Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Baba,” Damian babbles, smacking Dick in the face once again with chubby hands and laughing in delight as Dick tries and fails to dodge him. 

“Yes, yes,” Dick grumbles, although he can’t stop his grin. “So much fun. Here you go, you little gremlin.” He hands Damian a bowl of banana slices as the kid worms his way into Dick’s lap to snack, abandoning his coloring book and crayons in favor of his snack.

“Read,” Damian commands. He has more of an accent like this, which combined with the general garble of baby talk makes him tricky to understand sometimes, but over the past two weeks, Dick has gotten pretty good at it. He just knows, when Damian looks up at him with those big, shiny green eyes, what he wants. 

Usually what he wants is Dick’s attention, toddling around after him and making grabby hands whenever Dick is in the room. More than once Alfred or Bruce have handed a screaming Damian over to Dick, and that’s all it had taken to quiet him down. 

Hearing “Baba” come out of baby Damian’s mouth while he gazes adoringly up at Dick (not Bruce, Dick) was unexpected to say the least. Dick knows what he thinks when he looks at Damian, but he’d never allowed himself to believe that Damian might feel the same way. Sure, he’d raised him for a year, but Bruce came back. He didn’t know that those thoughts would persist after Damian’s real father came home and Dick left for Bludhaven. 

Now that he’s over the shock of it though, he can’t stop the rush of pure joy he feels every time Damian calls him that name. It’s enough that he can just about completely ignore the weird looks it earns him from Tim and Duke, or that twisted, constipated expression that crosses Bruce’s face each time it happens. Nothing else matters when Damian looks at him like that.

They’re not sure how much Damian remembers from before he was hit by that mystery de-aging ray, but he seems to at least recognize his family, even if there’s no sign of the League of Assassins’ training on him. He also steadfastly refuses to let Dick read him any books that are made for people under the age of ten, instead insisting Dick repeatedly reread the same book of animal facts. 

Dick does, his chin resting on top of Damian’s head as he settles in his lap, still audibly snacking on his snack. 

“Elephants are the world’s largest land mammal,” Dick reads. “Most of them have tusks—all except for female Asian elephants. If they do have tusks, those tusks never stop growing as long as the elephant is alive. Longer tusks mean an older elephant.”

Damian traces the photograph of the elephants with his grubby fingers, smearing bits of banana onto the pages. He pats the elephant’s head a few times before trailing his fingers along the curve of the large tusks. 

“Baba,” Damian repeats, causing Dick’s heart to flutter rapidly in his chest. “El’phant.”

“Yep, kiddo. That’s an elephant. Like my friend Zitka. Do you remember Zitka?”

Damian shakes his head. “Nuh uh. Who?”

Dick smiles. “Zitka lived with me at the circus. She was my best friend. There weren’t a lot of other kids at the circus, and we all had such different training schedules, so Zitka and I spent a lot of time together. I fed her almost every day. It was an unlikely friendship, but we were inseparable. Well, as inseparable as a boy and his elephant really could be.”

“Sad?” Damian asks, and Dick glances down to see his head tipped back to get a look at Dick’s face. 

“No, baby bat. I’m alright. Zitka and I can still be friends, even if we don't see each other very much anymore. Anyway, how could I possibly be sad when I’ve got you?” 

He grabs Damian under his armpits and swings him up to plant a kiss on his chubby baby cheek. The sound Damian makes is half delighted squeal and half outraged screech that leaves Dick nearly breathless with his own laughter. That’s his Damian right there. 

Unable to let Damian’s happy noises come to an end, Dick gets to his feet, Damian still in his arms. He spins them around a few times before heaving Damian high into the air and depositing him onto his shoulders. 

“Yeah!” Damian cheers, tugging at Dick’s hair. His tiny socked feet kick, bouncing against Dick’s chest, but Damian is too small to do any real sort of damage. 

“You like it up there, kiddo?” Dick asks, looking up as high as he can without leaning back and pitching Damian off. “You can finally see what it’s like to be taller than four and a half feet. Bet that’s pretty exciting, huh.”

“Go!” Damian commands, practically bouncing on Dick’s shoulders. 

“Yeah? And where should we go?”

“Awfred.”

“The human? Or your cat?”

“Cat!” He almost sounds indignant, if that’s even possible for a two-year-old. Of course, if anyone could accomplish that particular feat, it would have to be Damian.

Dick chuckles. “Of course. Can’t believe I even had to ask. How silly of me.”

“Baba,” Damian whines impatiently. “Go!”

“Okay, okay.”

