Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A year ago- Location unknown. 

The air is thick with molten heat, the sun unforgiving on Damian's back as he deflects a swinging fist. The attack is followed by a thrust to his chest, the dagger his opponent is holding gleams harshly under the sun- if Damian does not want to be blinded he must avoid looking at the object directly. 

The fabric wrapped around Damian's head does little to keep the high temperatures at bay, Damian's honey tanned skin is covered in light colored clothes and loose fabric and yet he can feel the sand somehow shift its way onto his skin. Even the terrain is biting and scratching at Damian. 

The fight moves with brutal efficiency- Damian’s young body trembles with the effort to keep up. His wiry muscles ache with a kind of soreness that only comes from pushing the body too far. Yet he stands firm, his job is almost complete. 

He throws his body forward, sweeping the feet of his opponent out from under him, the sand under them flies with his move, spraying outwards in a wave of boiling powder. Damian's hair sticks to his neck with sweat, his panting has grown more labored then he would like but he keeps moving. His fists do not flatter and though he sees spots in his vision he does not back away. 

The man in front of him is dazed for a moment before leaping onto his feet, his back bending and core flexing as he launches into his next attack- parrying Damian in hand to hand combat. 

It's a foolish way to fight, Damian has long past the point of exhaustion and the afternoon is slow falling. He must finish this opponent off before he passes out. Because at this rate the heat will get him before his opponent does.

The knife is held in his opponent's hand, sharp point ready to pierce Damian’s skin at any moment. They both throw themselves at each other, grunting and heaving as they once more engage the battle. Damian strikes fast and hard at the man's wrist, smirking with satisfaction as the knife is twisted away and dropped into Damian’s own waiting hand.( A move he'd perfected by the age of six and still uses frequently now.) 

The successful attack earns Damian a startling kick to the chest, combat boot slamming into his body with the force of a train. He feels something crack but does not dare to stop his momentum. 

He lets the breath leave his body and throws the knife with deadly accuracy watching happily as it sinks into the flesh of the man's chest. The man might have been able to fight had he not staggered backwards with the force of the blow, causing the knife to sink father into his skin and shift. Blood flows from the wound and in mere seconds- 

The body falls to join the rest. 

Dozens of men litter the sands of this desert. Damian has surrounded himself with the stench of death. Foul and toxic it enters his nostrils. He feels it slither down his throat, costly and unchangeable the effect of taking lives holds him paralyzed for a moment- 

The blow to his chest makes it hard to breathe. 

Damian secures his new knife into one of the many sheaths covering the outfit he is wearing. He pulls the white cotton fabric tighter to his face, attempting to soften the smell of corpses. 

(He doesn't try to fool himself into thinking it works.) 

He takes three steps towards his mother- the woman has stood in a small clearing a few feet away, covered -like Damian- in sheer fabric and draping polyester. The thick hair Damian knows well is wrapped tightly in a bun and covered in a shawl. She stares at Damian, calculating and stone-like. A wall of cold judgment. 

He goes to greet her with victory on his tongue when he feels fingers wrap around his covered ankle, the sand by his feet hissing as it falls. Damian slices the hand before he can properly think, a small silver throwing dagger clenched in his palm within a heartbeat. 

A horse scream pieces the air but the sound falls before it can travel. The Desert has no pity for a man taking his final breaths. 

Damian sneers down at the body, green eyes like poison and hotter than a thousand desert suns. 

Then the smell hits him. Worse than the decay and sweat running down Damian's back. Worse than even the sour fumes that come from the Pits of Madness. 

Damian's knees quake, he feels his heart rate speed up- not in rage or adrenaline- but in fear. His eyes prick with an unfamiliar itch. His breath comes sharper despite the fact that  it had been slowing down as he's finished his training. 

The smell in the air is rich- Damian imagines that without the tartness of fear- death- help,  it would be almost pleasant. A mix of pomegranate and chocolate floods the area. Strong and too potent to ignore.

Damian drops his weapon to the sand, kneeling down before the man. Suddenly he feels like throwing up, the fact that he caused this man's agony- why- ?

Why- 

(he sees his Mother move quickly across the clearing.) 

Why did Damian care? 

The man has stopped screaming, the wounds that Damian had caused much earlier have caught up and the last of his ragged breathing takes away the smell. It dissipates like dew in the early morning and Damian’s stomach turns with the absences of it. 

Talia places a hand to his shoulder. It's a rare show of comfort and one Damian does not take for granted- even though it will inevitably be followed by a hurt he cannot get out of. He knows that to show his weakness will only lead to pain. No matter how much soft support his mother gives him now, later it will disappear once more under the need to improve. To harden.

They are alone in this place, so Damian asks. “Why do I feel?” 

(He does not understand the impact this question has on his Mother. Does not understand why it makes her mourn.) 

Damian has not felt the blood on his hands in a long time. He is unsure as to why his brain has allowed such a thing now. 

Talia squeezes his shoulder and then retreats. “He was an Omega, şabi.” 

Damian recalls what his lessons on second genders have taught him. The league will take any loyalty, but to have been an Omega would have meant a great deal of will power or ,Damian supposes, this was all the man was needed for. Canon fodder for Damian to train with. 

(His chest hurts.) 

Though the league will take any soul, it is also necessary for your second gender to become near irrelevant. The league is not made up of many Omegas, Subs or Littles. They are considered soft, they are calm and nurturing. Many are simply too reliant on others. This is a world they would never survive in. They do not tend to be welcome. 

It takes a great deal of suppressing to overcome basic instincts and even when those very few do- often they encounter someone on the battlefield that can command them anyway. They are culled, disposed of before they can bring shame to the League of Assassins. 

His Mother is an Alpha- that he knows hard and well. She has no pack, no scent and no Omega, yet still, the woman Damian looks so much like has a strong command and aura. She has led with a clear show of her Classification, rising through ranks and proving her position has been earned many times over. 

Ra’s is a Dom. He has a harsh command. The words that his grandfather speaks are final. He has the presence of a king, a throne of his own right. Immortal and unstoppable. Feared by all and defeated by none. 

(Damian knows his Father is an Alpha.) 

Damian stands when his body starts to come back to him. His Mother still pierces him with her gaze, there is something hidden in the depths of her Lazerois colored eyes that has him pausing. 

They stand face to face- sand blowing in the sharp wind, the soft brushing of their fabrics coasting on the air and whipping around their bodies. The sun glaring in the sky like a sweltering witness. Bodies around them size to make noise. Damian freezes under his Mothers obvious tension. 

“Do you remember what I told you? Do you recall what you must do in order to know your Father?” She asks hushed, the wind almost taking her words before they can reach Damian's ears. 

Her voice holds threats if his answer were to be no. 

“Yes,” Damian straightens his shoulders. “I must defeat you in combat, Mother.” 

She nods, mirroring eyes that never leave Damian’s. “See to it that you do so sooner, my son, then later.” 

Damian pushes away his confusion, he has been working tirelessly to defeat his Mother and earn his rightful place at his unknown Fathers side. His life has led up to becoming the perfect soldier to unleash onto the world. He will do so. 

Damian lets his gaze wander to the men lying about on the desert ocean. Over two dozen at least. Daman eyes the blood that seeps into the earth and crumples the sand together, the red shining under the sun. 

“I understand, Mother. You will not be disappointed.” 

He will not fail. 

  *ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊

Talia watches her boy as they board the jet, all signs of emotion have been drawn from his face. He is like stone- nothing reveals what he might be thinking. 

Talia stares as she follows him up the ramp. 

And she knows. 

She knows with a certainty that can only come from being his mother- even if that title is a poor description of their relationship- that her boy is going to Present. 

For Damian should not have been able to smell the sickly fumes of the dying Omega. Not unless he had already presented- or would soon. 

He must beat her- He must win at all costs . Damian needs to prove himself worthy and leave for Gotham. 

(Ra’s must never find out her creation is going to Present so early. She must keep it hidden in the depths of her mind, that one day, her son will be Classified and- unless this is a sign of an Alpha class- it will not be one the league approves of. Damian will need to learn how to fight it- how to suppress any and all instincts his Classification encourages. 

Else she will have not a say in his fate.) 

For now- she will make sure he is more than ready for the waking nightmare that is Gotham city. No matter what his Class has to say in the matter. 

  *ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊

When Damian wakes he finds it slow, like swimming in thick syrup. His body and mind are one in agreement, wanting to stay here and wishing he could just fall right back asleep. He's leaning on something warm, it's encompassing him with blissfulness. A shelter of comfort. He has no need to leave this spot. 

Damian doesn't know what's happening- isn't really thinking at all- a bone-deep core part of him knows that it's good though. Right. The warmth engulfing him feels like protection from a raging strom, steady and unmovable when resolved. Roots dug into the earth with such surety that Damian can not help but feel secure. 

He nuzzles into it. Breathes in the scent of this new safety, something spicy but cozy. Damian sighs shuffling forward and feeling the arms tighten around him- 

A sharp breath and he's rolling backwards as hard as he can, as fast as his body is capable of when it feels as though he's been drowned in molasses. A heavy thunk rings through the room as Damian falls to the floor. Looking up, he watches in slow motion as Grayson starts to stir awake on the couch. 

Damian reaches under the couch- hand fumbling for the knife sheathed under it in a pocket only Damian knows about. One of many hidden weapons throughout the house. 

Before Grayson can wake fully Damian is on top of the man and holding the blade to his throat. 

Almost instantly Grayson is snapped awake. The man's eyes show nothing of the foggy film that suggests sleep still has its hold on him. Damian doesn't have the time or will to acknowledge the show of experience though. 

Damians hands are not shaking but they might as well be with how unsure he holds the knife to this man's throat. 

Memories come rushing back and Damian drowns in them. 

“Darling, oh you must feel so yucky…” 

He cannot possibly be a little. He would sooner run a knife across his throat.

“Darling, you're safe now. I’m right here kiddo, just hang tight for me.” 

The core feeling he gets in Richard's arms is a feeling he'd only read in books. 

Damian screams. 

“I’m right here baby, I'm not going anywhere. Just take your time and breathe sweetheart.” 

A whimper falls through his mouth along with the remaining hiccups that plague him. An unfortunate symptom after crying, he has learnt. 

“Blow Dami.” Damian does as told, blowing into the tissue, slipping into that peaceful headspace easier than the first time.

“R’chard.” Damian mumbles. 

“I swear, I won’t leave. I'll be right here ok? I’ll stand next to you, little one. I know you feel small huh?” 

“Come on little darling, bath time now…”

Damian wants his blanket. 

“Sorry baby but you're the one who puts me in my caregiver headspace in the first place.”

“Your ok bug, you can let go…” 

Richard singing. 

Falling asleep in Grayson's arms. Completely unconscious and unaware of the world around him. Whining and crying about nothing at all. Lifting his arms up to be held like he had done it his whole life when in reality, that was the first time. Screaming at the top of his lungs when he wasn't being held. Spitting out medicine because he didn't like the taste. Being changed several times. Grayson patting Damian’s back after drinking milk. Being bathed. Damian played with the bubbles! Refusing to use the restroom without Grayson there- 

No! No- 

Damian is two seconds away from a panic attack. Damian cannot breathe. The walls of the manor suffocate him, boxed in like a wild beast. The knife in his hand is unsteady and when he feels a palm cup the hilt he doesn't even fight it. He stares down at Grayson but sees nothing. Nothing but his own childishness on display for a man he doesn't know. A pretend Batman who only took him in because of his late Father. 

Any work Damian has put in, all the times he's proved himself capable. Proved himself to be superior, has been washed down the drain. He was no better than an infant. A pathetic child sniveling for attention.  He was needy and snotty. Sick and weak. Damian had never been that kind of child. The moment he presented was the moment his life was forfeit. He is a stain on his lineage. 

Somehow with not one but two Alpha parents- biology has still determined him to be inferior. He has managed to defy expectations so completely that it clashes with his idea of reality. 

He is destined to die at the Leguas hands. Damian is not worthy of being the heir. 

He is a blot on their blood line-

“You're ok Damian. It's ok. I know this sucks but you can crawl into bed soon and we…dont have to talk about it after, ok? I promise I'm just helping this one time.” 

Would Grayson keep that promise? 

If so- Damian might still have a chance. If Grayson never brought it up again, Damian could continue on with his life without acknowledging it. No one would need to know he's Presented. Mother and Grandfather would be in the dark and Damian could stay in Gotham to become Robin just as he was supposed to. It wouldn't matter who Batman was- just that Damian got the right to fight in Gotham. He would be fulfilling his duty- gaining the materialistic items his Father left behind and eventually- the Batman mantle himself. He still has a chance to not fail. 

If Grayson kept his mouth- 

Pennyworth. 

So two witnesses. 

(….Damian could plunge this knife- 

Something in his gut shrinks at the idea.) 

No one would believe a servant anyway. Damian could always kill him if it came down to it. He will have to keep a very close eye on the comings and goings of the butler. 

Grayson though…he promised. 

Grayson hasn't ever broken a promise he's given to Damian before. If…if Damian has to kill him, he will. 

But for now….

“Will you keep your promise?” Damian hisses out like a mangled cat. Hold on the knife tighter now that he is looking into the blue of Grayson's eyes and seeing the man. 

