Chapter Text
Dick glared up at the ceiling as the sound of his door’s knocker reverberated around the room, disrupting the nice silence he’d been enjoying up until thirty seconds ago.
It was 10 am, and Dick was getting some much needed sleep before his shift at work in a few hours. Even if he’d accidentally fallen asleep on the couch, that sleep had been blissfully peaceful. Until someone started banging at the door.
Who the heck used knockers, anyway?
Just because a door that was probably 100 years old had a knocker didn’t mean someone had to use it. Just knock like a regular person.
Stupid old apartment, Dick thought, as he dragged himself across the living room to the front door. Looking out the peephole just made him close his eyes and rest his head against the door in utter defeat. Because he was definitely not getting another wink of sleep. Not a second.
Undoing the various deadbolts and the chain, Dick swung open the door and looked down at the little boy standing in the hall. At the kid carrying a suitcase and his sword.
Right out in public.
In Bludhaven.
With no Bruce in sight.
“Uh, Damian?” Dick said, blinking at the way Damian just glared at him.
“Richard,” he said, pushing his way past and into the apartment and dropping his bag on the floor.
Dick sighed and shut the door before asking,“What are you doing here?”
Damian hesitated, looking around the apartment. Like he was searching for something. A reason, perhaps? Because he better have a freaking good one for traveling all the way from Gotham, likely without Bruce’s permission or even knowledge, at eleven years old. With his freaking sword.
“Father has made it clear he has no use for me.”
That made Dick blink. And blink. And then close his eyes and run his hand through his hair.
Damn Bruce.
Leave it to him to screw everything up.
Bruce had been back for less than a month. Dick moved back to Bludhaven to give him the space he needed to find his place with Damian, so they could settle into a groove without Damian constantly deferring to Dick, allowing his previous authority to overrule Bruce.
And of course Bruce went and screwed it up, just that quickly.
There was no chance Dick was getting back to sleep today.
“What makes you say that?” he asked, already knowing whatever Damian was about to say was going to be further aggravating.
Dammit, Bruce.
“He fired me,” Damian said crisply.
Right. Of course he did.
Dick sighed and locked his door so he could go fall onto his couch in defeat. Because he and Bruce had talked about this. Damian was Robin, and that wasn’t changing. It wasn’t Bruce’s name to give out. Dick gave Damian the name and that was that.
“So you came here,” Dick said exhaustedly, rubbing at his face, already mentally preparing himself for the verbal war he and Bruce were going to have very, very soon. As soon as it was out of his mouth, though, Dick realized it was the wrong thing to say.
“I apologize,” Damian said flatly, all emotions wiped from his face as he transformed into robot assassin Damian, “I should have known I was not welcome.”
Maybe it was just his tone, or the tone mixed with the phrase, which implied Dick didn’t want Damian to come to him with these things. Whatever it was that set Damian off, however, Dick was going to blame on exhaustion. Had he gotten enough sleep, this would’t be a problem.
But it’d been difficult to sleep since he’d left his kid behind.
“Damian,” Dick said, hopping up and grabbing onto Damian’s hand before he could unlock the door and escape, “Stay. You’re always welcome here, you know that.”
Assassin Damian slowly vanished as he relaxed, allowing Dick to tug him back over toward the couch.
“Want to talk about it or watch a movie?”
Damian didn’t even pause to think before he declared, “Movie,” settling himself down into the couch.
It was a system they’d discovered worked well, before. Damian found it difficult to ask for comfort, to ask someone to sit with him so he didn’t feel alone. Despite Dick’s constant reassurances, he was still afraid of being seen as weak, but when an offer of comfort was phrased as ‘watching a movie, ‘it was easier.
Talking about it meant finding a solution to the problem, but watching a movie meant Dick would just be there. They’d sit together on the couch, maybe Damian even curled up against him, depending on how anxious he was feeling. The more anxious, the less likely he’d be to initiate physical contact. But that was okay. Dick let Damian lead.
Dick threw in the first movie from his ‘Damian safe’ pile, which happened to be Madagascar. Of course, the kid scoffed at the ‘infantile’ movie once the menu screen popped up, but he didn’t protest it. Dick knew he secretly loved the ‘move it’ song.
Damian started the movie out sitting stiffly next to Dick, his hands folded in a proper fashion, back straight and feet appropriately…. dangling off the couch. Because for as old as Damian liked the act, he was still 11 and short. Dick sat next to him, his arm on the couch behind him, as he fought to keep himself awake.
Eventually, about half an hour in, Damian drew his socked feet up onto the couch and scooted back, allowing his head to touch Dick’s arm. Then, another twenty minutes later, he abruptly leaned sideways, right into Dick’s side with a quiet huff.
That was Dick’s cue, so he wrapped his arm around the little runt and pretended like it wasn’t a big deal. Like Damian wasn’t a cat that spent most its day hiding and only came out for pets once in a blue moon. Who had decided Dick was the chosen one, worthy of his presence.
“Father said,” Damian whispered, as the end credits started to roll, “that I am too reckless to be Robin.”
“Hmm,” Dick hummed, shifting a little and pulling Damian closer in such a way that made it seem like he was only doing it to be more comfortable himself, “why would he think that?”
“I disobeyed him,” Damian said miserably, “he told me to wait for him, but I went in after Toyman myself.”
“Was it reckless?” Dick asked gently, turning the volume down on the credits so he could hear his little brother better.
“No,” Damian said defiantly, sitting up a little, allowing the anger he clearly still felt to show, “He was going to hurt that child. I had to save her, and Father would not have arrived in time.”
