A/N: This is a cross-post of my fic with the same name on AO3! I know there are a lot of people who exclusively use FF or ao3, so I wanted to give everyone a chance to read it. My name there is LittleLadybugs (on FF this was already taken, so I added another s)
I'll upload two chapters a week until I'm caught up with the original! At the time of posting this its at ch 11, with around 15 chapters planned total. If you want to read ahead, feel free to go to ao3 to do so. After this A/N I won't mention this again.
I also don't mind getting concrit on this! Pls be kind though, this is my first story :)
For now it's rated T, but the violence might ramp it up to M in the future. Nothing sexual, though. And be warned about the angst tag. It is a heavy one.
ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ⍝
happy reading!
EDIT
I thought I was happy enough with this to repost it to FF , but then I actually started reading through first few chapters and it almost gave me an aneurysm, so I rewrote the first three chapters. It probably won't matter that much here yet, since the fic hasn't taken off yet like on A03, but it would feel dishonest to not tell y'all.
Anyway, enjoy!
END EDIT
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When Dick snapped awake, the light through the curtains hit his face completely wrong. Either the sun had risen from the west, or it was deep in the afternoon. He groaned and rubbed his eyes—he did not have time to be oversleeping, even if he was bone achingly tired.
His body had chosen a terrible moment to catch up. He'd called in sick to prepare for the drug bust with Jason tonight. His suit needed to be stitched. His grapple needed to be re-strung. He still needed to study the blueprints and figure out a plan. Red Hood wouldn't take kindly to being called over to Blüdhaven for something sloppy, and Dick didn't want to burden him more than he had to. Their relationship was fragile enough as it was.
And now he'd already wasted hours on sleep, of all things.
Breathe. One problem at the time.
First. The screaming phone on the coffee table. He reached for it, taking a sharp breath as the motion crushed his battered ribs. Last night hadn't been kind to Nightwing.
It could be a lot of people. He mostly hoped it wasn't Bruce.
It was Bruce.
Dick sat up and coughed to clear his throat. His head whipped to the mirror that leaned against the wall.
"Cats, dogs, birds and bats," he said to the bruised face in the mirror, just to make sure his voice wouldn't crack from disuse. Then he picked up.
"Are you ill?" Bruce's gruff voice asked from the other end.
"What?"
"You picked up on the last ring."
Dick sighed. Why did he always find something to complain about?
"I still picked up, didn't I?"
The line went silent. Bruce's reply would tell him the reason for his call—If he kept pushing as to why, god forbid, his perfect son wouldn't pick up first ring, he was in a bad mood and didn't want to bother Alfred. Option two, though…
"You did," Bruce said evenly. "Forget I said anything." Great. That meant he needed something. Something he knew Dick would refuse if he started another argument.
He got up from his nest on the couch, his phone trapped between his ear and shoulder as he picked up empty takeout containers. Might as well do something while Bruce tried to play nice—it could take ages for him to get to the point when he was watching his words.
"So you called because?"
"I need you to pick up Damian from school." There it was. Dick slammed the boxes into the trash loud enough for Bruce to hear.
"Again? You want me to go to the next parent-teacher conference, too?" Maybe that wasn't fair, but he didn't get a lot of chances to talk back.
"If you would," Bruce asked, completely missing the point. "You have a way with people."
This man. "I'm his older brother."
"So?"
"So I can't be his father."
Bruce growled. Actually growled. Maybe that had been too much. Dick ripped open his curtains and let the light fall onto the mess in his apartment. Brace for fallout.
"I'm hardly having you write adoption papers," Bruce said. "I can't leave the company at this hour and Alfred is picking up Cassandra from the airport. Just do me a favor and drive him to the manor."
Dick's hands squeezed around the curtains. That was a lower blow than he'd expected. He'd been days away from adopting Damian when Bruce returned from the dead. They'd been Batman and Robin, and although the cowl had been heavy, that year living in the penthouse with Damian had been bright enough to make Gotham feel cosy and nostalgic.