Unfortunately that means he sees his eyes- remembers the way Grayson had seen Damian. Damian doesn't think he will ever be able to look Grayson in the eyes again after this. Not with the way the man looks at him- with such tenderness it makes Damian want to plunge the knife into his own throat instead. 

He shoves the memories away to be either terminated or examined at a later date. He will not dwell on them when he has to be in the present to decide what his fate may be. 

(will Grayson send him to the league now that he knows Damian is entirely useless?)

The look in Grayson's eyes is unclear. A floodgate of emotions that Damian can not begin to interpret. He can tell one thing though, they are much softer then they should be whilst being held at knife point. Damian has been bathed in blood his whole life- he will not let the turning in his chest prevent him from adding another. If Grayson is underestimating Damian- then the man is in for a brutal surprise. 

But Grayson doesn't answer with anything Damian truly expected. 

“I will Damian.” Grayson’s mouth opens and closes once. The half form words dying on his tongue like he isn't sure what to say to Damian. The hesitation is odd.

Grayson looks at Damian before moving his hand upward, the knife is slowly moved away from the man's throat- Damian lets it happen. 

Grayson’s eyes never leave his own. Damian can feel the star down to his soul. 

 “You're safe.” Grayson whispers. Swears. 

Damian is up and off Grayson in a flash. He's halfway up the stairs before the man can even sit up. 

Damian heaves for breath that- once more- has nothing to do with the rushed pace he set going up to his room. (freshly cleaned it seems.) 

The door shutters as he slams it closed and slides the deadbolt in place. He leans against the old wood for support. Eyes squeezed shut as if to stave off all the new memories he's created in the last week. 

It doesn't work. 

Damian feels his nose run and cringes at the sensation. (and the soft voice that echoes like a rumor in his ears.) It is obvious that, though his fever is gone, his body still battles the germs it was infected with. 

Damian doesn't know what to do.

He feels like he's been run over by a train. His mind and body are foreign to him for the first time in his eleven years. 

Damian has been in perfect control of himself for as long as he can remember. The blades he was given were an extension of his body. The kill count that ticked up with steady numbers was simply part of his life- one he'd quickly grown numb to. Lessons and missions and lives judged with nothing but cool metal and a flowing river of red deep in his consciousness. These were the things Damian was most familiar with. 

Not the aching care Grayson had shown him. Not the whispered words that made Damian feel warm and certainly not the skin contact that seemed to burn him from the inside out while simultaneously leaving him to crave the sensation of gentle hands with a fervent need. 

His hair being swept away from his face. Brushed with fingers while Damian had let his mind float like the bubbles he'd been surrounded by. 

Underneath all the mortification- all the anger and broken pride- was something far scarier. New. 

(being loved.) 

Damian didn’t know how to feel.

He was never meant to. He was not built for it. Damian was many things, a killer. An heir. A detective and a skilled fighter. 

What he was not- was a child. 

(though maybe here, now,  that would change.)

Except Damian had never felt before and now that he was- he didn't know how to handle it. He didn’t know what love meant, or what it felt like to be cared for, or even what it meant to be safe.

He recalls feeling those things this last week but he doesn’t actually have anything to compare those sensations to. He has no idea what those things really are. 

They were simply out of reach concepts, things he had only ever read about in books or seen in fleeting moments, moments that consisted of his mothers hand on his shoulder or her voice, filled with something raw and real, when she had given lessons on their culture and the history that came with it. Those moments that whispered like a rumor caught on the breeze. Achingly brief and with eyes on them the whole while. 

So no. Damian didn't know what love was or what it would be like to let go of the reality of the world just to tuck under someone's wing and pretend to be ignorant of the darkness. He wasn't sure if the sensation was in the warmth of a hug or the scolding of a parent. The idea was so out of this world that Damian almost scoffed at the mere thought of it. 

He'd seen the kids at school the way they interacted with their families, with an ease Damian would never know. They didn't have to pretend they didn't know what the world was like. 

If Damian ever did ‘let go’.  He would still be aware. Damian had grown up coated in that darkness. Knew nothing but it. He adapted- and adapted well. He feels no guilt for the lives he's taken. No trepidation in claiming he has murdered in cold blood. He was a soldier and soldiers took their orders and completed them with perfection. He was a weapon to be built up and harnessed and polished. 

(...but he did forget- for a week he was free from the burden of blood and legacies. There was no pretending about it, just blissful peace.) 

Damian was not made for soft things, not even when he wanted to lean into the memory of Richard's hand in his hair. He repelled it. It didn't matter if he wanted to beg for it back, because ultimately he would ruin it. He would spill more blood, tear that softness into unrecognizable pieces till Damian could do nothing but bury it six feet under. Along with everything else he's ever touched. A graveyard of Damian's own making. Tombs blank with lack of guilt.

No- Damian Wayne wasn't made for something so innocent as childhood. 

It was a moot point- whether Damian wanted it or not. Whether Richard was willing to give it to him. After all, how could a weapon (steel made of sorrow and dripping blood down the hilt so it would pool into its welders hands) learn to love, to trust? To give into that safety when everything he had ever been taught told him that showing those feelings (maybe even just thinking about them) would eventually be his undoing?

Damian finds himself curled in bed- breath coming in pants like he'd run a race. His hands clenched into his pillow like it was a grappling hook and he was seventy feet off the ground. 

(he winces with wounds he didn't know excited when he wishes for a star blanket.) 

Damian did not let himself sob or whine or sniffle. Could not afford it. Would not give into that kind of thinking ever again. 

(He does let the tears flow, silent in their grief. For he'd finally experienced something that was a fleeting dream. Something he would never dare hope for again.) 

  *ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊

Damian refuses to speak. 

Five days since Damian woke up fully eleven and Dick has yet to be in the same room as the kid- who always manages to sneak away before Dick can even see him. It's eerie. Like seeing a shadow in your vision profile all the time but when you turn to catch it, it's mysteriously gone from view. 

The only reason Dick hasn't gone full freakout is because Alfred has been keeping him updated. Damian eats three meals a day and works out, sparring with dummies and does more than a few dangerous stunts in the cave. 

Dick wouldn't know any of this without Alfred though- it's like he lives with a ghost. 

With the exception of feeling like a bomb's about to go off at least. 

The tension in the house has risen to a suffocating degree. A vacuum of silence, descended only to make Dick overwhelmed by the thoughts in his head. 

He'd ruined everything, all the progress he'd made with Damian over the last few months of him living in the manor, and even more so the last few weeks he's been under Dick’s care- but what else was there to do? It would have taken the depths of hell to drag him away from the sick baby he'd taken care of, he wasn't going to leave Damian to fend for himself with a high fever and new headspace to contend with. 

Damian had just presented- as a Little no less. Not only was it in Dick’s nature to take care of the kid- Dick wasn’t going to sit by and fucking watch as Damian got sick and fell into headspace. It must've been scary for him! Besides Dick had already promised himself- he would do things different from Bruce. Sure, Dick has softer memories when he was a kid with Bruce but by the time he got into his teen years it was muddy, their relationship strained. He wouldn't do that to Damian. He wouldn't cast him off as some sort of problem.  (so, maybe Dick still had some unresolved problems with Burce. Whatever. It's not like anything can be done about it now.) 

He had been making the first steps to showing Damian that.

All of it went down the drain though didn't it? 

After he'd woken with Damian’s rage pointed at his throat it had taken a life threatening thirty seconds to talk Damian down from his bloodlust. Damian had seemed so out of it. Not Little- or nearing his headspace, just plan old dissociation. Lost in thought maybe. It's clear that Damian remembered at least some of his time in headspace, because he'd ask Dick to keep his mouth sealed. 

Damian never wanted to talk about what happened.

The promise Dick made has not left his mind. It haunts him even in his dreams- green eyes that hold a depth that no kid should but hold a strength that Dick can't help feel proud of. They stare into his own, into his soul and demand a promise that seems so… fragile.

Like a life line. A way to keep going, a lie to tell yourself so you keep moving forward. 

It's odd. These days classification is so normalized. Dick could take a (stupid.) stroll around Gotham and spot at least one Little. Not to mention all the other classes. 

It's just a part of life- everyone gets classified. 

It's obvious with all the panic that Damian had tried so hard to hide, that he did know about classifications. That he likely knew he was a Little. Unfortunately that means the League of Assassins taught him. Which in turn means they likely groomed Damian into thinking that some of those classes were weak. Which- untrue. 

Sure, there are cons to all the classes and some take getting used to, but one fact remains that makes all the difference. 

Scientifically proven- it states that whatever you classify as, it will benefit you. 

It's an undeniable fact. 

Whatever your headspace is; Dom or Omega, Sub or Caregiver, Alpha or Little,  it is a guarantee to help your life in some capacity. Most times that means your mental health but it's not uncommon to see people finding community after presenting or even having physical changes that are healthy. There are jobs catered towards specific classes but it's never a demand either, they are always people first and classified gender second. 

Seems though that the League put other lessons into Damian's head. Poisoning the boy's view of the world before he came close to experiencing any of it for himself. Setting rules before Damian could understand basic math. Beating all those things into his head under the name of training. 

Damian is strong headed, stubborn and overall insanely talented in the art of killing. Dick would have expected a sort of fundamental fight on presenting as a Little. It can't be easy. Dick imagines Damian grew up with red on his hands and no love in sight. 

(Dick briefly mourns for the child Damian could have been.) 

(what he doesn't know is this is already one step in the direction of resolve.) 

Dick understands that everything that Damian has lived through till now has primed him to reject his classification. It wouldn't have been in Dick’s court either. It was going to be on Bruce's shoulders. This traumatized child. Now though- whether he likes it or not- it's Dick’s job to help Damian. To work through that trauma as best they can. To help him. 

Dick thought that it needed to start with Robin- and maybe it will in some capacity. 

Damian needs to have a connection here, needs to feel it in his pride. To stick around Damian needs a mission. Dick understands that, for now he will have to play into that mindset. The hope though, that swirls around in his chest, lets him believe he can change this mind set. Little by little if he must. Softly peeling away walls and showing Damian that this place (that Dick-) is different from the cult he grew up in. 

Even if progress is slow. 

So maybe he had ruined everything- maybe Damian isn't talking to him right now but Dick wont give up so easily- especially not when Damian presenting could pave the path Dick needed to take. If Dick plays this right….

Yes it starts with Robin- but also- It starts with talking. 

Dick wants to at least meet Damian half way. That may be all he can do. 

Dick understands, at the very least, that presenting can feel forceful. Like you don't have control. When, for kids that grow up like Damian has, (like all the Little Robins have.) need to feel in control. 

Still, you lose a certain control over your life no matter what you present as. 

Alphas and Omegas will always try to form a pack- whether that be with others of the same gender or not. They will feel the need to protect and lead their people. They can't just turn those instincts off. And when an Alpha or Omega is in a romantic relationship- their bodies will start to develop symptoms that will eventually lead to ruts and heats. Not to mention the sense of smell those two genders gain. Everyone who's Presented can smell an Omega or Alpha- but the effects are minimized significantly compared to being one. 

Doms and Subs will fall into very vulnerable headspaces- the two genders often suffer from the worst Drops. Because their highs are so high- that means their lows are terrifying. Doms and Alphas also tend to get on each other's nerves. Enough instinct overlaps to cause problems if people aren't careful. They also have the hardest time fighting their instincts- their headspaces are the most insistent of all the genders. 

Caregivers and Littles a certain reliant relationship. Littles have a more anxious attachment in headspace, and even sometimes out of it. There's also a lot of adjusting when it comes to these two headspaces. When a Caregiver has a Little to call their own- it really is taking on the responsibility of taking in a child. They become a parent- even if it's only part time. Littles in turn give up a lot- letting their Caregivers do the decision making for the most part, the younger aged Little you are the more this becomes true. 

It's not easy to come to terms with all of that, no matter how many pamphlets you read or what online classes you take, getting used to a new lifestyle is always hard. Even if there are things to help the process. 

(...Dick should probably visit a Little Center sooner rather than later…) 

Damian is facing all this on top of his assassin grooming. That can't be good for your mental health. 

Dick doesn't know how to help though. He wants to- he will. But if he rushes in like a wrecking ball demolishing a building he's not going to be able to rebuild. Damian needs structure right now. A way to adjust without having to face his Classification yet. 

Dick just has to figure out the first step to going about that. 

 *ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊

When Alfred said that the Little supplies he'd ordered had arrived- Dick wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. 

A box or two of emergency supplies maybe? 

Basic things at least. Baby shampoo and body wash. A pacifier. Some Little clothes. 

Not…not this. 

Dick reaches the front door and stands in front of six decently sized cardboard boxes. Most of which have a fun print on them, trains and cars, stars and spaceships. Two of them have the same print of a cartoon character Dick isn't familiar with. 

He really should have known it would be more than two boxes of boring supplies. To be fair though, it hadn't really been on Dick’s mind at all. 

Damian had still  been absent (though looking at the six boxes worth of Little things he can't help but be grateful for it this time. Who knows what Damian would do if he saw all this- if he realized it was all for him.) and Dick has had to do a bit of make-up in the Batman side of his life. So sleep has been shot down the drain. Not to mention he'd had to call Damian's school and tell them he came down sick and would need time off. 

