get close."

"It's not as if that was my first time seeing a dead body," Damian said, a little too bluntly for Dick's liking. Dick frowned.

"That isn't what I asked."

"What's with all these 'shoulds' and 'shouldn't haves' anyways? You sound like you're trying to blame yourself," Damian said, frowning. The word blame made Dick feel defensive. Dick wasn't sure if this was Damian's way of trying to make him feel better or to avoid answering the question.

"Damian." It sounded like a warning.

"Are you okay?" Damian asked. It sounded condescending, as condescending as anything Damian grumbled, but the question was still there. Dick wasn't sure what the answer would be—he thought of Tony Zucco all those years ago, when he watched him die in cardiac arrest. He had thought that Zucco's death would make his parents' easier, that all those ended lives would harden him the same way it did for Bruce, but it had only made him sadder.

The truth is that he never got used to seeing people die, even though he saw it happen so often. He thought of Bruce and wondered if he had ever been okay.

"We still have other things we need to do tonight. Let's hurry back to the batmobile," Dick said, shrugging off the question. Damian opened his mouth like he was about to say something but instead, went to lead the way. As he turned, Dick forced a smile and ruffled his hair.

He expected Damian to yell at him and slap his hand away like he always did. But this time, he allowed it.

The whole rest of the night, Dick felt anxious to get home. People dying always left a heavy feeling in his chest, and it was hard for him to respond whenever Damian asked him a question. Dick just wanted to be silent, to withdraw inside of himself, to wait for morning to come.

It took him awhile to realize that maybe his mood was noticeable. It took him awhile to realize that maybe Damian was being oddly talkative for a reason. And when he did realize it, it made Dick want to go home all the more.

Not to fall into sleep, to shut the blinds on the world around him, but for the moments before. The moments when he looked over to see Damian laying beside him.

---

Dick had never seen Tim so angry.

The teenager stormed through the batcave, peeling off his mask and unhooking his cape, throwing the latter to the ground. For a moment, Dick paused, expecting Bruce's voice to speak up—but it never came.

Bruce wasn't around and it was up to Dick, as Batman, to put the foot down.

"Hey!" he called out, striding forward. Tim ignored him, ripping off his bracers and tossing them onto a counter. "Tim, wait—"

"Let him throw his little temper tantrum," a voice piped behind him. "He's just mad because he humiliated himself."

"You—"Tim said, whipping around. He suddenly surged forward and Dick outstretched his arm, catching him before he could close in on Damian. Damian didn't even flinch, his face unnervingly stoic as Tim glared at him. "You little brat, you think that just because you're Bruce's kid that I would hesitate to—"

"Tim, knock it off!" Dick said, and he had to put in an effort to keep pushing Tim away.

"After what he just did?!" Tim yelled. His finger was pointed at Damian, but his eyes were locked with Dick's, and Dick felt sudden hesitation as he realized the outcome of this fight was on his shoulders. "You saw him out there, he's a maniac! He doesn't deserve the uniform he wears, he—"

"I don't need a uniform to do my job! Which I did, by the way, no thanks to you!" Damian shot back.

"You call that doing your job? I call it sport. You enjoyed what you were doing, didn't you? Didn't you?" Tim said, and suddenly Damian's jaw clenches—a dark look in his eyes. But Tim doesn't back down, he goes firing off more words. "I see right through you. You're an assassin, a killer, and no amount of Bruce's blood is ever going to make you any less of what you are—"

"Enough!" Dick roared, causing both of the others to jump. And for the first time, Dick feels that the Batman cowl is suiting. He turned back to Damian. "Damian, go back to the manor."

"Is this some type of joke?" Damian said, narrowing his eyes. When Dick didn't back down, he scoffed. "You would never have stopped those guys if it wasn't for me!"

Dick seethed, clenched his jaw as he held himself back from yelling. He pulled back the cowl, turned to Damian, looked at the boy with his face fully revealed. And though Dick composed himself, the tense anger is still noticeable, and Damian turned quiet.

"What you did today was unacceptable. There's a difference between force and excessive force. You crossed a line. You crossed a line big time."

Damian opened his mouth to argue but Dick suddenly jabbed a finger into the Robin crest on Damian's shirt.

"When you go out there and you wear this, you're representing the Family. Tomorrow night, I'm going to have to talk to Commissioner Gordon, and I'm going to have to explain to him why those men had broken limbs and crushed lungs and who knows what else. That wasn't justice, Damian, it was a bloodbath. When you wear this, you're my partner, and you fucked me over. You fucked me over big time. And I'm going to be praying for the next twenty-four hours that Commissioner Gordon's faith in the Batman is strong enough to keep him from chasing us down for what you did."

Damian is strangely silent. He's thinking over Dick's words, turning them over in his head, and Dick realized for a moment that this is the first time he's seen Damian look that way. He's actually thinking over his actions.

But then Damian's eyes hardened.

