Work Text:
act ii.
storge.
part ii.
Rose has officially been his adopted daughter for a little over four months when Talia shows up on his doorstep, unannounced.
When Dick sees her through the peephole, he sucks in a sharp breath, then sends Rose off to her room. She grumbles and complains, but obeys. Once he’s sure that she’s locked the door behind her, he inhales sharply, then opens the front door, face impassive.
Talia waves at him, a faintly mocking thing, and invites herself in. Since she’s made no move to attack him, it’s daylight, and on account of her erratic relationship with Bruce, he lets her. While he locks the front door, he watches through the corner of his eye as Talia takes in the living room. The room is nothing out of the ordinary, but it is clear that a family lives here with the amount of photos and knick-knacks sprawled across the walls. He’s quite proud of them, he’ll admit; Rose’s trust is a fragile thing and he’s honoured to be entrusted with it. But he’s getting off track.
Talia, evidently having finished taking stock of her surroundings, turns to look at him. She doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t let her stare unnerve him, choosing instead to meet it head on. She breaks eye contact first after an extended silence, looking away with a slight smirk and he has a feeling that he’s passed some sort of test.
Dick sighs. He’s uninterested in playing along with her little mind games, not with Rose’s life at potential risk. He steps forward, moving to position himself between the corridor leading to the bedrooms, and the assassin in the room. Crossing his arms, he speaks first when it’s clear that Talia has no intention of doing so herself. “Why are you here?”
Talia raises a manicured eyebrow, then huffs a laugh. “Can’t a pseudo-mother visit her child whenever she wishes to?”
He refrains from rolling his eyes but it's a near thing. “Cut the crap Talia. You haven’t been near Bruce in years, and even before that you’ve always detested me.”
Talia shakes her head at that, an almost displeased look crossing her face as she speaks. “Detest is a strong word, Richard. It was rather that I,” a pause, “didn’t quite know what to make of you.”
Dick tilts his head, listening as she continues with a frown marring her face.
“You are aware of my childhood, yes?” A nod. “So imagine my incredulity when a nine year old follows me around, asking me to read him bedtime stories and tuck him into bed.”
Despite himself, he finds himself chuckling lightly. He was quite a curious child. Tension broken, he gestures at her to sit, an offer she takes by perching at the edge of his couch. He takes a chair, still blocking off her view of the corridor.
“Okay, I’ll give you that. Still doesn’t explain why you’re here at,” a glance at the clock, “2 in the afternoon. Or even how you found me.” His move to New York hadn’t been published after all. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if Bruce knew.
“You’re not too hard to find, especially not with your young charge around.”
He stiffens at that, limbs going taut as he considers the other.
“The point?”
“I mean her no harm, Richard. In fact, I’d hate to disrupt your peaceful routine. Rather I have noticed that she’s well looked after here. Various extra-curriculars, regular outings with just the two of you, introducing her to your cobbled sidekick club, even going so far as to keep her away from your nightlife while still letting her in the know. Not to mention that you have battled both Deathstroke the Terminator and the Ravager on her behalf.”
Anger lines his body as he rises, “So you’ve stalked my daughter. Congratulations. Get to the point, Talia.”
“So impatient. I mean it when I say that I have nothing against the child. Instead,” and now she looks almost sheepish, “I have a favour to ask.”
“Which is?”
“The League is to undergo a change of leadership soon. I cannot disclose the internal workings; only that the current faction is largely split into two, with the majority taking my side of the scale.”
“Still doesn’t relate to why you brought my daughter into this conversation.”
“My son,” she ignores the sharp inhale, “He turns seven in two months and he’s only known the League all his life. I don’t want him caught in the crossfire.” She looks him straight in the eye. “It is a tall ask but would you take him in for the indefinite future?”
He runs a hand through his hair, pulling aggressively and slumps back down into the chair, anger long gone. “Why me? What about his father?”
She sighs at that, a soft sound. “You know who he is,” again, she ignores the distressed noise he makes, “Considering recent events, I have no confidence in his emotional wellbeing and if he’ll be able to take care of another boy in his current state of mind.”
They both know what she’s referring to; Jason’s- death. The reason he moved away from Blud, away from his second father. The reason that the Bat has been more aggressive, more volatile in the streets. The reason Alfred calls whenever things get too stifling. The reason why his cheek throbbed for a week.
Now thoroughly keyed up, he rises to pace the floor, lost in thought. He’s distantly aware of Talia watching him, eyes clear and focused.
Another child would mean adjusting his monthly budget, and maybe picking up another job. There’s also the concern of his nightlife and how the kid would react to his methods of getting things done. Which brings him to- “Do you expect me to train the child?”
“No.” The answer is short, with no room for argument. One less task he supposes. Then-
“What do you want me to do here?”
“Provide him a stable environment until the dust settles. I will return when the time is right. Show him the world. Show him how to feel.”
He stops pacing to look Talia in the eye, questions swimming through his mind.
She sighs again. “Contrary to my wishes, his upbringing was not the most pleasant. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise; a chance for him to partake in activities that children his age enjoy.”
“Is that why you’re going up against Ra’s?”
Her silence is answer enough. And perhaps, it's what pushes him to say, “Let me talk to Rose. Give her time to adjust. I’ll give you an answer in a week.”
Relief shines in the other’s eyes for a brief moment before her face closes off again. “You have my gratitude.” They both know that Rose will be ecstatic to have a new sibling.
Business over, Talia stands to leave. Before she turns, Dick blurts out, “His name! What’s his name?”
“Ibn al Xu'ffasch. Hafid Al Ghul. Damian Al Ghul.”
.
