Chapter 1: opening scene ...3....2....
Chapter Text
The world they live in is full of -well to put it simply- labels .
Sometimes it's a good thing- a lot of times it's bad. Really, the world has adjusted to it- it's been a couple hundred years since the first Classification, and most of the law now has actions in place that keep everyone safe. So yes the world is still full of evil and there are still horrible people, ones who take advantage and twist Classification for their own gain- but there has always been that kind of darkness and the law is in place to help stop it.
All this is good and well- even true- as long as you're not in Gotham.
Dick really doesn't know why he still lives here at this point- truly how anyone can live here.
Don't get him wrong. Gotham definitely has a certain appeal to it, in the right light the dark city can look haunting in a sort of enchanting way. Truly, he does love the city he calls home.
But man, he must be a little bonkers in the head to live here- through any gothmite would say the same.
Between Joker, the mobs, the regular asylum break outs, the shitty police and very questionable law system, Gotham is a right fucking reck.
Add in Classification and you have a city straight from hell.
Everyone on Earth, (and yes apparently it is an Earth thing. Though many people have broad -and crazy - speculations on what Classifications out-of-this-world Justice Leaguers may have. Superman and Wonder Woman have an ongoing bet.) has a certain chemical in the DNA that allows their brain to have, what's popularly called, a ‘headspace’.
Between the ages ten and seventeen you present as one of the following categories.
They are: Alphas and Omegas. Caregivers and Littles. Doms and Subs.
Most of the time though it doesn't really matter what you end up getting- most people present and can get away with slipping into their assigned headspace once in a blue moon, feeding their headspace in other ways to keep healthy. It doesn't always require a partner there with you to slip either.
(Though there are laws that state, in the case of Drops -a term used when someone falls into headspace but are a danger to themselves or others- a matched partner is required or else assigned by the state.)
Obviously an Alpha falling into their headspace, whether that's going into a rut or making a pack or just giving off pheromones, is going to be better with an Omega around. It's what their brain is hardwired to protect and mate with- but human evolution has come too far for that kind of primitive thinking and these days finding an Alpha with a mate who isn't an Omega isn't unusual.
In fact most packs are made up of combined families- meaning a mix of labels.
Same thing with Doms and Subs, yes, they cater to each other's needs the best, but falling into subspace is an act of trust no matter who the Subs are with, it's just that Doms will have an instinctual understanding of what said Sub might need or want in that moment. Just like a Sub is what can be best for calming down a Dom- but again, humans aren't so off their rockers as to not understand when a situation needs to de-escalate. Hence why police are trained for such a situation.
Sure, a Caregiver would feel most fulfilled taking care of a Little, but it's not uncommon to just see Caregivers with families and friends to take care of- they don't need to baby someone in their headspace, they just need to provide enough to come out of it without risking a Drop.
Littles tend to be the same, though they aren't seen on their own as often in headspace, there are in fact Littles who can take care of themselves. In this case, it's really just how old you end up. Sure Littles who are anywhere between the ages zero through two can't be by themselves when in headspace but it doesn't have to be a caregiver, it can just as easily be a trusted family member or friend. That's also only if you're that young, most Littles tend to range between three and twelve.
(Apparently there's a science behind it- a whole study as to why those who present Little always present so late in their teens, all about how they have to fulfill their childhood first and eventually their headspace kicks in when their body has had enough.)
Then you add in all the advancements people have made with scent blockers, headspace tracking apps (not so legal suppressants) and the like, and really, society as a whole has a pretty damn good handle on second Genders.
Now would be the time to mention (once more) that this is Gotham.
No one has a handle on anything in Gotham.
Dick remembers his first years as Robin- during the time he was only Batman's partner, during the time he had not patrolled anything other than Gotham City- when Gotham was still a true cesspool of unfiltered darkness.
(back when trafficking rings were as common as people's favorite TV programs. As predictable as Gotham knights losing a game.)
Dick was the one by Batman's side as they slowly filtered through that darkness- as they discovered each of their rogues Classifications and busted suppressant dealings in grimy alleyways.
Dick was there to help others see Gotham in that very specific lighting that made her worth protecting in the first place.
He remembers presenting all too well.
He had been thirteen when his headspace came in.