"Right. Family," he said, his voice filled with contempt. "Is that what you call this misfit band of orphans and rejects?"

"Damian—"

"I had a family, and I gave that up, and now I'm stuck here. I had the world in my hands and I gave it up for a city—an inheritance from my dead father."

Dick wanted to tell him that he made the right choice. He wanted to tell Damian that he was doing the right thing, even if his methods weren't. That he was still learning, the same way Dick had to learn, even though they were still so different.

"You don't own Gotham. No one does," Tim said. "The world was never yours to claim."

Dick shot Tim a glare, expecting another argument to swell up—but Damian said nothing, his expression unreadable as he walked away, cape flitting behind him. When his figure disappeared into the shadows of the looming staircase, Dick finally turned to Tim. For the most part, the former Robin had calmed down, but his face was still red and his jaw was clenched tight.

"You need to stop provoking him and let me handle it," Dick said firmly. Tim shook his head, still steaming.

"Dick, you saw it. The kid's a monster. He's going to ruin everything you created. You, me, even Jason... he's going to rip the legacy to pieces. And being on these cases... this Robin business is no good for him. It's going to destroy him. He's going to break. He'll kill people, Dick. I just know it."

"Tim, stop."

"Is this what you want, Dick? This trained killer fighting crooks? Do you want him loose on the streets? What's going to happen when he turns, Dick, what then? Are you going to don the cape and chase him down yourself, or am I going to have to step in again?"

"Tim—"

"If this is about needing a Robin, then give it to me!" Tim suddenly yelled, his eyes earnest. Dick stared, taken aback. "I'll take it again, if that's what I have to do! But you can't just sit there and let this go on! You can't keep pretending that he's not what Talia made him to be."

"He's not who you think he is, Tim, he needs help. He wants to be better. He needs the uniform, Tim, the same way I needed it. The same way Jason needed it—"

"Right. Jason," Tim said with a bitter laugh. "Because that turned out so well."

A sense of dread filled Dick's chest, but he steeled himself. "Sometimes it's not enough to be pulled out of the darkness, sometimes you just need someone to guide you through it."

"He hasn't earned it."

"He's trying to—"

"I mean it!" Tim cut in, voice rising. "He doesn't get a free ride just because he's Bruce's kid! He needs to earn it. The same way I did. The same way Cassandra did."

"Enough, Tim," Dick said, a low growl to his voice. Tim didn't back down. He shook his head to himself.

"You know I'm right," Tim said, leaning back against a counter, arms crossed. In that moment, Dick remembered that Tim was still a kid too, in his own way—on the cusp of becoming a man, but still ultimately a teenager. Tim's gaze was still dark but his breathing seemed to return to normal. "This whole thing is just ridiculous. I wish Bruce was here to set things back."

The words were hurtful to hear, only because Dick felt the same way.

"He's dead, Tim."

"Bullshit."

"Tim—"

"Nothing is certain until we have a body," Tim spoke up. Dick suddenly laughed, surprising him and Tim both.

"See, this is why you're the best Robin. That's something Bruce would say."

Tim flushed slightly at the compliment. "Yeah, right. If I was the best, he wouldn't be gone."

"I think we all blame ourselves for Bruce's disappearance—death or otherwise," Dick said. He shrugged. "I guess the reason why I defend Damian so much is that I see a lot of myself in him."

"Now that is bullshit."

"I'm serious. Okay, so maybe I was never raised by the League of Assassins or had a supervillainess for a mother, but I get what it's like trying to constantly prove yourself to Bruce and everyone else. It's tiring, nothing you do is the right thing, and you end up wasting most of your time just trying to get along. You think, 'why would I do things that way when I should be doing them this way?'"

At that, Tim seemed sad, though less for Damian and more for Dick. He said, voice quiet, "No one got along better than you and Bruce. You're right, you had a lot to prove, but Bruce cared about you. You know that, right?"

"He cared about all of us, Tim. And he cared about Damian. If we're ever going to work together and get along, you need to start caring too."

"But he's so annoying," Tim groaned. Dick smirked.

"True, I can't deny that, but he's not terrible," Dick said, smiling to himself. Tim looked at him long and hard, when Dick caught Tim staring, he frowned and said, "What?"

"Jesus, you actually like him." Tim rubbed his eyes, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Dick began to feel heat in his ears at Tim's remark. He found himself suddenly becoming guarded, and said, "Well, yeah. He's my partner. We have to get along."

"It's not just defending him. You started living here, you're always around him. Don't let this manor cloud your judgment."

Dick frowned, starting to feel irritated. "It's not, Tim. Maybe if you spent more time here, you'd see that maybe things aren't so bad."

"You mean, maybe I'd see Damian isn't so bad?" Tim said flatly, looking up at Dick. "Sorry, I'm sure he has his good moments. He might even be likable, underneath his shitty attitude. But what he's like at home doesn't change how he is out there."

