Author's Note: Here's a little something for winter solstice. Sorry for the late post, the site was being a jerk and kept trying to make the entire chapter italicized instead of just thoughts, so I had to pick through the whole story. Hopefully I didn't miss anything that should have been in italics. Happy reading, and happy solstice!
"...Grayson," Damian paused halfway across the foyer and crossed his arms, "what are you doing?"
"Just getting ready," Dick answered easily as he zipped his coat over a pair of snow pants. "You should, too. It's almost time to head out."
"Yeah, on patrol. You're still dressed as a civilian, idiot, you can't go out like that!"
"Why not? I'm only going to the back yard."
The boy blinked at him for a long moment. "Did you hit your head while we were training earlier?" he asked finally.
"Nope."
"Then what explanation can you offer for your erratic behavior?"
"Easy question, the answer to which is that the only thing I plan to patrol tonight is the awesome bonfire we're going to be lighting in about..." He shucked a glove back to check his watch. "...Ten minutes."
"A bonfire?" Damian repeated quizzically. "...Why?"
"Because it's solstice. And," he added, walking up to the child and dropping to one knee before him, "because you've seemed kind of down the last couple weeks, and I thought it might make you feel better if we introduced a little light and warmth into the standard Gotham winter." He smiled softly. "C'mon, little brother, you'll never get away with telling me that you don't want to be the cause of a giant conflagration. I know you too well to believe that."
"Are you saying that I get to start the fire?" A tiny spark of interest flared in his eyes.
"Yup. Just with a lighter and a paper towel, not with a flamethrower or anything, but you're the official fire starter. You okay with that title?"
"I suppose I could be convinced to participate," Damian chased a nascent grin off of his face. A fire. Light, and heat, and... And everything he had, in fact, been missing terribly.
"I thought you might," Dick reached up and ruffled his hair.
"Hey!" the boy protested, ducking.
"What? It's going under your hat anyway; no one will be able to see it. Now let's hurry," he stood up, "we want everything to be started before the others get here."
"What others?" No one else is required, or even particularly wanted, he snarked mentally. Your presence is sufficient.
"Relax, you know them. It's just Uncle Clark and Wally. I asked the Titans, too, but they all had…ah…other plans," he revealed a bit sheepishly.
Damian scoffed. "I guess they can't handle hearing the truth about themselves very well if I pissed them off so much that they wouldn't even come out for you. Whatever. I prefer intelligent, capable company."
Dick sighed. "Can't fault me for trying."
...No, I really can't. I don't know why you think it would be so good for me to have friends closer to my own age, but I have to admit that you're dedicated to the idea. "I'm surprised you didn't ask your girlfriend. She seems like one who enjoys things like this."
"One, Babs isn't my girlfriend," the older male grimaced, "despite my best efforts. Two…I did ask her."
"But she had 'other plans'?" the youth guessed.
"Yeah. With another guy."
"…Oh." Neither spoke for a moment. "I suppose I should get ready," Damian ventured finally. I didn't mean to make you sad by bringing her up, Grayson. That wasn't my goal.
"Here, Alfred got you some new snow pants," Dick led him over to where a stack of winter clothing sat on one of the entry benches. "Look, we'll match," a faint grin reappeared as he pointed out that fact.
"Joy of joys," the boy half-griped despite the fact that he didn't particularly mind. He dressed swiftly, then frowned as they walked out the front and began to circle the house. "...I would ask why we're wearing so many clothes if we're going to be around a hot fire, but I suspect the answer is Pennyworth."
"Yup, Alfred insisted. We can probably shuck some of it once we've got things going without getting too nasty of a look," he advised, "but let me go first."
"I'm perfectly capable of withstanding a glare."
"I know, but...hey, Wally's here already!" he cut off, his smile widening as he picked out a silhouette in the center of the lawn. The redhead, who had been circling the shoveled-out area around a stack of wood nearly as tall as himself, glanced up. He immediately vanished, reappearing an instant later as he swept Dick off his feet and tumbled them both into the snowbank alongside the scraped and graveled walkway. A flurry of flung powder followed as the pair greeted one another playfully with hastily-made snowballs to the face. "I thought you were going to be late, bro!"
"I might have left a kiddie holiday concert before it ended just so I wouldn't be," Wally confessed as they climbed to their feet and embraced. "But what the hell, it seems like they have a concert or a recital or something every week. My leaving halfway through one thing isn't going to screw them up for life. Besides," he smirked, "nothing was on fire there."
