Chapter Text

Dick could not sleep.

At all.

Ever. 

Did  that matter in the grand scheme of things?

No. 

Because there were always bigger, more important problems that needed all of his attention. A little sleep deprivation was the least of his worries when most of his family was borderline mentally unstable. 

Life was throwing too many things at him  for him to pay much attention to what his body was telling him. 

Jason was fighting with Bruce again, which always made tension rise inside the family. Everyone was taking sides on who was right, which just made everyone enemies.

(Damian sided with Jason out of solidarity, and Stephanie did as well because she lived for chaos, Tim was a Bruce Loyalist, and Cass and Alfred were silent on the matter.)

Bruce was emotionally constipated, but still had a heart that could be damaged by Jason, even if he kept it hidden from everyone. It probably wouldn’t happen as often if the old man was honest about his feelings, but trauma and all that. 

Tim and Damian were also fighting, which was normal, but Tim had mistakenly decided to bring Talia into their arguments and Damian had tried to decapitate him. 

(Damian obviously shouldn’t have done that, but Tim was a freaking adult now purposely aggravating a child, so Dick was struggling to remain unbiased in that case. 

There had been another huge threat to Earth that seemed to happen yearly, which left a lot of heroes out of commission. Like a lot of them.  

Not Dick, his ribs might be a little broken, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. 

(Too many heroes were benched. Dick couldn’t afford to rest.)

Suffice to say, he just had too many fires to put out to devote any time to stop and take a breather. 

After Alfred, he was the one who kept their traumatized little family together, and if he didn’t keep the peace, things might go from broken to irreparable . 

So, he was fine. Nothing was wrong. He could handle it. 

*
*
*

Dick had been staring at the wall for the past five minutes. He could barely think. It was almost like he was sleeping with his eyes open. 

It had been a long night of patrolling, and that was after getting Bruce and Jason to call it a truce, which had taken practically a week of non-stop begging. 

His mental and physical battery was in the negative percent, but he couldn’t even think about trying to sleep.

Because he knew the second his head hit the pillow, his exhaustion would disappear and be replaced with all the things he needed to do, all the people he had to take care of, all the people he had lost, and he would be crushed underneath its weight. 

“Richard? What are you doing?”

He startled out of his trance with Damian crawling through his window in civilian clothing. 

Damian.

Crawling through his window. 

In non Robin gear. 

“What?”

He was 90% sure that he and Damian hadn’t scheduled anything, but he couldn’t think of any other reason he would be crawling through his window at five in the morning. 

(Seriously, why was his family like this?)

Damian frowned. “Are you alright?”

Oh no.

A worried Damian was a dangerous Damian. 

The kid had absolutely no boundaries or limits. If he thought that there was something wrong, with Dick especially, he would kidnap, maim, destroy entire cities even, if he thought it would help. He would do it without any remorse or hesitation.

In other words, in no circumstance, ever , could Damian find out that he couldn’t sleep.

(Not that there was something wrong. He was perfectly fine, obviously.)

He slapped a smile on his face. “ ‘course, little dude, just let the time get away from me.”

Damian’s face held the same unimpressed look that he usually reserved for when Tim tried to sneak up on him , and failed miserably, because no one could sneak up on him. 

In more sophisticated words, crap crap crap. 

“What’s up with you?” he asked. “Why are you here at five AM?”

Deflection, his oldest friend that never failed.

Damian scowled. “Timothy and I had a duel to settle our differences, and Father found out about it. I’ve been grounded for the next two weeks, like a child . Which I am clearly not.”

Great , another fire to put out. 

But that still didn’t add up. 

“But why are you here ?” 

He glanced up from the dirty clothes that Dick had yet to put in a basket and were currently living on his couch. 

(If Dick wasn’t overwhelmed with all his responsibilities he might have cared that his OCD level cleanliness brother saw the pit that was his house.)

“Oh? Yes, I’ve decided that I am living with you for the foreseeable future,” he said casually. 

Whenever he thought Damian couldn’t pull one over on him, he did it in the most unimaginable way possible. He was almost certain it was on purpose, just to keep Dick on his toes.

Like saying he was running away, at the very ripe age of fourteen , and living with him, before even asking if Dick was okay with it.

“Huh,” he said, stupefied. 

Wow. 

This was going to blow up in his face in soooo many ways. 

Had he even told Bruce about this? 

