Work Text:
In the League, showing emotions was a weakness. The first time he cried, he received 5 whippings. Now, living with his father, his brothers openly show emotions with no repercussions?
Damian was confused.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Today, the anniversary of The Flying Graysons being killed, was always a rough day for Dick.
"God, B!" Damian could hear doors slamming from the family wing. "I don't need to talk! Just leave me alone." Silence. Sadly, this happened every year, with Bruce trying to get Dick to talk to him and Dick not wanting to, causing rifts between the whole family besides Damian. He couldn't care less as they began taking sides and tensions began rising. At the end of the day, Damian swore that he could cut the tension with a knife if he wanted to. The thing was, Damian didn't care about the arguing and the slamming of doors. He was confused. Utterly confused. Why wasn't Bruce punishing Dick for showing such emotion? In the League, this type of weakness would be trained and beaten out of the person.
"Hey, son." Bruce took a seat next to Damian on the couch, sighing and running his hand through his hair.
"Are you alright, Father?" Damian asked, his hand petting Titus' soft fur.
"Yeah," Bruce ruffled Damian's hair, causing Damian to scowl and bat his hand away. "I just wish he would talk to me, y'know?"
Damian did not, in fact, know, but he kept his mouth shut.
"This time of year is hard for all of us." Bruce continued. "It hurts us all to see Dick this hurt. He should talk to his therapist about it, but he tends to keep it all bottled up." Bruce sighed once again, the dark circles under his eyes becoming impossibly darker.
"Does it not," Damian paused, looking up at Bruce, "make you mad to see him acting like this?" Bruce stilled, turning to look Damian in the eye.
"No, chum, it doesn't." Bruce rubbed his knuckles, a nervous habit Damian had noticed. "He's just grieving. It's best if we support him the best we can, rather than getting mad at him for feeling his grief. Honestly, it's better he's expressing it. The first year he was here, he just locked himself in his room for the week. I tried to talk to him about it, but he shut down. The best we could do for him was make sure he ate and drank and give him time to process his grief."
"Oh." Damian broke the eye contact. "You don't think it's," Damian paused, looking for the right word, "immature for him to be having these outbursts?" Damian looked down, mentally berating himself for acting like a child instead of a soldier who knew how to kill people with anything, anywhere.
"Damian, the thing is, people handle grief differently. For example, Dick handles it by isolating himself and being angry at the world. While those ways aren't great, it's just how he is." Bruce explains. "He's working on it with his therapist, though."
"So, it's fine if he does it?" Damian asked.
"No, not necessarily." as Bruce began to pet Titus, the dog whined in content. "Like I said, those ways aren't always the best, which is why he's working to improve them."
"Alright, thank you, Father." Damian got up; Titus automatically stretched and rose also, trailing behind Damian as he walked to his room.
"Of course, Damian." At that point, Bruce's phone rang, and he sighed. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and answered, standing up and moving towards his office. "I told you, Donald, we're not partnering with them. Their background doesn't check out."
As he walked away, Damian let what Bruce had said sink in.
It confused him why Dick could express his emotions all he wanted and never got punished. He wondered if it applied to the rest of his siblings or just Dick.
Of course, Damian thought, I'm above that. In the League, any show of emotion would get us starved or worse. Why is it any different here?
Walking into his room, he plopped down on the bed, staring at the ceiling fan above him.
-------
He lay in his room, staring at the ceiling fan, his heart pounding.
"Hey, Babybird?" Dick called through the door. "Are you alright? It's time for dinner."
Damian could hear the worry laced into Dick's voice, wrapping around his heart like a chain. Dick waited outside his door for a reply.
"Dami?" Dick asked, a bit more urgent. "You good? If you don't respond, I'm coming in."
Damian tried to make a noise, his throat closing, leaving him to only produce a whine that his Mother would scold him for.
"Fuck, Dami, I'm coming in, alright?" Dick opened the door, rushing in after seeing Damian hyperventilating on the ground. "Damian, where are you injured?" Dick's eyes roamed over Damian's body, looking for any sign of injury or illness.
Damian batted Dick's hand away, turning his face so Dick couldn't see him cry. This, of course, failed, seeing as his brother might as well have a sixth sense for emotions.
Emotions? Is this what Richard felt those few weeks ago?
"Okay," Dick said, using a more gentle tone. "I'm right here, Dami. Can you sit up with me?" Dick put his hand behind Damian's back, almost touching but not quite, and sat up slowly, supporting most of his weight on his shoulder. While Damian had calmed down a bit, his breathing was still uneven and sharp, his heart pounding.
"I-I'm sorry." Damian murmured, barely audible. "I'll stay in my room for the week. I won't eat." Damian's breathing and talking speed sped up. "I won't go on patrol. I won't talk. Just please don't hit me." Damian flinched as Dick stared at him with wide eyes, his expression showed disbelief. And sadness?
Dick sighed."Fuck, Dami." Dick pulled Damian in for a hug, and he stiffened, muscles braced for a blow. "Dami, none of us would ever punish you for expressing how you feel. In fact, B has actually gotten less emotionally constipated. He talks to us privately every few weeks to check in on how we're doing, you know, mentally." Dick explains. "He hasn't talked to you yet?" Damian shook his head, and Dick frowned. "Shit. I'll talk to him about it."
At that, Damian whipped his head around and glared at Dick. "No. You cannot tell him about this. He won't be happy." Damian looked Dick in the eye, knowing that it was a useless battle.
"I'm sorry, Dami, but I have to. I can't just keep this private. Honestly, it's partially his fault for not telling you all this and checking up on you. Trust me, even though you're younger, I guarantee there's something plaguing your mind." Dick got up, holding his hand out to Damian. "You wanna come, or not?"
Damian stood up, taking Dick's hand and allowing his big brother to lead him out the door. "You're talking, though. I'm just there in case things get messy." Dick ruffled Damian's hair, stopping and giving Damian a hug.
And if Dick noticed that he didn't resist this time, he didn't comment on it.