His first thought when he meets Ibn is that he’s tiny. Despite being Bruce’s, the kid barely reaches his hip.
Stunned by the revelation, it takes him a while to notice the hand that’s dangling mid-air. As the pause lengthens, the kid’s ears burn red, and he makes to drop his hand. Realising his error, Dick doesn’t let him, quickly grabbing it in a firm handshake. It eases a bit of the dull expression on Ibn’s face and he sighs internally in relief.
“Hello Ibn. I’m Dick Grayson. Has your mother informed you about our agreement?”
Ibn nods once, a quick thing, before stiffening again. “I’m to stay with you as part of my training. Once she has deemed me adequate enough to thrive in the civilian world, I must return to her side.”
And.
That’s unexpected.
Not letting his friendly smile slip, Dick waves him into his apartment. “Glad we’re on the same track. Would you like some tea?”
“That would be acceptable.” The reply is polite, disconnected.
Dick sighs in his head before laying out the options. “I have chamomile, lavender, matcha, oh and Oolong! Take your pick!”
“Matcha, please, if you will.”
He hums in agreement, then busies himself around the kitchen, trying to keep his thoughts from racing. Damn you Talia. What else did he expect honestly?
The boy, meanwhile, taps his nails softly against the counter. Maybe a nervous tick? He’s seen Talia do the same multiple times while having dinner together at the Manor. The thought makes him smile.
Ibn clears his throat then, breaking his train of thought. “Mother has asserted that I go by Damian during my stay here. It will aid me in ‘blending in’ better, she said.”
He nods in agreement while his heart breaks for the boy. He is after all, not the only one who had to change his identity to fit in. Nevertheless, he’ll respect the boy’s choices. Unless-
“Would you like me to call you Ibn in private?”
Ibn’s eyes widen, as if the thought had not occurred to him. Then he frowns, an expression that distorts his gentle, childish features. “Thank you for the consideration, but I will go by Damian here too.”
Dick doesn’t argue further, only humming and taking the kettle off the stove to pour water into the china tea cups.
.
Damian is a quiet kid. Where Rose speaks ten words, he speaks one. Where Dick gestures wildly, he lets his expressions do the talking. Still, they find themselves quickly accepting him into their little family. Sunday afternoon tea becomes a Thing, and Friday evening is now spent sightseeing and road tripping when Dick can afford it.
Rose had taken it all in stride, glad for the extra company. Dick snickers, thinking of how when they had first met, Rose had nearly tackled the younger boy to the ground with a hug, and Damian had nearly taken her head off with a hidden blade in response. That had quickly set the first ground rule; only one weapon allowed in the house, and never aimed at either of the two other residents. Damian had accepted it reluctantly, but at least he hadn’t fought it. Small victories.
He enrols the boy in elementary school on week two, giving Damian something to do while Rose is away at middle school, and he’s away at work. There are a few incidents at first; a student tried to insult his accent, but a teacher had intervened before Damian could murder the boy. Another instance when he’d excelled a bit too much in gym, and Dick had to be called in for an explanation as to why Damian could outrun even the coach.
Still, he settled in with relative ease. A part of Dick worried though. It was a strenuous change from the life Ibn was used to, and he was worried that the boy might be concealing his emotions, or worse yet, dissociating through the days.
.
His fears are proved one night when Damian collapses during dinner. Rushing him to the hospital revealed that he hadn’t been getting nutrition- whatever food he had would be thrown up an hour later, his stomach not used to the spices used in the States.
Sitting by the boy’s bedside, Rose snoring softly in his arms, Dick beats himself up for not noticing earlier. What other things had he missed? What would Talia think of him? Failing her child like this?
Lost in thought, a presence in the room jolts him upright, cradling Rose close and taking a defensive posture before Damian’s cot as a figure steps out the shadows.
He recognizes the robes as those of the League and his heart drops to his feet.
“What is it?”
Wordlessly, the figure hands him a package before leaving as silently as they’d arrived. A little thrown, he looks down to read the elegant cursive on the parcel.
For the boy, it reads. Inside, he finds several packets of spices, and a small leaflet containing recipes.
He smiles, a hopeful thing.
Things change after that. Damian starts opening up more, starts initiating conversation at the dinner table, starts making dry jokes disguised as observations. Rose is delighted; whenever he tucks her into bed, she yammers away about what they could do next together.
A true milestone is crossed, however, when Dick invites the boy to a spar one lazy evening. Eyes wide, Damian is quick to agree. They drive to one of his safe houses for it; Rose cannot get involved in their alter lives no matter how much she whines and pouts about it.
They spar for the better half of three hours, stopping periodically for water breaks. Dick teaches him non-lethal ways to disarm and subdue, while Damian shows him intricate yet lethal ways to eliminate targets. Of course, he makes the boy swear not to use his techniques within the duration of his stay with him but. It’s fun.
By the end of four hours, they’re both covered in sweat and their breaths are harsh but Damian? He’s smiling, wide and freely. Seated on the mats, he tells Dick of his days in the league, about how his mother protected him from his grandfather, the repulsion he felt when he had to kill animals, his hatred for the Demon’s Head. It’s blasphemous, and Ra’s would be turning in his grave if he were dead, yet he feels no remorse as Damian drifts off to sleep mid-sentence.
As he carries the boy back to his car to return home, his heart beats in time to his happiness.
.
A click.
“Hello?”
“Her name is Mara. Can you shelter her?”
A sigh.
“How many have you stashed away?”
A soft chuckle.
“Just this one. A niece.”
Another sigh.
“You owe me now. Again.”
“I’m well aware. I’ll drop her off in seven days.”
A click.