No, of course he hadn’t, which meant that he was probably in Full Freak Out Mode. Which meant that everyone was in freak out mode. 

“Damian…” he started, but paused at his Damians panicked expression. 

His eyes were pleading with him, begging him. 

Which made him hesitate.

Curse his stupid soft heart. 

“What is going on? The truth, this time,” he said. 

Damian fidgeted with his hands, which was a major red flag. Damian was always in full control of his body, he never obviously showed any type of emotion unless he wanted to. 

He walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “You can talk to me.”

Damian heaved a full body sigh, looking years older than he was. “Me and Father got into a fight—after the duel…he thought I was trying to kill Timothy again. That was why he got mad.”

He struggled to keep his face clear, anger quickly wiping away his exhaustion. 

Bruce was Bruce , he did stupid stuff all the time. But sometimes he crossed a line, sometimes he crossed it by literal miles. 

Such as telling a traumatized teenager who had enough issues that he thought he was going to murder his brother. Damian had a very complicated relationship with Bruce, but he placed his opinion of him above all others. Being called a murder by him would not help at all , case and point, him running away. 

Next time he saw him, he might just punch him. 

“You can stay until we have things figured out,” he said.

Man, this was not going to end well for him. He could already picture the stupid disappointed look that Bruce was going to give him, and then the ensuing argument that would definitely be following it.

“Thanks,” he whispered, looking like a child for once. 

He pulled Damian into a hug, and he didn’t even struggle. 

*
*
*

His eyes blinked open slowly, his brain still foggy. 

He didn’t remember going to sleep, one second he was comforting Damian, the next nothing. 

He was on his couch—which he had gotten second hand, and had a weird lump in it that was stabbing his lower back, and had suspicious stains—and the room smelled like pancakes. 

Really good pancakes. The kind that Dick couldn’t make with a gun to his head. 

He pushed himself up, and was assaulted with his home actually being clean, and not smelling like a dumpster. 

The dirty laundry was gone, the blankets that were usually thrown wherever he was last sitting were folded nicely on his sitting chair, the stand under the TV was cleaned off, all the loose tangled wires that Dick had left for literal years were gone, and a candle sat lit in their place. 

“Whoa,” he breathed. 

He turned towards the kitchen, where Damian was at the stove flipping pancakes and wearing one of his Bludhaven Police Department sweatshirts, looking adorable, he’d have to get a picture. 

“Dude, what happened to my apartment? Are we even in the same place?”

He sat on a barstool at the island, that, last he checked, usually wobbled terribly but now was perfectly stable. 

Seriously. How did he do this? 

“Of course this is the same place. I just happen to be able to clean for more than two seconds before getting distracted.”

He glanced around the room, and did he paint the walls?  Because he was almost a hundred percent certain that they had been a different color yesterday. 

“Did you even sleep?” 

Damian glanced up, unimpressed. “I took an adequate amount of rest.”

“Seriously?”

There was no way he could get all of this done in that small amount of time if he had taken even a second to sleep. 

“Yes, you’ve just been asleep for thirty hours,” he said, laying a plate of pancakes with whipped cream towering on top covered in sprinkles, which was Dicks favorite. 

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked desperately. 

Because that wasn’t an option , too many people relied on him, needed him. He couldn’t just disappear. 

“No,” he pursed his lips. “Don’t worry, I informed your place of work of your absence. If anyone asks, you came down with a severe case of stomach flu and I came over to get you through it.”

He hadn’t even thought of that. He’d been more focused on all the other things that went on in his life. He was a pretty important part of JL these days, and he needed to deal with all the family drama too. 

“What about everything else?” 

Damian sat beside him, not a care in the world. “I informed everyone else of the same tale, save Pennyworth, who I respect too much to lie to.”

“So everyone thinks I’m dying of the flu, and no one has come to visit?” he asked. 

That didn’t sound right….people would care if he was out of commission….right?

“Some have tried, all have failed. I made sure you would be left alone,” he said ominously, before stabbing his pancakes. 

“Buddy, what does that mean?”  

Knowing Damian, it could literally be anything. 

He shrugged. “It was a simple matter of blackmail, bribery, and threats.”

“Dear God, why ? It would have been fine if people came.”

Damian gave him his signature unimpressed look once more. “When I came that night, you were talking to the wall. And when you tried to walk, you passed out. You needed uninterrupted rest.”

He winced. 

