Damian awakes to the smell of waffles and syrup in the kitchen, and he takes his care to step down the stairs as silently as possible. Maybe if he manages to avoid Grayson (a difficult task, but one day, he will succeed), he can eat something of actual sustenance.
No such luck, he discovers with horror when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, only to see Brown pulling waffles out of their toaster.
His mouth is dry for one second before he narrows his eyes and points a finger at her. "No," he hisses, because Brown's presence in Drake's absence only means two things: one, she's working on a case (unlikely, she tends to stick with Oracle and Black Bat if that were the case) or two, she's here to torture them with her presence.
And no, Damian does not look forward to her random appearances. Not at all. She is a waste of time, honestly. His mother wouldn't approve.
(And yes, it's true that he doesn't hate her so much as some of the others, but truly, she is merely tolerable. No more so than Grayson, honestly.)
"Ooooh, yeah," she smiles wickedly at him, baring her teeth and flipping her braid over her shoulder. Bright yellow sweater, dark red track pants, it almost looks like... "We're going to the gym today."
Damian stares at her.
He does not gape, because he is an Al Ghul, and a Wayne besides, and people of his bloodline do not gape. (It is, he supposes, a near thing... but not by far.)
He takes a moment, shakes his head, and then goes over to the cupboard and pulls out a barrette before scraping it against the inside of his ear. Once he's done cleaning his ears, he turns back to Brown and frowns.
He summons all the politeness that Grayson taught him and offers Brown his most disarming grimace. "I'm sorry, my ears weren't working properly. May you repeat what you previously said?"
"I said," Brown is grinning, as though to say that Damian knew exactly what she said, "We're going to the gym today."
Damian would argue, but he knows that he's outgunned and outmanned, especially when it comes to Brown. Grayson and Pennyworth are undoubtedly on her sound, however preposterous this entire idea sounds.
"We already have a gym here," he says, weakly. This argument, he knows, is a losing battle, has been before he even took a breath to speak.
"Do we have a Pilates instructor?" Brown asks.
Damian glowers.
Brown looks horribly triumphant. "I thought so," she says, smugly, and Damian resigns himself to an entire day lost off schedule.
(Something in his chest, childish and young, is excited when they walk into the gym with the purple yoga mats and the woman in front making the people there break into a sweat with ease.)
"Alright, short stack," Stephanie blows a piece of bubblegum from between her teeth. "You ever been to an amusement park?"
"Several times," Damian responds. Prim, perfect, back straight and chin raised. He looks every bit the lord of the manor, all pride and arrogance.
Stephanie rolls her eyes, not about to be intimidated by a ten-year-old who can barely reach her armpits. "When you weren't on a mission?" She clarifies, pressing a hand against her hip.
Damian clicks his tongue against her teeth, and Stephanie shakes her head. "No," he answers, "There is no point. It's a waste of time."
Of course, that's what he says, she thinks, rolling her eyes at him. "Well, you're in luck, tater tots, because guess what we're doing today."
Damian pales dramatically, "No," he hisses between clenched teeth, immediately tensing. Shoulders up, core tight, eyes narrowed.
If it weren't so sad, Stephanie might almost find it funny.
"I'm amazed that Flippy hasn't taken you yet," she observes and then pauses to think about it. Actually, with Dick's luck, it's highly probable that they just so happened to stumble across the crime scene while Dick was attempting to take him out on one such outing. "But, alas. Since he's so obviously failed at his duty as an older sibling"-she ignores Damian's hiss of Grayson is far better than any other sibling-"I'm taking you out."
Damian looks like he's ready to knock her out.
Stephanie is vaguely amused.
"You want to fight, short stack?" She pulls her hair back into a french braid, and Damian's face lights up. Stephanie smirks, knowing how fast that expression will fall as she continues, "After we come back from the amusement park."
Damian's nose scrunched up, the tips wrinkling as his eyebrows drew themselves together. "I don't understand," he grumbled, "it is utterly impractical, a complete waste of time. Unless this is related to a case or some sort of training, I believe that we should abstain from going to this... amusement park."
"You need a childhood," Stephanie crossed her arms over her chest, "And an amusement park is part of it."
