Dick was packing.

He'd had to stop himself from dropping a few snarky little comments around Alfred. It hadn't been that long since the butler had insisted he decorate the place, hang up a few things to make the room a little more familiar. It wasn't much, but it was something. And now he was taking it all down.

Damian had entered about ten minutes ago. He'd been standing by the door, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed aggressively as Dick packed his things away. Dick hadn't said a word. He'd learned a while ago that when Damian was silent like that, it was because he wanted you to say something, and Dick didn't exactly feel like playing that game tonight. If Damian wanted something, he would have to make himself heard.

Dick knew that Damian would speak eventually, but he'd underestimated the boy's patience. Almost two hours later, Dick was finishing the last box, carefully taking the pictures and posters off the walls and gently placing them amongst plastic peanuts and bubble wrap when Damian finally spoke up.

"Ahem."

He didn't even try to disguise it as a cough. He was looking for Dick's attention and, honestly, Dick was glad to give it to him. He turned to Damian. "Yes?" he asked.

Damian met Dick's gaze stonily. Then he looked down at the floor and took a step forward, feigning nonchalance. "You know, Grayson," he began, "during the time that we've worked together, I've come to understand that you are many things. First and foremost, you are an idiot. I appreciate that fact, and how it may have...affected your decision in this particular matter."

"Damian..." muttered Dick, sitting down on the bed, rubbing his temples.

"No, no, don't interrupt," said Damian, shaking his finger as if Dick were a child to be chastised. As he spoke, he began to pace back and forth in front of Dick. "I merely mean to say that, due to your blatant, shameless idiocy, if you were to dismiss this incident as a momentary lapse in judgement, I would not blame you. Surely, my pity for your poor, confused state of mind would outweigh my contempt for this utter lunacy."

He paused for emphasis. Irritated, Dick said, "Get to the point."

"That was the point," lied Damian scathingly. "However, I do wish to add something else." He paused again, but this time it was because he was searching Dick's face, looking for something that Dick wasn't sure was there. "As I said, since I became the Robin to your Batman, I have learned that you are great many things." He stopped pacing. He gazed Dick straight in the face and said, "But I have never known you to be a coward."

The tension in the room skyrocketed. Dick returned his gaze. Then, quietly, he asked, "A coward?"

"A coward," repeated Damian firmly.

"For what?" asked Dick. "For going off to fight the bad guys on my own? For protecting my own city without you?"

"No," Damian deflected quickly. "No, you imbecile. You're abandoning a mantle that you rightfully command. You can't take the pressure, so you're leaving. And that, Grayson, is the very definition of cowardice."

Dick rolled his eyes, feeling his temper rising. "The cowl is not 'rightfully mine to command', Damian. I've just been filling Bruce's shoes while he's away. He's back now. He's going to be headquartered in Gotham, it would be a waste of his talents – and mine – to have me continue as Batman."

"Bruce Wayne has more important issues than Gotham City. That's your responsibility and you can't run away from it."

"Trust me, I'm not running away from anything. I'm not leaving because it's too much for me to handle – I've been handling it for a while now, not sure if you've noticed – I'm leaving because it's the best thing to do."

"Lies. The best thing would be for you to stay here, as Batman."

"Why, Damian? Look, I'm all ears here. If you can give me a good reason, then-"

"Because I want you to stay, Grayson."

Damian's glare didn't even flicker. For a moment, Dick was rendered speechless. And then he sighed. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I guess you are right."

The boy's eyes brightened just the tiniest bit. "I always am."

"Hold on," said Dick. "Not about that. About the me being an idiot part. You're definitely right about that."

"Well, that was a given, but-"

Dick interrupted, "We should have thought about you when we made this decision. I'm sorry. I guess I was just...I was just eager to get home, you know?"

"You are home," said Damian, suddenly sounding upset. "Right here in Gotham. Grayson, I..." He paused, and then he made a noise of frustration and kicked one of the boxes lying around the room. "Dick," he said, turning back to the man with a look in his eyes that Dick had never seen. "Listen to me. I am your Robin, not my father's. I don't know how to work with him. I don't know how he works or what he wants me to do. You leaving will stunt my growth, don't you understand? I'll never become a better warrior if my teacher leaves me."

"Bruce is a fine teacher," said Dick. "He taught me, remember."

"I don't care," replied Damian bluntly. "I want you."

There was silence between them.

Damian sat down on the bed beside Dick and put his arms around himself, hanging his head. He tried to hide the way that he was biting his lip, or the way that he had to keep blinking and swallowing tears. Dick saw it all. He said nothing.

"It's not as bad as you think, you know," Dick said quietly. "I'll be back here a lot, I promise."

As if he hadn't heard Dick, Damian continued, "Why do you have to go back to your stupid old costume? Can't you work out of New York as a second Batman?"

Dick let out a little chuckle. "You're pretty desperate to work with me, aren't you?"

Damian almost said something, then he closed his mouth. Then he opened it again and said, roughly, "We make a good team."

"Well, how about this," said Dick, allowing a little smile to grace his mouth, "you can be Nightwing's sidekick. How does Littlewing sound? Yeah, you can have my old suits, and I'll make some new ones for me. I like the design...how about a new colour? Red, maybe?"