Really it was a good thing he had run off to create the Teen Titans, Dick could not imagine trying to navigate that new headspace- one made for nurturing - alongside Bruce, a very broody, works alone, pack that consists of one other man; Alpha.
He's so grateful he had gotten to work through all that alongside a team of people he loved and trusted- who made sure to help him. Who let Dick care for them in his headspace, made sure to keep him in a safe place to cater to those new instincts.
(he tries not to remember the months which that new headspace got taken advantage of- the months he had to work without Bruce's hard ingrained morales. The time in which his headspace was pushed so far away from him- …yeah. He tries not to think about the orange and black suit he used to wear.)
Dick wasn't an Alpha- so he didn't have those pack mentality instincts- but he imagines it's at least a little similar to the feeling he got when he was around all of his important people. Content and protective and sometimes a little overwhelmed.
Dicks had a lot of good luck in the friend department, later his team included the Young Justice League and eventually a young Tim.
(He had never let himself feel his headspace around Jason- had never let himself feel anything other than bitterness towards Bruce, he never took it out on the new Robin, but he has not given any effort in the whole big brother department either. Unfortunately these negative thoughts only doubled down after finding out Bruce had made Jason pack within months of meeting. Jason, who upon meeting Bruce, presented as a young Alpha pup.
Dick understands the concept, there are certain Matches- headspaces and personalities and needs that are instinctually met- between people. There's so many variables that it's really a one of a kind thing to find. To have someone who just Matches your needs perfectly - it's not impossible by any means, not with the sheer amount of people on their planet, but it's not everyday that it happens either. Dick just didn't expect Bruce and Jason to work so well together. He was just a little surprised. And truthfully out of everyone's he's met and developed strong bonds with- well he's never felt that kind of connection before. So maybe he doesn't understand it after all. )
So yeah. Dick is a twenty three year old caregiver with no Little, that's fine though because he has friends who let him help and he has Blüdhaven to protect at night, and his job as a gymnastics instructor at a small gym. He has an abundance of safe houses to crash at, and an insane trust fund from Bruce.
This is of course when things start going to hell.
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Damian has been in his care (officially) for three weeks when he first…feels it.
That instinct that classifies him.
It comes left out of field and blindsides him enough that he is moving on autopilot.
Damian is sitting at the table, a seat away from where Dick is. It's closer than Damians ever sat next to him before. Their time together has been strained (to put it lightly. Volatile to put it accurately) and it's been a rough adjustment period.
But seeing Damian trying …
Dick has been known to let hope be the rope he hangs himself with. He chooses to feel it every time because ultimately it's better than giving into the hell his mind is without it.
He's choosing to hope once more. He's choosing to be optimistic about his time under the same roof as this gremlin.
Maybe. Maybe all they need is a change of scenery.
Dick is getting ready to bring up the possibility of moving out. It's something he's thought a lot about and it might be a little quick but he- doesn't - can't- it's-...
…The manor is just so cold .
It has no life and now that most of his family has scattered to the wind it's even worse. He doesn't want to be here, but he's also willing to stay depending on how strong Damian feels about it. (god that reminds him he still needs to take a closer look at Bruce's will- what goes to who. Fuck and that lawyer, he needs to remember her name- he thinks it was a women? She's in charge of getting him proper custody, and keeping it, over Damian-) point being he was getting ready for what was potentially a bad conversation, when out of the corner of his eye he sees Damian sniffle.
Which shouldn’t be a big deal.
But the boy's skin is two shades too pale and his hands aren’t as steady as they should be and now he’s got a runny nose.
Not to mention the uniform he’s in (and god does Dick want to take this kid out of school- he’s so much smarter than he can take credit for there, and Dick knows Damian hates it-) looks so itchy.
As though hearing his thoughts Damian sniffs again, nose obviously stuffed. He shifts in his seat, face contorting into a scowl as the stiff uniform clings to his skin.
That's really all it takes for Dick to fall into his headspace.
“Oh darling, here let me see…” the boy beside him startled at Dicks voice, turning his head to the older man with a questioning noise. Then, as Dick puts his hand on Damian's forehead, the little one stiffens up.
Dick makes a small tutting noise in the back of his throat, the baby shouldn't be so stressed-
…baby?