Damian should never see him like that. Ever. He was his—brother. Yeah. His older brother. It was his job to worry about him, not the other way around. 

“So, until I declare you healthy, you are under house arrest. No visitors allowed,” Damian explained.

It was sweet, it really was, but he had stuff he had to do. Unoptional stuff. 

“I’m sorry buddy—”

Damian sighed. “I didn’t want to play this card, Richard, but you brought this on yourself.”

We have now entered the Danger Zone! Damian’s threats were never to be taken without a proper amount of fear.

“Listen—”

Damian turned towards him, and all the sudden his body drooped and his eyes started shining.

What.

“Richard, I am sad. I need you. Please,” Damian said in a pathetic tone that was ripping into Dicks  heart.

Oh no.

It was shredding his heart to pieces, but he couldn’t fall for it. 

“Damian, I love you—”

A single tear dripped from Damian’s eye, and Dick heart leapt into his throat.

His baby was crying.

Because of him.

He hurt his baby.

His body acting on its own quickly dragged the crying Damian—and in all their years together, he had only seen him cry twice —into his arms and into a strangle hold.

“Ohmygosh. Whatever you need Dami, I’m here for you, just say the word.”

Damian sniffled, and Dick almost died again, before saying, “Would you like to watch a show?”

“Of course Baby Bird, let’s go.”

And thus began a movie marathon that lasted the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

Damian was tired. 

But that was not of any importance. His brother with one foot in the grave required all his attention at the moment. 

After Damian had broken into his house, Richard had stood up for all of a second before falling to the ground with a groan. 

That was when his problems took, as the Americans would say, the backseat. He had dragged his brother to his frankly disgusting couch, and before he could escape, Richard ensnared him in his arms and dragged him onto the couch from hell.

Now, Damian could have extracted himself from his grip if he wanted to, but Richard kept mumbling some….frightening things. 

“Don’t leave…please.”

“Not again. I can’t lose you again.”

“Why…why am I always alone?”

“Why can’t I be happy?”

Those were just a few of the things he said with an ever tightening hold on Damian.

It was a frightening look into his brother's psyche. He was supposed to be untouchable. Unbreakable. 

He was the first person—perhaps the only—to try and understand Damian. He never gave up in his attempt to gain his affections, and succeeded through his kindness that he gave away freely. 

He always knew when something was wrong with Damian, whether it was physical or mental, and did his best to get Damian through it. 

…and yet, Damian had failed to notice this.

After everything he gave him, Damian couldn’t even see when he was so obviously hurting.

He’d seen a few of the symptoms of it—the strained smiles, the dark eyes, and faltering laughs—but he’d thought that if there was something wrong, that he would tell him, tell someone .

He should have known better. 

Richard was a moron. 

It was Damian’s turn to take care of him.

First thing he needed to do was threaten a few people and call in some favors.

*

*

*

“Father, I regret to inform you that Richard is sick,” he whispered into his phone. He doubted it would wake Richard who was thoroughly passed out, but he wouldn’t be taking chances.

“Young man, you ran away without a word and now—”

“As such, no one can visit and risk contracting it, or Timothy might be at risk with his poor immune system,” he continued.  “His appendix and all that.”

“Damian—”

“I know you’ll put your favorite first. Don’t call again. Good day Father,” he said, and quickly hung up.

*

*

*

“What’s up Brat? Bruce was going crazy after you disappeared,” Jason snorted through the phone. “Truly, it was a sight to see. Don’t worry, I recorded it for posterity. I'll send it to you.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Do you remember the time I provided an alibi for you?”

“Shit. What do you want?”

“...Richard is unwell. I need you to support me in staying with him for the time being—using all the guilt tactics you can against our father.”

“What’s going on with the idiot?” Jason said apprehensively. 

Damian considered telling him. He would be a valuable ally in persuading Richard…but he also might just go so far overboard in worry that he would ruin the whole operation.

“We will discuss that at a later date. If asked, he has the stomach flu.”

“He’s okay, though. He’s fine?” Jason said almost hysterically.

He was glad he decided against informing him fully on this. It would not do to have two family members to watch over.

“He is fine under my care. Once I have completed my plans, I’ll inform you of everything.”

“Okay. just…keep him safe.”

“I will.”

*

*

*

“Drake, I need you to ignore both my and Richard's existence for a month. Act as if we are strangers and take no stand in any manner that regards us.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Listen, it’s way too early for this. I’m going to need a better explanation after you sent the house into DEFCON 4.”