"Nothing's on fire here yet, either," Dick pointed out. "We've still got to get the fire starter to the wood pile," he gestured towards Damian, who had hung back during the adults' exchange.
"You lighting it, Damian? Nice," the speedster said sincerely. "Who else is coming?" he turned back to his friend.
"Clark. And Alfred, obviously."
"...That's it, huh?" A wordless look passed between them that Damian could only guess involved his elder brother's incessant and fruitless attempts to catch Barbara Gordon's interest. "Sorry, bro."
"It is what it is. I'm still inviting her for New Year's, so..."
"Yeah. Well..." They mourned silently for a moment. "Anyway, we should get this party started, don't you think?" Wally shook Dick's shoulder encouragingly.
"Yeah!" the younger man plastered a smile on. "C'mon, little D, let's get you your tools."
They approached the waiting pile in a loose triangle, the taller figures walking ahead together while the youth trailed behind. "All right," Dick cheered once they'd reached their destination. "There's a ridiculous amount of starter-soaked wood chips in the middle, so once you light it step back, okay?"
"I'm not an infant, Grayson," Damian sighed. "I know how to light a fire without killing myself." ...Although to be fair I've never lit one quite like this, he thought, his gaze traveling up the nearest pole to where its ragged end jutted into the fabric of the night. Buildings and survival blazes, yes; bonfires built specifically for fun, no.
"In that case," his guardian reached into his pockets, "I give you your sword and your scepter, grand marshal." Handing over a twisted-up paper towel and a lighter, he bowed dramatically and backed away. "Do your duty."
Wally, too, took several long steps towards the house, leaving Damian alone in the face of his task. He glanced covertly towards the spot Dick had occupied a second before, then looked down at the items he'd been invested with. Let's start a fire, an impish smirk flashed across his face. With that he yanked off his glove, flicked the lighter to life beneath the ersatz kindling, and chucked it through the nearest gap.
A hand on his collar dragged him backwards as soon as the flaming towel left his hand. Before he could protest the extraction he was made grateful for it, as a wave of intense heat washed over them, drawing a sheen of sweat and wicking it away just as quickly. Fire licked skyward with a loud whoompf, so much dry bark and tinder evaporating in the sudden inferno that the air was immediately tangy with smoke. "...Wow," Damian murmured as a flash of blue sparked in the heart of his creation. That...that was pretty cool.
"Nice job, little brother," Dick complimented, his fingers moving from the boy's coat to his shoulder and squeezing gently. "It looks good."
"Whew," Wally pulled off his hat. "It's a hot one, that's for sure."
Alfred emerged from the back of the house and called out to them worriedly. "Is everything all right, Master Dick?"
"We're golden, Alfred!" he waved back.
"Very good, sir. I'll fetch you out some chairs momentarily."
"Great, thanks!"
The three of them stood silently, listening to the dry wood crackle and snap. Dick's hand stayed on Damian's shoulder, but rather than complain or shake it off he let it be, focusing on the dancing flames. The fire moves like you do, Grayson, he mused. There and then gone...bright, subdued, bright again...barely able to touch anything without leaving a mark. His eyes narrowed. Fire's a powerful element. You should be glad to share so many traits with it.
"Hello, all," a new voice rose behind them. "Hope I haven't missed too much of the fun."
"Hey, Uncle Clark!" Dick bounded away from the fire to take some of the chairs the Kryptonian was carrying. "You didn't miss much, we just lit it a few minutes ago." They set down their loads where the heat was tolerable rather than baking, and the younger man threw himself forward for a hug. "Good to see you."
"You too, pal," Clark replied, the tightness with which he squeezed his surrogate nephew evident to the two who were watching. "...Wally," he extended his hand and gave the redhead a firm clap on the back next. "Hello, Damian," a nod and a smile were finally sent to the child observing the proceedings. "Alfred told me you lit the fire."
"I did," he confirmed shortly.
"Well, it looks good. It's certainly big enough," his gaze returned to Dick. "Hang a painted sheet high enough up over it and you could probably make a pretty decent Batsignal," he joked.
"Let's just hope Batman never needs to be called to Wayne Manor," was half-jested back.
"Agreed." He paused. "Are we it?"
"Ah...yeah. Us and Alfred," Dick turned his eyes to the base of the fire. "Everyone else was...busy."
"That's alright," Clark tried to soften the blow. "Heck, we could save the world with the crew we've got here, so having fun shouldn't be too tough of a task."
