A/N: I'm back!

So, last time, I asked you guys to tell me what prompts you liked.

I basically got people for every single prompt, so I decided 'why not go down the list'?

I also got some good prompt suggestions, which I might be using. :)

So this is prompt #1: A Damian and Dick songfic to the song 'Til Him' from The Producers.

I decided on this after seeing a video of Mel Brooks (writer of said song and a very good amount of movies) being honored at the Kennedy Center, with the performance being people singing songs from his movies. This was the ending song and the one during which everyone came out and sang the ending line to him as a way to honor him. When I heard it, I thought of Damian and Dick. It seems to describe how Damian feels about Dick. Dick really brought out the best in him.

So if you really want to capture the essence of this song's emotion here, I would look up 'Mel Brooks Kennedy Center honor' and skip towards the end of the video when Matthew Broderick comes out.

Oh my god, 'essence of the song's emotion', I am such a theatre person, I apologize if I sound pretentious-

I'm just gonna stop while I'm ahead and tell you to read the story.

Damian rips a page off his notepad, crumbling into a ball in his hands and carelessly tossing it behind him so it lands in his trash can.

Garbage.

Utter garbage.

Sharpening his pencil, Damian goes back to work, writing on the pad of paper with a renewed aggressiveness. His pencil makes dents in the soft material as he presses down hard, writing in his neat cursive lettering. He has to get it right this time. This is his 8th try after all. Any more attempts and this will just be ridiculous. For some reason, the words floating around in his mind never translate well onto paper.

See? This is why he sticks to sketching. Drawing is much easier than writing. At least drawing involves some structure. At least it has an end result that Damian is trying to achieve. But writing is so much different. Damian doesn't know what he's trying to achieve. Logically, he knows why he's bothering to undertake this ridiculous task. But he doesn't know what it is he's writing, or even how to write.

He just thought he'd improvise.

Looking down at what he's just written, Damian shakes his head yet again.

Trash.

His fingers curl around the edge of the notepad in preparation to rip the page off and throw it into the trash with the others, but he stops short when he hears his door creaking open. His very first instinct is to fling the notepad across the room, towards his bed and out of sight of the doorway.

So that's exactly what he does.

Reclining in his chair and facing the door, Damian acts as casual and relaxed as possible, if not a little annoyed at someone entering his room without knocking first. He gets such little privacy in this house. If he was only allowed to install a lock on his door, then he wouldn't have this problem.

Of course, it's Grayson who comes in, looking bright and cheery as usual, but with an extra spring in his step today. Damian should have guessed. If anyone would totally disregard Damian's privacy and personal space, it would be Grayson.

That meddling idiot.

Damian crosses his arms over his chest defiantly as Grayson approaches him, messing up his coal black hair playfully. Damian growls at him slightly like an angry little kitten that had a bucket of water poured on its head. Grayson just laughs, finding Damian's angry face adorable. Damian has never understood that. No matter what he does, Grayson finds it 'cute', like one would find a toddler to be.

"Hey, Little D!" Grayson exclaims with his usual happy-go-lucky attitude. "When are you gonna get out of your little cave here and come downstairs with the rest of the family? We're gonna eat the cake soon."

"*Tt*," Damian clicks. "My room is not comparable to a cave, first of all. And second of all, I will be downstairs after I finish the present I have so graciously decided to give you."

At this, Grayson's bright blue eyes light up, somehow becoming even brighter. Damian didn't think that was even possible, but somehow the mention of a present from his bullheaded little brother has made him even happier.

Damian feels a twinge in his gut. He's not sure if there will be a present with how badly he's doing so far. He doesn't understand. Grayson's given him so much. Why is it so hard for him to give something back?

"You're making me something?" he asks with genuine surprise lacing his voice. "What'd ya make? Can you give me a hint?" Damian gives him a curt shake of the head, waiting for him to leave. He doesn't want Grayson to see his pathetic attempts from earlier. He doesn't want his former mentor to know how incompetent he is with such a simple task.

He can't let Grayson down on his birthday of all days.

"Yes, I am," he admits. "Now leave my room before I change my mind."

Grayson gives him his signature pout and puppy dog eyes in an effort to change his mind. Father swears that the puppy dog eyes are enough to sway even the most obstinate opponent into submission. That's probably why Father flees the room whenever there's the immediate threat of being exposed to Grayson's watery baby blues.

Damian, however, remains unmoved by Grayson's tactics. He crosses his arms over his chest and gives his older brother one more annoyed, possibly homicidal look.

"Get out, Grayson," he demands, pointing to the door. "I'm not telling you what it is."