“Comply, or I will tell Pennyworth that you haven’t been eating off the meal plan he made for you, and have been feeding your vegetables to Titus.”

This was something of an empty threat, as he already planned to do so once the situation was under control. 

“That is not enough—”

“I also know that you have three broken ribs that you’ve hidden from both Pennyworth and Father.”

Another beat of silence.

“Fine. but I’ll be keeping surveillance.”

“You can try.”

*

*

*

That took care of his father, who would have trouble finding allies anywhere, and would doubtlessly be far more concerned with Timothy’s health than Richard’s. It was somewhat satisfying using his father’s bias against him.

There was one last person’s help he needed though.

“Thank you for coming, Pennyworth,” he said, opening the door for him.

Richard was thoroughly out now, and he replaced his presence with a pillow between his arms.

“I am honored you reached out to me, Young Master. I know you typically do things on your own,” he said. 

“This is a family matter, so some must be involved. You are the most tolerable and useful to help in this situation.”

“You flatter me,”  he said with a wry twist.

Pennyworth was the only one he could stand to use sarcasm or mock him—because he always did so for a reason, and was always right . 

He chuckled. “As you can see, the situation is quite dire,” he gestured to the trash heap of a room, “it appears Richard did not learn how to take care of a home.”

Pennyworth wrinkled his nose. “Quite right. We best be starting then, Master Damian.”

Pennyworth had brought a plethora of cleaning utensils and thus started the hardest job of his career. 

Damian worked with getting Richards' clothes off the floor and sorted. Some would be thrown away—such as the shirt that Damian hadn’t seen him wear in three years and had a large coffee stain on it—and some would be going back with Pennyworth to be washed and dried.

Richard did not use a closet or a dresser. All his clothes were either in baskets or on the floor thrown off haphazardly. 

It took Damian three hours to sort through all of them, and then he had to do all the bedding and blankets.

Pennyworth had already cleaned out the kitchen and made a list of all the utensils and food that would need to be bought. 

Richard never stirred.

*

*

*

It took them a total of ten hours to get the house into a reputable state—though they were by no means done. Pennyworth insisted that the whole “aesthetic” of the place was depressing. He would be purchasing all new furniture and decor for the place, and was adamant that they paint the place a warm color because, “Vomit green isn’t conducive to a happy mental state.”

He’d left to go back to the manor, with the list of things they needed and the dirty laundry. 

Before he’d left he’d told him, “Take care of him. It’s his turn to rest.”

With Pennyworth at his side, he’d be able to properly take care of Richard.

It was around this time that his place of work and the Justice League tried to contact him. This began a headache and Damian’s murderous tendencies to come back with a vengeance. He didn’t act on the feelings…but it was close.

He called the BPD and told them that he was badly sick, and received the customary well wishing response before being hung up on.

They weren’t the problem.

It was the sentimental idiots that were a pain in the back. 

“You have reached Robin. Nightwing is currently unavailable. He is sick. Do not call again.”

But before he could even reach to hang up, someone started screaming at him.

“What? What happened? What’s wrong? Is he okay?” Barry Allen, the stupidious man alive, said so fast he could barely understand.

“He. Is. Sick. Do not call again,” he said, this time managing to hang up on him.

He had naively thought this was the end of his problems, before there was a suspiciously erratic knock on the door.

It was far too fast in pace to be from a non-meta.

Damian was not a patient person. At all.

He had been awake for boarding on twenty-four hours.

The first half he’d spent fighting with his family, the other trying to improve his brother's quality of life.

In other words, he was at the edge of his rope.

It was not safe to be around him when he was at the edge of his rope. 

He stomped over to the door and swung it open. A buzzing Wally West stood there, Idiot Junior.

“Hey Damian, my uncle told me Dick wasn’t feeling good so I came over to check—”

Damian stabbed him. 

“Ah! What the heck are you doing!” He screamed.

“There was a potent poison on that blade. Your speedster systems will be able to handle it…probably,” he said, letting the maniacal side of him come out. “But if you don’t want to spend the next week throwing up your blood and guts, I would get back to the Watch Tower and get treated.”

Idiot Junior went pale. “What…”

“Run.” 

He didn’t waste a second.

And that problem was taken care of. 

This would probably land him in hot water with the entire Justice League including his father. But he didn’t care, as he no longer lived with his father, and most of the members already thought he was a villain to be.