He plans to walk calmly through the halls in search of Damian’s beloved cat, but the toddler on his shoulders insists on at least a jog, and he is not afraid to tug on Dick’s hair to get him to move faster. Dick has only vague memories of being small enough to climb onto his dad’s or Bruce’s shoulders (or, on one memorable occasion, Clark’s shoulders, while he was seventy feet in the air), but he remembers loving it. Damian clearly does as well; Dick has never heard him sound this delighted in his life.

It’s been two weeks, and he misses Damian—the Damian he knows, the Damian who is prickly and stubborn and petulant, the Damian who is eleven years old—but damn if there isn’t some part of Dick’s heart that just aches as he watches this version of his kid act so carefree. It just proves what Dick has always known, that Damian is just a kid. A good kid, with a lot of love in his heart. 

He can’t help but wonder what it would have been like if they’d gotten Damian when he was a baby. As guilty as it makes him feel, and as much as he absolutely adores Damian unconditionally, some part of Dick can’t help but mourn for the person Damian could have been had he been given compassion and support rather than brutal training. 

“Awfred!” Damian screeches suddenly, yanking Dick out of his thoughts.

Sure enough, the cat is lounging in the library, curled up asleep in a well-worn armchair. Damian makes grabby hands at his cat, nearly tipping off of Dick’s shoulders in his effort to reach him before Dick gently deposits him down in the chair. 

Alfred (the cat), like the majority of their family, doesn’t seem to know what to make of this version of Damian. While Tim and Bruce struggle to cope with a version of Damian that doesn’t shy away from showing or receiving affection, Damian’s animals are forced to deal with a Damian that clearly loves them but also lacks the proper gross motor skills to pet them and treat them with the same almost-reverent care that they’re used to. This means that the moment Damian starts squirming next to the cat, Alfred gets spooked, jumping down to the floor to butt his head against Dick’s legs.

Damian pouts immediately, clearly hurt by the abandonment. He leans over the edge of the chair, eyes watering. “Awfred,” he whines. “Come back.”

“Here, Dami.” Dick sits on the floor, letting the cat continue to rub along his thighs, getting little hairs all over his dark pants. He scoops Damian out of the chair and into his lap, carefully petting along the cat’s back. “We have to be gentle with Alfred, remember?”

“Sorry,” Damian says quietly, followed by a pitiful little sniffle. 

“Oh, hey. Hey. It’s okay,” Dick soothes. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt him. He’s okay. Just be a bit more careful. See? Like this.”

Damian reaches out again, lightly scratching behind the cat’s ears and down his spine. It doesn’t take long for Alfred to settle back down, rolling to lay down on his side and return to his nap. 

Dick presses a kiss to the back of Damian’s head, letting the kid continue to pet his cat. “You’re such a good kid, Dami.”

“Baba,” Damian mutters, that one word holding a whole world of affection. It’s quickly followed by a soft yawn, and Damian shifts back so he’s laying against Dick’s chest, his cheek turned to rest on his collarbone. 

Dick cards his fingers through Damian’s soft hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. It’s a familiar action for them, when nightmares descend swift and ruthless in the middle of the night. Now, just like every other time he’s held his baby brother in his sleep, Dick takes pride in being able to offer his kid this small comfort. It means that Damian trusts him, trusts him enough to drop his guard completely and sleep soundly. Dick always, always wants Damian to feel safe with him. All he wants in the world is for his kid to be safe and happy.

Alfred the cat is purring in his sleep and Damian is making soft baby snores, the whole room a picture of calm and serenity. It’s not something Dick gets to experience very often, and he’s becoming incredibly tempted to lay down as well. The rug in here is nice, and he’s certainly slept in worse places. A nap might be nice—toddler Damian is admittedly pretty exhausting. 

He’s contemplating how to maneuver himself into napping position without waking up Damian when he hears the sound of approaching footsteps. They’re heavy and purposeful, expensive dress shoes against hardwood floors. Bruce.

Sure enough, Dick cranes his head to see Bruce enter the library, hovering awkwardly just inside the doorway. He eyes Damian’s sleeping form for just a moment before his gaze slides to Dick, his expression just as unreadably stoic as it has been for the past two weeks.

“Hey, B,” Dick whispers. Damian doesn’t stir. “What’s up?”

“Zatanna’s downstairs,” Bruce says. “The cure is ready.”

“Oh. Right. We’ll be right down then.”

Bruce nods once, a jerky sort of thing, before turning and leaving them alone again. Dick glances back down at the sleeping child in his lap, unable to figure out if the twang in his chest is anticipation or regret.

He misses Damian. He misses him so much. And yet… He’s going to miss this too, this version of Damian that just lets Dick love him. This kid who looks at Dick like he hung the moon, and did it just for him. Who calls Dick “Baba”—representative of the relationship that neither of them dare to address in words. 

