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Damian Wayne did not find pleasure in the company of people. A complete and irrevocable truth. He would much rather be curled up in front of Wayne Manor's blazing fireplace with Alfred the cat and one of the sketchbooks he had been granted for the peculiar notion that was Christmas, then stuffed into a crisp suit and made to chatter like a lamb to the slaughter.
Damian was not a people person, and that was wholeheartedly correct.
...For the most part.
Richard Grayson had wormed beneath Damian's skin like an irritating flesh wound, with his sunny smiles and steadfast kindness. No matter how many times Damian had snapped, raged, or insulted the man, Grayson always took it in stride and Damian didn't, couldn't comprehend. In the League, a hair of disobedience would be punished to the fullest extent. How could Richard nod his head at every scathing comment, then swoop Damian up in a crushing hug the next second?
Originally, Damian had detested Richard. The first Robin, Batman's prodigal son, and the golden child. Damian saw Richard as a stepping stone into his father's heart, and had treated him as such for months.
Then, something had shifted. Damian found himself returning Richard's naive smiles more often than often, found himself struggling to escape less and less every comforting hug, and found himself going out of his way to spend time with the bubbly man.
"Fondness," Damian sneered, "is a compromising emotion."
Alfred blinked lazily back before rubbing his furred head along the crux of Damian's palm. Damian's beloved pet was correct. Richard Grayson was an anomaly in Damian's pain-filled life. Something to dangle in front of an idiotic child, then rip away when any hint of interest was shown.
So, a year and a half into his appearing to be permanent stay at the Wanye residence, Damian made a pact to himself. Although his father was much kinder than his mother had portrayed, he couldn't fully trust the man, which is why Damian decided to keep to himself from then onward, and to ignore the angry pang his heart made every time he caught Richard's smile falter at a declined hug.
Unfortunately, Mr. Tweed - named for his offensively audacious apparel choices - had other plans.
It had started as most stories do, with the annual Wayne Charity gala, a party for bourgeoisie socialites to titter away and pretend like they lived more than a rich, expendable life. Damian had never attended, ("A stomach bug?" Bruce had questioned suspiciously the year prior,) but found himself lacking an excuse this go around, thus the stuffy three-piece clinging to Damian's frame like an unwanted vice, and the oily gel slicking his hair away from his face.
"Grayson, I do not enjoy this."
"Aww, don't worry Dami, none of us do," Richard dropped his 'Richie Wayne' persona for a moment, ruffling Damian's styled hair. "If you ever want to leave, just let me know, and you can sneak out during Richie's latest scandal."
"You think me incompetent?" Damian would never pout, but the frown crossing his face in that moment was an unfortunate close thing. "I can handle a few soulless imbeciles, Grayson."
"Of course you can, 'lil D," Damian had found Richard had a penchant for odd nicknames throughout his stay at the manor. Alfred became Alfie, Bruce became B, Tim became Timbo, Jason became Jay, with the occasional Jaybird, Stephanie became Steph, and Cassandra became Cassie. "But I got your back, just in case."
Damian had to duck his head to hide a fond smile. "....Tt."
The two brothers sat in a much needed silence, watching as guests wandered aimlessly past. Unfortunately, the peaceful solitude was ruined by a tall, lanky man, adorned in an atrocious tweed suit paired with shiny black shoes. Damian felt rather than saw Richard stiffen beside him, and Damian found he harbored an instant hatred for the unwanted arrival.
"Ah! If it isn't little Richard! I remember your first gala like it was just yesterday!"
Subtly, Dick placed himself in front of Damian, obscuring him partially from view. Warning bells rang red in Damian's head. "Jonathan? Is that you?"
"I knew you remembered me," Jonathan - no, the offender didn't deserve a name - Mr. Tweed placed a hand on Richard's shoulder, and Damian watched as his stubby fingers curled in the expensive material of Richard's suit. "Did I leave that much of an impression?"
"Of course!" Richard laughed his fake laugh, bowing beneath the non-consensual touch. "Give me a second, and I'll be free to discuss with you."
"Grayson-"
"Dami, I'm feeling quite peckish, could you grab me some horderves?"
Richard had never once eaten gala food. He claimed the oil would ruin his skin. Damian had been and still was confused, but he chalked it up to his brothe- to Grayson's peculiar nature. "But-"
"Damian."
Scowling and now thoroughly annoyed, Damian stomped away, muttering childishly beneath his breath. As per Wayne conduct, people flocked to Damian's side, prattling about stocks and exchanges and Damian simply did not care. Pushing past the wall of bodies, Damian snatched a golden tray of flaky pastries from an indignant server, flashing her a glare and sneering impressively when she recognized Bruce Wayne's blood son. She scurried away shortly thereafter, thoughtless platitudes following her frenzied dash. And finally, there Damian stood, in the middle of a bustling room, a platter of buttery baked goods in his hands and a grimace etched on his face.
"Who shit in your coffee?"
Damian restrained an eye-roll. "As if I'd ever drink the abhorrent substance Drake uses as life support."
Todd snorted, wrapping an arm around Damian's shoulders and ruffling his hair. Damian slapped Todd's hand away instantly. "Oh, playing favoritism, I see?"
"Don't you have other victims to plague with your voice?" Damian asked, hissing like a feral cat when an overweight snob attempted to steal one of Richard's pastries.