Dick is quiet. Tim walked over to a wall of tools, grabbed a kit for his nightly bike repairs. Dick wondered if that was how the night was going to end—with nothing resolved, and suddenly that feeling of Bruce's disappointed ghost hanging over him returned.

"I'm sure Bruce saw his moments where Talia was good too," Tim said as he passed Dick, and he left it at that, starting work on tuning up his motorcycle. And Dick left him to it.

---

Dick stood in the shower unmoving.

He winced slightly as the hot water droplets touched a deep scar that had reopened that night. It was big and red on his right side, from the bullet that managed to rip through his suit awhile back. He ignored the way it stung.

With the altercation still weighing on his mind, part of him just wanted to stand under the water forever. He was never a fighter—not at heart. When he was young, he wanted vengeance. But after Tony Zucco's death, he realized what he wanted was more than that. He became Robin for justice, fought crime because he was a peacekeeper, and he became Batman out of responsibility.

At his roots, at the essence of who he was, he was an entertainer.

He felt like a failure at all of those things.

Bruce would have known what to do. Dick hated the way Bruce ruled with an iron fist, hated the way the man guarded himself from even feeling, but he could keep order. Nothing about this night was orderly.

And he failed Damian.

He thought about what Damian said. He thought about the conflict in Damian's eyes as he drilled into him the same way Bruce would have done. He thought about how the boy who never listened suddenly went quiet when he started speaking to him—the way his face looked as he thought and actually considered what Dick was saying. And how when he backtracked, Dick said nothing to reassure him, and that was how Dick failed him.

He wondered if his judgment was clouded, like Tim had said. Maybe being Robin wasn't what Damian needed. Maybe Damian being Robin was what Dick needed. Dick wondered if that was so bad.

Dick clenched his eyes when another water pellet struck the center of his raw wound and realized it was time to get out.

He finished washing up and returned to his room. When he reached the door, he paused.

The crack underneath the door was lit up.

Dick's hand lingered on the doorknob a moment longer. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

Damian was there, as he had been, for every night since who knows when. His back was turned towards him, a pose that he never laid in. The turned back felt like a wall, but despite the fact, he was there. And even though there was tension in the room, Dick found that his gaze was beginning to soften, and he realized he was beginning to feel relief.

"If you wanted to avoid me, you'd probably be better off hiding in your room," he said out loud, gently shutting the door. The room fell dark, save for the single lamp sitting on Dick's side of the bed. Damian didn't say anything and didn't move. The cold shoulder hurt but Dick crawled into bed anyways, and threw the covers over Damian like he always did.

Damian hunched his shoulders slightly as the blanket was thrown over him. Dick watched him for a moment.

"I'm sorry."

Dick began to wonder if that was the wrong thing to say when Damian didn't respond. But then, suddenly, Damian turned over on his back.

"You should be."

Dick just smiled and slid under the covers. The two laid side by side for a moment, and it all felt so impersonal and tense that it reminded Dick too much of the first night they begrudgingly spent together.

"Come on."

"Tt. What are you whining about?"

"You know."

"No, actually, I don't."

Dick didn't feel like arguing or playing games, so he went straight to the point and turned Damian towards him. Damian was as tense as a plank as he laid facing Dick.

The room was quiet for a moment before Dick worked up the nerve to break it.

"How long had you been eavesdropping?"

With the bedside light shining on his face, Dick saw the way Damian's face flushed slightly. Damian avoided looking him in the eye. Dick blinked twice—it was a strange sight, seeing Damian look so guilty. Damian never felt guilty about anything. Dick wasn't sure what to do so he rubbed Damian's arm reassuringly.

"It's fine, I'm not angry." Damian was uncharacteristically quiet. Dick found himself growing worried. "Damian, I'm not sure what you overheard… but Tim, he's just a cautious person, alright? And you two didn't get off on the right foot. I'm sure once he gets to know you—"

"Tt. Like I care what Drake thinks," Damian said, interrupting, his voice dripping with contempt. Dick's shoulders fell slightly. Of course Damian didn't care—he already disdained Tim, so Tim's opinion wasn't important to him. Even so, it didn't make sense. Dick wasn't an expert in understanding Damian—far from it—but he felt like he understood the boy's thought process a little better than he used to in the past. The boy was concerned about something, though what that entailed had Dick stumped.

Before Dick could ask anymore questions, Damian moved closer to him. He even laid his head on Dick's chest, no hesitation in his movements. Dick was surprised, this being the first time Damian initiated laying on him. It hadn't always been that way—Damian willing to lay close to him.

Then again, thinking about it, how long had it been this way? After awhile, it just began to feel natural. It began to feel right. It had been so long since Dick had regularly shared a bed with someone. Dick spent all of his nights patrolling, and any lover he had would never be able to keep up with his lifestyle for long—if they were ever able to keep up in the first place.