"Indeed, Mister Kent," Alfred ghosted from the darkness carrying a small cooler with a box balanced on top. "Now that we've drinks and...marshmallows," a muscle under his left eye twitched, "we can have quite the little party."
Things did indeed liven up once everyone had something to sip and the main attraction had burned itself down to where its output was something less than that of a blast furnace. Even the butler conceded to join in the festivities, accepting a seat and taking the occasional nip from a flask he removed from his pocket and passed around. As the adults talked gaily amongst themselves, Damian listened, lingering on the edge of the gathering and saying nothing unless he was directly addressed. Each time he passed by Dick's chair, the man reached out to touch him or sent him a curious glance, checking silently that he was having a decent enough time. The fire offered his skin a warmth that the sun hadn't been able to adequately provide for two months, and despite his best efforts to not care he found himself enjoying the oasis of heat and light. He perked up enough in the glow that he almost laughed on several occasions, only just catching himself before the sound escaped.
It was sheer luck that he happened to look up at a crucial moment and catch a glimpse of a feminine figure passing through the beam of one of the house's rear lights. Gordon, he bristled, glancing towards his brother to see if he had sensed the woman's presence. What are you doing here? We're...He's having fun. You'll make him feel bad. Go away. Without giving any sign, he slipped away from the light and cheer to catch the interloper. He stopped her midway between the manor and the fire, in a band of darkness that would keep them invisible to all but the Kryptonian. "Why are you here?" he opened with a demand.
"...Damian?" she peered at him. "Hey. Dick invited me. I know I'm late-"
"And I know you're a fool," he cut her off.
"Excuse me?"
...Oh. I don't know where that came from, he realized with a trace of consternation. Still, you showing up like this will ruin things, and you are being stupid about him. This has been a less than abhorrent evening thus far,and you're going to ruin it if you make him sad. "You shouldn't have come."
"He told you about my date, didn't he?" she asked wisely.
"Yes." He doesn't even look at other girls,and you're out with other men. I shouldn't care, he wrestled with himself for a moment, but I do. I do because he deserves better than you.
"Damian, you aren't old enough to understand-"
"How old does a person have to be to understand that he loves you, and that you're an imbecile for not reciprocating?" he sneered. "How many men of his caliber do you think are going to come sniffing at your door?"
"What-"
"Here's a hint; none. None, Gordon," he threatened, his voice dropping into a prepubescent version of his father's signature Bat growl, "because they don't exist."
"...Damian-"
"Hi, Babs," the topic of their conversation spoke up suddenly, his hands materializing on the boy's tense shoulders. "Glad you could make it. Come on down, there's plenty of room."
He spoke quietly, and Damian could hear pained bewilderment mixing with ecstatic joy in his tone. God damn you, Barbara Gordon, he cursed as the woman accepted the invitation. God damn you.
As soon as they regained the fire he shortened his pacing arc, hovering closer to Dick's chair than he had before. Only a brief moment of awkwardness passed between the new arrival's first step into the firelight and the conversation's return to its previous levels of conviviality, a phenomenon that Damian realized could not have occurred had the man whom he was feeling inexplicably defensive over been any less welcoming to the latecomer. Now focusing his ears intently on everything that was being said lest Barbara make the mistake of uttering a potentially hurtful remark, he let his eyes wander back to the fire and waited for her misstep.
His opportunity to glare never came, however, and by the time Dick suggested they break out the marshmallows he was beginning to wonder if his words had, perhaps, had an effect on her. Loosening his surveillance somewhat, he accepted a long toasting fork and settled down in the half-melted snow at his brother's feet to roast his ration. Not entirely certain how the procedure worked but unwilling to say as much, he burned the first two, and had to fight to keep his expression free of disgust as the blackened skins flaked apart in his mouth. That's disgusting, he grimaced. Why do people cook these things over an open flame if that's how they end up?
He was about to resign himself to eating his third and final serving raw when he noticed how Dick was manipulating his treat. His slow, even turning was mesmerizing, and a little shock of amazement went through him as the white clump of sugar began to tan over the heat of the flames. So that's how you do it. It's annoying that it takes so long, but...that looks like it tastes a lot better than mine did.
"You want to try one that doesn't look like it's been exposed to a nuclear blast?" the marshmallow was bounced in front of him temptingly.
"...But it's yours," he frowned.
"Eh. I've got two more. Besides, I kind of prefer making them to eating them. Careful!" a warning was voiced as he reached for the glob, "that's going to be hot."
It was, but he ate it anyway. Thick, burnished velvet scraped the charred remnants of his failures away, and warm, almost tasteless semi-liquid followed, leaving his taste buds singing. "...It was almost perfect," he informed the man seated behind him with false disdain.