"I am what is classified as an atypical child, and thus do not require to go," Damian mimicked her posture, crossing his arms over his chest and locking his jaw. He straightened as far as possible, though it didn't do much since he was still far smaller than her.
Stephanie smiled a bit. It was like a small animal ruffling it's feathers to try and seem bigger, but just making itself look cuter. "Well, Dickie said that I had free reign with you, so I've decided that we're going to the amusement park."
Damian throws his head back and groans, which, Stephanie reflects, is the truest reflection of the time he's spent with Dick so far. "Must we?"
"You'll love it," Stephanie promises. "...I think."
Damian grumbles and growls the entire way but as soon as they step out of the car, something changes as he catches sight of the bouncy castles and the giant Ferris wheel.
"In awe?" Stephanie can't help but tease him.
"Not at all," he sniffs, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to act mature (which only really succeeds in doing the opposite, but he looks adorable so Stephanie isn't saying anything), "I'm merely scoping out the area in case of future investigations."
"Mm-hm," Stephanie raises an eyebrow, "Want to get some funnel cake?"
Damian makes his vainest attempts to remain suspicious and not seem excited, "...If you so wish."
Stephanie doesn't bother hiding her grin as she teases him, "You don't know what it is, do you?"
"Of course I do!" Damian flushes, desperation flooding into his voice the way it always does when he doesn't know something but tries to pretend that he does, "I am the al Ghul heir, I am not some incompetent..."
"It's okay not to know things," Stephanie cuts Damian off with a soft smile, "It's not okay to prevent yourself from learning by acting like you do know everything, though."
Damian frowns, processing the new information, "Understood," he says stiffly and Stephanie holds back a sigh.
"Come on, kiddo," she holds out a hand, "Funnel cake is great with ice cream. You'll love it. Classic festival food, really, and with all these food trucks today..."
They order at a metallic van with a window in its side painted bright red on one side with 90's fonts declaring FUNNEL CAKE $3.99 on the side. It smells of oil and gas but the funnel cake tastes sweet and doughy and the ice cream is cold and just the right side of fruity to balance it out.
Stephanie steals some from Damian, they begin a mock fight with their forks, and in the end, Damian willingly (willingly!) offers her half. Stephanie graciously accepts, and they spend the rest of the day going on rides until they become a bit sick.
And in true corny fashion, they end the day on the Ferris wheel, watching the sunset as Damian puts his head on Stephanie's arm and says, "I should be on patrol."
"No," the words slip out before Stephanie can think them through, but they feel so right on her tongue that she can't bring herself to regret it, "You belong here."
And he does.
Here's the thing about Brown, the thing that Damian knows but will never admit, one of the reasons that, despite her being, well, her, he respects her almost as much as Grayson.
She is not afraid of anything.
Or rather, she doesn't act like she's afraid of anything. Damian knows, because, as they look over a case and see people mummified so much that they're nothing but withered skin clinging to the dehydrated bones, Brown doesn't so much as flinch as she muses, "A meta, perhaps?"
Damian frowns and nods, "But the consistency of the hole under the chin indicates..."
"Ah, you think that it affects the ossein?"
"Perhaps not specifically, it could also be a side effect of something else..."
"Interesting theory..." Brown smiles at him and ruffles his hair. "Clever," she praises him so easily, as though having half a brain is something to find pride in. Damian ducks away and her hand falls back to her side, even as she laughs at him.
"It's common sense, really," he mutters and crosses his arms over his chest, looking away.
She laughs at him.
It isn't until hours later when Damian is going to get a glass of water and Drake has come back from investigating the latest crime scene that he hears her sob, voice tight and soft.
"It's messed up," Brown whispers, and Damian glances at the clock. 2 am.
"I know, Steph," Drake says, soft and still, and Damian can hear so much regret in his voice.
The sound of hair, a shaking head, "I know that they're people, and it's wrong, but I just keep seeing his face and..."
"Nobody's blaming you..."
A laugh, soft and bitter and so unlike Brown that it makes Damian feel uncomfortable. "Because everyone's too busy blaming themselves."