"You're joking," said Damian.

Dick nodded. "I am."

Damian said, "It's not funny."

There was more silence.

Then, almost too quietly for Dick to hear, Damian uttered, "I'm sorry."

Dick looked at him, slightly surprised. "For what, buddy?"

Normally Damian would be on his case instantly for calling him buddy; it was a sure sign of distress that he overlooked it.

His words tumbling out of his mouth so quickly that Dick could hardly understand them, Damian said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I apologize and I promise I'll be better in the future, if you'll just give me one more-"

"Woah, woah, woah," said Dick, cutting him off. "What are you talking about?"

"I know I can be...difficult," said Damian. "But you don't have to leave. I'm sorry for what I've done to drive you away, but-"

"Damian," interrupted Dick. The boy looked up at him. A thousand thoughts were running through his head, but as he searched for something to come out of his mouth, nothing would connect. There was nothing to say. There was nothing he could say.

So Dick did the only thing that he could think of, the one thing that seemed purely, instinctually right. He leaned forward and drew the kid close in a simple, wordless embrace.

For a moment, it seemed like Damian would push away. And then he didn't. And then he almost imperceptibly collapsed in Dick's arms, and returned the hug, wrapping his arms around Dick's back, holding on tightly, burying his face in Dick's shirt.

"Damian," said Dick, "I'm not leaving because of you. I'd never leave you like that."

"But you are," said Damian, and his words were mixed with a strangled sob. "You are."

"I'm not. I promise you, I'm not." Damian still wasn't making a sound, but Dick felt the dampness against his shirt where the boy was pressing his eyes. "Hey, hey. I'll get you a personal comm link. I'll never be more than a second away."

"Then why are you leaving?" asked Damian, his voice muffled. "Why do you have to go?"

Dick sat there for a while, thinking about that. Damian didn't move. Neither of them did. But the question burned at him. Why was he leaving? And how could he possibly explain it to this child?

"I'm...look, Damian, I need to be my own man. I'm not Batman. It's not my place to be him. And it's not my place to be your partner, either."

Dick felt Damian's arms tighten around him. Damian murmured, "Why not?"

Gently, Dick replied, "Because I'm not your father."

Nothing.

Then, finally, Damian pulled away. He sat there on the bed, his face unashamedly wet with tears. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, then said, "I wish you were."

Something felt stuck in Dick's throat. He blinked. He tried to laugh, and when he couldn't, he said sombrely, "Yeah. Yeah, sometimes I wish that too."

Neither of them said anything for a long time.

And then Dick stood up and went to the final box he was packing. He dug around it for a moment, and then pulled something out.

"Here," he said, holding it out to Damian. "I want you to have this."

Cautiously, Damian reached out and took it from him. It was a poster, rolled up into a tight cylinder. Damian unrolled it, inspected it, then frowned. "What is this?" he asked.

"It's a Robin Hood poster," said Dick. "Sorry, I know it's kind of old and ratty. I've had it since I was a kid. My parents didn't own a whole lot, but...this is one of the things they left me."

Damian stared at the poster. "You've had this that long?"

"Of course," replied Dick. "Come on, Little D. Where do you think 'Robin' came from?"

Damian peered at the old, worn-out poster for another moment or so, then rolled it up again and stood up. "Thank you, Dick."

"You're welcome," replied Dick, taping the final box shut. "And – hey. Be good for you dad, okay?"

Damian nodded.

"And visit, too. You're welcome in New York whenever you like."

"Whenever?"

"Whenever." He paused, then added, "But not all the time. You have to trust Bruce, alright? I know...I know you don't actually know him all that well, as – as sad as that sounds – but he's not an idiot like I am, okay?" Dick smiled. "He's a lot smarter than me. You know how I know?" Damian didn't reply. Dick continued anyway. "Because he's never gonna leave you. Not until he dies. Which hopefully won't happen again for a while."

Dick tried to laugh again. It didn't sound right.

Damian stood up and went to the door. There, he stopped.

Something in Dick broke. His voice strained with desperation, he said, "Damian, this isn't the end of anything."

"I know," replied Damian, as soon as the words were out of Dick's mouth. "I know." He paused. "I'm not as selfish as you all think I am, you know," he said quietly. "If you must leave, then you must leave. But...may I make one, single request?"

"Anything," said Dick. "Anything I can give you."

Damian looked down again, at the old, faded poster in his hands. "This was real," he said, just below his breath. "This was good. Please don't forget that, Dick. You and I made a good team. We did good together. You, and me. Just...remember that, is all I'm asking."

Dick looked at Damian, then down at his own hands. "Don't worry," he said, almost as quietly. "I know. And I'll never forget this." He grinned. "You're right. We made one helluva team. We had a good run while it lasted, didn't we, Little Bird?"

He looked up, towards the door. It was just swinging shut. Damian was already gone.

Dick was alone again.

I almost forgot, Blüdhaven's still toxic, right? Dick was in New York for a while, right? So it would make sense to send him back there?

Anyway, yeah. I know this doesn't fit with what's happening, but I needed a tribute to the boys and well. I have a lot of feelings.

What do you think?