Throwing away those adoption papers had been hellfire. He could never be that selfish when the boy's real father was alive and in his life. It would be like Bruce adopting him while John and Mary Grayson simply stepped aside.
What child would want that, thinking their parent didn't care enough to raise them? He was happy to play big brother, if that kept Damian in his life.
It would be easier if Bruce stopped rubbing it in his face, though.
He just couldn't understand that getting to know the kids' teacher mattered just as much as taking him on patrol. That being Batman and Robin wasn't the same as being Bruce and Damian. It made Dick want to strangle him, to yell at him to do better. Made him imagine whisking the boy away to Europe, hiking through pine forests, wading bare-foot through icy rivers, dunking their hands into the waves to look for insects and fish.
But their lives didn't work that way. Gotham's gravity had pulled all of them in, the city's weight making it impossible to leave its orbit.
So Dick swallowed down his pride and said, "I'll leave in five."
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He found Damian in the Headmistress' office, a little detail Bruce forgot to mention. The boy sat stock still and stared straight ahead, a stubborn frown on his face as he tried not to shiver. Water dripped down his uniform and stained the carpet, and his hair stuck to his forehead. What happened? Why didn't they let him shower, or grab a blanket? He could catch a cold, or pneumonia, or—
"Grayson," Damian said, and Dick ate up the distance between them. He grabbed onto the boy's soaked blazer and studied him for bruises or blood, for any sign he took a hit.
"What happened?"
"I'm fine."
Dick let out a breath. Thank the League he wasn't hurt, but that didn't mean he was fine. They'd forced him to sit here like a drenched kitten, waiting for Dick to drive all the way from Blüdhaven to come pick him up.
On the other side of the room another boy bawled his eyes out, comforted by a woman Dick recognized as Mrs. Hellinger from the last parent-teacher conference. She'd been the one to complain about the school's 'integrity' when they released the list of the new scholarship kids. The new black scholarship kids.
Yeah.
Whatever Damian had done, the kid probably deserved it. It'd been ages since his temper had gotten the better of him. He'd told Dick he saw school as an ecosystem, his fellow students wildlife he had to co-exist with. It would've been insulting to hear him call his classmates hyena's, sheep, or mosquitoes, had Dick not known he loved animals more that people.
"We haven't been able to pry anything from the boys," the Headmistress said. She sat behind her massive desk, her fingers folded into a triangle under her chin. Dick had only seen her once before, shaking hands with concerned parents as they complained about the cafeteria food.
"Let go of me," Damian said, trying to hide a shiver.
Dick squeezed his shoulders.
"Don't you have anything dry for him?" he asked.
"I do not need to be coddled." Damian pulled himself free. Oh, so that was how it was—he'd been too proud to catch a cold. That made more sense.
Dick shot him a look. "You're soaking wet. At least let me get you a towel, or—" He was interrupted by a wail from the other boy.
"shhh, Robin," his mother soothed, "that boy gave you quite the fright, didn't he?"
Dick froze. Robin. He knew it'd become a popular name in Gotham, but to see such a hateful person claim it made his stomach do all kinds of knots.
Damian narrowed his eyes, daring Dick to say something. His brows furrowed further when his gaze snapped the left side of Dick's face, where he'd done a botched job of hiding the bruise from yesterday's patrol.
No doubt Damian saw right through the make-up when he said, "I would like to go home now."
God, this kid. Dick should've known he'd notice. Should've spent just a few more minutes to blend the foundation properly. But he hated looking into the mirror these days.
"Then tell us what happened," the Headmistress said. She gestured for Dick to sit down, but he moved to stand behind Damian's chair, once again gripping his shoulders. Even if their reasons differed, Dick agreed that this should end before he caught pneumonia.
The other boy finally stopped his tantrum, sniffing as his mother whispered and pressed him against her chest.
Crazy to think both boys were the same age.
Damian sneezed. "Why don't you ask Robin," he muttered.
The woman shot daggers at him. "It's clear my little bird is in no state to talk, due to you."
"Damian's the one soaking wet," Dick countered.
"Unless you count those infantile tears," Damian added.