Baby… … …
What the hell is he doing?
Damian is not-
Dick snatches his hand back, staring at the appendage as though it was at fault for his actions and not his own lizard brain.
…his headspace hasn't snuck up on him like that since he first presented.
He opens his mouth and turns back to Damian. “Sor…”
The words die on his lips as he takes in Damian's red cheeks. The boy barely seems to be breathing, just staring at Dick with wide eyes.
Dick isn't sure what to make of the look stuck on Damian's face.
He doesn't get to study it for long- his new house mate is up and out of his seat with all the reflexes of a highly trained assassin, bolting out of the room, food untouched.
More aware of where his mind is, he recognizes the need to chase after Damian as Instinct.
He does not move from the table.
He wishes suddenly for Alfred to be back. The man had gone to grieve for a few days in private- and Dick hadn't felt the need to stop him. Right now though, seeing as hes already managed to fuck it up, he wishes Alfred were here to help him make these choices with Damian.
It's always a choice . A decision you have to make. People like to say that those who fall into secondary genders are incapable of ignoring their baser needs. It's almost entirely untrue.
If you ignore your headspace completely, of course that can have consequences. Headaches and depression, nausea and becoming uncoordinated. All classic signs that you're hurting your headspace. That if you don't slip soon you'll end up in a hospital bed.
But it's not as if you're… drunk or something when you're in headspace. You have control over yourself and your actions. It's just instincts rising up to help you, things that satisfy the headspace you are labeled with.
Sometimes, when you first present it can get fuzzy, memories like dreams. But the more you drop the more that feeling goes away. Instincts like the one Dick had just now are common for those who don't drop regularly. It's not to the point where it's damaging but it's a sign that it could get that way soon.
Dick does his best to sate his headspace by taking care of others, most of the time his job helps with that- gymnastics teacher for kiddos. He makes sure they are safe, that they learn something new, that they have a snack and stay hydrated. It's popular for Caregivers to have jobs that involve helping others. Teachers in all sorts of fields, babysitters and nannies, nurses and doctors.
(Caregivers always feel comforting- whether or not you're a little. Just as a pack Alpha is going to make you feel safe, Omega status or not.)
Most times this is just enough, all Classifications have a sort of bare minimum requirements, so doing something that feeds your headspace can make it so you don't actually need to slip. This is how society as a whole learned to function. Skirting around the edges of your Classification, taking medically approved suppressants (and the non approved ones too) it's all so life can continue on. Though there are those who get lucky, find a way to drop regularly, find their Match and are happy. Find a balance between ‘enough’ and ‘all the time’.
Dick has not experienced something like that.
He dropped for the first time and mother-hended the Teen Titans for a week. After that he was already more or less in control of his headspace. Considering there wasn't a Little present, that makes sense. If there had been, not only would Dick have taken much longer to come out of headspace, chances are he would have needed to drop far more often than he lets himself. His headspace would have seen what it was like to drop all the way. As it was Dick had been with two Alphas, a sub and not yet presented. And nowadays his job is more than enough to keep his headspace from creeping up on him. Add in patrols and he's totally covered.
Obviously, for some reason, it's not enough this time. Not surprising, he guesses, Dicks first day back to work is still two weeks away. He'd taken a little over a month off to try and get himself, Damian, and his brothers all on the same page. (and what a fucking disaster that mess was.) so he hasn't actually indulged in the bare minimum his headspace requires. Which- he should be fine till he gets back to working. He’ll think about patrolling if it gets to much, he wanted a bit of time before he started at least, let things settle down from Jason's reign and get Damian comfortable in school…plus he knows as soon as he puts on the cap and cowl, a certain child around here is going to want to tag along (as is his birthright and all that.) and Dick is still unsure how to handle that situation as a whole.
(once more he wishes for their wise British butler)
So he should be fine. He’ll just have to be more careful around Damian- seeing as that's the only child he's in regular contact with at the moment. The last thing he wants is to lose a hand (or his heart ) because he let Instinct guide him to ruffle Damian's hair.
...in the meantime, he should tell Damian he can skip school for now. Just because Bruce had intended for Damian to attend Gotham Academy doesn't mean Dick has to follow through with it. Damian didn't like it a few months ago- he is certainly not going to suddenly be ok with it now.
