'You do care. You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death at the pain of it.' -JK Rowling


2. Pain

Often, Dick stopped to stare out of his shabby apartment in Bludhaven. The scene wasn't exactly beautiful- no, it was quite the opposite. Rows upon rows of brick and mortar buildings stared solemnly at the distant horizon, across which Gotham stood in towering glory.

Sometimes, Dick didn't know where he was looking- at Bludhaven, or at Gotham.

Maybe, he was trying to discover which felt more like home. He'd recently came back to his apartment at Bludhaven, having stayed at Gotham for a while to bust a major drugs ring (and maybe keep an eye on his brothers. Maybe.). The two cities, while similar in violence, had entirely different flavors to them.

Perhaps it was just him, but somehow, Bludhaven seemed lonelier.

So sometimes he just sat at his windowsill and watched the horizon. Because, as much as things changed, that line in the sky would never go away

Today, however, he was looking at something else entirely.

He opened his window and stuck his head out. "You know, I didn't think birds came this way in the winter."

Robin was carefully perched on his roof, as if ready to jump off at a moment's notice. He spun expertly to face Dick.

"Grayson," he scowled, but Dick knew not to take it seriously.

"Are you going to stay out there the whole time?" he asked amusedly. "You're going to catch a cold."

Robin huffed, his cape fluttering in the winter's breeze. "I do not catch colds," he said contemptuously.

"Shame," Dick sighed. "You would look cute in blankets."

Damian crawled through the window with Dick's help. A warm sort of feeling crept through Dick's chest at the sight of him. The fact that he'd searched him out, taken up Dick's request, was enough to make him proud.

It didn't have to be anything, Dick thought.

It just had to be.

"You hungry? I was just about to whip up some lunch."

"I am not in need of your food, Grayson," he denied. "I shall make myself a sandwich."

Dick leaned against a wall as Damian busied himself in the kitchen. It occurred to him, mildly, that Damian was using the sandwich to distract Dick from why he had come.

Because there had to be a reason, other than just a friendly trip. Their family didn't work that way.

(And this, Dick thought to himself, was the only reason he was ever glad of how dysfunctional their lives were. It gave more than enough excuses to visit his family everyday.)

When he'd finished his little snack, they sat on the couch together. Dick knew better than to press Damian for details- if things should come out, they should come out on their own time.

"Grayson?"

Dick raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"What was your mother like?"

The question hit him like a freight train. For a brief moment, happiness flared in him at the memory of his childhood.

Whenever someone heard his story- not a tragedy, people's lives were not a tragedy- it was always 'my condolences, I'm sorry'. Apologies did nothing. Bruce knew that. Jason knew that. Tim, even when he didn't fully understand, he knew that.

It was almost a requirement, to be in the family.

But nobody ever asked him what his parents were like. And, Dick thought, he'd never prepared the answer to the question either.

But the happiness was there, as brief as it was. It felt like the trapeze.

"She was beautiful," Dick smiled. "And kind. Sometimes she had a bit of a short temper, but she'd always make up for it with ice cream or a ride on the elephants or free time on the trapeze." He paused. "She was a great person," he concluded.

Dick turned to face Damian. His face was unreadable, and Dick grew concerned. As far as his parents go, it was one of the things on the Batfamily's 'Do Not Discuss' list, along with Jason's death/resurrection, Alfred's old age, and that one time Tim accidentally killed one of Damian's pets.

Damian sighed. "...And did you love her because she was a great person, or because she was your mother?"

"I loved her because... well, because of both those things, I guess." Dick bit his lip. "Why do you ask?"

Damian took a deep breath, like he was diving into the ocean. "Is it wrong to love my mother, then? If she's not a good person?"

Dick started. "You mean Talia? Dami, what happened?"

The youngest of Dick's siblings looked down. The emotion on his face could be taken for annoyance, or sorrow. Dick's heart clenched.

"My mother does not love me, and she is not a good person, either. This means I should be able to stop loving her, but I can't."

Dick felt like he had been suckerpunched in the gut. "Of course your mother loves you," he soothed, though honestly, he had no idea.

"She doesn't!" Damian's voice rose as he grew more upset. "She doesn't love me, she only loves what I could become! I don't want to be an assassin, Dick! I don't want to be what she wants me to be, but I want her to love me!" His voice cracked as his eyes pooled with tears. "She put a bounty on my head. A bounty. I'm her son, her heir, I'm not her enemy. I'm not her enemy!"

He took a staggering breath. "Am I supposed to be angry at her?"

Dick stared, as if finally comprehending the words Damian had spoken. As far as mothers went, Dick had never imagined Talia as being good- well, at least not in the normal sense. But Dick had never realised the extent in which Damian had cared for her; and really, he should've known, because no matter how much Damian tried to hide it, he cared, he really did.

Damian's an incredible kid. He didn't deserve his mother (or his father).

"She set a bounty on you?" Dick said, voice slightly trembling.

Damian looked down. A silent yes.

"It wasn't anything you did," Dick tried to assuage. "It wasn't your fault."

"I know it was not my fault," Damian snapped. "I knew she would do something like this. She is an assassin, she's not supposed to care about... anyone."

"You're her son," Dick blurted, almost offended at Talia's detachment.

"I'm her asset," Damian said bluntly. "And I failed my function. I just didn't expect it to..."

"To hurt?"

Damian crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture. "I am not hurt," he seethed. "She has not laid a hand on me."

"There are different ways to be hurt, Dami. You should know that by now."

"It shouldn't hurt this much," Damian said, his voice hollow like a desecrated grave.

"It hurts because you care. You can't help caring."

"It wasn't this hard before," Damian muttered. He glared at Dick. "Before I met you, not caring was easy. This is your fault."

Dick smiled slightly. Some part of him couldn't help being proud, even though he hated to see Damian hurting. Because learning to care, and learning that caring hurt, were all the twisted parts of growing up.

Someday, Damian would make a great Batman.

"Look," Dick said, "she may not be proud of you, but that's because she can't see everything you've done, everyone you've saved. The person you've grown into. What she sees as a weakness, I see as a strength. To me, Dami, you'll always be strong. I'm proud of you. And I always will be, whatever you do."

Damian cocked his head. "Even if I become something like a pop star?"

Dick grinned. "Only if I can see your shows."

Damian's face flushed at the thought of his older brother screaming like a fangirl. "You're an idiot," he groaned.

"That's why you love me," Dick teased.

Damian shook his head fiercely- which, in Damian speak, meant a resounding 'yes'.

Because Damian didn't have to be anything, not an assassin, not even Robin.

He just had to be there, Dick thought.

He just had to be.


Hey guys! Sorry this took so long, things were really busy here. Anyway, happy Chinese New Year everybody! The Year Of The Monkey is off to a fresh start, and I wish all of you good luck and good health in the upcoming year. As always, like, follow, or review! Thanks for reading!