Now the school is breathing down Dick’s neck because it's been almost two weeks and Damian hasn't even turned in any of the homework they've kindly sent over so that the kid wouldn't fall behind. 

If this keeps up he's going to have to call the school and admit Damian presented- which he would give anyway, but it would have been a million times better to have Damian on the same page. Now he can't even find the kid. 

(though…to be fair Dick has seen him a few times. Once in the library that Jason used to haunt as Robin. Dick had almost confronted the kid then and there but- god. If Damian needed space, if he needed time, then Dick would give it. It had happened a few more times after that, but Dick always either left or just…sat a way away. Watching over Damian for a few minutes- convincing himself that the kid was better from his cold. That he was ok.) 

It's almost disappointing, looking at the boxes. He knew Damian wouldn't just accept the fact that he was a child, not with the way he was raised. But Dick had hoped for a chance. If he could just show Damian how healing and wonderful being small could be- then maybe Damian wouldn't be so against it. Maybe he could even find safety in his headspace. 

Though, that might be coming from a more selfish place then Dick would like to admit. 

He had felt really clear headed when he had woken up- that day Damian had held a knife to his throat. 

He'd been better as Batman too, sharper. And he'd somehow found the balls to contact Tim. Just a check in- he didn't ask for what Tim was doing or a location, just if he was doing ok and that he was invited to the manor if he ever needed a place to crash. 

There has been no response back but Dick hasn't let himself worry too much. Tim was beyond pissed when he left, ignoring Dick is the least he could be doing. 

Dick sighs as he bends down onto the floor, dragging over the first box- the one with trains and cars printed on the cardboard in bright colors of blue and red. 

He pries the flaps open, the tape breaking with a loud pop. 

The sight that greets him threatens to send him into his headspace. 

It's interesting- Littles can feel the beginnings of their headspaces coming on with things like soft toys or rainy puddles, cute blankets or children's cartoons. People don't always acknowledge the fact that inherent ‘Little things’ can push caregivers into headspace too. 

Bottles to feed a kiddo or a stuffie that the caregiver just knows their little will love- it's different, sure, but very similar. Because a Caregiver is seeing things that remind them of their kiddo! 

Now, Dick has never had that true experience. Sometimes he'd feel the itch of his headspace when he saw Little stores or Caregiver programs online, but the toy aisle never stirred his headspace. 

(…before.  

Because this is his life now. )

So when his first thought, upon seeing a pacifier in primary colors of blue, red and yellow, is ‘Damian would look adorable.’ He knows that somehow, his headspace (and maybe something else too) has already determined that he wants Damian as his Little. 

It's not a huge revelation. Not when he'd already gone through this train of thought and realized he wants Damian as his own kid. Not when he already knew he didn't really see him as a younger brother. 

Still, it's one thing to admit that in his head- where he could tuck it away so that no one (especially Damain) could ever know it exists. It's a whole other thing to be half-way into his Caregiver headspace just from seeing things Damian might like in Little space. 

(it's a bit scary even, because he's never had anything like this happen before. Never had to face his headspace so dead on. Never had to find a balance with it before.) 

Dick might have miscalculated here a bit. He needs to go through these boxes. Damian can ignore the fact that he's Little (for now at least.) but that means it's up to Dick to have anything the kid might need if he slips again unexpectedly. Dick just didn't realize he'd have to face his own headspace when unboxing. 

Nothing he can do about it though. 

He trugs on- there are several more pacifiers in this box, along with a toy car in a hot red color and two star-themed teethers. There's a soft book that crinkles on some pages, ocean themed, with imagos of cartoon sea creatures. Each page tells of a simple ocean fact. 

That's just the start really. (Alfred is nothing if not on top of things.) 

The next box he opens is full of hygiene products. There's baby oil, powder and lotion. A bottle of shampoo that has a cartoon character on the front- along with a matching conditioner - and smells, apparently, like oat. Further in this box Dick pulls out  a spray bottle that says leave-in detangler on the label, it matches with the shampoo and conditioner set. Next comes a body wash, Dick takes a moment to read the label- it's for sensitive skin and can be used on faces. It also says it can create a bubble bath. 

Toothpaste follows after that- strawberry flavored with Wonder Woman on the bottle. (Dick wonders if she is getting paid for products like this-) mouthwash with an oddly shaped bottle, instead of Wonder Woman on it, Flash is running with a huge smirk that has an obnoxious glint. 

The last thing in this box is a small toothbrush- a simple green color with soft white bristles and a suction cup on the end so it can stick up on the sink counter. 

Dick moves onto the next box- this one is filled with odd items, things like kids nutritional powder to put in drinks. Vaseline. A pastel pack of wash clothes, softer than anything Dick could find last week. Two regular towels in a pastel blue color to go with it. There's a plastic ring with fake keys, all different colors and textures. There's also a double pack of bibs. One a waterproof gray one the other a fabric with a star pattern in red and white. 

Dick continues like that-opening up more boxes and seeing all that Alfred has ordered for Damian. It's an assortment of all sorts of Little stuff. Alfred obviously put care into what he chose, making sure to pick things Damian might need no matter how old he ended up being. There were older toys and baby supplies, Dick had even opened a three pack of thermometers, all with a little cartoon animal on the top. He opens more stuff- more packs of binkies and several kid targeted food supplements. vitamins for Little’s too. 

There are a lot of superhero and vigilante themed items. Including several bat-themed supplies. Which almost has Dick tearing up. Grief stuck in his throat with nowhere to go till he came home in dawn's earliest light and finally laid down to sleep. Then maybe, it would hit him. 

The last box he opens, the one with spaceships all over,  is full of clothes. Little clothes. (his headspace jumps up and down like a happy dog seeing the Nightwing-themed pajama footie that sits on top of the pile.) some are meant for a younger headspace- with snap buttons and covered hands. Others fall into an older category (though, not by much.) with long sleeve shirts and pants cuffed at the ankle. There are even a few sets that Damian could wear comfortably when eleven. Two piece pjs, baggy with simple patterns. Sea creatures on some, a cartoon character (Dick is gonna have to up his kids-show game if he wants a chance at recognizing some of this stuff.)  on another. A dark green and gray set with dinos all over.  

Under all the pajamas sit a few pairs of play clothes. A set of fleece joggers that, once more, Damian could probably wear at age eleven, with their simple blue color. A classic pair of light denim overalls, which Dick finds adorable. Several classic t-shirts, in primary colors. And a pair of dark jeans. 

Over all- it's a lot. Overwhelming. Dick feels a mix of shattered and hyper. He wants to show Damian this stuff- stuff that would feed into that smaller headspace. Stuff that would hopefully be exciting! Dick wants to get Damian a snack, use some of that nutritional powder and grab the bat-themed sippy cup and let Damian feel safe and taken care of. 

He knows that can’t- won’t- happen though. 

Because it's not about what Dick wants. It never will be. Dick wants Damian to feel secure enough to slip into Little space, but that's not what Damian wants. Damian wants things to be ignored. He wants to be Robin. He wants to fight and be angry. 

That's ok. Dick understands. He knows what it's like, that feeling of burning. When everything inside has festered, and eventually that fire that has been eating you alive…it explodes… and you need to burn everything else around you to feel even a fraction of relief. 

That is what Damian wants right now- and Dick knows that it very well might be a need. Little space can help Damian but the kiddo won’t slip on purpose. So until he feels like he can- Dick will do his best to direct that fire, Damian will learn how to control it. How to feel it in a healthy way. 

(though hopefully, Dick will get to see Little Dami sooner rather than later.) 

Dick looks around at the boxes again feeling a little lost. A little sad even. He knows he will do his best with Damian but it doesn't take away the strong urge to bundle Damian up in a soft blanket, give him a paci and make him take a nap. 

Pesky Caregiver instincts. 

Dick isn't sure what he's supposed to really do with all this in the meantime. Damian would burn it all first chance he got, no doubt leaving the remains in dust, so leaving it somewhere the kid might stumble on it is probably a bad idea. 

So- his own room then it seems. 

Dick lets his shoulders drop a little. He picks up two boxes and starts making the trek upstairs to his room. He’ll tuck them all into the closet. 

(though- he plans on washing a few of the items first for the likely chance of an emergency. A sippy cup, paci and a pair of pajamas at least.) 

Dick hums under his breath as he brings all the boxes up to his room, going up and down the stars. When he opens the closet doors to stack all the boxes on the floor, he spots something out of the corner of his eye. 

Soft gray in color with bright red and yellow around its neck. 

Dick stared at the object before reaching up and gently taking it in his hands, slowly rubbing his thumb on one black eye. 

…So much for not flying into his headspace.

Dick, with more care than he would admit to, settles the childhood stuffie on top of the stacked boxes in his closet. 

Maybe next time Damian slips, (if he does…) Dick can offer him Zitka. 

  *ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊

Damian breathes in and out in meditation. His legs crossed with precision. Hands folded with years of practice under his belt. 

The memories he's been dealing with for the last week have faded into the very depths of his mind, he refuses to dwell on his inadequacy. He'd made mistakes. 

Which won’t be tolerated- by the league, by Batman nor by Damian himself. 

He still doesn't understand. How had he fallen so far into that space? He'd been under the league's command- his mothers command- his entire life and yet still when he had needed to apply the skills he had witnessed and learned there, Damian choked. He'd known that one day he would present. And though being an Alpha had been nearly guaranteed -and look at how that turned out- Damian knew he would still have to master the art of suppression. No ruts. No scent. No bending at an Omagas pheromones. 

Like his mother, Damian had been destined to rule from the very top. He would have, one day, been as untouchable as Ra’s. 

Of course, if anyone finds out what he is now, Damian will never see the light of day again. 

Damian feels an itch under his skin. The need to fight coursing through his veins. He needs to prove himself the superior choice for Robin. He needs to secure his position else he will have to face off against Drake once more. While Damian has no doubt he can defeat the mediocre fool, Grayson had made it overly clear killing Drake wouldn't give Damian Robin.  

The hierarchy here is frankly stupid. Damian must adjust though- if he is to climb the ranks and clutch his birthright as he promised Mother he would. 

With that thought, Damian springs up and marches out of his room. He needs to blow off steam. Meditation worked once in a while but more often than not a sparring match is all he really needs. 

The batcave Damian has come to learn always has some sort of mood to it. 

Sometimes it reeks of grief. The kind that makes Grayson linger through the hallways. Eyes like that of a ghost. Hollow and unable to be touched. (or maybe that's just Damian's fear.) 

When Damian had first arrived at the manor the cave had been ripe with challenge. Electricity in the air as he and his father argued. Spiking and zapping around Damian when he and Grayson fought. 

Somedays it felt like fresh, cool,  water after a hot day.  Not relaxing or good. But a reward that, even if pitiful, was a relief to have. 

Today it felt like that. 

Damian set up a punching bag. The heavy weight under his knuckles is more than familiar. Lessons in several voices overlapped each other and rang through his head. He let muscle memory take over. Let the harsh sentences guide him like he had the threat of a lashing next to him. He felt the pounding rhythm he set up but it was far away. 

Damian retreated into his thoughts. 

Punch. Again. Another. Swing. 

He didn't let memories flow or think about how weak he was. He didn't let the hanging knife of whether or not Grayson was through with Damian fall. He blocked out noise that felt like static, loud and unnecessary. Hard to think around. Instead he just let himself feel every punch. The tightness of the leather under his fists, the way it gives slightly. The swaying of the bag when he hit hard enough. The light fainting he did was more routine than brushing his teeth.

He works up a sweat but doesn’t really register it beyond the faint regret of having to shower later. 

Punch. Bend. Hit. Punch.

(For some reason his skin has been red and irritated and it’s starting to concern Damian. He must be allergic to something in a product he’s using.) 

Punch. Once more. Repeat. Duck. 

He didn't notice the second pair of eyes, or the near silent sound of the bat-computer beeping awake. 

Punch. Weave. Punch. Punch. 

He threw himself into the exercise. He punched and punched and then kicked. Twisting his torso and swinging his leg backward. Another thud rings out and Damian stays just like that. Sweat beading down his face, rolling into the corner of his eye and causing mild irritation to flood his body. One leg poised up and at an angle, the bag swinging back and forth on its chain. Chest rising and falling in rapid breathes even as he started to regulate his breathing into a more acceptable pattern. 

A deep breath and he is lowering his leg to the floor and straightening out, Damian is planning on going again for round two when he finally hears the clicking of a computer. The computer. 

He glances around the punching bag and sees how the whole cave is lit up in blue. 

“Tt,” Damian scoffs. He hadn't realized how late in the day it was. If Grayson had decided to finally clock in and put the mask on. 

He should have, at the very least, heard the man come in. Letting off steam would do him no good if he let his guard down so thoroughly that he tensed right back up. 

How unprofessional. 

He walks forward. Grayson will not cause Damian to cower. He is a hardened, seasoned warrior. A week of failure does not change that. It simply put a kink into his armor and now Damian needs to buff it out. 

He supposes that it starts with walking past the man. 