He rubs at his temples, trying to relieve the tension there. He needs to talk to Damian about school first and foremost.
He looks warily in the direction of Damian's room, recalling the slamming echo he heard a few minutes ago.
This can go well- he just has to be careful of his headspace. He needs to treat Damian like an equal. Not a child. He should also explain that Dick is a Caregiver.
…did Damian know about Classifications?
Oh christ, what a conversation that would be- well he must have learned about it all at some point ,right? If not in the cult he was raised in then at least from Bruce…no, no he wouldn't have learned from Bruce…but he would have heard it in school at least and if he didn't know what it was he would have found a way to figure it out himself, which means he probably looked it up…which is… not great.
Dick will most likely have to explain Classification to him at some point.
Which is fine!
It's gonna be fine.
Hope, remember? Optimism.
He's got this.
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Damian slams the door shut, sliding the dead bolt into place, panting for breath, hands up against the door as though he could keep the heavy wood closed better.
He feels as though he has just run a training exercise at the League. Breath huffing out of him in exhaustion. Unfortunately, the lack of lung function is not from running up two sets of staircases or doing training exercises. It's from the soft touch of a cool palm against his forehead.
It's from a feeling swelling inside his rib cage that has him panicked, unsure what to make of it. Has him ready to go back to the life he knew before if only for the comfort of routine.
For a full twenty four hours now he has been feeling…off. Unlike himself.
His head hurts. He feels unsteady and his throat is killing him.
He had thought it was poison at first- with the way his vision had gone blurry when getting out of bed yesterday morning- but he had to erase that conclusion when today, his nose started running.
Damian has only been sick one other time in his life, three years ago after coming back from a mission with his mother, they had been snowed in at their safe house for a night. Damian had gotten sick within hours. He tries not to think about the memory though, seeing as it was followed by the lessons of training his body to survive the harshest of winters. (months of it, his grandfather was most displeased to learn his heir had gotten the sniffles after being too cold.) His mother did not seem to care for him being sick either- she had worn a look of disappointment for weeks after. Damian eventually got over the weakness, and he hadn't gotten sick again whilst in the League.
Of course now, when his future was so uncertain and his place here brought into question, he would get sick.
It's only been mere days since Grayson had chosen Damian to be Robin and Drake had started his search for Father. This decision could easily be changed in the face of Damian's weakness. Grayson would not want a weak partner. No, Damian would get through this on his own just as he did the first time it happened to him. He would not curl up in bed- no matter how much he wished to do so- he would instead go downstairs and go to school as he was supposed to.
Then, after fulfilling his end of the deal, he shall ask Grayson about patrolling together. He would show off his competence and prove himself. He is the son of both The Batman and Talia al Ghul.
He deserved this mantel and everything that came with it.
Damian's muscles suddenly tense up, a tickling feeling centered in his nose and throat. He brings his hand to his face unthinkingly but it's too late. Damian sneezes , his whole body lighting up with pain from the motion. Aching and sore. His stomach clenches and he groans.
This. This is what he needs to hide away. He mustn't let anyone see him in such a compromised state.
He sniffs. Then scrunches his face at the feeling of snot on his upper lip.
How revolting it is to be humbled by the flesh he is made of.
He has obviously gotten weak whilst staying in this manor. He needs to discipline his mind and body properly.
…but first he needs a tissue.
He goes to step away from the door, intending to go to his bathroom. His breathing has calmed down now with the shifting of his thoughts, determination settling into his bones despite the ache that accompanies it. Except Damian freezes in place when he hears a knock.
“Damian?” comes from the other side of the door. Grayson's voice is just shy of hesitant.
Damian does not move to unlock the door. But he does clear his throat, Grayson most likely intends to tell him it's time for school and, despite the promise he just made to himself, the icky feeling weighing him down right now has him anxious. He doesn't want to go, but he must. No matter how much his stomach turns at the thought. He can ignore it, he will ignore it, till it makes its way out of his body. Besides, Damian is more than used to doing things he doesn't want to.
(Really this is all he has known.)
