What better way to jump into the Batman-fanfic world than with heavy drama? Well, actually, there are probably lots of better ways, but you really don't see me planning things out very well.
I began this after AmberSpirit's request for more Damian/Dick (the idea just wouldn't leave!). It's been very challenging to write a character I don't have copious experience with, but it's very exciting, too. Any mistakes I make with characterization, or helpful hints, are greatly appreciated.
Disclaimer: The established relationships are Bruce/Dick, (mentioned: Barbara/Dick, Roy/Dick, Kory/Dick), and, the over-arcing/developing Dick/Damian. I don't want to offend anyone with this story, so if there's something you absolutely hate about the pairings in it, don't send me a rant or claim I'm going to hell or whatnot. I'm not forcing you to read this.
He was ten when he first heard the rumors, the slight whispers between the girls, the sideways glances from Drake, the crude comments from Todd. He brushed them off. Grayson was, maybe, too affectionate to Father, but that was just his way; Grayson was like that with everyone. It was nothing.
He was twelve when he first noticed the brushes, the touches that lasted just a hair too long, the looks that held a little more than they probably should have. Damian didn't say anything–it was probably just his imagination–but the odd clenching in his stomach was a bit disconcerting. He'd just have to ignore it. It was nothing.
He was thirteen when he realized the stomachaches weren't illness; they were jealousy. At first, he thought it was because Grayson was getting the attention he wanted from Father, until they happened when Grayson was around other people. It wasn't Father's touches and signs of approval he wanted, it was Grayson's. Whenever Grayson was with someone else, just being his casual, free-loving self, Damian felt his stomach twist and knot on itself, his fists clench, and his jaw tense. But he smoothed them out, keeping the petulant-child act going as a cover. Because, really, those feelings were nothing.
He was fourteen when he "accidentally" caught them in Father's bedroom. He had begun to suspect that there was more to Grayson's relationship with Father than they let on, so he installed a couple of micro-cameras in Father's room. Every night he watched his recordings, he cursed himself for not installing microphones, too. There was probably something wrong with him, he thought, for watching them so often, but it wasn't like he was watching both of them–only Grayson. Whenever he watched, he always supplanted Father with himself. It was probably very wrong, he was sure of it, but he didn't care. It was nothing.
He was sixteen when they became more blatant about their relationship. Every time he saw them touch or kiss, he wanted to kill something. He acknowledged his jealousy fully; there was no need to hide from it any longer. The fact that Grayson had become no less loving and affectionate to him infuriated Damian. How could the man have so much love to share? How dare Grayson split the love he should be giving to Damian? He wanted Grayson for himself, not to share with anyone, not Gordon, not Harper, not the Tamaranean, not Father; only for Damian. It was time to act. It was no longer "nothing".