It's not that Damian has been avoiding Grayson. No, that would suggest that Damian can't face the man- which in turn would make him weak. What Damian had been doing was in a lovely gray area. He had been developing a routine. You see, Damian knew the moment he had awakened the morning after his dreadful illness had gone, that he had been idle for far too long. 

Sure he had been doing morning exercises and working out so that he did not lose his sharp edges but Damian hadn't given his brain any sort of stimulation. School had done nothing for him and in his new found freedom (no. he had not waited for hours after he'd woken to see if Grayson would knock on his door and say he needed to attend his doom. He'd needed the time for self reflection, was all.) Damian had found he needed to go back to his roots. He had no tutors here but he could very well educate himself. Father had several libraries full of interesting studies. 

Damian, for two days, had made it his mission to start learning on a proper level. 

He hadn't realized that, in doing so, his hours would differ from Grayson's own. 

He ate at different times then the other and chose study spots that called to him in their peace, on day three he'd worked in exercise routines and an extra snack during the day. Which by day four had been simply waiting for him in the kitchen. 

(Just because Pennyworth hadn't earned any of Damian's respect didn't mean the man wasn't a decent butler at least.)

Eventually Damian realized that Richa- Grayson hadn't been in his line of sight for almost a week. 

(...it didn't bother him. It didn't.) 

Really, it was all a coincidence. Not talking to the man, or seeing him. Now though, if Damian ran- fled away in the shadows, it would seem as though he was a child. 

Which he somehow could afford less than ever. He didn't know that was even possible. 

His stride is steady and his shoulders stay back. When he reaches the side of the bat-computer, his pace shatters. Where he was expecting to see a fully suited up Bat, he instead is met with a black tank top and gray joggers. 

Just Grayson. 

Damian stares. 

(he had never seen Father in the cave without being in full gear.) 

A few seconds pass and Grayson looks up from where his eyes had been tracking across screens and locks onto Damian. 

Which is the moment Damian realizes he's been  watching the man for far longer than necessary.

(a memory of watching a child tug their mothers fitted suit enters Damian's brain without his consent. The child was barely past the woman's knee and very obviously had gone into work with the women. Whining to get her attention and staring up at her with wide eyes till he'd been picked up and placed on her hip. 

Did he look similar to that child now?) 

“Damian…” Grayson says with all the gentleness of one trying to steady a spooked animal. 

Damian bristles but doesn't leave. Again- Damian is trying to prove a point here. 

(it's not that he misses Grayson. Or that his voice promises a safety net. Nope.) 

Grayson studies him and Damian wants to claw the man's eyes out with his finger nails. 

Dick watches the way Damian has stiffened. He wants to comfort the kid but right now it's not just eggshells he's walking on- it's a damn minefield. Every other step could be the explosion that demolishes everything. 

This is the first time he's talking to Damian in a little over a week. He needs to do this right. 

“We should…talk about Robin.” he finally settles on saying. Once more watching with a careful eye on how Damian has reacted. It's getting…easier- almost to read the kid. He's known Damian for a few months now- first under the influence of Bruce, then when Damian got more involved with things like school and his announcement to Gotham as Bruce's son. Dick had to admit he had spent a decent amount of time with the kid. Picking him up from school, joining Batman on patrol and keeping a silent eye on Damian when he snuck out after them. Little things that eventually added up. Enough that Dick had been the only one who was willing to take the kid in. The only one who fucking stayed in the end. 

If someone had told Dick that he would eventually get a good read on this kid he would have laughed in their face. Damian looked like he'd been carved from stone most days. Reading anything on the kid had seemed completely out of reach. 

That has changed though. When it started Dick wasn't positive but Dick could see the tensing shoulders. He could see the twitch in his brows- like they wanted to scrunch together but Damian was refraining from the action. 

He could tell underneath the agitation something sore like a bruise lingered. Like Damian didn't want to leave but felt like he had to. 

Like he'd be forced to.

Dick wondered if he could get all this because of all the time he'd spent just…watching the kid. Being there in the silence this mansion brought down with all the weight of gravity, In all those quiet moments he had found Damian and had simply stayed- even if it was just to make sure the kid was ok.

Dick got up, slowly with caution, and motioned Damian a little closer. Together they walked over to a lone bench by the sparring mats. 

Dick sat down first and when it seemed like Damian would just stand five feet away glaring at him he patted the empty space next to him. An open invitation, not a demand. 

Damian crossed his arms but did sit on the very edge of the bench. Granted, his knees were bent and his body was ready to bolt if need be- but Dick didn't take it as offense. This was an ominous conversation. One Dick had sprang on Damian. But Dick knew that sometimes you just have to jump. Damian would see that Dick could catch him on the other side, the kid just had to give Dick the chance. 

“First thing I wanna say-” Dick starts off. “I still want you to be Robin.” 

Damian’s breath hitches the slightest bit but Dick doesn't point it out. He lets the words sink in and starts again, this time with Damian's full attention. Looking at one another now. 

“I think you'll be an amazing Robin. That hasn't changed, I don't think it ever will.” 

It's nothing but the truth. Dick does think Damian will be a good Robin. Even if part of that reason is because it makes sure Damian stays. 

It doesn't matter that Damian’s a Little. It doesn't make the kid any less valuable, or strong or even independent. It just means that- when Damian needs to relax, when the world is too heavy, Dick (at least he hopes Damian would let him-) steps in and makes sure Damian is taken care of. 

Damian opens his mouth and flicks his eyes once to the other side of the cave before meeting Dick’s with something a little more vulnerable in them. 

Dick can see the unspoken question- ‘even now? Even with this class?’

It's covered as fast as it came but Dick feels the hope expand in his chest.

“You…do not wish me to go back?” is all Damian says before his jaw clenches tight. 

Dick goes a little wide eyed. Had he given off the impression he wanted Damian kicked out? What the hell? Dick’s not surprised that the kid might think he can't be Robin- what with the clear ‘being Little is bad’ mentality Damian’s got going on. Still though, kicked out? 

(way do give Dick flash backs-) 

“No- No Damian, I want you-...” Dick pauses and considers his answer more carefully. “I-...”

Had he…really asked what Damian wanted? Has anyone ever?

“Do…do you want that, bud?” Dick asked. 

Damian's brow finally furred in that way Dick knew it wanted to. Had seen coming. 

“You don’t- what-” Damian stopped talking as his body showed more signs of agitation. Interrupting his stuttering with a frustrated huff. 

Dick stepped in before he could get worked up. The last thing he wanted was for Damian to leave now. Not when he's finally talking to the kid after a week of silence! 

“I just mean that- I want to know what you want. I don’t think I've done a good job asking that yet.” Dick explained. 

Damian seemed more confused though. It hurt something deep inside Dick but he ignored it for now. Damian needed his attention and just like when the kid was sick Dick was not going to ignore that for anything. 

“It's ok too, if you're not sure.” Dick stretches out his legs in front of him, slowly and making sure not to spook Damian with the move. “I would like you to stay. I would like it if you held the Robin name now. I'm ok though, if you want something else.” 

Dick is hoping that he's not making a huge mistake. He's betting on something dangerous here. 

He's putting all his money on the possibility Damian wants to stay here instead of going back to the cult that groomed him. Back to his mother. Away from the place Bruce died. (away from Dick.) 

Damian studies him for a long minute. Fingers twitching in suppressed anxiety.

“I want to be Robin.” He finally says. Eyes filled with determination. Fierce and more than a little deadly. 

It's everything Dick needs to hear. 

Dick lets out a relieved breath. “Then we start tomorrow, Robin.” 

   *ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊

Chapter Text

They work together with a fluid rhythm that normally comes with years of partnership and Damian rides that high with a terrifying smile on his face. 

They've been out on the streets for three hours and they haven't had a single moment where it's been poor. Damian knew that Richard was good- he'd fought the man personally. Not to mention the fact that Richard had years of experience, being the first Robin has never been made more clear to Damian. 

Still- Damian finds himself taken aback by how natural being out here is for Richard. 

The suit the man wears is made up of the night and he uses it with a grace that Damian didn't know he possessed. Both Batman and Robin's capes sail with the wind as they leap from rooftop to alley. 

They stop three muggings, one attempted rape and one drug deal, Batman did not let Damian stab his way through the last one- much to the boys frustration- seeing as it was a bunch of children playing with things they didn't know. Ignorance and desperation in the air around the young teens.

It was a good thing Richard was in the Batsuit- the knight of Gotham made for a terrifying figure and the sheep had run home with a lesson learned as soon as Richard came out of the shadows like a demon summoned in the night. 

Damian, who had been feeling slighted by his lack of action, stubbornly suppressed the giggle that wanted to bubble out of his throat. Which- ridiculous. Damian hadn't even known he could giggle- 

Ah. He needs to focus. 

Now they have come to the end of their route. The underground entrance to the cave close to them and the batmobile even more so.  

Damian was delighted, he'd gotten to wield his katana for the first time in ages. The man wasn't going to bleed out but he also wouldn't have much use for his private parts any longer. 

Damian had been pleasantly surprised when Richard had given him the pass for that one. 

Damian…he is learning- rapidly- that Grayson is… different then Father was. Sure they have several things in common and Richard has not made a complete mockery of the Batman title like Todd had (though Damian scowls at the reminder of the poorly timed jokes Grayson had whispered before fights.) It is still obvious, now that he has worked side by side with the man, that Richard has different morals. A different fighting style. Different priorities. Even with all his imitation- Damian can see that. Damian idly wonders where Grayson had found those morals and priorities, when he was raised by Damian's Father. 

(they…complement Damian's own. It's simply easier to work with Richard. He is not drowning so much now as he was when Father was the Bat. Except Damian had been trained to work with Bruce and had been raised to be the man's sole heir. Richard was never supposed to be a part of that plan. Damian… doesn't know how to navigate such revelations. ) 

Where Father would have never let him touch his katana again, Richard had taken one look at it and left it alone. 

Where Father would have benched Damian for actually using it, Richard had given him a subtle nod. (maybe that's why, when later Richard tells him not to, Damian listens.) 

They signal to each other and learn how to move with one another. What their strengths are, what weaknesses Richard has. They find a rhythm in record time and it is a night filled with triumph. Richard seems to treat Damian as an equal. 

(Even after everything. Damian doesn't understand- it goes against everything he's ever learned. Everything the league of Shadows drilled into him, every class he took, it all contrasts to the way Richard is treating him. Still though, he does not take it for granted, he does his best to prove Richard's faith correct. Damian is not a child. He can fight.) 

And Damian learns very soon that it's only the start. 

They go home and Richard tells Damian he can shower first, carefully leaving the room open and inviting for conversation but doesn't say anything else. He lets Damian take the lead on whether or not they are talking again. 

Damian comes to stand in front of the man before they enter the changing rooms in the back of the cave. 

Richard stars down at him and Damian pulls his shoulders back. 

“You were adequate.” Damian determines. 

Richard's eye brows go up to his hairline and he has a small, bemused smile on his face. 

He holds Damian's eyes as he say's, “Thank you Damian. I enjoyed working with you as well.”

Damian huffs out a breath and looks down quickly, already marching away now that all has been said. 

(he stubbornly ignores the way the praise settles something warm in his chest.) 

  *ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊

They patrol the next night too. 

This time it's even quieter, the night feels a little longer then the last but once more Damian feels like he can breathe. He had not left the manor in a while and being out here- blanketed under a smoggy night- he can stretch himself back out, find a balance in his life that has been absent for far too long. 

Damian crouches down on the edge of the building's roof, a cape of yellow and black pooling around him as he looks over the edge and into the city. 

Batman joins him soon enough after a brief update from the commissioner. 

The intimidating figure of the Bat is lost when Richard gives Damian a smile. 

Damian sighs. 

“You should not be making such a face when out as Batman.” He states, looking away from the man and back out to the city. 

He sees why his Father did it so often. It's calming to watch the lights flicker and the city come to life under the eerie darkness. It matches something in Damian's soul. A buried burden that has been passed down from his Fathers blood. This city will be his someday. 

“Are we brooding?” comes a chipper voice. 

Damian rounds on Richard immediately. “I am watching out for dangerous activity as you should be doing!” 

The man just chuckles and Damian dismisses him. How unprofessional. 

“We should get moving.” Damian commands, hand already going for his grapple. 

His movements halt though when Richard’s hand brushes against the back of his. 

Damian looks up at the man, ready to snap. Damian will make it clear that he doesn't want to be touched…that he can't have Richard touching him so gently and- and paren- without thinking about everything else, but the look on the man's face stops him. 

“One more round, then we go back,” he says. Quietly. 

Damian doesn't understand the change in the air. Is confused as to why he is being handled with more…care all of the sudden. But he lets the matter go and the air fades. He grabs his grapple, nods and then swings. Leaving the man to follow behind him. 

When they go home that night, Damian exits the shower and finds a blue and black hoodie next to his pile of clothes. It's not a mystery as to who put it there.

He had switched back to his regular sleep outfits immediately- not only were the other ones impractical in the case of combat but they addled his mind with their soft textures. Which was not something Damian could deal with again. (Also they were Drakes. Ew.)