Damian feels like his kid, and he’s going to miss being able to act like that’s true outside of his own head.

“Alright, Dami,” he finally says, wishing his eyes weren’t stinging. He climbs carefully to his feet, Damian somehow still asleep in his arms. “Let’s go bring you home.”

Chapter Text

Damian hasn’t left his room since he was finally freed from the cave, where Father and Pennyworth had insisted on no less than twenty-four hours of observation. There could have been any number of lingering side effects from the ray that hit him, and Zatanna had warned Father to be on the lookout for any dizziness or confusion, and to call her immediately if he was experiencing anything unusual. Eventually, though, it had become abundantly clear that the gun that had reduced Damian to a mere toddler had left no residual damage. He couldn’t even remember his time as a child.

At least, that’s what he’d told them. In actuality, Damian could remember it all, even if it was more like a very vivid dream, memories one step removed from reality. 

Thinking about those two weeks now is mortifying. Damian cannot believe he’d acted so weak and childish. If any one of his numerous enemies had found him in that form, he would be dead right now. At the time, he’d had no idea just how unbelievably vulnerable he’d been. 

Because for the entirety of those two weeks, Damian can remember nothing but feeling safer than he’d ever felt in his life. The feeling is so foreign to him in his current state that it had taken him some time to identify. Damian had spent two weeks as a toddler, curled up in Richard’s arms, ignorantly unaware of all the ways he could have been hurt at any moment. 

Damian glares at nothing, curling up tighter and tugging the blankets higher up on his shoulders, nearly covering his head. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to face Richard—or Father for that matter—ever again.

He can’t even look at Richard without remembering how it had felt when he was de-aged. Every time he’d so much as thought of the man, he’d been overwhelmed by feelings of happiness and… and love. 

And that ridiculous, cursed word had fallen from his lips every single time. Baba. Damian has never called anyone that, not even in his head. Bruce Wayne had always been Father, the title ingrained in Damian long before he met the man from Mother’s stories. Richard had been Grayson, then later Richard. Never anything else. Never… that.

But the thing is, he realizes now that those feelings weren’t new. They weren’t just the product of having his mind reduced to that of a baby, desperate for the unnecessary comfort and coddling from a parent. All those feelings had been amplified, sure. He’d felt them more freely, let them show with ease, but they hadn’t been new. Not really. Not deep down in his heart or lurking at the back of his mind.

Damian has seen Richard Grayson as safety and love and happiness for a long time now, without even realizing it. 

He isn’t sure how on earth he’s supposed to handle this revelation, so he’s taken to burying himself in his room and trying very, very hard to not think at all. That way, all the confusing feelings can’t suffocate him from the inside out, leaving him dizzy and close to panicked. 

Curse the meta or whatever that did this to him. Damian hopes he rots for a long, long time. He’s ruined Damian’s life.

Because now Richard will know. Richard will know and so will Father and Pennyworth and Drake. They will all know just how pathetic Damian really is. 

And Richard doesn’t need that. He doesn’t need Damian, not like Damian needs him. He’d been perfectly content to move away the moment Damian’s father had returned from the dead. Now he will feel awkward and uncomfortable, because Damian had been reduced to a blubbering mess of ridiculous, debilitating feelings. 

He hates feeling weak, but none of that even compares to how much he hates the fact that those last two weeks are the happiest he’s ever felt. It’s not fair. Nothing about this is fair at all.

There are three soft knocks on Damian’s door, shaking him out of his spiraling thoughts. “Damian?” the voice calls, a voice that makes Damian’s stomach twist with anxiety. “Can I come in?”

He wants to say no. He wants to tell Richard to go away and never come back, to leave Damian to wallow alone in bed for the rest of his life. He wants to, but he can’t, not when the lingering childish piece of him wants nothing more than to see Richard.

“Fine,” he snaps, refusing to lift his head.

The door swings open, and Damian can hear Richard’s soft footsteps carrying him over to stand beside the bed. “Damian? Are you alright? You haven’t left your room all day.”

“I am fine.” He shifts, sitting up in the bed. “See? Why are you here?”

“Because you’re scaring me, kid. You missed breakfast, and lunch. And training. Tell me what’s going on with you.”

“You are not my father,” Damian hisses. He isn’t. He’s Richard. He’s…

“I am well aware,” Richard replies, voice oddly calm. He’s trying to placate Damian. 

(Some self-centered, childish part of Damian wishes that Richard would argue that point. He wishes he would fight for Damian, the way no one ever has.)

“Why are you still here then?” Damian seethes. “Why not return to your apartment, far, far away from me?”

Richard’s face is an unreadable mask as he sighs heavily, sitting down on the edge of Damian’s bed. 