“Yes, Grayson. Can I help you?” not good. His throat is dry, raspy in a telltale way. If he's not careful Grayson will notice he's ill before Damian can even make it to the front door.
There's a pause from the older one that makes Damian shuffle his left foot into the floor of his room, before he realizes what he's doing and clenches himself up tight. Hyperfocusing on his muscles in an attempt to stop moving all together.
His illness must be making him foggy, he knows better than to fidget.
“No Damian, well yes- I just wanted to say you don't need to go to school today.” Damian stops breathing, fighting viciously against the hope that springs from his chest into his throat. Grayson continues. “I think taking a few days off might be good for both of us. I'm not going to work for a while either…”
Damian slowly unlocks the bolt.
No one opens the door.
“It's up to you Damian. You can go to school if you want but staying here for a few days isn't going to hurt anyone- truthfully kid you're smart enough to skip a few years, you're not missing out on anything important.”
And oh.
How evil Grayson must be- how manipulative. He's made this a test. He's also given Damian a glimpse of a carrot. Dangling it in front of him as though he is an animal to tame. To say that Damian is intelligent enough to excel despite missing school days- saying he could move up grades- it cracks along Damian's spin like a knife carving his skin.
He had nearly begged Father to let him homeschool. His whole life he had schooled with tutors. And it's not as though Father could not afford it. But the man never let Damian, insisted that if he ever wanted a chance at Robin being his, he needed to prove he could handle civilian life and personas. As well as socializing.
It has been by far the hardest rule to upkeep.
Killing and over the top violence he understands- Father does not have the stomach for such things. Believes it to be evil and corrupt. There was no talking about Damian's past, no conversations on how he was raised. He would learn to adapt to this life or be thrown out as a disappointment and then killed by the League. Father had made it clear that Damian was born wrong. That he must change himself from the core and all the way to his outer.
Damian has been doing…an ok job. Outside of the ‘Drake incident’ he thinks he's been mostly successful. He hardly ever even maims anyone, and the few times he…slipped up, it has been with good reason and hard evidence to support his case. (under this roof, Damian has learned, evidence is your golden ticket. It's the one thing that seems to shake morals here, he has used this knowledge to his advantage on several occasions.)
But school has been a nightmare. He is surrounded by incompetence and mindless children who know nothing of how the world works- even though most are born and raised in Gotham, one of the dirtiest of cities.
He remembers his first attempt at school, all the children being wide eyed, several boasting about having already Presented. Teachers floundering in their attempts to teach Damian something he already knew.
(...he also remembers that was the first time Grayson had picked him up after school. Having been in Gotham working on a connected trafficking case with Father. They didn't talk much, Damian was far too upset to even entertain the idea, but Grayson had…calmed him almost. Soft music playing in the background, their comfortable silence had been a relief from his overstimulating day. It was the first time he had ever known Grayson to be silent.
Point is Grayson's company had been appreciated, and by the time they had gotten back to the manor Damian didn't feel the need to commit arson on the school.)
It wasn't long before he realized Father simply wanted him out of the manor for as long a period of time as possible without it being wrong.
So yes. Damian does not want to go to school. He also doesn't want to fail the obvious test that is in front of him. Grayson must expect him to tough it out. To prove he can push himself.
Damian sniffles again, his throat burns with the action.
(...is it a test?)
Something flowers in his chest, opening soft as petals as he recalls the memory of Grayson's kindness. Of the small moments he’s been in the other’s presence. At how Damian was chosen by Grayson over Drake.
Something close to trust floods his heart.
Damian opens the door.
Grayson is still on the other side, hands in his back pockets rocking slightly to the side.
He pauses his movements when he sees Damian and his eyes go a little wide.
At first Damian is unsure as to what the other is thinking, with his face surprised as it is, but then Damian's nose gives an involuntary sniff once more and he realizes he’s been a fool .
His feelings, weak, soft and naive have burned him at the stake. Condemned him to the noose. His mind has been compromised, just as his body is with the sickness he’s somehow contracted.
And Grayson sees the evidence of it in his still running nose, the snot unpleasant against his skin, tissue forgotten in the presence of Grayson.
Moran ! How could he be so stupid? What had he been thinking? No- why hadn't he been thinking? He doesn't understand why he had such a lapse in control!