"Mean, demon brat," Todd sighed. "Normally I wouldn't ruin my 'rep by talking to obstinate children, but I admit, I'm curious. Care to explain why you're carrying a meals worth of horderves?"
Damian glanced at the platter, then back at Todd, before offering a smirk. "No."
"Prick-"
"Insipid fool-"
"Is this a congregation?" Damian barely managed to restrain a sneer. Of course Drake must interfere with Damian's return to Richard and Mr. Tweed.
"Ah! Baby-bird, good of you to join us!" Damian rolled his eyes at the nickname. He much preferred Todd's 'Replacement' era.
"I want to go home." Drake moaned, shoving his head into Todd's chest and flipping off a scandalized eighty year old woman. "Take me home, Jason."
"No can do," Todd laughed. "We're all in this together."
Drake pulled away and offered a pathetic set of puppy dog eyes. "C'mon you must be so tired if you've resorted to High School Musical references. Please, please, please, please, please, please take me home-"
"No, and that's final." Todd nodded his head resolutely. "...I'll be the distraction."
Pathetic. Jason had a debilitating weakness for Drake and his subpar puppy dog eyes, for some inexplicable reason.
"Yes! Thanks Jay!" The smile Drake offered Todd was nauseating, and Damian didn't even attempt to obscure his exasperation this time. Turning away, Damian surveyed the room with disinterest, before locating Richard's location. However, there was something... odd about the scene that greeted him. Mr. Tweed's face was inches away from Richard's, his body positioned possessively over the smaller man. His arm was leaning on the back wall, caging Richard in like he was some sort of prey animal, and Richard, Richard was just taking it with a relaxed smile so obviously faked it hurt Damian's head. Even as he observed with something only described as horror, Richard flinched away from Mr. Tweed's gnarled fingers brushing against his cheekbone.
"Damian? What's wrong-" It appeared Todd had discovered the issue. "Fuck, Baby-bird, let's put a pin in the arson for a minute, we've got a Code SFM."
"Ah." Drake sighed, and Damian wanted to rip him to shreds. Couldn't he see how uncomfortable Richard was? This was no 'sighing' manner! "I'll get Bruce."
"SFM?" Damian had to ask, his voice sounding strained to his own ears.
"Stupid fashion man," Todd supplied, looking mildly sickened. "Or, stupid fucking man, as I like to call him. Was freakishly in-love with Dickie as a little baby, which evolved into obsession the instant he was of age. Manages to squeeze his way into every gala despite being a low income sleaze-ball. Dick can't really do anything about it, and the fucker only listens to Bruce, so we gave up and made contingencies."
"Gave up?" Cold fire flared beneath Damian's bones. "You gave up on Grayson?"
"Kid- not-not like that-"
"Silence." Damian's curled lips deepened to a deadly glower, as Mr. Tweed's hands dipped dangerously low on Richard's hips. "I will save Grayson myself."
"Damian, stop-"
There was nothing Todd could've done to halt Damian's vengeful strut towards the repulsive creature defiling Grayson's person. Damian knuckles were white from his tight grip on the gold platter he held, and the crowd almost seemed to part for him, as if expecting the drama about to come.
Damian tugged on Mr. Tweed's coattails.
The peanut-gallery inhaled.
The man turned around, glancing down in surprise. "Yes-"
Damian smashed the platter as hard as he could in the man's motherfucking face.
Three thing happened in a very quick succession following the sharp assault.
One, the room began to fill with surprised shouts and camera flashes.
Two, Mr. Tweed stumbled back in shock, nose bleeding and spitting out a snarled, "Wha-What the fuck-"
And three, Damian snapped his leg against the man's vulnerable back knee in one smooth motion, clambering on top of the wide-eyed man and lowering his lips to a jutting ear. "I don't know your name, I don't know who you are, and I don't particularly care. However, if you ever dare lift a finger against Richard Grayson ever again, I will cut out your entrails and leave your disemboweled corpse in Crime Alley for the rats to eat. You will die an inconsequential and meaningless death, and I will laugh in the face of your pain and suffering, do you understand?"
The man on the ground gaped, head spinning around the look at the assembled crowd. "Wha-wha-huh-"
Damian slammed his elbow into the man's gut, delighting as he wheezed. "Do you understand me-"
"Jesus fuck yes! Yes I understand now get this child off of me-"
"I am not a child you inbred hog-"
"Alright, I got you, Dames." Warm arms encircled his waist, and it took all of Damian's power to restrain punching Grayson as the man swept him away, glaring at the crowd distastefully. "...You didn't have to do that, you know."
"Of course I did," Damian scoffed. "You're my Batman. We're partners."
"...Oh."
A suspicious sniffling noise came from above Damian's head.
"Grayson are you crying?"
"That's just so sweet!" They had escaped into some sort of elegant garden outside, the moonlight casting the place in an ethereal glow. "You've just come so far and I can't believe you bitch-slapped someone in the face for little old me. I think you're the first person to ever to that!"
"Tt. Then they obviously do not matter." Damian relinquished himself fully into Richard's grasp, snuggling within the comforting warmth. "You have me now. I'll protect you from Mr. Tweed."
A suspicious snort came from above Damian's head this time.
"Grayson are you laughing now?"
"M-Mr. Tweed?" Grayson giggled jubilantly. "That's-That's so perfect oh my god Mr. Tweed-"
Damian found he could handle being laughed at if it came from Grayson.