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He could still hear him, even as he shut the door and walked away. The little boy’s voice echoed as he pleaded his case to Alfred. As he tried to justify his actions this long night.
“I know what I’m doing, Alf! Bruce taught me, I knew I was going to be fine!” Dick nearly shouted. The muted thump of a stomped foot sounded. “And he…he’s not Batman, he doesn’t get to tell me what to do!”
Damian closed his eyes. Let out an exhale he didn’t know he was holding. Turned into the kitchen. He didn’t hear Alfred’s response to that. Didn’t really want to, either. Alfred didn’t have a reason to defend him, not to a ten-year-old.
He was correct, after all. Damian was no Batman.
He collapsed onto the barstool, flopped across the granite island. He ran a hand across his head, then brought it back to run down his face.
What the fuck was he doing.
Mirroring his father’s media lifestyle, mirroring his nighttime activities. Mirroring the impulsive guardianship of a child.
Drake was right. He didn’t think this through. He had no business following in Bruce’s footsteps.
Perhaps he should call…
No. No, Todd said he never wanted to speak to him again. Surely, that was still in play, just a few months later.
Damian snorted a laugh. It was dry and humorless.
God, he could use a drink.
He didn’t get one, though. He needed sleep more. Or to go back to the precinct and make sure Pyg was getting the punishment he deserved. Either or.
He yawned, and stayed on the stool.
It was hours later – maybe, Damian dropped himself into impromptu meditation so he had no idea – when he heard the light shuffling footsteps. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly who it was, not right then, but it could only be one of two people, so he spoke anyway.
“This was a mistake.”
The footsteps stopped in the doorway.
“It was stupid to think I could replace my father.” Damian let out that deformed laugh once more. “No one can. I don’t know why I didn’t see that before.”
The other person didn’t say anything.
“I will go to the Watchtower in the morning.” He decided. “Talk to Superman about getting a proper hero to patrol Gotham for a while. Give Diana the cowl and access to the cave and the bunker, ask her to find someone who’s better suited for this.”
There was a small gasp, followed by a whined, “No.”
Damian opened his eyes and turned. Dick stood in the kitchen entrance, fractured arm in a sling, tears streaming down his face.
“No, D. You…you have to stay.” His voice was wrecked, cracking every other word as he took a few jerky steps forward. “You have to stay Batman.”
“That’s not what you said before.”
“I was wrong!” Dick screeched quickly, the tears falling faster. “I’m just a kid, Damian, you don’t have to listen to me!”
“Of course I do.” Damian countered slowly. “You’re my partner.”
And the child – who in all the time Damian knew him did nothing but laugh and crack terrible jokes – let his lip quiver. He crossed the last few feet between him and Damian, stood there for a few more silent seconds, before: “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t-”
“No, D, I do!” Dick shouted again. Damian was a little embarrassed to say he jumped. “I was wrong today, okay? I shouldn’t have run off by myself. I should have listened to your orders. I didn’t, and I got hurt. You almost got hurt, and…” He suddenly deflated. “Those people…”
Damian shrugged. “The plus side of tonight is you showed your skills at adaptation. You saved them, Grayson. Don’t dwell on the what-ifs. Not for this one.”
“We saved them.” Dick corrected. And Damian just couldn’t understand, the boy just wouldn’t stop crying. “Because you didn’t give up on me. You followed me, and made sure I was safe.”
“You’re a child. I’d be a monster if I didn’t.”
“Please don’t give up on me now.” Dick pleaded. “Please don’t…don’t give up on this. We can make it work. It’s what Bru…”
Dick’s voice disappeared, and the child looked stunned for a moment. Suddenly he clapped his mouth shut, turning his face away and wiping at his eyes.
“I miss Bruce.”
And no more explanation was needed. Damian understood completely. After all, wasn’t that his reasoning when he and Drake fought? Drake was trying to be Batman, be their father, and he was a poor caricature. And here Damian was, the biggest hypocrite of them all, doing the exact same.
Grief does things to people.
He doesn’t know why he didn’t realize it before, didn’t realize it the second he and Grayson got into the Batmobile. The second that childish, cocky smirk disappeared from Grayson’s face. He was ten years old, for heavens’ sake. Lashing out at Damian, being reckless, it was the only way he could get his emotions out.
Damian let out a light sigh. “Come here, Grayson.”
He reached out, took a hold of Dick’s shoulder, and the child instantly collapsed into his arms. Dick didn’t break out into louder sobs, or harsh, broken breathing. Just remained slumped there, leaning into the crook of Damian’s neck, quietly weeping as Damian held him.
Still not one-hundred-percent trusting. But that was okay. This was a start.
They sat there for a few minutes, long enough for Alfred to pass by, give a small smile and half a nod at the scene. Long enough for the clock to strike the arrival of another early hour.
And as the sun began to peek through Gotham’s buildings, into the penthouse’s windows, Damian shifted, gathering the little boy into his arms as he stood.
“Alright.” He whispered as Dick just sniffed, blinking his bleary eyes. “I believe it is time for bed, don’t you?”
Dick nodded, clinging desperately to Damian’s collar.
Not one-hundred-percent, but a start. A damn-well good start.