But this. This worked out just fine. Dick became used to having a sleeping body aside him, used to a warm body lying against him and the quiet, gentle sound of another's breathing to soothe him at night.

Instinctively, he pulled Damian in a little closer, and the boy didn't complain.

Dick stretched his free arm to turn off the light and closed his eyes. He could feel Damian breathing in gentle rhythm beside him. As Dick began to relax, he assumed Damian was asleep, until a small voice broke the silence.

"Were you telling the truth?"

Dick opened his eyes and he struggled to grasp the answer.

"The truth to what?"

Damian didn't respond at first, and Dick could feel the same hand resting on his chest beginning to fidget.

"If so, I wish I could change it."

Dick's heart began to beat a little faster. He found himself growing almost nervous, though he couldn't pinpoint why. His mind travelled to a couple things, particularly his conversation with Tim which was overheard, and he almost wondered—but no, that wasn't right.

Dick forced a smile even knowing Damian couldn't see it. It was a practiced habit. He wrapped his arm around Damian a little tighter and shook him gently. He spoke, a touch of amusement in his voice, "What's with all these riddles all of a sudden? What are you talking about?"

Damian stopped talking. The unanswered question hung in the air and Dick's forced smile slowly faded away. Dick pondered the meaning of Damian's words, wondering for a moment if—

No, it was impossible. Still, Dick's face flushed slightly.

He was imagining things he shouldn't.

---

Dick woke with a dull pain in his side. Grunting, he opened his eyes. Damian was still in his arms, but he was thrashing lightly, and an elbow laid close against his stomach. His first reaction was to grimace but Damian kept squirming in his arms.

Dick's throat seemed to grow warmer, almost a reminder of the first night he woke Damian in his sleep. Dick wanted to walk away, to leave Damian to his own nightmares. It didn't involve him and Damian wouldn't thank him for it. But Dick had been raised to help even when it was thankless or didn't concern him, and more importantly, it was Damian. His Robin.

Dick began to gently shake him.

"Damian. Damian."

Damian still struggled against him, his face grimacing in his sleep, his eyes moving beneath his eyelids.

Dick kept trying to shake him awake when finally, a whispered word made him pause.

"Richard."

At first, Dick thought he imagined it. He almost was about to look around the room and underneath the bed, to see if it came from a different speaker. But he knew the voice, even if the word itself still sounded foreign. Dick looked down at Damian, his brow furrowed deeply.

"Damian," he eventually said again, and this time, Damian jerked awake.

Dick was prepared to reach up to protect his throat but Damian didn't attack—though he appeared just as alarmed as he had that one night. Instead of launching an assault, he looked around and took in quick breaths—gasping almost as if he had emerged from water.

Dick pulled him closer into his chest. This time, Damian didn't fight him off, and soon, his breathing evened out. Once he had relaxed, Damian pulled away and looked up, turning over to check the clock sitting by the bedside table. He saw the time—a little past three o'clock in the morning—and relaxed, rolling back into his spot. They hadn't been asleep for long.

"Bad dream?" Dick asked. Damian was quiet for a moment, and rolled his jaw, as if he was tasting the words in his mouth before he said them. Finally, he lowered himself against Dick.

"Yes," he admitted.

"It's okay," was all Dick said. He wasn't going to ask questions, he knew Damian wouldn't answer them, and even so, it didn't matter what it was. Regardless of what it was, Dick wanted to be there to comfort him.

It was quiet for a moment, and Dick became aware of Damian's stillness against him. No hesitation or resisting—relaxed, even, as if he had found his place of comfort. Their bodies close, Dick could feel the boy's body shift as he slowly breathed.

"What was the worst of your nightmares?" Damian finally asked.

"Do you really have to ask that?" Dick said, raising his eyebrow despite himself.

"Your parents."

"I don't really have bad dreams anymore. But back then, they were all I had."

"But what was the worst?"

Dick had a few of them in mind—including a chilling time where his body moved on its own and he cut the ropes himself. He refused to sleep after that one, until his body finally collapsed of its own accord. But all of them seemed to pale in comparison to the reality of waking up in a manor instead of a circus trailer.

"The time when it wasn't a dream." Dick turned his head to look Damian in the eye, who was looking up at him from his chest. "They're dreams. They're not real, even if they feel like it. And whatever happens inside the dream is separate from whatever happens here."

Damian's expression seemed conflicted.

"Damian, you don't have to say anything."

"But what if the dreams I'm having are bad—real bad."

A million guesses ran through Dick's mind, especially when Damian's expression seemed to look more guilty than afraid. Dick's curiosity wanted to know, but he knew that wasn't fair, and finally he said, "I mean it. You don't have to say anything, especially if you don't want to. And no matter how bad they are, you can still stay here."