And it wasn’t like the poison was that bad.  He’d been given it as a child and he’d survived without the speedster immune system. It would be nothing to Idiot Junior.

*

*

*

Unfortunately, West was not the only one to come and annoy him. Starfire, Beastboy, Cyborg, and Jason’s idiot friend Roy all came to see what was up, much to Damian’s displeasure.

All these imbeciles had practically ignored Richard outside of the vigilante world—effectively cutting his support system in half.

He could care less for their excuses—like having a “Real life,” or “A family.” 

Richard freely gave everything he had and received so little in return.

They would not be disturbing him again. 

He got rid of them all quickly. 

Starfire : he called in a favor from the Teen Titans. They destroyed half the tower and she had to leave.

Beastboy : knife.

Cyborg : he activated a virus in the Watch Tower that he had planted years ago. He had to leave to deal with it. 

Roy : He threatened to tell Queen where all his hideouts were and that he recently got shot in the shoulder. He left quickly, cursing him as the, “Evilest Bat.”

That took another three hours of his life that he would never get back. 

Another three hours he could have been sleeping. 

If he saw another living being besides Richad or Pennyworth he might just kill them.

Unfortunately, someone hated him, because Superman spawned in Richard’s living room the second he thought his woes were over.

He looked rather angry. 

Not that Damian cared.

“If you do not leave in five seconds I am going to shoot you,” he threatened.

Best to get the pleasantries  out of the way as fast as possible.

“Damian, I don’t know what’s going on, but you’ve injured people and caused the destruction of millions of dollars of property.”

“You can’t prove it.”

The Teen Titans would never rat him out—because one : they lived for chaos—two : they knew that he would destroy them if they crossed him.

As for the virus, he had all the evidence to frame Timothy prepared in advance, and would use it if forced.

Superman crossed his arms. “Really? Then who stabbed Kid Flash?”

“I don’t know. Did he tell you I did? I have no idea why he would say that,” Damian shrugged. “It’s his word against mine.”

“Listen we both know—”

He pretended to gasp. “How dare you! You know how hard I worked to gain the trust of my fellow heroes! Why would I throw it away so callously!”

Superman hesitated. “Robin—”

“It’s almost like you never trusted me,” he said, faking a cry, while he reached for the gun at his side.

“It’s not like that, Robin—”

He shot the run at Superman’s face, a green puff of air enveloping him.

“That was Kryptonite gas. That will weaken your entire system, giving you capabilities near a normal man. It won’t last long, but I have another twenty-five rounds on my person. If you do not leave I will incapacitate  you and abandon you in the middle of nowhere, where you will have to fight to survive,” he said. “Understand?”

For the first time in his laugh, Superman looked scared. Or horrified. Probably a mix of both.

“Leave before Richard awakes.”

“This isn’t the end, Robin,” he said, before speeding off at a much slower speed then he would typically. 

He sat back down beside Richard, who seemed to sense his presence, and grabbed his hand like a life line. 

His priority was taking care of Richard. It didn’t matter if he was marked as a villain, kicked out of hero society, or disowned by his father. It was startling how little all those things compared to Richard’s health to him.

It was confusing…Damian’s whole point of being was to please his parents. That was why he was created—at least in his mother’s eyes, his grandfather was insane—yet he could care less if he never saw them again as a result of his actions.

He pulled the blanket on Richard up to his chin with his free arm. 

Damian didn’t know what family was.

He had never really had one.

…But if he had to guess, this was what it was supposed to be. 

And he never wanted to lose it. 

*

*

*

When Pennyworth returned, he admonished him for his actions against the fellow heroes, but approved of the effect.

“Good job, Young Master. Master Dick needs his rest, he can’t placate their worries. But perhaps call me next time to deal with them…I don’t like the idea of them slandering you, or of you coming to harm.”

“Very well, Pennyworth. I’d rather not talk to any of them ever again either,” he answered. If he did, he had a feeling that it would be the beginning of his super villain career.

“I’d rather you didn’t either,” he said. “Now, it is time to paint this hideous place. Truly, it is a crime against my eyes.”

Damian’s eye twitched slightly. He was going on zero hours of sleep and running entirely on Richard’s caffeinated drinks that he kept in bulk. “Yes. Let’s finish before Richard awakes.”

This was for Richard, he reminded himself, as his eye twitched once more.

He could hold out for a while longer before he passed out.