It seems to work when Grayson turns around, slumping his shoulders in defeat and looking at the ground like a scorned child.

"Fine…" he mumbles, beginning the slow trek to the door. Damian smiles in triumph and begins to calculate how much time he has to rewrite Grayson's present. Maybe he'll abandon his efforts and sneak out to go buy him something from the local mall. It's a lucky thing he bought himself some more time.

At least, he thought he had more time. Until Grayson accidentally steps on one of his failed projects. Looking down at the ground near the trashcan, Grayson sees all the haphazardly thrown paper balls littering both the ground and overflowing the small trashcan. Looking back from the trashcan to Damian, a realization dawns on him as a smile curls onto his lips.

"You're writing me something, aren't you, Dami?"

Damian internally panics. What should he say? 'I was writing you something but all my attempts were terrible failures that you'd never want to read'?

"I don't know what you're referring to, Grayson," he answers through gritted teeth.

Grayson's eyes dart around the room, looking for god knows what. Finally, his eyes settle on one spot, and a devious grin graces his face. Damian follows his gaze and finds his eyes have landed on his bed.

On the spot where he threw the notepad.

The boys make eye contact for a split second, a challenge between them to beat the other to the notepad. They narrow their eyes simultaneously. Both Grayson and Damian lunge for the bed at the same time.

The acrobat has the advantage.

Snatching the notepad up swiftly, he holds it up out of Damian's reach. But Damian doesn't let it go without a fight. He desperately kicks at Grayson's legs and climbs on him like a little monkey, trying to get the notepad back. His last attempt at a gift was a joke. A failure. A waste. Not a proper present at all. He can't let Grayson see it.

He wouldn't be able to stand the look of disappointment on his face.

"Give it back right this second, Grayson! I'll rip your limbs off as slowly as humanly possible if you do not relinquish that notepad to me right this instant!"

Grayson simply rolls his eyes and keeps Damian at bay with his leg, holding the notepad up to read it at the same time. Though the position looks uncomfortable to say the least, the acrobat is not complaining.

Damian bites his lip nervously as Grayson's eyes scan the page. He's going to hate it. Damian just knows it. He's failed. What kind of brother can't make a simple birthday gift correctly?

Dick reads the poem out loud,

'No one ever made me feel like someone

'Til him

Life was really nothing but a glum one

'Til him

My existence bordered on the tragic

Always timid, never took a chance

Then I felt his magic and my heart began to dance

I was always frightened, fraught with worry

'Til him

I was going nowhere in a hurry

'Til him

He filled up my empty life

Filled it to the brim

There will never ever be another one like him'

Damian looks down, taking a sudden interest in his bed sheets. He doesn't want to see Grayson's reaction to his pathetic poem. All the things he said in the poem were true; he was so scared of rejection and of himself before he met Grayson. He was scared of this new world he was thrust into, though he hid that underneath a confident façade. But Grayson saw right through it. He saw the little boy underneath who was scared and just wanted approval. And for the first time in his life, Damian felt like someone noticed him.

But that doesn't make the poem he made any less terrible.

What must Grayson think of him now? He can't even make a birthday present correctly. He can't seem to do anything correctly.

Damian's taken completely by surprise when he's wrapped up in Grayson's tight embrace, being squeezed in one of his death-grip hugs. Struggling to wiggle into a position where he can catch his breath, Damian wraps his arms around Grayson's neck in confusion.

"Why are you hugging me?" he asks. "Did I not disappoint you with my pathetic attempts at affection?"

Grayson laughs and nuzzles Damian's hair, rubbing his back all while maintaining the tight hug.

"You didn't disappoint me," he insists. "That was a lovely poem. I can see you put a lot of effort into it, and I love it. No one's ever given me something so heart-felt before. And the fact that it comes from you just makes it that much sweeter."

Pride swells up in Damian's chest, despite the voice in his head telling him that a compliment from Grayson is nothing to get excited about. He can't help it. Whenever Grayson shows pride in him, he feels happy. Content.

The poem he wrote did come from the heart. He just assumed Grayson wouldn't care about that. He assumed it was awful. But to hear Grayson understands the message Damian was trying to convey with his words…

It makes him feel accomplished.

Grayson always has a way of making him feel accomplished, like a star student.

"Happy birthday, Grayson," Damian mutters into his old mentor's shoulder, hugging back with all his might. Grayson gives him a squeeze and kisses the side of his head gently.

"Thank you, baby bat," he whispers.

"This was officially the best birthday ever."

A/N: Feel free to ignore all my instructions above.

Well, I'm tired and I really want to go to bed.

So goodnight! :)