Damian's hand fidgeted slightly, his fingers knotting in the blanket. His gaze remained worried. Dick stared down at the hand before grabbing it in his own, pulling it to his chest. It was warm, much smaller than his own, and even though it was soft, it was still the hand of a young warrior. The nails were chipped and the knuckles scraped. Dick looked over at Damian. The lighting was dim, only cast by the natural moonlit illuminance of the room, but it almost seemed like—

"Are you… blushing?"

"No," Damian said immediately, pulling his hand away. Not buying it, Dick turned over to face Damian at eye-level. He touched Damian's face, where he felt the skin warm beneath his touch. Damian slapped the hand away. "Knock it off!"

"Wow, you are."

"It's not my fault!" Damian snapped. Dick started laughing—hard.

"Ow!" Dick said when Damian shoved his shoulder. It wasn't really that hard of a push, just enough to try and get Dick to stop. It didn't work—Dick only laughed harder.

Damian's face wrinkled, though his scowl seemed more like a pout. Dick's laughter eventually died down, and he caught himself staring at Damian's pouty expression.

"You're so cute," Dick said, the words slipping past his lips without even meaning to. It was meant to sound teasing, but it came out too serious, and Dick was even beginning to question the meaning to his own words. The words hung in the air, and Dick expected Damian to start shoving again, but the young Robin just lowered his face and hunched his shoulders.

"Shut up, Grayson," he managed to snap, but he wouldn't look Dick in the eye as he said it. Dick couldn't help but feel that his sidekick sounded a bit half-hearted as he said it.

His hand seemed to move of its own accord. Dick grasped Damian's chin and raised his head so they could meet face to face. There was hardly any lighting in the room—perhaps he was just imagining it, but it really did seem like Damian's cheeks were just a shade darker than their usual color. His face was warm, hot even.

Dick's facial features softened as his eyes met Damian's. His heart was beating faster, and the pad of his thumb began to trace across Damian's jawline. Though Damian seemed flustered, he didn't yank away like he usually did. There was a subtle emotion in the boy's gaze, almost like a curiosity. Like he was waiting to see exactly what Dick was going to do.

It all seemed like a dream.

Dick kissed Damian. He didn't plan for it to happen, didn't even think it out—he just leaned in without any intention to, everything escalating in what seemed like a single moment in time. Damian's lips were soft and warm. The boy, shocked, stilled for a second before finally pulling away.

"Grayson—"

Dick knew what Damian wanted to ask, and in truth, a small piece in the back of his mind was asking the same thing. However, Dick didn't stop to ponder it. He let his body move of its own accord, abandoning any inhibition. He pushed Damian onto his back, sinking him into the plush mattress, and climbed over him.

Damian started to resist, the same way he did anytime he got embarrassed or his personal space was being pushed, trying to shove Dick off of him, growling and yelling the whole time.

"Damnit, Grayson, stop—"

"Make me."

Another joke that came out wrong. But even as he said it, deep inside of Dick's chest, he didn't feel the same way any other time he made a joke. It was transparent, and at that, Damian stopped pounding on Grayson's chest. Dick wasn't sure if he frightened the boy—he really hoped he didn't—or if he calmed him, but he knew that Damian would leave if he wanted, and there was something in his burning blue eyes that seemed to still him. That same subtle curiosity in his eye when Dick kissed him, paired with some other emotion that Dick couldn't quite place a finger on.

Dick didn't bother waiting for a response from the stunned boy. He leaned in, kissing Damian again. Damian still seemed uncertain, his lips unmoving, but when Dick glided his tongue over Damian's lips, the boy's mouth finally fell open.

The boy was uncharacteristically timid, and Dick was instantly reminded that this was probably Damian's first kiss. The boy was clumsy and hesitant, and even seemed to shrink underneath him when Dick began to taste him with his tongue.

Dick never expected the boy to taste so sweet. His lips were soft, his mouth warm, the tip of his tongue like velvet... a noticeable shiver ran down the boy's spine, and when Dick brushed his hands against the length of Damian's arm, he felt goosebumps.

Dick pulled away, gazing down at Damian. The young Robin was flushed and breathless, and his eyes carried a weight of emotion that Dick had never seen before.

"Richard," he murmured, the name so hushed it was almost secret. As secret as when he whispered it in his sleep.

That alone made Dick want to kiss him again, so he did.

Dick felt a hand brush against the back of his head, the fingers running through his hair, stroking and idly playing with the tips. Dick smiled against Damian's lips, loving the sensation of the small fingers combing through his hair.

"That feels nice," Dick whispered. He felt goosebumps on Damian's skin where their flesh touched.

Damian grabbed him by the back of his neck, pulling him in tighter, kissing him again. There was something about the movement that felt demanding—so characteristically Damian, that Dick didn't realize how nervous he had been until the action made him feel relief. Dick let his weight relax, tasting Damian softly and slowly, attuning Damian's forced kiss to his own pace. Dick couldn't remember the last time his heart beat this fast, and while a small voice in the back of his head reminded him how wrong this was, he couldn't stop.

