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Dick wasn’t sure when exactly he had become Damian’s most trusted adult, but he wasn’t really sure if he cared about when it happened . The fact of the matter is that’s what he is to Damian.
That means picking up the phone when his calls come, taking time to check on him, rescheduling plans he was looking forward to when Damian needed him, and overall just being present in his life and letting the boy know he was there.
Dick couldn’t say he disliked it, he didn’t, he enjoyed seeing Damian’s smile. He was glad to see brief show of childish joy that was appropriate for a boy his age when Dick helped him feed the giraffes at the zoo. He liked to see the boy relax as he sat next to Dick at the breakfast table. He wanted to sit and listen to him talk about his day- even though Damian often hated to do so.
So when Damian creeps out of Dick’s apartment's spare room—though really, it was Damian’s— and to the couch where Dick sat fixing a grappling hook that he messed up on patrol, Dick didn’t take longer than five seconds to set it down and turn towards him.
Dick looked at Damian before speaking, the boy’s pajamas were wrinkled and his hair inadequately mussed, “What’s wrong?”
Damian wouldn’t look him in the eye, but his hand reached out to him grabbing the edge of Dick’s shirt.
Dick knew what it meant, but not from past experiences with Damian acting like this, he simply remembered doing it once himself.
He’d watched them fall. He had watched them fall and those memories tormented Dick for years, in his dreams especially. He remembered one night, it was so terrible that one night, he snuck his way all the way to the batcave.
Feet had pattered against the cold floor—he had remembered the worry that transcended his need for slippers—as he rushed to find his trusted adult. His support. His bat.
He remembered Bruce had been working on some case, and if Dick thought hard enough he would remember it was something to do with Two-Face. He had ran to the chair and reached out and grabbed the edge of Bruce’s cape and just held on.
In that moment, Bruce had minimized the files on the computer and turned in his chair, not missing a beat as he picked up Dick and comforted the child—soothing words Dick couldn’t exactly recall.
So Dick did the same, he scooped up his Robin and set him in his lap, “Nightmare?” He asked softly, and Damian’s torso slowly leaned into Dick.
Damian slowly but surely hugged him and then nodded and Dick took a deep breath.
“I’ve got you, whatever it was you’re right here, nothings gonna happen,” he promised as he leaned back and held Damian in his lap, smoothing out Damian’s hair which stuck every which way from presumably tossing and turning in bed.
Dick sat there with Damian in his arms til the boy fell asleep, vaguely he recalled waking up still in Bruce’s arms in that Batcave chair the morning after his bad night.
Maybe he shouldn’t emulate all of Bruce’s decisions from that night—no he definitely shouldn’t, this couch would definitely give him back pains.
With that decision made, he carried Damian to the guest room—Damian’s room—and then laid the sleeping boy in bed. He tucked the boy in before sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over and kissing the child’s forehead.
He watched over Damian for a few minutes, making sure no nightmares returned, then he stood up and made his way to the doorway, on his way out he tossed a glance to the nightlight sitting unplugged into the wall on the desk, a little glow in the dark plastic birds nest with blue eggs in it.
He’s reminded of the upside down hanging bat nightlight that appeared in his room the day after his bad night.
Maybe taking one more page out of Bruce’s book wouldn’t be so bad, Dick thought, and he plugged the nightlight into the wall, so Damian could see it if he woke up.
Yeah, he doesn’t think any more nightmares will be coming back tonight.