He looks down and drags his arm against his nose, harshly rubbing away any residue, he can't bring himself to even regret ruining his new school blazer.
He looks up at Grayson once more and sees a look in the others eyes- he doesn’t know what it is but he knows it means something he cannot handle nor understand.
He goes to slam the door shut once more, attempting to be quick with the lock as well, but his slow muscles don’t move fast enough and Grayson's hand catches the door before Damian’s moved it closed even an inch.
Grayson looks unaffected by the heavy weight of wood slamming against his palm. His eyes not leaving Damian once.
“Darling, oh you must feel so yucky…” Grayson whispers, it’s so tender it makes Damian nauseated.
(He blinks back tears, the tone of voice reaching a place inside his chest he didn’t know was still alive. Warm and still innocent in a way Damian has not known in a very long time.)
”Do not speak to me in such a manner! I feel fine- I will go to school-…”
The words die on his tongue, instead a rough cough replaces them. Damian hunches forward with it, arms coming protectively around his stomach, desperately hoping against the sudden nausea that comes with the hacking that he doesn't vomit in his doorway.
He can't decide if it's fortune or bad luck that the decision is taken out of his hands completely.
There's a gentle touch to his shoulder and Damian hunches farther at the contact but it's insistent and it nudges him backward into his room.
Damian is tense in preparation, fully expecting to hear the impact of wood slam together once more. Instead of hearing the door close on his face, he feels the gentle hands again.
He doesn't bother paying attention to where they are leading him- he sets his entire focus on not throwing up. He doesn't know what he'll do if he vomits, he's never actually thrown up before, he only knows what it is because his mother threatened him when he complained about his aching stomach after a poison test.
Damian groans, walking is rapidly getting harder. His feet feel clumsy and his balance is off, for some reason though he can't bring himself to stand up straight- he's convinced it would be his downfall. Like his arms around his stomach are what's keeping him from spilling his guts.
Suddenly the lights in the room change- going from the foggy sunshine that seeps through his windows to a sterile white.
The echo of tile against shoes tells him he is in his bathroom- and oh, oh god. He didn't want to throw up- he was-
Damian doesn't- please.
No- no. he won't-
He’ll ruin it all -
He can feel tears slip down his cheeks and panics even more, his breathing shallow and rapid and he must be dying- that really is the only thing that could possibly make sense. His chest and throat hurt so bad. He just wants to curl up and start this day over.
He really doesn't wanna throw up.
His internal suffering goes unheard and all he gets in answer is a warm voice and soothing hands encouraging him to sit on the floor, he goes with the motion and feels a larger body crouch behind him, body heat seeping into Damian's back.
As his knees hit the tile the shock helps him refocus. He's sitting in front of the toilet, there are in fact tears still rolling down his cheeks, much to his mortification, and Grayson is behind him. There is a hand on Damian's back rubbing circles into his spin and another one carding through Damian’s bangs- brushing the loose strands away from his face.
Damian feels himself cough again- gagging harshly with the feeling- no… -
He hacks again, his throat tearing up in the process. He wishes for death, to be anywhere else then here on his bathroom floor with Grayson watching as Damian ruins all the progress he's made here.
He falls all the way to his butt, cold tile startling him once again. He realizes that at some point his school blazer came off, he's just in his white button up now, the tie he was wearing having vanished too. Damian shudders, his body reminding him that the aches he had earlier are not gone, he feels a shiver crawl up his arms and sweat drip down his back, the mix of hot and cold making him whine high in his throat.
He's confused, and achy and everything went downhill in a matter of minutes, he was supposed to be on his way to school -
He tries to hold his breath against a fresh set of coughs but his throat has a tickle that demands to be itched and his eyes water, only making more tears spill over. So he gives in and coughs again, this time bile, sour and ugly, comes up with it- he bends over the toilet and spits it out.
He hears a cry, sharp and loud, then notes the only person it could be is himself. He bites his lip hard, trying to drown out what's happening. This is beyond saving, he cannot even imagine the consequences for his actions. His weakness, put on like a show for the man behind him, like the universe decided Damian could not lie his way out of this one, that he can't be the hardened warrior the League of Shadows drilled him to be. That out of all the people in this world- Grayson would be the one to see Damian at his lowest. How unlucky must he be, that when he starts to feel his life going in a positive direction, the world would wake up just to condemn him.