Because there was something about Damian, something so layered and complicated, but in that moment he was so unbelievably human that Dick wanted to hold onto that moment forever. Dick wanted to be greedy, to throw away his responsibilities and morals and just have this one thing with Damian.

Dick slipped his hand underneath Damian's shirt. The boy's breath hitched as a hand caressed his skin, moving from his waist to ribs. The smooth, smooth skin—just as Dick remembered it from all that time ago, the same skin he wanted to touch every night since but buried it. Buried the feeling. Buried the desire. Damian sighed against his lips, and Dick pressed his weight against him before stopping short.

Dick gently pulled away, looking down underneath the covers at the spot where their bodies aligned. His thigh was pressed between Damian's legs, and it only took one look for Dick to realize that he did, indeed, felt what he thought he felt.

Damian instantly knew what he had noticed.

"You did this. It's not my fault," Damian snapped. For a moment, Dick expected him to run out. Instead Damian just looked away, embarrassed. Dick smiled softly in response.

"Were you afraid?"

Damian seemed to tense underneath him, his eyes set with confusion and the smallest flicker of worry. He was trying to figure out what Dick meant. "About the dream…?"

"No, earlier than that. When I told Tim I liked you as a partner."

Damian is stunned. His silence answers Dick's question.

A small voice begins to nag in the back of Dick's mind—his moral conscience calling out to him, telling him that he's taking this too far. That he's already taken this too far. But even with his face bewildered, Damian is just so, so cute. And when his hand travels beneath the blankets, to that place where their bodies meet, and Damian winces and stifles back a moan, Dick knows he's taking this too far.

"You know that wasn't completely true, right?"

Dick hears the voice and begins to doubt that it's his own. The voice sounds too husky, too seductive to be talking to someone so young. And why is he saying these words anyways? He feels Damian through his clothes, feels the heat pressing against his hand. Feels the shape of it. Damian squirms and keeps his jaw clenched, as if unsure of how to feel and properly react, unsure of what to sound like. Dick places his weight in his knees, leans over Damian with one hand pressed between his legs and the other slipping further and further underneath that stupid button-up shirt that's too big on him.

"You know I like you more than that, right?"

Why is he saying all of this...?

Damian makes a strange noise, a noise almost like a whimper, that seems to surprise them both. Dick continues to rub the pad of his thumb against Damian's nipple, the other hand still groping Damian through his clothes, and Damian is giving out these breathy moans that has Dick struggling to restrain his excitement.

When Dick's hand passes over Damian's chest, it happens to rest over his heartbeat, and Dick can feel the younger's heartbeat racing. He leans down to kiss Damian again, almost to calm him down, but there's something different about the kiss. Not like before, passionate but still curious and exploratory. This one feels too wet, too hungry, and Dick finds himself sucking on Damian's lower lip. Then Damian suddenly has an arm around his neck, he's arching his back and making this soft noise against his lips and Dick keeps telling himself that he should stop.

Then he's pulling on Damian's clothes, opening up that pristine shirt button by button. Damian's skin is revealed inch by perfect inch, and Dick is tasting it, kissing the skin, his lips travelling down his throat to his collarbone before sucking on his nipple.

Damian makes a noise, unfiltered this time, the moan taking them both by surprise. It almost sounds like a gasp. Dick decided he liked it. Dick slips an arm underneath him, pulls Damian's clothes from the waist down—tugs them underneath his hips down to his knees.

At this, Damian seems hesitant again. Dick feels the heat of his skin, knows that Damian is embarrassed and won't say it. Dick knows he should stop, knows that what he's doing is probably confusing, but he slips a hand between Damian's legs anyways.

Damian turns his head, groaning into a pillow and shifting his hips when Dick begins to stroke his cock. Damian's hand travels down, and he stops right at his navel, clenching and unclenching his hand, like he's unsure of what to do. Dick feels Damian's cock begin to leak precum, and Damian trembles slightly.

It's a beautiful feeling—Damian's cock, hot in his hand, the boy trembling beneath him, his soft noises slowly building Dick up—making him so hard himself that he can feel his cock straining against his own clothing.

"Damian," Dick whispers as he moves from Damian's chest and moves lower, planting kisses along Damian's body. His body feels so small in comparison, but he's strong for his age, muscles already beginning to define. His kisses pass over his ribs to his lean stomach past his navel.

It keeps moving lower, and suddenly, Damian squirms uncomfortably.

"Wait," Damian said, grabbing Dick's shoulder, but the elder crimefighter didn't even flinch. He leaned down between Damian's legs and licked the underside of his cock. Damian bucks up at the touch, biting back a moan as Dick's rough tongue runs alongside his member.

"Richard," he manages to breathe when Dick swallows him.