Upon seeing the hoodie his first reaction is rage. He should burn it to a crisp. He should swear at Grayson till the man's ears bleed. He should- 

Damian takes the fabric in his hands and studies it for a moment that feels infinite. 

The design is admittedly very well made. 

The colors are the exact shade of the Nightwing persona and the logo on front is uncanny. 

The wings on the back are the same shade of blue, but they have a messier look to them. Purposeful no doubt, a nod to a more graffiti art style. 

Damian thinks about dumping it on the shower floor for a moment more, leaving it to soak in the water while giving a clear message to Richard. Damian did not need anything from the man. Most certainly not a soft hoodie. 

(but his skin is red and sensitive. His clothing has not been kind to him recently and Damian is starting to suspect it's more than just some allergy.) 

Damian clenches his jaw. He knows what he should do . 

A decision is made and he walks out of the showers with blue and black tucked under his arm. 

The hoodie becomes a staple for sleep every night. Damian curls into it and manages to block the fuzzy-static feeling he gets when he wears it. Manages to push down the slowly widening ache in his chest. 

Most times though, when the hoodie drowns him and he is tucked under the cover of Gotham's night, on the edge of sleep, Damian can't remember how old he is.

He ignores that too. 

  *ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊

Damian fully expects to go out again the next night. He is finally fulfilling his purpose here. 

So when Richard tells him they are staying home tonight Damian protests.

Loudly. 

“Are you to be responsible for everyone who suffers tonight then?” Damian demands. Richard looks up from where he'd been studying something on the monitor. 

(Dick wonders if Damian even knows how much progress his mindset has made in the past few months. Because before- Damian wouldn't have asked a question like that. Wouldn't have cared for anyone other than himself and his right to put on the mask. Damian’s growing.) 

Damian shouldn't be surprised that Richard gives him his full attention. It's not like he'd been the one to ignore Damian, and he's proven time and again that Damian’s opinion matters. Still though Damian's tongue gets caught under the weight of Richard's gaze. 

A gaze that stares at him with something haunting. 

“We can't be everywhere, Dames. In order to go out and save lives and stop the bad guys- we have to be sharp. Well rested.” Dick says with a tone that is coated in his years of working as a vigilante. 

Dick sighs and Damian looks as if he braces himself for Dick’s next words. 

“Do you know why Bruce created Batman?” Dick asks the boy. Genuinely curious about the answer. 

He doesn’t fully understand the impact of his question till Damian’s conditioning comes out in full force and sucker punches him right in the stomach.

“He became the knight of Gotham in the mission to resurrect order to the city. Father saw his parents die and swore an oath to avenge them by fighting crime.” Damian recites like he's reading from a book. 

And sure- it's not wrong. But it's also not really the answer Dick was looking for. 

Dick lets himself think about this reply before speaking. Damian deserves a well thought out and easy to explain answer. 

“Thats all true.” He nods. “Except it's not the full picture. Bruce could've gone and fought crime other ways. Like being a police officer.” Dick sees the rapt attention the boy in front of him is giving out and steadies his mind. 

“Bruce became Batman so people would have hope.” Dick tells Damian. 

Damian scrunches his face but his eyes are still on Dick’s. 

“The system was messed up, Dames. Bad. No one in Gotham could rely on it. Then Batman changed the game. For every bad guy that was…different. Like Joker or Crain, scarier, more creative. Bruce matched that level. He came to their turf and made it his.” 

Damian nodded his head as Dick continued. 

“And now, everyone knows Batman. The villains out there- they trip on their own feet to get away from the darkness they tried to claim. What once brought civilians fear and unease, now brings hope. Because even if someone stumbles in the dark and meets a foe, the chances are, Batman is going to save them. Because there's a hero willing to confront that darkness.”

Dick smiles as he gets to the point. “What I am saying is that even though Batman doesn't go out every night, and even though it's not… Bruce under the mask anymore, the bad guys still jump at the shadows. They know that Batman could show up and that's all that is needed to deter their actions. So it's ok, once in a while, to take a breather.” 

Damian has a strong look of concentration on his face and there is something heavy on Dick as he realizes Damian is truly taking his words in, studying them and making his own opinions. It's a good kind of weight though. Fulfilling. 

“I…” Damian starts. “I understand. Father was able to make a legend out of his mortal self…yes. That makes sense.” Damian looks up and meets Dick’s eyes. “Father used fear to control the undercity, in doing so he was able to work on more cases…” Damian pauses and then hesitantly adds, “And… rest.” 

Oh boy, the disdain in which Damian utters those words. Well not that there was any doubt on Damian being Bruce's child- still though, sometimes it smacks Dick in the face. 

He smiles though, because any understanding from Damian is a massive improvement. 

“Right. So even though we're not going out tonight- bad guys still tremble.” He says to Damian. “Besides,” Dick adds. “Last I heard there's a certain Hood that we know out there taking shifts too. For now at least- we’ve got a bit of help where it matters.” 

Damian raises an eyebrow at this. “You trust Todd to help people?” 

Dick smiles. Soft. “Yeah, baby bat. Even if he only saves kids, or a person or two, it's not nothing.” 

Damian huffs and shuffles his foot into the ground- something that catches Dick’s eyes and makes his brain itch, trying to recall something out of reach. 

“Well, I do suppose if recuperating is necessary- for you,” the child tacks on. “Then we shall stay here for the night…” Damian looks up once more and Dick has to hide the sappy smile on his face in record time. 

“Though…we can go out tomorrow. Yes?” Damian asks. And it's so polite that Dick wonders if the kid knew that's all it would take for him to fold. 

“Yes, little Robin, we'll go out tomorrow.” Dick ruffles Damian’s hair and chuckles as the kid squirms. Though he is sure to pull his hand back when Damian ducks down to get out of range. 

“Enough.” Damian demands, though the effect is weak when his cheeks are a cherry red. “And for the sake of my ears be done with the insipid nicknames. I am above such chil-” 

Damian's breath leaves him in a rush. Dick mourns as he watches the kids eyes widen and not a second later shutter. The stone walls come down with a clear message. This conversation is over. 

It's the longest Damian has spoken to him in weeks even if Dick did most of the chatting. 

Damian’s eyes are covered by black hair as he mutters something unintelligible before leaving the cave. Slippered feet going back to the clock. 

As he disappears it hits Dick just what nickname he used. 

His mothers voice rings in his ears. 

(Our little robin. Flying already…) 

Dick steps away from where he's staring into space and heads for the showers. 

He needs to cool off. He's tired. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊

They go out over the weekend, this time Alfred is on comms. Sitting in the cave and watching for crime. Leading them around Gotham for a few hours. 

Dick had picked up a small case of robbers. It's three men from what he's discovered. Pretty mediocre. The police could handle it but Dick is making sure they don't muck it up tonight. The culprits should be robbing an auction tonight, the police are already all in place to make the arrest. 

Still it doesn't hurt on a slow week like this to stay a few rooftops away and watch over everything. 

Jason had gotten in contact with Dick two days ago. Sorta. It was a very brief message, but the fact that he told Dick at all that he's back in Crime Ally for the time being, and to ‘stay the fuck outta my turf dickface.’ as he so elegantly put the text, instead of just letting Dick figure it out on his own? It's a down right miracle. 

Tim still hadn't answered any of the texts Dick sent him- at this point he doesn't think the kid is in Gotham anymore (and it stings, his little brother is still young- Timmy's only sixteen he shouldn't be out there on his own when he has only just been allowed to drive.) but Dick isn't giving up. He sent another text when he'd gotten the one from Jay, and he will send another on Monday. 

He stopped asking if Tim was alright, just started saying how he was missed. That he was welcome home any time he wanted. If he needed anything Dick was still here. He had a place in Gotham should he need it. As well as basic, slightly boring, life updates.  Like what he had for breakfast or how WE was doing in stocks at the moment. 

He just wishes his brother would tell him he's still alive. 

“Batman.” Damian gets his attention. Pulling Dick out of his ever spiraling thoughts. 

Dick turns his attention to the young Robin and pauses as he takes in the newest vigilante. It's not the first time he's seen the new suit but it's still a little jarring to see how much his parents' colors, his family colors, have changed over the years since his time as Robin. 

“Robin?” Dick answers back. 

The boy points to the east side of the warehouse. 

“Yeah.” Dick sees two figures crouching in the shadows. Ducked out of sight just barely “I see em’.” Dick whispers. 

Damian looks at him, an ask for permission that Dick is surprised by, though he does his best to keep it off his face. The cowl covering everything but his mouth helps. Even if Dick hates that most of the time. 

Dick casts a swift glance around the perimeter and sees the cops surrounding the area. 

Dick nods his head, not before saying, “Watch for the third." 

Damian acknowledges his warning with a faint click of his tongue before leaping off the building and heading to the poorly chosen hiding spot of the other two men. Dick on the other hand leaps forward towards the actual warehouse. Where there are two on look out he'd bet his trust fund there's one sneaking in. 

Low and behold. 

Criminal number three is weaving through the red curtain covering the back of the auctions stage. The noise of the room covering any footsteps. 

Dick bends low onto one of the roof's support beams. Blending into the shadows the way he'd seen his dad do thousands of times before.  (fuck. He misses Bruce.) 

When the angle is right and the audience is distracted by the sounds of shouting police outside- Dick takes the opportune moment to flip, once, twice, in the air and land squarely on his burglar who drops the large blue-jeweled necklace and crumples to a heap under the sudden weight of a full grown man. 

It's a ridiculously easy capture and when Dick brings his guy out to the police he sees the two Damian dealt with already in the backs of cop cars. Heads hung low in defeat. 

Though Dick notices there is no Damian which -if the earlier shouting said anything - was probably for the best. 

He meets Robin on a roof top a ways away after grunting at the police. 

“So kid, where to next?” Dick asks Damian. 

The boy stares up at him, Dick can't see the emerald eyes anymore- what, with the mask being put on properly- but he does find the stare reminiscent of the one from that night in the alley. 

Dicks noticed it- how tired Damian seems lately. It's only been roughly two weeks since Damian Presented but Dick wonders just how much rest Dames has gotten since then. 

Not much if the eye bags under the kids eyes have anything to say about it. 

Dick had seen that and taken a few days off from having Robin out, still though it's hard to deter Damian from the mask. Dick also doesn't want to. It's so clear how much lighter the kid gets out here. How much more he's willing to talk and listen. Engage. 

Dick has, once again, unlocked a new side of Damian he hadn't gotten to see before.  This side of Damian was bold and righteous, and so, so similar to Bruce. Broody and still. Reckless and determined. Damian put on the Robin name and wore it the best he could. Like it's gone from being a mere obstacle to a right of passage. 

It warms something in Dick’s chest. 

All the birds were meant to be able to spread their wings with the Robin name, but with the safety net of the Bat behind them. Ready to catch them if they should fumble. 

They should learn and grow and find a way to fly on their own. They just needed a boost sometimes. 

It makes Dick nostalgic for his time as Robin. When he and Bruce had been equals despite the age difference. When they had flown together and bled together and fell together. 

He wanted that for Damian. He wanted the kid to know that he would always have Dick. It didn't matter if he wanted to face hell or create it, he would have Dick in his corner ready to guide and offer advice. 

Damian needed this. Seeing that plan and simple eased a crushing weight on Dicks chest. He'd been unsure after his decision. If he should have let Tim be his Robin. But Tim was so much better now. He had grown up. Dick thought it had been time for his third brother to start making his own name. His own path. 

And it had been time for Damian to step into something different from his time in the league. He needed a title that came with history- stability. 

He had also wanted to ask Tim…to be Nightwing. To take on Dick's newest legacy. He'd always felt closer to Tim than others, simply because he'd let himself. After Jason he knew he couldn't fuck up. He'd lead Tim's teams in the early years. Had sent the kid out on missions. Had been there in case Tim needed him. 

Dick thought Tim had grown out of being Robin. Freshly sixteen and ready for something new, and if he didn't want Nightwing, something he could call his own. 

After the fight he'd been left second guessing all of that. He wished he'd handled it better, wished he'd talked to Tim first. Asked what he wanted.  Dick hates that he messed it up, hates that he repeated history- except this time he was on the other side of the coin. 

It's done though. And Dick can’t help but think he at least did something right. Seeing the way Damian is now. Seeing him enjoy freedom for what is probably the first time. 

It would take time. 

To get his brothers back (both of them.) to show Damian he had choices now. To get used to being the one behind his dads mask. 

In the meantime, Dick suspects it's going to be moments like these, soft and seemingly insignificant, that slowly build that hopeful future. So he'll stay here in the present, caring for Damian when he's allowed, saving lives when he can, texting his brothers to remind them they're not alone. 

That's enough. That's all he has to do right now. 

(when Dick lays down for the night, clean of the grim of Gotham, he is pleasantly surprised to find a new notification on his phone staring at him.

He texts back immediately, happy to have someone in his corner. Then he promptly falls asleep.) 

 *ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊

Damian feels his body rock back and forth in soothing motions. 

He watches wide eyed as Richard leans down and bumps his finger against Damian's nose. Damian feels the airy giggle leave his lungs like a cloud giving the world a small drizzle of rain. 

He is blanketed in safety.