"Dami."
Damian shook Dick's hands from his shoulders and whipped around. "What would you have me do? Stand there while he disgraces Robin? He's a villain!"
"He's a child," Dick said back. Then he regretted the words immediately, because they implied Damian should be above this, when all he wanted for him was to be allowed to act his age. Even then, he clearly held his temper, or the other boy would be bleeding instead of crying.
"Sorry," he added, rubbing his temple. His eyelids kept dropping despite oversleeping, and his headache pounded inside his skull, no matter how much aspirin he took. This proved that more sleep wouldn't magically fix him, at least. He still said the wrong things, still opened his mouth only to spew more damage into his family.
He didn't want Damian to worry about him, but that might be a tall order.
"A villain!" the other parent screeched, "How dare this… this rat call my Robin a villain!"
"we don't condone name-calling at this school," the Headmistress said before Dick could tear into the woman. Rat. An adult calling a thirteen-year-old, tan skinned child a rat. He wanted to believe Gotham was better than this, but the city was always quick to prove him wrong. Despite everything they sacrificed, people like this would always exist.
"So don't let that rat call Robin a villain!"
The Headmistress' lips pursed as she looked at Damian, then back at that wench.
"I'll make sure Damian apologizes to Robin," she said. "But please refrain from calling my student a 'rat', it's highly inappropriate. If you cannot listen to the children, I'm afraid we'll have to reschedule this talk with someone more suitable for adult conversation."
Dick eyed the principal with newfound interest. Bruce's continued donations to the school seemed to go to a good cause; when he was still attending, the old Headmaster liked name-calling just as much as his students.
The woman's eyes nearly bulged out of her head when she realised the jab. She squeezed fake Robin in her arms until the boy had to shake his Mother loose in fear of suffocation.
"Tell them," she urged, "what that… child did to you."
Fake Robin just shook his head and crushed his head into his mother's shoulder.
Damian rolled his eyes. "Robin was throwing away lunches," he said. "He made the other students give him their food and threw it into the lake, disregarding both the hungry children and the animals that died for the meals. All I said was that I would inform the real Robin the next time I see him, as I will attend the justice league fundraiser with my father next week. He doesn't like vi- bullies who share his name. I merely told this impostor to watch his back."
Dick sighed. "Dami, you can't threaten people like that. It's not nice and you know the real Robin would never hurt a child."
Damian stiffened at the jab, breaking eye contact to stare at the floor. There had been a time when Robin would've hurt a boy like that, but Dick had faith that those times were in the past.
"This was the only way I could think to stop him without using any… physicality," Damian said. And if that didn't make Dick's heart swell with pride, to know he'd used his words instead of his sword to solve something. Granted, they hadn't been very nice words, but we all have to start somewhere. Especially when it would've been so easy for Damian to slip up and solve the problem with violence.
He deserved at least three ice-cream trips for this. Or maybe hot chocolate would be more appropriate, judging by how he shivered in his chair. He was going to get seriously ill if this went on much further.
"Thank you for being honest, Damian," The Headmistress said with a smile. "I have to confess that I had the footage of the skirmish pulled from the security cameras, so I'm glad you were truthful. As such, I will only suspend you for a week."
Dick's heart sank. "A week? I know he said some… tasteless things, but surely suspension is too much."
"Serves you right," Mrs. Hellinger said, still holding her son to her chest. Her complexion had paled multiple shades when the Headmistress mentioned the cameras.
"Robin will be suspended for a month," the principal continued, "and if I catch him harassing students with this kind of malice again, it will be cause for expulsion."
Fake Robin looks up towards the principal for the first time, his whimpering replaced by a snarl. "My Daddy will—"
"Make sure you think about your actions," Mrs. Sewer Rat finished. She stood and grabbed her son's wrist, pulling him towards the door before the subject of Damian's soaking clothes could be discussed. The camera's no doubt showed Robin being just as nasty as his mother.
She was lucky Dick was in no hurry to bring it up either —he knew how humiliating it could be to be pushed around in civvies. Damian didn't need to hear a forced, insincere sorry from a brat like that. He needed hot chocolate and a shower.