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks.

“I don’t know!” Damian shouts. “I don’t know what I want! I… I hate this.”

Now Richard looks concerned, expression twisting. “What’s wrong, Damian? Are you sure you’re not hurt? Are there new side effects?” He leans towards Damian, moving to take his clenched fists in his own careful hands before Damian snatches them away.

“I am unharmed,” Damian grits out, staring at his own folded hands in his lap. 

“Then what’s wrong?” Richard asks. “Damian, please. You have to talk to me. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what the problem is. Please.”

“Don’t you see?” Damian says. “That is the problem. You—you care Richard. You care about me. And I—” He clenches his eyes shut as they start to prickle and blur. “I am so weak. Mother would be so disappointed in what I’ve become.”

“Dami, no. Never.” Richard is touching his cheek now, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear only for it to fall back into his face again. “You are not weak. You’re the strongest person I know. What’s this all about?”

“I remember,” he whispers. “I remember being a child.”

Richard sucks in a sharp breath. “How much—”

“All of it. I lied before. I remember everything.” He blinks his eyes open, surprised to find tears dancing behind Richard’s own when their gazes meet. “You are not my father, Richard.”

“I know that, Damian. Really. I’m so sorry if you feel like I’ve somehow tricked you or tried to replace Bruce. I would never do that. I just…” He trails off, something truly hurt flashing briefly across his face. “I’m sorry.”

“You are not my father,” he repeats numbly, as though Richard had never spoken. “But perhaps part of me wishes that you were. I have had an… unusual upbringing, to say the least. Never before has anyone been so free with their kindness and affection towards me. No one has ever treated me the way you do, not my Mother and not my Father. The people who are… who are supposed to love me. You were the first one, the only one.” He sucks in a deep breath, chest tight. “You’re not my father, but you should be. I wish that you were.”

Richard purses his lips, but not before Damian catches the sudden tremble in them. This time when he reaches out to take Damian’s hands in his, Damian lets him. He squeezes gently, but strong enough that Damian knows he is there, that he is not leaving anytime soon.

“Damian, family is… it’s whatever you make of it. It’s not defined by blood. There are no rules for how you feel or who you love. I know how confusing this must be for you, but—but you’re not alone, okay? I feel the exact same way.”

Damian shakes his head. “Richard—”

“I love you, Damian,” Richard cuts him off. “I love you like you’re my very own, but Bruce is back now, and that makes things so much more complicated. You have no idea, Damian, no idea how difficult it was for me to leave you behind when I went back to Bludhaven. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, because you were my kid, and I had to give you back. I thought it was what was best for you, and I love you too much to ever give you anything else. You deserve a dad, and I just didn’t realize that…”

“That it was you?” Damian finishes, causing Richard to nod. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way, kiddo. I’m sorry.”

“What do we do now?” Damian whispers, feeling nearly as small as he’d been these past weeks.

Richard tips forward, resting his own forehead against Damian’s. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t know how to fix this, Dami. I’m sorry.”

“Maybe… maybe there is nothing to fix then. If I care for you and you care for me, then… then we can be a family. Like you said.”

“Hey. We were never not family,” Richard says. “You were my little brother even before you became my kid.”

Damian shifts, wrapping his arms around Richard’s middle and tilting his head to rest against his chest so that he doesn’t have to watch Richard’s face as he speaks. 

“Don’t leave,” he whispers. “Please don’t leave. Or take me with you. I miss you, Richard.”

“I miss you too, Dami,” Richard says, squeezing Damian in response. “But I can’t stay.”

“Then I will come with you.”

“Dami… I would love that. I really would, but your life is here. Batman is here.”

“Not my Batman,” Damian rebukes instantly, then flushes slightly with embarrassment. “There is nothing keeping me here," he mumbles.

“Bruce is still your dad,” Richard says. His voice is heavy with regret. “I can’t just take you away from him.”

“I know.” It’s just some childish wish, that Richard would steal him away from here and it could be just the two of them again. 

Richard is not his father, no matter how much Damian loves him like one.

“But I’ll talk to Bruce,” Richard says, and Damian jolts in surprise. “I don’t know how to fix this, but damn if I won’t try. You’re my kid, Damian, and I can’t just ignore that anymore.”

“You would fight for me?” Damian asks, hesitancy coloring his voice.

“I will always fight for you,” Richard says, stroking his fingers through Damian’s hair. “I love you so much, kiddo. We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

Damian nods. “Okay.” He can breathe again, and he didn’t even realize he’d been suffocating before. “Okay.”

Baba, Damian thinks, just as he always has. The word stays lodged in his throat for now, but maybe one day he’ll say it again.