In this, Dick is inexperienced, limited only to his memories of being on the receiving end. He tries to imagine the wet heat, tries to remember what felt especially good in the past. He settles on taking it easy, slowly sinking his mouth over Damian's cock, inch by inch. Damian is hard and warm in his mouth, and it's an unusual sensation for Dick.

But Damian's reactions are well worth it. His fears and inhibitions began to slip away, his noises no longer stifled. Every gasp and moan feels unfiltered, unrestrained. Genuine. And it's exciting, and Dick decides that he just wants to please him more, to make him gasp and moan until he finishes.

Dick finds his hand slipping between his legs, rubbing himself through his clothes. He shivered, moaning with Damian still in his mouth. He was so hard, so hard.

It didn't take long before Damian began to tremble. Dick began to move a little quicker, his hand now slipping underneath his shorts to grab his own hard cock.

Damian wasn't one to ask or beg, but he didn't know any other way to express his want, his need. Dick could tell, could tell as Damian clenched his fist into the sheets, his eyes heavy and his lips parted. He wanted more—and even while Dick knew this, he wanted to hear it.

"Please," Damian finally breathed, his voice hushed. "Please, Richard."

So Dick removed himself, used his hand to bring Damian to climax since he could move his hand faster than his mouth. There was a slight ache in jaw, and he almost felt empty without Damian between his lips. Damian clenched at the sheets tighter, gritted his teeth to stifle the sounds of his climax.

Dick couldn't help but moan himself at the sight of Damian. Damian finished in Dick's hand and over his stomach, and when it was over and he stopped shaking, his body relaxed completely. His eyes were half-lidded, his expression bliss.

Dick pulled down his shorts and reached for himself. He closed his eyes, heat rushing through his body. He felt lewd, stroking himself so openly. He wondered if Damian was watching. Wondered if Damian realized that the reason he was so hard was because of watching him in pleasure. His body trembled at the thought of Damian, but he was too afraid of looking at him in the eye, afraid of facing what he had done.

Afraid of doing what he wanted to do. Because now he was hard and panting and his hand felt so good but it just wasn't enough. He wanted their bodies to join completely, to spread Damian's legs apart and take him, to bring pleasure in a way that felt no shame or restrictions.

Afraid that he'd fall deeper than he had already. Deeper into his affection for this boy. Deeper into his desires of wanting to work with him and sleep by him and love him.

Afraid to love him.

He knew he couldn't give in. He would only hurt Damian, in the end. And despite how hazy things had gotten, Dick knew that he didn't want to hurt Damian. So he clenched one hand in the sheets, stroked himself with the other.

The noises he heard in the otherwise silent room sounded too provocative to be his. He doesn't know how to stop though. It felt good, it wasn't enough, but it felt good.

He felt something brush against his neck, felt the warmth of a body near him, the heaviness around his shoulders. Then there was velvet against his lips, and he dared to open his mouth, dared to taste that warm mouth and wet tongue against his.

He opened his eyes, the sight no different than the image in his head behind closed lids. Damian against him, arm around him, eyes closed as they kissed. Dick's eyes travelled, to his beautiful skin and strong body. The moonlight illuminates him just right, and he's beautiful, and—oh God—his essence still on his stomach and his foot is tangled in the sheets and he's just so warm.

Dick felt himself shaking as he stroked himself faster, knew that he was close. He wrapped an arm around Damian's waist to pull him in even closer. He buried his face in the crook of Damian's neck, gritted his teeth to stifle his groan as he came.

His body tensed as he came, warm seed filling his hand. He felt it in his entire body, from the heat in his face to his curled toes. When he stopped shaking, he felt his body relax. He sighed without meaning to.

He reached for a blanket—any blanket—and pulled it into his lap. He finally dared to look Damian in the eye, who sits there oddly quiet but still observing.

The guilt bubbled up.

"Damian," Dick breathed, and he can't help but feel that his voice sounds small. "What I just did—"

"I'm not stupid," Damian answered, as if it were that simple. As if anything was that simple. "I know what just happened."

"You don't—"

"I do," Damian insisted. "I'm not a child." He paused, quickly reconsidering his words. His voice lowering, he quietly added, "I know these things, at least."

Dick isn't sure what Damian is trying to say, doesn't understand what happened or why he's so calm, but the bad feelings begin to brew up and all he wants to do is take it back and—

"Why?" Damian asked.

"I'm sorry," Dick answered. The realization began to sink in, guilt beginning to gnaw at him for what he did, and he ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. That was wrong of me."

Damian sat up, turning so they could be face to face. Dick didn't look at him but could feel his eyes staring at him.

"That wasn't what I asked."

"I don't know, Damian." His voice felt heavy. "Nothing could justify it."

"Why, Grayson?"

He tried to think of his thoughts but his emotions got the better of him—his emotions always got the better of him—and he found himself giving a long sigh. He covered his eyes because it's too hard to face what he's done, too hard even for him.

"I told you that it was comforting to have someone next to me. I lied."