"I will send you the details," the Headmistress said as the pair hurried out of the room.
"Yes, do that. Goodbye Ma'am."
Dick purged all thoughts of the duo as soon as the door closed. Damian was still shaking, his brow furrowed as he looked at his lap. Dick's heart fell at the thought of breaking the news to Bruce. He'd probably be too mad about the suspension to realise Damian was the one wronged. That he needed a hug instead of a lecture.
He'd love to call Alfred and let him ease Bruce into it, but there was no way he was already back from the airport. At least, he thought grimly, the butler would bring Cass with him. That always got Bruce in a good mood.
"Are you listening, Mr. Grayson?"
"Off course," Dick replied. "I understand you can't play favorites. I'm sure Mr. Wayne won't be happy, though."
The Headmistress shot Damian an apologetic look. "All things considered, you carried yourself formidably, Damian. Now I suggest you find the nearest shower, or you'll spend your entire week in bed, god forbid. That would be a waste of free time."
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They were silent in the car, listening to the hum of the radio. Damian had refused to use the school's showers, saying he'd only have wet clothes to change back into. Dick didn't even try to suggest the lost and found. He'd given up and draped his coat over the boy in the passenger seat, burying him beneath the heavy fabric. Damian glowered, but didn't protest.
He probably knew Dick wouldn't accept another no.
"Can't your peasant car go any faster?" he complained.
Dick quirked an eyebrow. He wasn't that fond of his beat down Dodge, but it was bad superstition to badmouth old cars.
"I suppose it could, if the road wasn't blocked. You feel like bowling?" As always, the traffic was like a snake making its way through the city. Dick long since knew how to detach himself from the inevitable, but patience was a lot to ask from a freezing thirteen-year-old.
"You could've taken your bike."
Sure, it had been tempting to grab his civilian bike, but he remembered just in time that he'd cracked one of his only two helmets in a nasty spill as Nightwing. Not that it mattered now, with Damian shaking next to him. He'd call a helicopter before he'd let the boy catch a cold just to avoid traffic.
"Probably," he answered, too tired to explain.
"What happened to your face?"
Dick shot Damian a look. "Don't think you're distracting me. What you did wasn't okay, Dami."
"It's not like I would've done it!"
"Done what?"
"You know, hurt him as Robin. I know that would've been too much."
"How thoughtful of you." Dick slammed on the brakes just in time for the red light, making both of them jerk forward in their seat-belts. Deep breaths. Damian didn't deserve to deal with his mood on top of the horrible day he must've had.
"Just tell me you won't do it again," Dick said.
Damian stared at the red traffic light through the windshield. After a heavy silence he said, "Fine. I won't threaten villains with Robin's justice anymore."
The corners of Dick's mouth quirked up. He was ninety percent sure Damian caked ten extra layers on top of his already proper way of speaking when he wanted to lighten the mood.
"You forgot the most important part," Dick said.
Damian sighed. His hand rose from below his blanket, and he locked his pinkie with Dick's.
"I promise," he said coarsely, whipping his hand back below the coat before Dick could get used to its weight.
Every moment he spend with him, he remembered why he loved the kid.
"Love you, Dami."
"You're insufferable, Grayson."
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When they got back to the Manor Dick all but pushed Damian into the shower. He dug into the boy's closet, laying out the softest, brightest clothes Damian would never dare to pick himself. He pretended to hate the clashing colors, but his habit of stashing Dick's old Christmas sweaters deep in his wardrobe betrayed him.
With Alfred gone, Dick risked a trip into the kitchen, opening cabinets until he found the instant hot chocolate hidden behind layers of pots and pans. Alfred always insisted on making it from scratch, but Dick didn't think he could without messing up the spotless kitchen. One evil for another.
Damian came downstairs wearing the obnoxiously bright sweater Dick had chosen, which made his hand itch to snap pictures until his phone broke. Damian had very clear rules about photos though, and this definitely didn't count as approved attire.