Damian watches in slow motion as a small hand comes into the right side of his vision and reaches out to tap at Richard's cheek. The man smiles adoringly. 

Soft light interrupts his vision of Richard- the sun beaming through the window and covering Richard's face- when it disappears behind the clouds again, instead of being greeted by Richard's soft face he finds the man scowling down at him with utter disgust. 

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” the man spits venom in Damian's ears. 

Damian falls-

Gravity pulls him through ever-stretching darkness as Richard's face rapidly becomes a small point in the distance. Until he is far above Damian, looking down with rejection. 

Damian’s breath turns rapid with panic and he can feel his limbs whirling around him trying to find something to hang onto in hopes of slowing his fall. 

Nothing helps him- instead he sees Richard's face get closer, then it morphs into Ra’s glare. Flinching away doesn't work and in the next blink it's his Mother looking down at him, this time though it's with the sharp glint of a knife in her floating hand, reaching towards him with a deadly aim. 

He sees the colors of his Robin suit flutter around him with the wind on his back. His cape covering his face and plunging him in darkness. 

Damian suddenly feels the ground getting closer, knife and fall closing in on him- 

Damian’s eyes snap open with shock, tears flowing down his cheeks with every heaving breath he is unable to control. 

His body feels frozen- there is no chance he can move- except he must now because that was how he was trained. Damian stutters out another breath as quietly as he can and attempts to twitch his fingers. He can't move. 

His eyes flick around his room, large enough to make it feel like a black hole is sucking him in. 

What he knows to be objects turn into monsters. Figures that would hurt him if he so much as breathed too hard and made his presence known to them. 

His comforter has somehow been tucked fully on top of Damian's body and he is grateful for it, otherwise whatever was in his room could get to him. If he had so much as a pinky finger out he knows whatever lurks in the darkness would swallow him whole. 

Damian's eyes dart to the wood floor. Is there something under his bed? He could have sworn he heard something shift.

His breath hitches. 

There is something under his bed! He knows it! 

Damian's breath stutters in and out and he's trying to stay quite but it's so hard- 

A long whine finally leaves his lips, it seems like a gunshot sounding in the silence of his room. As soon as it reaches Damian's ears he wishes for it to retreat back into his throat. His fingers finally twitch and Damian is deciding what to do, run or hide or fight, when there's a barley there knock on his bedroom door. 

Damian freezes. Oh no. no no- what did Damian attract? Did someone break in? Damian needs to move-

“Dami? You ok bud?” Dick asks through Damian's door. 

 Dick had gotten up at the faint sound of whining. 

There'd been a moment when he'd thought he had simply been imagining it, hearing the air turn on or some animal outside. He wouldn't have even gotten out of bed had it not been for the (new) distinct feeling of his headspace stirring at the sounds. 

Yeah, that left exactly one option on what it was.

Richard-  (Damian feels contentment settle into his chest. Everything is going to be ok now.) 

“Richard?” Damian tries to get his voice louder- but all that comes out is a whisper covered in his tears. 

Thankfully Richard hears him and next thing Damian knows there is yellow light shining into his room. A triangle of oasis covering from floor to roof. Shadows that had turned dangerous become clothing and furniture once more. 

Damian lets out a relieved breath, eyes darting to Richard standing in the doorway. 

Damian can finally move- with light coming through his bedroom he can see clearly that there is very little to be scared of. Except- 

“No!” Damian sits up, getting on his knees and holding his hand out toward Richard. 

The man stops dead in his tracks. He'd been three steps away from coming to the edge of Damian's bed. Richard looks alarmed by Damian's sudden shout, which makes sense considering Damian couldn't even get his voice to a regular volume two seconds ago. 

It was important that Richard not get any closer though! 

Richard is still stiff as a board just inside Damian's room. His hands come up as though Damian is a feral animal. 

“Hey, it's cool. I don't have to come in, I was just gonna see if you needed anything.” Richard says. “But if you want space, I'll go back to my-” 

“No!” Damian repeats- though this time the word is more commanding than panicked. 

Damian doesn't want Richard to leave. Richard can keep him safe, it's just that Richard can't keep him safe if he's been eaten.

“You can't get close to the bed!” Damian tries to communicate. “There's a monster,” he whispers. 

Dick’s whole being stutters to a stop. What? An assassin? A rogue? 

Then he sees where Damian is actually pointing to. Under the bed. Dick pays more attention to Damian as his eyes adjust to the room- wide eyes, voice thicker with an accent, shuffling. The blue and black hoodie that he is swimming in.

Damian…Damian slipped. 

Richard's eyes grow wide. His hands lowered and if Damian wasn't already looking at the ground again he would see the small, disbelieving smile on the man's face. 

“A monster?” Richard asks. 

Damian looks back up at him. Richard sure is slow. The man needs to be quiet otherwise the monster might come out. 

“Yes.” he whispers back. “I heard it.” He tells Richard. 

Damian shuffles as close to the edge of the bed as he feels safe too. He kinda wants Richard to sweep him up into his arms. He remembers how nice that was. It's been far too long since Richard held Damian. They should fix that. He doesn't want Richard to get hurt though. He might if he gets too close to the bed. What if the monster grabbed Richard?

Maybe if Richard’s super fast…?

Damian feels the prick of tears again and tries to wrap his blanket more firmly around him. It's not the star blanket though, it won't really keep him safe. 

“It's ok, bug-” Damian feels his heart rate calm. He sinks deeper into this place of safety. “-I’ve got…monster repelling powers!” at least Richard is whispering now. Took him long enough. Damian will have to keep a good eye on his Batman if he is that immune to when danger is near. 

If Richard can scare away the monster though, that means he can get Damian out of the room! 

Damian rockets forward a little, “Really? You can scare it off?” 

Richard nods as his face turns very serious. “Sure can, baby.” Dick smiles encouragingly. “Remember what I told you? All monsters are scared of Batman.”

Damian almost forgot! Of course Richard can face the unknown foe. He does that every night! 

…So…so does Damian though. And he's…kinda worried about the monster. But Damian isn't Batman- not yet. So maybe he won’t be so worried when he wears the mask. One day. Far away. 

He nods his head and meets Richard's eyes. 

“Ok” Damian whispers. “Kon Hatheran” Damian double checks, looking up at Richard with pleading eyes. 

Dick’s soft smile falls. He'd heard- just the few times Damian talked- the thicker accent Damian seemed to carry when small. It made sense if he grew up learning multiple languages, which Dick knows he did, and if Talia kept their cultures in Damian’s life. Which- hearing the Arabic on the kid's slightly clumsy tongue, tells Dick that she did. (so fine. She can have one mom point. But that's against like a hundred cult-women points!) 

The man had a shocked look on his face that confused Damian but he ignored it when Richard started stepping forward. Damian made a small noise in the back of his throat but went quiet at Richard's shushing noise. 

Two steps and Richard was at the bed, leaning down on his knees as Damian sucked in a breath. What was Richard doing! He could get hurt-

“Yup! No monsters anymore!” Richard stated firmly, peering under the bed. His voice returned to a louder volume. 

Damian shook his head in disbelief. “Really?” he asked. 

Richard looked at him and stood up. “Thats right, baby bat. They scattered at my presence.” Richard boasted, puffing out his chest and getting a cheeky smile on his face. 

Damian couldn't help the giggle that left his lips. Richard was being silly! 

“No! The light scared them!” Damian argued. Richard wasn't scary!

Richard's smile seemed to get bigger. “Oh? You think. I thought it was my terrifying demeanor."

Damian shook his head, hair flying wild at the motion, “Nuh uh. They can only stay in the dark.” pointedly turning toward the soft yellow light that flooded his room from the hallway.

“Ohhhhh.” Richard draws out with a contemplating look on his face. “I see, then we have to make sure to get a small light for this room huh? For extra protection.” 

Damian considered this for a moment before nodding his head. Yes, a light would give him an edge on any monsters who come to visit. Maybe Richard is more intelligent then he plays off. 

Then without prompt, he raises his arms in the air. Richard has already taken far too long in Damian's opinion. 

Dick can’t take this. Nope. His poor heart is going to explode with cuteness overload. Does this count as baby fever? Damian is just so sweet.

He takes the very clear message and scoops his…the kid…yeah ok. Fine. His kid, up in the air and settles Dami on his hip. 

Richard tucks him closer, and Damian can’t help but seek safety in the curve of his shoulder. 

He forgets what he'd been dreaming about in the first place.  It doesn’t matter when, in Richard’s hold, he is protected from the weight of the world. 

Damian finds that his tiredness returns and sleep beckons him with a soft embrace and gentle swaying. He doesn't bother trying to fight it. Why should he? It feels as though he hasn't slept well in years- he's just making up for all those lost nights. 

Damian sleeps and barely feels it when Richard lays them both in the man's own bed. Tucking the blankets around Damian before crawling in himself, Damian gravitates to the warmth of the Caregiver with ease. Snuggling into the hoodie that is starting to lose Richard's scent- though that doesn't matter when he's so surrounded by it now. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊

Dick wakes to sleepy whines and a bed that is boarding on to warm. 

Damian is next to him still, star-fished out and limbs every-which-way. A drool spot on the kids side of the bed speaks of deep sleep and well rest. 

Damian slipped again. 

Dick can barely contain his emotions, they are all over the place. He is of course incredibly happy. Damian still feels safe enough here to slip into that more vulnerable headspace. He is also terrified of when the kid inevitably wakes up- Dick has no idea if he will be up and eleven or still under. 

Dick, in the quiet between Batman and WE, has gone and proven why he was considered a detective. He may not have the natural inclination for curious questions as Jason or the logical thinking of Tim. What he did have though, was years of being the first. 

Now those beautiful crafted deductive skills have been used for copious amounts of research. 

Every Caregiver program online. Little Centers websites. Blogs for Traumatized Littles. Where to get books for child psychology. Becoming a Caregiver for the first time. Presenting young. 

Everything he could get his hands on, he snatched up and read through like a life line. 

Now weeks in and facing the situation hands on once more Dick has to use that knowledge. He has to figure out the best way to communicate with Damian in order for them both to have a healthy life. 

Because Damian will continue to slip. Unless the boy tries to out-right suppress his headspace (and if that ever occurred, Dick would very much step in.) Damian is going to slip again. It also seems that the kiddo will likely slip every few weeks. Two or three if Dick had to take a (now) educated guess. 

They'll still have to go to the Little Center to get the real work done, Figuring out Damians headspace age, how often he should slip to be healthy, what gear will be needed in his day-to-day life. All of that will need to be discussed, first though Dick needs to talk to the kid. 

Dick wants to be Damian's Caregiver. 

It's more than possible Damian won't be ready for such a statement, but Dick can see if they can tentatively plan for Damian to go down every once in a while. See if the kids open to at least talking about being Little. 

Dick waits patently for the bug to wake up, gently playing with his hair. Sat up fully against the headboard and on top of the blankets Damian is still snuggled under. 

When Damian's breathing shifts and his eyelids start to flutter, Dick braces himself. 

Apple green eyes open and find Dick’s own electric blue almost immediately. 

The flush that crawls its way up Damian’s cheeks is not surprising. 

The fact that Damian stays still, is. 

because there is clarity in those eyes that doesn't exist while he is tiny. Damian is eleven, or closer to that age then whatever he normally slips to.

Dick is about to start this, hopefully good, in spit of everything, conversation- when Damian beats him to the punch. 

“I’m not sick.” the boy whispers. It sounds broken. Like Damian is ashamed. 

Dick can feel something deep in his soul crack with it. 

“No kiddo, you're not.” Dick whispers back. “But…” He starts and holds Damian's eyes. “That's perfectly ok. You can slip without it being forced.” Dick tries to put every promise in those words, he's not sure how much Damian really hears though. 

Damian just shakes his head- curling his body inwards in a show of fear Dick has never witnessed the child feel. 

“Damian.” Dick says. “I swear to you, this is ok. It's all normal-” 

“Im not normal!” Damian shouts before the word can even finish. Dick notices with a start that Damian has tears shedding. 

“I am not a sheep. I am not a civilian. I am not even a child-” Damian curses himself for feeling so vulnerable, for allowing his emotions to rise to suffocating degrees and spill out of him like a foolish boy.

He should be stronger. Harder. Unbreakable. He was the Demon's heir and he was the son of the Bat, yet he is acting infantile in the face of his presentation and a man who could kick him out without remorse if he should choose. 

He hates the look on Grayson's face. Hates how it only intensifies his confounding emotions. He is drowning in unknown waters and cannot ask for a lifeline of any kind.

Then a hand runs through his hair, barely there with every ounce of hesitance manageable. 

The slightest shifting of his hair strands tickle at his scalp and Damian suddenly feels weak. Weak, weak, weak- desperate. He wants to put his weight into that hand. He wants it to hold him together. He wants the soothing humming to enter his ears; he wants the warmth of that star blanket and the whispers of Richard's voice to never leave. He wants the comforts offered. 

He wants to rest. 

He wants to rest, so badly. 

The hand brushes through his bangs and Damian lets himself inch forward the slightest bit. Curling into Richard's body heat. 

“I am sorry Damian.” Richard's voice finally comes. Damian doesn't bother to look at him. 