Dick had to stifle a laugh, because that was such a Robin thing to do. He was certain each and every one of them had pulled stunts like that many, many times. Part of being Bruce’s partner, and not his sidekick meant sometimes using their own judgement and disobeying direct orders. If anything, Bruce would have grounded him for such a rebellion. Not fired.
“And he fired you over that?”
Nodding, Damian said, “Took away the suit and said Robin was grounded.”
“Grounded?” Dick parroted, just to have Damian nod against him.
“I told him he couldn’t because he needed Robin, but he said he didn’t.”
“Oh, kiddo.”
Damian scrubbed at his eyes and shifted again, before saying, “Can I stay here?”
“Bud,” Dick said slowly resting his cheek down in Damian’s hair, “I don’t think your dad will be too keen on allowing that. He wants you with him.”
“No he doesn’t. He said he doesn’t need me.”
And Dick was not rested enough for this.
Because how does one convince a child. A precious, hurting little child, who’s spent his entire life being told he was a weapon. Being reminded that his worth as a human is contingent entirely upon his skills as a warrior. That without the ability to maim any opponent he faces, he is entirely useless?
How does one convince that child that he is loved and wanted, no matter how ‘useful’ he is? No matter what his skills were?
The short answer was very slowly.
Dick had no doubt that Bruce loved Damian. That he wanted him around. But as is his typical fashion, he’d managed to talk right over Damian and not actually see his son for who he was. Or to even notice what his insecurities and damaging thought processes were.
And like every other time Bruce dropped the ball, Dick was there to clean it up and set it all straight.
He was not rested enough for this.
“Dames, you know that’s not what he meant.”
“It is,” he said petulantly, burrowing himself further back into the couch, his bony little elbow digging into Dick’s side as he did, “It doesn’t matter.”
“Damian-”
“No,” Damian shouted, pushing Dick’s arms off him as he sat up, “It’s not about that. It’s not- He’s not-”
“Okay,” Dick said, holding his hands up and backing off, letting Damian have that space, “Damian. If it’s not that, tell me what’s really going on, then.”
When Damian didn’t respond except to cross his arms and turn away, Dick sighed and just stared down at his little brother. At his little brother who had been more of a son to him than a brother. A best friend and incredible partner.
“Come on, bud, you can talk to me.”
“I-” Damian started, then paused to turn away. To hide his face as it twisted in that peculiar way when he really started talking. When he got down to the crux of his issue. “You left.”
“Yes,” Dick said slowly, putting a hand on Damian’s back, “Because Bruce is back.”
“So you have to leave?”
“We went over this,” he said, because they had. He thought they’d smoothed this over and it was all good. This was what Damian wanted. He wanted to be Bruce’s Robin. To get to know his father. “I’m not needed in Gotham anymore.”
“Yes you are.”
“Damian…”
“If Father doesn’t need Robin,” Damian said hurriedly, a petulant little pout on his face, showing off his true age, “then Robin can just work with you.”
“I’m not Batman anymore, kiddo.”
“So?” Damian demanded, “I’m not Father’s partner. I’m your partner.”
“It’s Batman and Robin, not Nightwing and Robin.”
“Well then, I can be Flamebird!”
“Damian.”
“Like in the story. I can get a new uniform and we can patrol together again. Just like it should be. You don’t have to come back to Gotham, I can stay here. It’ll be-”
“Damian,” Dick said forcefully, allowing his tone to bite a little to trigger that ‘Obey, Robin,’ instinct they’d all been trained to heed.
And that did it. Damian’s mouth snapped shut and he stilled, looking sheepishly up at Dick, like he’d been caught misbehaving. Like he’d been caught spilling his guts and sharing his deepest thoughts and feelings. Sharing all his anxieties.
It made Dick feel like the lowest human on the face of the planet, because that’s exactly what he’d been doing. And Dick made it seem like a bad thing. With just a simple utterance of his name.
“I love you, kiddo,” he said, running his hand up and down Damian’s back, trying to be reassuring, “If this is what you really want, we can figure it out and make it work, but I don’t want you tossing your dad off so easily. He’s your dad and he loves you, too.”
“But we’re the best,” he whispered, scraping his hand across his eyes. Looking away so Dick couldn’t see.
“We are. And you and him can be great too,” Dick said, wrapping both arms around Damian and pulling him in tight, “If you just give it more time.”
After a moment, Damian nodded and croaked out, very softly, “I miss you. You never even call.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Damian’s hair, “I miss you, too. Tell you what, let me call into work and then we can go see a movie and get lunch.”
When all Damian did was sniff, Dick continued, “and maybe some ice cream. We’ll go to the zoo, even, if you want. Or the aquarium. All day, just me and you. Then you can stay the night and we’ll figure all this out tomorrow.”
Damian snuggled his face into Dick’s shirt and stayed there for several long minutes.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he sat back up and said, without a single trace of the tears Dick knew he was just shedding, “The art museum. There is a new exhibit done by a family of artists from the early 1900s. There are some pieces associated with the Dada and Surrealist movements I wish to see.”
“Cool,” was all Dick could say, because he had no idea what that meant, “Let me go make a call and then we’ll go, okay?”
Ruffling Damian’s hair, Dick made his way to the bedroom, where he decided he needed to call Bruce. Or text him. Probably text him, just to let him know where Damian was. He’d call later when Damian wasn’t within earshot, because they had a lot to talk about.
For now, though. Today. He could spend the day with his favorite little kid and push all their troubles and worries off until tomorrow. That’s what tomorrows were for, after all.