Drake cannot refute that, Damian knows, so he decides that now is a good time to barge in. "Brown, Drake," he raises an eyebrow at their appearances. Drake, in a rumpled pair of Superman pyjamas, and Brown in a shirt two sizes too big for her that says Keep Calm and Waffle On and yoga pants.
"Demon brat," Drake says, no bite in his voice.
Brown elbows him anyways, eyes red-rimmed and hair braided back into twin pigtails, "Dami. You should be in bed."
Damian scowls, "That's quite hypocritical, all things considering."
"Yeah, we-" Brown's voice cracks on the well and she clamps her mouth shut. Utterly silent. She doesn't fall into their usual banter and Damian doesn't squirm, he's an Al Ghul and a Wayne, people of his bloodline don't squirm, but he very well comes as near to it as he can, because Brown isn't the type of person to stay silent like this and now he doesn't quite know what to do.
It's just now that Damian notes Brown and Drake's hands holding onto each other. Or, to be more accurate, Brown's white-knuckled grip on Drake's firm one.
"You two aren't sleeping anytime soon," he sighs.
Drake raises an eyebrow, "We're grown. You're still growing."
Damian allows himself to offer Drake a disdainful stare, "As though you aren't?" He turns back to Brown, "It is good that you are communicating with Drake, despite the fact that he is an imbecile," he says, inclining his head.
There's a laugh in Brown's voice as she says, "Thank you, Dami."
"Yes, well," Damian raises his head, chin tilting up, "Grayson has been teaching me about emotional support and communication, so I have become quite well versed in this area."
Drake snorts, "Really."
Brown elbows him as Damian holds back the urge to stomp on his foot as Damian says as primly as he can, "Yes, Drake, though I suppose that you would not know, seeing as not so much as two of your brain cells can rub together properly to think past your primal urges."
Drake, unfortunately, seemed quite unimpressed by Damian's insult. "It's not even scientifically accurate," he muttered, shaking his head as he went to the cupboard and pulled out a can of coffee beans.
Damian's eyebrow twitched, preparing an in-depth insult about how scientifically accurately he could hurt Drake, but Grayson and Brown would not approve, so he bit his tongue.
"No more coffee, Timbo," Brown held out a hand over Drake's and gently lowered the can.
"But..."
"No more," Brown's voice turned a bit harsher, though the effect was muted by her voice cracking a bit on the more. She reddened and then glanced at Damian, "How do you feel about hot chocolate?" she asked, a bit hopefully.
"Hot chocolate is an unhealthy drink," Damian pursed his lips together and crossed his arms over his chest, "I am a warrior, I am not to desecrate my body in such a way. But, since you seem to be in distress and it is my duty to comfort you... stop laughing, Drake, I am trying to do my duty as her sibling... I shall partake in this bonding ritual."
Brown's lips twitched into a quick, small smile. "Bonding ritual," she repeated, sounding a strange mix between awed and amused. "Only you, Dami, only you."
"That isn't true," Damian crossed his arms over his chest, "You and Drake are also present in this room."
"Of course," Brown's smile turned a bit wry now as she started to boil the almond milk, "Whipped cream?"
Damian hesitated. He didn't want to have to consume more unhealthy food than necessary, and he knew that it would have negative consequences on his nutrition plan, but his brain must have been too sleep-deprived because he ended up saying, "Extra." Pause. And then, because Grayson had taught him to have manners and he wanted to please Grayson, "Please."
Brown reached over to ruffle Damian's hair, laughing when he grumbled and fixed it. "It's the middle of the night, Dami, your hair's bedhead already, it's not going to get any worse when I ruffle it."
There was a logic to her words, but Damian didn't want to seem foolish, so he crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. "I like it a certain way," he grumbled and only realized with dawning horror how childish he had sounded. "But," he coughed in an attempt to cover up his childish words, "I suppose that it is acceptable in this situation."
"Can I have coffee in my cup, Steph?" Drake asked, coming up behind Brown and resting his chin on her shoulder, looking distinctly weary, eyes half-lidded and shoulders slumped.
"Keep dreaming, sweets," Brown patted Drake's cheek fondly.