Dick can't help the words, doesn't even realize what he's apologizing for till they are out there for Damian to hear. 

This child has been denied love his whole life. At the ripe age of eleven he has presented as a Little, his biology has literally demanded a re-do. This is a kid who has never had a childhood and has only been exposed to what that might mean recently. 

Damian deserves every ounce of affection Dick can give him. 

(good news for Damian is that Dick has a lot to give.) 

They are finding their footing as Batman and Robin. They are working together well. Here though, under this roof they can do better. Dick can do better. 

He makes a silent vow to himself- watching the trembling hands inch toward Dick’s pant leg- that Dick will step up. He will be everything that Damian needs. He will learn how to take care of this child, Dick will learn Damian's boundaries and triggers and what his favorite damn color is. Dick will make sure he finds passions outside of their vigilante night life and encourage Damian to make his own decisions. 

He will live up to being this child's Caregiver. 

“I know it's hard, Dami. I know it doesn't seem fair.” Dick runs his hand a little more pointedly through Damian's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp when the kid makes a soft noise. “But it's healthy, and I am more than happy to help take care of you.” Dick admits. 

Damian shakes his head again, eyes squeezed shut harshly. 

“Please, Damian.” Dick softens his voice even more. “Let me take care of you.” Dick wonders if Damian hears what he's truly asking.

Damian stills. His hands seize their trembling and his eyes relax. 

“I…” Damian whispers. Choking on the words before they can even form. 

Damian wants to say yes. He wants Richard to….care for him. He wants more of this. Damian thinks he's only scratched the surface. That being a Little…the Little to Richards Caregiver…will open doors to a life he never could have imagined. It's off the path he has in place. It's against all his grandfather's rules. But where Damian feels he should be suppressing his instincts, Richard's soft words give him a steady sort of peace he is completely unfamiliar with. 

It's terrifying. He should feel murderous at being treated like a child, with the way he was raised he should have already slit this man's throat. 

Instead the only feeling that rises to meet him is a gooey warmth. Something…good. 

He's not sure he can talk about any of that though. 

He's not sure he can risk everything for this, for something that could be pulled out from under his feet at any moment. It leaves him exposed in unimaginable ways. He doesn't think he can trust Richard, not yet. 

But he wants to. 

(what Damian fails to realize is that, in wanting to, the first steps have already been taken. He is already walking a new path. From here on- he is a new version of himself. Not just the weapon he sees himself as.) 

Damian feels himself rise slowly, refusing to look at Richard. He can not make a certain decision, not when his head is still scrambling to wake up and leave that floaty space. 

“I need more time.” Damian finally responds. He's not sure if that's an answer Richard was expecting. If the man thought Damian would simply resort to violence - 

Damian is tired. His head is reeling and his gut is full of unnamed emotions. It's early and a workout is calling his name. Maybe then he can get through the fog in his head. 

“That's alright kiddo. That's totally fine.” Dick reassures, pulling away from Damian. 

It hurts a little to not have a real answer, but it's so much more than an outright ‘no’ and Damian is communicating his needs. Dick is achingly proud of that.  

Damian is growing right before his eyes. 

Damian sits at the edge of his bed and claws the sheets before speaking one last time. 

“Thank you.” Damian whispers the foreign words coating his tongue oddly. 

“I'll always be here for you kid.” Dick says back as Damian leaves the room. He watches Damian twitch but he keeps moving and Dick waits till the door clicks shut behind him to stretch. 

Time to get going on more of that research. He's got a kid that needs him. 

  *ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊

It's been four days since Damian accidentally slipped into headspace. Four days since Richard promised…that it would be alright to slip again. That if Damian…required Richard's presence, nobody would make a deal out of it. It would be accepted. Damian needs more than that though. He needs to understand what that would entail. What would be expected of him. 

…when Damian was sick, Richard had done nearly everything for him. Damian remembers how nice it was, being in cozy clothes and snuggling into Richard's bed. 

Snuggling with Richard. He remembers the absolute security he woke up feeling that final morning. How, with Richard's arms wrapped around him, Damian had felt freedom. It seemed to be an oxymoron. It wasn't though. Damian had freedom from danger. He was relaxed because he had confidence in his safe keeping. That confidence was in Richard. A part of Damian, one he hadn't known to exist, had decided Richard was his safe place. The world and all the assassins it had to offer could not harm him. Not when he was resting against Richard’s steady pulse. 

The promise that Richard made him had been kept, now though, Damian had gone and accidentally broken that vow of silence. Damian had no control over slipping into that state. (which is a fact he will need to examine at a later date or face a panic attack now.) He'd broken from a nightmare and it hadn't even occurred to him that he was feeling Little. He just was. 

It was not like Damian wasn't himself- and that may be the most confusing part of it all- he was simply smaller. He saw the world with a new tint. Things were bigger, and his childish thoughts made as much sense as knowing the sky was blue. It was with a certain gaze and child logic that Damian hadn't ever had before because, the few off memories that he does have, he recalls being, well, punished for them. Ridiculed for being naive. Shoved for trying to gain his mothers affection- and oh, Damian had learned so quickly what was and wasn't allowed. How anytime his mother laid a gentle hand on him it was to be so quiet not even a rumor could be whispered. 

(He has even farther memories. Ones that are so out of reach he can hardly recall them, of another man, boy maybe. Who trained with him. Who…got to hold him. Maybe. Maybe.) 

Now Richard was offering childhood on a silver plate along with the privilege of Robin still being his. (not that it was Richard’s to give and take- no. It is Damian’s birth right…his.) 

Damian had almost given into it all that night. His nightmare had been erased at Richard's presence and he felt…better. Lighter on his feet. He'd slept better than he had for days. And though his skin hasn't stopped its pesky itching, it felt like someone had put a soothing cream on it. 

Above all else, it felt right to accept Richard. 

Not just his offer…but the man himself. He was Damian's guardian right now- if Damian understands correctly (and he is perfect so he must.) then that would mean this would make it slightly more official. 

Damian thinks of all the fights he and Richard have had. Over killing, and Bruce and Batman and Robin and how much Damian should and shouldn't care. About Damian's manners and how Nightwing is dead now. Physical fights never happened as often but Damian has learned over the course of a few months that Richard has a hotter head then he'd like to admit to. Damian's sharp tongue can cut deep and Richard has had his willpower tested time and again. 

But then Damian thinks about all the times they've been on the same page. All the times they have gotten along. From their first official petrol together, where Damian had felt more alive than any of his eleven years, all the way back to Richard being there to pick Damian up from school when no one else gave a damn. How Richard didn't hesitate to keep him after Fathers passing. How he chose Damian to be his Robin. Then Damian thinks about how much he is ok with that. 

(has…Richard always been there? Is Damian just now seeing it?) 

Damian…can’t. He can't just accept it. How could he? He had already gone through this, and had already decided. Damian isn't made for soft things and an innocent childhood. 

Something inside him has splintered though. A stubborn wall of survival cracked away to reveal something new. Something vulnerable. 

Something raw. 

Damian shoved his head into his pillow as hard as he could. Nearly screaming into the cursed fluff with all the emotions bouncing around his body. These fluctuating moods are getting tiresome! 

Why can't Richard be predictable! Why must the man confound Damian so? The man's actions had left Damian feeling flummoxed. Everything that Damian has had instilled in him since birth is being rearranged at the whims of Richard and his gentle words. 

The worst of it is how much Damian likes it. He has never dared to imagine what…what parents were truly like. Hell- Damian had only been recently exposed to it by attending school! 

Watching other sheep interact with families. It…hurt sometimes when Damian would come back to the mansion and be reminded that he was not ever going to have such a life. 

Not that he wanted it. Damian would never feign ignorance of the world. Would never want to become a sheep and follow the way of useless lives. Damian is more. He is perfect. 

He was perfect. 

Now he's a Little. 

A Little. 

How was he supposed to handle that? Kill himself? Maybe. Grandfather would likely praise him for it. If a memorial happened. Mother wouldn't like him taking a coward's way out though. She would glare at his headstone with the power of all their ancestors. 

(it's not hard to choose which side of that coin Damian would rather agree with.) 

Richard would also be distinctly against such a path. That Damian knows. The man's morals are, admittedly looser than Fathers, but much too rigid for child death. Let alone a child that was under his…care. 

…Not that Richard’s opinion is on par to Grandfather’s and Mothers. 

it doesn’t matter. Damian. Has. Gone. Through. This. 

He cannot accept Richard’s…softness. Weakness. 

It’s wrong. And-and 

And…. 

That is just the thing about it, is it not? Damian can’t find a good reason not to. 

It’s not as though Richard is treating him differently outside of his headspace. The man still lets Damian go out as Robin. He’s not told Damian’s mother or gotten Drake to come back and replace him. For all intents and purposes it seems like Richard is still treating Damian as an equal. 

It’s…unfathomable.

Yet it remains Damian's perfect reality. 

Richard is kind. Richard has kept his promise. To top it all off, it's been clear that he still thinks of Damian as a partner out in the field. He has not belittled Damian or made fun of him. He has not threatened to hurt him or make Damian suppress his new instincts.  If anything he seems to want to encourage them. 

Richard seems to want Damian to…slip.

Damian is so, so lost. 

He knows what he wants but it wars with everything he's been taught. 

(it all comes to head at dinner that night.) 

  *ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊

The clink of silverware is loud in the silence of the table. 

Dick wonders for a moment if he should break it. Start talking about mundane, everyday things. Small talk. 

He isn't sure if that's the right move either though. It's been four days but what if Damian needs more time to sort his thoughts out? Dick wants to insure Damian feels cared for, that he is welcome here Little or Big. He doesn't want Damian to question his worth under Dick’s care. 

Dick worries though, that too much reassurance will just push the boy farther away, that in Dick’s attempts to encourage Damian to open up, it will only cause more walls between them. 

It's frustrating though, Dick gets along with Damian well. Lil’ D is so sweet, he's cuddly and giggly and it's wonderful! When Damian is in his older headspace they get along too- or well Dick thought they did. It seems like they do! Most of the time now.

Even if conversations are shorter. 

They get on well as partners too. Batman and Robin have been hitting the streets four or five times a week. It's been great! 

Then Damian slipped that night and things got strained all over again. Dick thought he'd handled it better this time- despit it being in the middle of the night and Damian had really just needed to crawl into Dick's bed. (He is happy Damian is ok, that he slipped at all but theres no denying Dick wished to have the Little under longer just to see his reaction to some of the new things they'd bought.) The sleepiness the kid radiated for the past week had been its own red flag. Warning Dick that it was going to go down hill sooner rather than later. 

It seemed like Damian had a good time in headspace too! Like he'd let himself go and found it relaxing, just as it should be. He'd been less out of it which helped. Talking about his bed monster and agreeing to a night light…(which Dick still hasn't placed in the kiddos room. Instead it is sitting unused on Dick’s dresser, the child's nightlight is the bat-signal and possibly Dick’s new favorite purchase ever.)  Damian just had a more general sense of awareness. 

Four days. They should talk. Really- before one of them went down into headspace again. It was hard to navigate that when boundaries weren't made clear. He wants Damian to feel as safe as possible both physically and mentally. That meant rules and triggers and all that fun stuff. They needed to talk. 

How on earth should he start that conversation? He needed to. He was the one who offered in the first place- besides this wasn't on Damian, he was just a kid- a small kid at that- and he needed creations, guides and patience. (according to the insane amounts of research Dick has been doing on traumatized Littles at least.) 

“How are you Dames?” Dick starts with. He wants to know anyway- it just seemed awkward to ask. But. Well, he can put on his big boy pants for a conversation like this and get through all the awkwardness. 

Damian looks up at him, Damian has sat across Dick since that fateful day he'd gotten sick, Dick doesn't blame him and thinks it's for the best, because if Damian sat next to him again, Dick is a whole lot more likely to fall into headspace and try to take care of his boy.

Which wouldn't be a bad thing necessary, but Damian has only had the full force of a Caregiver while sick and freshly presented. Dick’s not sure how well Dames would take it now that he is fully in-tune with his stubborn-cult-raised side. 

“...I am well Grayson.” is the polite reply he gets.

To be frank? It's more than he was expecting.

“Alfred says you've been studying?” Dick asks carefully. 

Judging by the piercing glare Damian throws over to the butler setting down the main course (a roast that looks mouth watering.) he is rightful to be cautious. 

“I have. Should I seize doing so?” Damian grits out. 

“No! No, Dames I was just curious about what you were interested in. That's all, you don't have to talk about it though and you most definitely do not have to stop.” Dick is quick to correct. 

Damian doesn't reply, instead he looks up through his lashes and glass a little at Dick. Not one of his fearsome ‘I'm about to kill you in creative and inventive ways’ glare but one that is backed with confusion. 

“You have an awful habit of forgetting my name.” Damian grumbles. 

Dick just smiles unapologetic.

“Aww, come on baby bat!” Dick teases a little. Trying to gauge if Damian truly is uncomfortable with the nicknames Dick's brain has helpfully supplied these last few weeks or is just complaining for the sake of his pride. 

The answer is pride when Dick sees the tip of the kiddos' ears go pink. 