Damian doesn't say anything. The room is hushed, save for their gentle breathing and light breeze that blows through the whispering curtains. Dick sighed again.

"It wasn't comforting. It was never enough. I just wanted to feel needed. If I was needed, then maybe I'd still feel alive, feel human or—"Dick stopped, because none of what he was saying could possibly make sense. And none of it could explain or justify his actions. "Your father, Bruce, he would never admit it either. But I heard him one night. When I couldn't sleep."

The memories drifted back in his mind. The Wayne manor at night, ominous and silent. The window curtains drifting in the breeze, their shadows dancing in the moonlight. He couldn't sleep because all he could think about were his parents. The smile his mother gave him before she climbed up the ladder. The sound of his father's skull as it cracked against the ground. The ropes as they gave out and left his world falling.

So he walked. The old floorboards of Wayne manor creaking beneath him, until he settled on Bruce's door. He never wanted comfort. Never wanted to crawl under the covers like he did with his parents after a scary movie. He wanted to leave, wanted to go back to the circus where he belonged, didn't want to share a house with a brooding quiet man. But when he opened that door all he heard was murmured protests and soft crying, and when he approached the bed, he found someone just like him.

Damian was quiet, his gaze deep in thought. "You and my father, did you ever—"

"No," Dick said immediately. "Never. I don't know where that came from, Damian. I'm sorry."

"I'm not angry," Damian said, and it's honest. "I just want to know why, because—"Damian stopped short, looking conflicted. "Is it because you felt you needed me?"

"Not like that, Damian, no. You shouldn't ever have to feel like you have to do that for me. That—"

It was a mistake, Dick wanted to say, but it doesn't feel right. He thought about their time together, all of the patrols and the time in the manor and falling asleep beside one another. He wondered if he did it for himself or for Damian or for—

"Or is it because you want me?"

That doesn't feel right either, because want implies desire, and Dick doesn't want to desire Damian. Doesn't want him to treat him like some object, because it's deeper than that.

It feels deeper than that.

Damian scooted in a little closer, close so Dick couldn't keep hiding from his gaze. There was something in Damian's gaze, something both fragile and desperate that it surprised Dick.

"Do you want me?" Damian asked again, but his voice sounds different this time. It sounds quieter, almost insecure, almost... like he's seeking approval.

The words I love you seemed too much, too inappropriate. The words I care about you undermined Dick's true feelings.

He could think of another situation like this, a time when words weren't enough. When words couldn't convey meaning and affection properly. It could only be solved by closeness.

So he kissed Damian on the forehead. Damian quietly moved in closer, leaning into Dick's chest. Dick wrapped his arms around him, a hand gently stroking his hair. They stayed like that for awhile.

"I dream of my father."

Dick looked down at him.

"I was telling the truth when I said I never had bad dreams. I didn't, back then. But after he died..."

"It's okay," Dick said, when Damian fell silent. "Bruce's death was hard on all of us."

"It's not that," Damian said, an edge to his voice. His voice then went quiet. "It wasn't him dying. Death doesn't scare me."

Dick stared uncertainly. Damian pulled away, his face deep in thought. He seemed conflicted for a moment, as if unsure whether or not to speak any further.

"Drake was right. I am an assassin. I've killed people, in the past. I prided myself on it. When I see their faces in my dreams, I feel no remorse."

Dick isn't sure what to say. Damian isn't finished, but it's hard for him to talk about it, hard for him to admit what he sees as weakness.

"But lately, I see Father in my dreams. He isn't dead but he's disappointed. Disappointed in me. It wasn't... a bad thing, at first. I thought that I just had to work harder. But it kept happening, and it just bothered me more and more, and I wanted them to go away."

"He'd be proud of you," Dick said. The words felt real as he said them, and afterwards, Dick felt almost... relieved. Because it was true. Bruce would be proud of Damian. Of them. Of all of them. "You're trying really hard."

"But how?" Damian challenged, looking at him. "How can I be getting better? Its Father that makes me upset, not those people, and if he knew that I cared so little—"

"You're getting there," Dick said, his tone final. "The fact that you're even worrying about it proves that you're developing a conscience. You go out there every night, you put your life on the line and your skills to the test, and though it'd be the easy way out, you haven't killed."

Dick thought about the ache in his shoulders from wearing the cape and cowl. He realized then that it was gone.

So they laid down the way they had done for so long. Long enough to feel natural. Dick closed his eyes, Damian's head and hand on his chest, and he listened carefully to Damian's breathing.

"Are you okay?" Damian quietly asked.

"Yes," Dick finally said, laying his hand over Damian's. He gently turned his palm over and the fingers slowly intertwined. "Just sleep."

---

A/N: Thank you for taking the time to read this. I'm hoping to slowly post the rest of my works here over time. But if you're interested in reading my other works right away, you can find me on AO3 under the same username. I have all of my links and contact information in my profile as well.