Work Text:
Damian arrived in the bunker at precisely 11am as has been his habit since their move to the penthouse two months ago. Frown firmly in place, Damian steels himself for another of Dick's ‘training’ sessions as he ascends the final few steps.
When nothing childish, or brightly colored comes flying in his direction, Damian’s frown turns quizzical. Not once since he began his tenure as the newest Robin had Dick not started their training sessions off with some form of what he considered “fun”. Yesterday Damian had been greeted with a beach ball thrown at his face. He had promptly stabbed it. Strangely enough Damian hadn’t found as much joy in watching Dick's face deflate along with the ball as he had thought he would.
Glancing around the bunker for any sign of toys or games all Damian finds is Dick sitting in front of the computers reading through case files. Nose wrinkling, he heads towards that area.
Last night Damian had broken a petty thief's hand. And arm. Batman had fumed at him for the whole ride back to the bunker. Perhaps because of last night's mistakes they were simply skipping straight to the lessons on how to be good. Damian hated those lessons. He had read The Art of War and been able to apply it in training exercises when he was four-years-old, yet he could not seem to grasp the lessons that Dick deemed so important.
“Grayson, have you finally run out of ridiculous games to disguise as training?” Damian stood by the computer waiting for Dick to turn his attention towards him.
Instead of the familiar smile and joke that had become a standard for the beginning of every interaction, Damian was answered by being handed a water bottle.
“I’m not in the mood for training games today, Damian,” Dick proceeded to stare at the files on the computer, “Just do some training on the mats by yourself this morning.”
Damian stood by Dick’s chair for a few moments, watching him continue to scroll and sort through several files, waiting for the punchline that was sure to come any second. Dick was always in the mood for games. Damian hadn’t even known him for a year and he knew that Dick lived and breathed fun and games. So, he stood by the computer desk, playing with the paper label on the water bottle, and waited for the ‘Got you!’ that had to be on its way.
“Damian,” Dick’s voice was close to Batman’s with its growl, “I said I’m not in the mood today. Please.” Dick brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Just listen to me for once and train on your own.”
“What’s wrong?”
Like they were magic words Dick moved as if physically struck, turning his desk chair to face Damian. “What did you just say?” His eyes were alight with surprise.
Damian felt flustered with the sudden attention, water bottle crinkling as his grip tightened, “Nothing.”
“Oh.” Dick visibly deflated once more before adding in a tight voice, “Because for a second there I thought that you had asked me if something was wrong.”
“I did.” Damian shrugged, setting the water bottle down on the desk, trying to play off the unease he felt at the new tone in Dicks voice.
He was used to Happy Dick, Big Brother Dick and Batman Dick. He had even experienced Angry Dick several times, and while there were signs of anger in his tone there was something more acidic lacing his words. There was a sting clinging to them that reminded him of his mother right before she told him exactly what he was doing wrong. Damian hated the way his body instantly tensed in preparation.
“Really?” Dicks smirk was sharp, causing Damian to wonder if he had finally pushed his Batman to his limits. “You actually took time and energy to think about someone besides yourself?”
Damian narrowed his eyes at him, examining Dicks face for a sign of this all being an elaborate joke. Just another lesson that Damian had no idea how to comprehend. Damian’s fists tighten further.
“That's what I said, didn’t I?” Damian all but growls out. Ready to defend himself if need be. He’s always ready.
Dicks eyes finally catch the way that Damian’s hands have clenched themselves into tight fists and he catches himself. Closing his eyes, he whisper counts to five. Then ten. Controlling the anger and stress instead of letting it control him.
“Do you really want to know Damian?” Dick opens his eyes, “About what my problem is?”
“Tt” Damian scoffed, flexing his fists. “I just found your behavior odd. I believe I have become accustomed to entering the bunker only to have something childish tossed my way. Today, you... did not.”
“That's it?” Dick huffed out a humorless laugh, “You were worried because I was so wrapped up in my own problems that I didn’t have the energy to do what you expected of me? Newsflash, kiddo, I don’t feel like doing what is expected of me all the time. I try every day to come down here and teach you morals and life lessons and about being a kid and I’m excited to do it! But every time I do you are so entangled in your own self that you can’t learn anything.”