The answer is also uncomfortable when the kid locks eyes with Alfred and Dick sees rage replace any softness on the kid's face.

“What?” Damian growls at the elder.

(Dick feels the frown on his own face deepen.)

Alfred regards him calmly with the air of a man who has never put up with bullshit in his life. 

Also that of a man who raised this kid's sperm-donor and knows Wayne blood better then anyone else alive. 

“Nothing at all Master Damian. Please enjoy dinner.”

Alfred goes to back away from the table but he and Dick both see the visible tension in Damian’s body finally snap. 

Alfred side-steps the knife with practiced ease (Dick will later admire the older man's nimble moves and great show of military confidence.) and jabs Damian's wrist hard enough that the boy drops his knife. 

Damian fumes. How dare this servant lay a hand on him! How dare Richard just watch. 

The butler is a liability. He could have Damian killed. Forget taking Richard up on his offer- Damian has already damned himself enough in front of this butler!

“Damian-” he hears come from Richard and even though something in him wants to turn its full attention to the man Damian ignores it in favor of spitting vitriol at the butler. 

“I’ll kill you! Your blood will coat my hands in victory and your serpent tongue will never reach their ears-” 

“Damian!-" The shout is harsher this time and Damian is almost brought back by it in sheer surprise, never having heard Richard with that tone of voice. Still he can not get the image of his Grandfather coming in to kill Damian personally after finding out that Damian is to be culled. 

(Then Damian thinks about how Grandfather would slit Richard's throat and his vision goes red.) 

“You will beg for mercy-” Damian hears himself talk and threaten but the words blur in and out of his ears. 

Until he feels his entire body lift off the ground at least.

Damian hisses like a cat when Dick boldly halls him out of the room, dropping him in the main room. 

Damian glares at him, though it looks shaky now and Dick knows this wasn't out of nowhere, or at least it's not really about Damian having a poor relationship with Alfred. Not when he was starting to get used to the man in the manor and on patrol nights in their ears. 

Dick doesn't bother to stop him when the kid runs off. 

He turns around himself and heads back to the dinner table, sitting down heavily. 

A door slamming rattles the mansion. 

Dick sighs, looking away from Alfred and glances up to the heavens. 

Damian can aim that rage at Dick, sure, but at Alfred? Their Agent A? 

(one of the men that raised Dick?) 

Yeah, no. 

Damian is about to get a wake up call if he thinks that is going to be allowed in this house.

Dick thinks of all the research he's done, all the online programs he's signed up for. He thinks of his personal call to the Little Center, his talk with the women on the phone about having a child present as a Little. 

Then he thinks of her parting advice. 

“You're the boy's Caregiver now, Mr.Grayson. Make it clear, don't let the boy flounder on who's in charge. It will just confuse him more. He needs structure.”

Dick stands. “Thank you for dinner Alfred. I’ll talk to Damian.” 

Alfred raises a brow at him and nods his head slowly- looking a little too surprised for Dick’s liking. 

“Thank you, Master Richard.” Dick hears as he walks out and towards Damian's room. 

  *ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊

Damian will not. 

“Damian.” and it's just the one word but it's said with the tone of authority only a Caregiver can imbed in it. 

Damian had, foolishly, answered the door when Richard knocked, now though he wished he'd taken more caution. He'd thought Richard would want to talk about…about it. 

Not this. 

He shivers, he's in a new and completely unknown situation. For weeks he had been on edge, expecting Grayson to take him back to his mother or maybe that she would fetch him now, in Fathers absence. (because even if Richard promised there is no guarantee she didn't find out on her own what Damian now was. So he wouldn't be surprised if she came in through the night to slit his throat.)  

He was not expecting Grayson to take a role of charge with him. To want to. However apparently he should have, as that is exactly the situation he now finds himself in. 

But Damian shall not cower. 

“I won't!” He shouts. 

Grayson (because Richard is far too fond of a name right now.) is three paces in front of him and kneeling a little, it's insulting (not comforting) and it makes Damian grit his teeth harder. 

They are in the boys bedroom now, Damian had stormed out of dinner (far from the first time) however (his mistake- and he wouldn't have if he knew this is where the words would get him) he threatened Alfred on the way out. Loudly. 

Damian had screeched ragefull threats of violence when the man looked at Richard with a raised eyebrow. Damian isn't sure the butler knows Damian slipped again, or that Richard had offered to help, or that the baby-bat nickname had made his insides go fuzzy, but he can be certain if it's ever brought up Damian will paint the walls with his blood. And though Damian doesn't recall all of what he said downstairs, he knows he made that very clear.  

Damian had not imagined a world in which this course of action would lead to punishment, though. It was so absurd!

Alfred was a servant after all. He did not matter and he was much lower than Damian's ranking, when Damian used this logic in an attempt to defend himself, it did not appear to matter to Grayson. 

And when it was clear this was not going to be brushed off, Damian had started to mentally prepare for a new set of scars to add to his collection. Not that he really thought Richard would. The man is too soft for such things and it's been made…clear to Damian that Richard is different. 

(Richard is not like Damian’s mother. He's not like Ra’s or Father or anyone that had been charged with watching Damian in the league.) 

Still, Damian found himself unprepared for this turn of events. Or for the words coming out of the elders mouth. 

“I'm not playing Damian, ten minutes is being lenient, you can yell and insult and scratch and kick at me. But I'm drawing a line here. Either ignore Alfred all together or be pleasant with him.” 

Damian had the most horrendous urge to stomp his foot in frustration. The man was a threat! How did Richard not see that? He could ruin everything Damian has been building in these manor walls. What if he somehow got a hold of the league! Damian is not so foolish as to think Grandfather doesn't have other options if Damian does not fulfill his role as the Demon's heir.

Instead of saying this aloud, Damian simply crossed his arms. Grayson is once again confusing him. Just as the man always seems to do. Turning the rules upside down. 

“You will not demean me so! I am-” Damian starts to shout.

“A child whom I'm in charge of.” Richard cuts him off. 

Damian growls at the interruption, ready to deny being a child and proving just how mature he is with all the blood on his hands but doesn't get the chance to speak again.

“Corner now.” 

Damian is moving to the empty corner of his bedroom as fast as his little feet can go.

He comes too with his nose pressed lightly to the wall. He can barely breathe. 

Richard is a Caregiver. 

Richard is Damian’s Caregiver.

It's the only thing running through his head. 

It doesn't matter if Damian accepts or not- as long as he is a Little and as long as Richard is around, he will ultimately be under this man's charge, Damian listens to him on a bone deep level. Damian  knows what this is- had read about it a singular time before the book was confiscated and Damian was punished for reading such filth- Matches. People whose instincts connect on a level deeper than science can prove. Headspaces that click together like missing pieces. 

Damian feels the knowledge nearly overwhelms him- Then Richard starts talking again and Damian’s focus goes to him. His words. His presence- Damian feels- he feels- 

“Ten minutes. This is not up for debate. If you try to leave it’s another two minutes added on.” He has never heard Grayson speak to him like this. 

It’s not its usual soft, light tone. The one that makes Damian’s insides feel all gooey. Or his goofy one, used to de-escalate a conversation or dismiss Grayson's own feelings about something. It's not his Batman impression that sends shivers down any villain's spine. 

What’s worse - it’s not harsh or mean either. It is not his Grandfather's dissatisfaction or his Mothers rough disappointment. 

Damian still (despite being commanded, despite feeling fuzzy and despite seething in anger for not having a chance to speak-) above all, feels safe. 

(and that, more then anything else Richard has done, convinces Damian of what his answer will be.) 

As always the man who is his guardian makes Damian feel at peace. He feels no danger here. 

(Trust however is a different matter. Despite the two feelings being close companions. Damian feels something similar to trust, and he does know above all else he is safe. But emotionally Damain doesn't think he's reached a point of…faith in Grayson. He still fears rejection. Humiliation at what he is. He is terrified of the idea of Grayson leaving him, yet he pushes down any hope he will stay. It's a crude mix of feelings, all tied in unsolvable knots. He feels safe with Grayson, but he can't bring himself to trust him.) 

(though that might be changing at this very moment.) 

What Damian realizes is that Richard’s voice makes him feel a little scolded. Like he should be disappointed, not in himself, but in his actions. It's another new feeling and Damian finds himself constricted by it, unwilling to examine it farther but not able to feel anything other than it- overwhelming as it floods his chest and squeezes his insides.

Damian does not move. 

He loses count at three minutes and (panics) holds his breath. 

Damian can count well over a few hours, as it was part of his training to withstand isolation and to concentrate on staying sane. 

So he had planned to count out the ten minutes in his mind. 

But he’s lost track at three, stuttering over the numbers in his head trying to add on seconds for every time he’s messed up and had to think about what number was said last- after the fifth mistake he’s given up. 

And now he’s …unsure as to why he cannot stay focused. 

He feels-

Light. Anxious. ….sad?

Or maybe foggy. As though he is tiny- 

He is not sure what he feels. 

All he knows is that he is upset and in a corner like a snotty toddler and he will not have it. 

(He still does not move) 

He doesn’t even understand the point! A show of power? Would Rich- would Grayson (What does he call him? What feels right!) even do such a thing? Damian has not been the best roommate, but it was well within expectation that he would not be making an effort to get along with Grayson. 

So maybe Grayson felt it was necessary to put his foot down. 

(Damian feels something sting inside his gut at the thought. He’d thought they were moving onto something new.) 

…was Damian really in the wrong here? If so - and he really doesn't understand how threatening a mere servant could possibly be unacceptable- why have him stand in the corner? Was it a test? What was the necessary answer, showing strong will by leaving, or was he supposed to show obedience by staying? 

Maybe this was just a partial punishment. 

…he is unsure what Grayson would think of as a real punishment- 

The thought leads to more horrendous ones. He would like to go back and undue this mistake, he would not have insulted the butler if he knew that Grayson’s reaction would be this. 

He's not even sure why he's feeling so..so unstable! He is a hardened warrior trained for battles both mental and physical that would kill an average man two times over. He is an al Ghul. 

With the thought of his last name comes images of previous punishments, the scars he's acquired for disobedience sting on his skin. What if Grayson does something like them- 

His eyes feel hot, his hands twitch and he feels a gaping anxiousness cleave open his chest. 

Why is Richard doing this?

…

…oh.

Damian forgot to add a crucial factor. Despite the fact he had just witnessed a showing of it, and had new found revelations that weighed crushing on his mind, Damian did not take into account the fact that Richard was in his Caregiver headspace. It's not as simple as just punishing Damian. Richard is not in his right mind. The man is treating Damian like-

Richard thinks-

…He's treating him like-         

(it's working-) 

He's not a- 

“Ok baby, times’ up. Come on over here for a sec.” 

Damian doesn't move. 

“Dami?” Richard comes up behind him but Damian is staring into the wall and contemplating how this is his life now. 

Anger stirs in his gut. 

Cold and unforgiving it freezes every bone in Damian's body. 

He hears footsteps and feels the man come up to him but he does not turn around or acknowledge Richard. 

Richard is Damian's Caregiver. 

(Damian is Richard’s Little.) 

The statements ring truer than a holy priest with his hand on the bible. 

(Damian is a dead man walking.) 

“Kiddo?” 

Damian's body is turned around by gentle callused hands. They stay on his shoulders as Richard kneels down to get eye(ish) level to Damian. Damian doesn't look at him though. Can't. All that rage has turned cold. He is frozen in indecision- no better than prey that knows it's been caught by the predator. The countdown is on and he will soon perish. 

“Little bug, talk to me.” 

Damian lets the first tear fall. 

“You'll take care of me?” he asks and knows his voice was just shy of a whisper. 

It's a humiliating question. It rankles at his independence, making him shutter. Richard was being so tender with Damian though, and it made Damian feel…docile.

He was tired. He wants to accept his new status. 

He knows he'd be more against it- had it been anyone other than Richard. Knows for a fact had he presented home alone or in the League he could have suppressed it well enough to get his hands on proper blockers. 

(he knows that even if Father had still been here, Damian would have never let himself be vulnerable in front of him, for he's been trained for so long to stand as tall as a mountain and that the one god-like being he needed to impress was the Batman. No, Damian would have never slipped.) 

Richard had encouraged his mind to soften and his walls to fall, he'd taken care of Damian while he was ill and completely vulnerable- at his absolute worst- and instead of hurting Damian or ignoring him, he held him. Bathed him. Snuggled and sang to him. 

It's not such a mystery as to how Damian slipped down so easily, not when Richard was everything a parent should be. 

Damian finally meets the man's eyes and is shocked to see them filling with tears. 

The eye contact brings forth courage though. 

Damian whispers again, “I…I want you to be…” The words choke again, a million thoughts running through Damian's head on how awful this could turn out. How much danger Damian might be putting himself in. How much trust he's handing to a man he only met a few months ago. 

He might be incredibly stupid but the tears fall and they are both crying and when Richard finally pulls Damian in for a hug he is able to whisper the words into the Caregivers neck. 

“I want you to be my Caregiver….” 

Richard is nodding his head frantically and running a hand in circles on Damian's back. 

“I’d be honored, my little prince.” 

  *ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