"Almost?" Dick grinned as if he knew better. "Let's see you make one as good."
Damian tried, failing only because he was distracted by a particularly ribald comment from Wally that left everyone else laughing and was sufficient to draw a thin guffaw from him. When he turned his stick next, it was to find that the single moment of inattention had crisped the extreme edge of the marshmallow. Cursing under his breath, he flung it into the fire.
"Here," a fresh opportunity appeared over his shoulder before the fork could follow. "I don't think Alfred will skin me alive if I only give you one more."
Taking it, he strengthened his resolve and shut out the talk of the adults. With a painful lack of speed, his final attempt browned to the color of a fawn's hide. Holding his breath, he pulled it back and examined it meticulously, searching for any sign of error.
"Nice job, little D," Dick leaned down to compliment. "Why am I not surprised that you mastered cooking marshmallows just as fast as you master everything else?"
I...thanks, the boy bit back. "Here," he offered brusquely. "You have it."
"Nah, go for it."
"You issued a challenge, Grayson. This is my answer to it. Eat the marshmallow," he demanded. After all, I...I made it for you.
"Okay, okay. Far be it from me to back out of a duel." Chuckling, Dick popped the bite into his mouth and chewed. After a moment's contemplation, he beamed. "Perfect."
"...Good." Perfect. Was it really, though? Or did you just say that because you wanted to make me feel good about it? He frowned as he set his fork aside and hunched forward, resting his elbow on his knees and his chin in his hands. It wouldn't be the first time you've done something like that. Still...I suppose I don't mind, so long as everyone else thinks it really was perfect. Another bout of amusement exited the group behind him. This really wasn't an entirely horrible idea, this bonfire, he decided. Not so entirely horrible at all.
He was awakened he knew not how much later by the beginnings of an attempt to pick him up. "I'll walk," he said perturbedly without looking to see who had been about to move him.
"Sure," Dick's voice agreed. "Let's go, though. It's kind of late. Everyone else already left, and Alfred's taking the chairs in."
Damian opened his eyes to find that the massive tower of fire that had started the night had been reduced to a mere pile of coals, from which occasionally licked a desperate, dying flame. "...Oh," he said quietly, a sudden feeling of loss invading him. "It's over."
"Yeah..." Dick, seeing that his sibling wasn't making any efforts to move, dropped to the ground beside him. "But that's okay. It served it's purpose, right?" he inquired hopefully.
"If by 'served it's purpose' you mean it made me hate the winter a little less...well..." A memory of the shifting heat and the sweet smell of wood smoke washed over him. "...I guess it did alright."
"Good. Then we'll just have to have another one sometime soon, huh?"
"...Will Pennyworth allow it?"
"He said something about the landscaping needing an update next summer anyway when I initially suggested this one, so...I don't see why not."
"Mm." Good. Very good.
"Hey, Dami?"
"Yes?"
"...Thanks for defending my honor earlier," the joke fell flat. "I didn't even know she was here until I noticed you were missing."
"I meant what I said. She's a dumbass." ...And the other thing, Damian added in his head. I meant that, too. No one else I've ever known would do something like this just to try and make me feel better. Hell, no one else would even notice that I...that I maybe missed the heat, and the light. It's too dark here in the winter, and too cold, but...this made it almost tolerable.
"She's her own person who makes her own decisions," the man sighed. "And I love her, just like you said." He paused. "I love you, too."
"...I know. That's why you let me light a giant fire in the back yard."
"Yup. Well...that, and giant fires with friends are just plain awesome. But mostly the first part." With that he stood up and offered the boy his hand. "C'mon, little brother," he jerked his head towards the house. "It's bed time for both of us. Alfred said he'd finish up out here."
Damian hesitated, then let himself be pulled to his feet. "When...when do you think this will happen again?" he asked as they started towards the manor.
"Probably New Year's. Is that soon enough for you?"
"...Yes."
"Good. Then it's a plan." Neither spoke again until they'd shucked their gear in the foyer and mounted the stairs. "...Night, Dami. You want tucked in?"
"No. I'm fine."
"Okay. See you at breakfast." Yawning, Dick disappeared into his room.
Damian remained in the hallway for a second more, staring at the door that had closed behind him. I'm fine, he thought slowly. I'm fine because I have a friend...a brother...like you. Someone who will let me light fires just to feel better. Good night, Grayson, he turned towards his own chamber. I hope you sleep well.