Frustrated Dick runs a hand through his hair. “I feel like there is a war being fought, Damian. A battle for your future and maybe even for your soul. But you are so angry and spoiled I fear that you don’t even see it going on. The idea of you growing up without any correction to the ideals you were originally taught scares me to death.”
“It scares me, too!” A strangled voice resonated through the bunker.
It was several beats of silence before Damian realized it was himself who had cried out.
Dick’s face instantly softened at the anguish in Damian’s exclamation. “Why are you afraid, Damian?”
Damian’s eyes widen slightly at his confession before he tries to turn away, but Dick catches the look and stops him by grasping at both his shoulders and physically making Damian face him. “What scares you Damian?”
Face scrunching up Damian shakes his head several times doing everything not to look Dick in the eyes. “No. Nothing.”
“Please don’t shut me out now. Please, Lil’ D.”
Damian’s nose wrinkled at the nickname and his eyes snapped to Dicks with the intention to admonish him, but instead he blurts out, “I can’t.”
Dick’s hands move from Damian’s shoulders to his forearms, where he rubs them in an attempt to coax him to relax, “It’s okay Damian. You can tell me anything. I won’t-”
“No!” Damian cuts him off, “I’m scared because I can’t. I can’t do it!” Damian’s shoulders slump miserably.
Dick eyebrow scrunch together, “Can’t do what?”
“I can’t do what is expected of me. You wish for me to follow Fathers rules but they are the opposite of what Mother asks. But Mother wished for me to learn from Father. How am supposed to do both? I can’t. I am to inherit the league and I am expected to become Batman. But how can I be both Batman and the Demons Head? They are contradictory to each other! To be Batman is to be merciful. To be the Demons Head is to be ruthless. I can’t do it! I can't be good like you want me to!”
By the end Damian's voice had risen to a volume that had his last words echoing around them. There was a beat of stunned silence from Dick before he lifted his hand to Damian’s face to gently wipe away the tears that Damian hadn’t even realized had started to escape. Dick’s smile slowly begins to creep back into place.
“I’m about to do something that you hate now. Well, actually, I’m gonna to do two things that you hate. First, I’m going to hug you,” Dick tugs on Damian so that he stumbles into his arms, muffling his surprise by squishing his face into Dicks chest. “Stop struggling and accept it. You are a very huggable person.”
Giving Damian one last tight squeeze Dick pushes his little brother back so that they can face each other. “Okay now, second thing, I’m going to make a cheesy speech.”
“Every speech you make is kitsch.” Damian scowls even deeper, regretting his earlier honesty and wishing he could go back in time and just train by himself like he had been told.
“Hey. I’m great at speeches!” Dick protests. “Now listen.”
“You are good. No, look at me.” Dick grasps Damian’s chin, emphasizing his next words with three quick tugs, “You are good. Sure, you make mistakes and you slip up and go too far sometimes. But don’t ever tell yourself that you are not good. When you first arrived in Gotham you never would have even cared about any of what you just told me. You never would have thought to ask me what was wrong, like you did when you came down today. You know, I think that’s the first question you’ve ever asked that involves another person's feelings. You, Damian Wayne are growing and changing and good. Don’t worry about what you think your parents want or expected of you. Just be you.”
Damian bit his lip, doubt on his face. “But what if I fail. What if I can’t-”
“Hey,” Dick interrupts him, pointer finger firmly placed against Damian’s lips to stop his fears from tumbling out, “there is no can’t. There is only try. And there is no failure if you’ve done your best.”
“Tt.” Damian’s eyebrow raises in what Dick thinks is a great Alfred imitation.
“Yeah, yeah, I realize that was also super cheesy and might be contradictory to what Yoda says but I stand by it.” Dicks wide smile is firmly back in its rightful place as he stands up from his crouched position and wipes the nonexistent dust from himself, “Now let's go get some practice in before heading up and stealing some of Alfred's brownies that I smelt baking earlier.”
“Pennyworth said that they are for after patrol only.”
“Well then it's time for your next lesson on being a ten-year-old. The art of puppy dog eyes.”
“That sounds ridiculous.”
“You won't be saying that when you have a mouthful of Alfies brownies before patrol.”
“Tt... Grayson?”
“Yeah D?”
“Who is Yoda?”