Brown and Drake had an odd relationship. They had been together but had separated. They were not siblings, tiptoeing around each other in a fashion that wasn't reminiscent of any family, but they were close enough to be. Too close to be lovers, not close enough for a family, something that they labelled as friendship but was a bit more. Damian wasn't envious, though it did seem pleasant. He had Grayson, after all.
"What about ice cream?" Drake asked hopefully.
"Tomorrow," Brown shoved Drake's head off of her shoulder (gently, so that he wouldn't hit the stove) and then turned back to Damian. "Dami, you up for a movie night?"
Damian shifted hesitantly, "As Robin, it is my duty to get the proper amount of sleep each night to allow me to most efficiently help Batman in his duties..."
"We'll watch Lilo and Stitch," Brown leaned forwards, grinning as though she had caught Damian in a trap of some sort.
Which.
Well.
Honestly?
She had.
Lilo and Stitch was Damian's favourite movie, "I suppose it would be acceptable. After all, Grayson seems to encourage sibling bonding," he tried not to seem too eager, but judging from the fond expression on Brown's expression (she wasn't even trying to suppress it. It was disgusting.) and the mocking expression on Drake's (he was going to show Drake mocking), he had failed.
"Yeah, okay, short stack," Drake ruffled Damian's hair.
"I will stab you with a fork," Damian hissed.
"Ah, bah-pup," Brown wiggled her finger disapprovingly, "We agreed on no death threats, remember, Dami?"
Damian grumbles put complies for Brown's sake. Drake seems surprised and Damian sneers. He can be considerate when he wishes.
They all clump into the living room, disgustingly close, but there is something to it that Damian supposes is bearable as Brown wraps an arm around his shoulder and tucks her head onto Drake's cheek, hot chocolate mugs on the coffee table as the TV crackled to life.
"You know you don't always have to be the most efficient or effective Robin," Brown murmurs into Damian's hair halfway through the movie. Her words are soft and drowsy, and Damian imagines that she says it more for her own sake than for his. "Moments like this... being happy... that's enough. Robin can be replaced," Damian pretends his heart doesn't skip a beat, pretends that he doesn't want to vomit with those words, how true they ring, "But you can't."
It's a corny thought. Something straight from Grayson's lips, Damian thinks to himself. But it's comforting, somehow, because Damian has always been replaceable, as the heir, as the Bat's son, as Robin, and it's odd to think of himself as separate from those things because he has never considered it so, but Brown seems to find him valuable without his sword skills or excellent stealth and he isn't quite sure what to make of that.
"That's a plebian thing to say," Damian responds, because what else should he say past the lump in his throat and through the beating of his heart against his ribcage?
Brown laughs into his hair, "I love you, Dami," she murmurs.
Damian huffs. "I may hold some affection towards you," he admits grudgingly.
On Brown's shoulder, Drake snores, and Damian smiles a bit.
"Drake's guard is down," he muses, "Do you have a sharpie?"
"To draw on his face with?" This startles a louder laugh out of Brown and for a moment Damian thinks that Drake may wake up, but with a grunt and a shift, he's fast asleep again. She quickly lowers her voice and offers Damian a private, mischevious smile, "Always."
Drake wakes up with a monocle and mustache on his face, along with a cursive purple and red R&B and the mockery of a kiss on his cheek.
Damian falls asleep on Brown's shoulder, the dim light of the TV shutting off in the corner of his eyes as Brown laughs to herself and rests her head on top of Drake's.
A family is a strange thing, considered a weakness in the League of Assassins and a strength in the world of heroes. Damian isn't sure where he fits on those two, but he knows one thing.
Weakness or not, Brown is family, and he holds family over all else.
("That's such a cute sentiment," Brown laughs when he tells her, "You're not just trying to get me to help you butter up Dick to let you adopt those cats, are you?"
Damian crosses his arms over his chest as well as he can without harming the three infant cats in his arms, "I do not lie or exaggerate," he frowns, "It is unnecessary and may lead to miscommunication, which Grayson tells me is unhealthy in a relationship."
Brown laughs and ruffles his hair, ignoring Damian's indignant squawk.)