Dick poured the steaming chocolate into two mugs. He wasn't in the mood for sweets, but he'd skipped breakfast (lunch?), the thought of food making him nauseous when he'd searched his fridge for something to scarf down on the way to the school. He had to get in some kind of calories if he was going to last long enough to do that stupid bust with Jason.
They took their mugs to the den and drank it on their ratty couch, the TV barely above a whisper in the background. Some wildlife documentary about lions they'd watched a thousand times.
And then he could finally breathe. This was familiar. These were the quiet moments that brought him back to life: his fuzzy edges snapping back into focus, his heart slowing as Damian's body pressed against him, swaddled in blankets and dozing like a cat.
This was how he weathered the rest of his life.
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Bruce's temper didn't disappoint when he came home. "Suspended again? You can't keep doing this. Not if you want to be Robin."
He'd walked in on them cuddling in the Den, Damian asleep against Dick's side. Dick had stared at the ugly expression on his father's face, daring him to ruin the moment. Even with years of practice It was hard to tell his emotions apart, but Dick dubbed that one jealousy.
"Wake him up so we can talk," Bruce had said. Then he'd walked away.
Damian hadn't moved or spoken Bruce started to tear into him. They all knew talking back would just make things worse. But then Bruce had to mention Robin, and that was just too much, considering what happened.
"You cannot bench me, not with Joker out of Arkam!"
"I'll have Nightwing back me up."
Nightwing, not Dick. That hurt, even though Bruce was using him to hurt Damian. Too bad he has his own cases in Blüdhaven lined up until his death. Not that he would've helped Bruce punish Damian, anyway. Not over his dead body.
"I can't," Dick said.
Bruce's head snapped towards him. "So you're okay with letting Joker kill people until Robin gets unbenched?"
Breathe. He always twisted the blame, always tried to find something to get under Dick's skin. The worst part? He didn't even realise he was doing it.
Dick wouldn't be goaded into an argument, not with Damian in the room. Batman wanted to make this his fault? Fine. He could play scapegoat. There was no point in arguing when he got into one of these moods.
He would've tried a few months ago. A week ago too, maybe, if it'd been a good day. But he was so tired of always having to be the one who tries. His head wouldn't stop pounding at every sharp syllable Bruce spit, and his ribs wouldn't stop aching where his seat-belt had caught him when he'd slammed the brakes.
His eyes wouldn't focus on anything but the half-empty mugs of hot chocolate on the counter.
Screw it. Without a word, Dick turned and dragged Damian with him towards the cave. He ignored the stunned look Bruce's reflection gave him in the grandfather clock.
And in the first miracle of the day, their father didn't follow them.
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This turned out pretty convenient, with his suit in stitches. Now he had an excuse to swing by the Cave for his back-up gear. That was the oversleeping problem solved.
Everything was fine.
"Richard," Damian said. He was still wearing Dick's old Christmas sweater, standing a pace behind as Dick checked his grappling gun, already in his Nightwing costume. God, he really was going to leave the boy like this, wasn't he?
"He'll come around," Dick said. "You know he's just worried about you—he's always had a terrible way to show it. Alfie will come home with Cass and then the school will call, and once he hears from adults it wasn't your fault, I promise he won't bench you."
Dick didn't look up from the wires, even when Damian didn't reply.
"Won't it be nice to have this week off so you can catch up with Cass? You got lucky, in a way."
"I suppose," Damian answered. Then he added, almost in a whisper, "but are you okay?"
Oh, Dami. If only the others knew what a sweet boy he was. Nightwing had slipped too much, and his Robin had noticed. Dick put down the wires and wrapped his son in a hug, burying his nose into his crown.
"Don't worry," he said, and by the second miracle of the day, Damian let him hang on until Dick was ready to let go. After one last squeeze, Nightwing put the grapple into his belt and swung his leg over his bike.
"I have a bust with Red Hood tonight, but I'll leave my window open if you need somewhere to wait Bruce out. Love you, Little Bird."
He didn't dare look back as he sped out of the Cave.