He just wants to leave this horrible nightmare.
He's still taking stinging breaths, his ears ring with the sound of his inhaling, horribly weak and much too quick. The panic that has set into his bones isn't strong enough to let him flee with adrenaline, though he would very much like to.
Suddenly a new sound reaches his ears, the tone so comforting it makes Damian dizzy.
“-ats it, good job honey. Doing so well. Oh, I know your throat must hurt..” Dick was murmuring in his ears, soothing platitudes meant to calm him.
Damian couldn't help but nod in agreement, eyes shutting against more tears. Though the response seemed to take Grayson by surprise.
“hmm.. kiddo, are you back with me?” Dick asks softly. The hand on Damian's back picking up pace as he gags again.
Damian answers without much thought.
“y’s. hurts.” it comes out more like a whimper than a sentence.
Damian wants to cut his tongue off. Why - why was he so…loose? He had never felt this way before. But with every honey silk word that left Grayson's mouth Damian felt himself get floaty.
His body was in pain and he really didn't want to throw up but he felt… gooey…too. Like he was melting under the low tones of Grayson's voice. Calming him- just as he did that day after school.
Unfortunately relaxing means he was not paying enough attention to his nausea.
He bends over the toilet again as a set of coughs hit his throat. He feels the way his stomach clenches and bile rises into the back of his mouth and as much as he didn't want to throw up- he knew it was inevitable.
“Shh, it's ok Dami, just let it out. I promise it's ok.” The words are his doom. The power of permission- and the fact that he can no longer hold his breath- has Damain throwing up.
More tears fall but he's no longer so aware of them, more focused on the sensation of his throat being ripped apart. His fingers hurt from their grip on the toilet, clenched tight on the cold porcelain. Really though, there's not a single part of his body that doesn't hurt right now.
He gets a break when his stomach halts its treachery. The sound of the toilet flushing fills the air around him, as well as Grayson's soft humming. An odd comfort, but admittedly nice nonetheless. He stays hunched over the bowl and refuses to look up.
Damian is in shock.
He knows that not a minute ago he was beyond hopeless, he was something more than mortified. Now he's only vaguely observing these emotions now.
Instead he closely studies new ones.
If Grayson wanted him dead, now would be the moment. If he just wanted to ignore Damian he could. If he felt that Damian was a burden -but one he had to take care of, in a strange debt to Damian's father- then he would not be going the extra mile of making sure Damian's hair wasn't in his face. Or humming a song that Damian does not know but finds filling the silence perfectly. Grayson would not need to be rubbing his hand in steady circles on Damian's back. Palm warm and welcome - yet horrible and compromising.
Yes. That is what this whole situation has been. Compromising.
Damian has entered a stage in his life so different from the rest. He was barely starting to navigate the new rules and unspoken language that was living with Richard Grayson. Though he will have to reevaluate his notes after this. Considering Grayson is doing all the things he shouldn't be. (Damian doesn't understand why. )
Considering Damian either isolated himself or damaged people around him in the beginning, he had been hoping to make a better impression with Robin. He had been chosen (as he should have been. As his blood demands.) and he did not have plans that included such a failure as this.
He was supposed to ask Grayson if they could portal together tonight. He was supposed to be in school. He was supposed to be proving his worth in battle. He was supposed to make a comment on Grayson not being the real Batman. He was supposed to show Grayson he was the right choice.
Instead of all these plans, he is on the bathroom floor spilling his inners, in front of the one man who could send him back to blood-execution-hopelessness-shadows.
His stomach turns at the thought. At going back. At wanting to. At the feeling of muscle tearing under his blade. At seeing his mother. Not ever seeing her again.
He tries to choke back another round of humiliation but the hand on his back gently pats it. Then the humming pauses and in its place a soothing whisper starts to encourage. Not to mention, Damian's stomach hurts so much.
By the time he's just choking up water and bile, the toilet is flushed twice more and Grayson has navigated the bathroom for a much needed wash cloth. The man runs sink water for a moment while Damian continues to stare at the refilling toilet bowl.
When Dick is satisfied with the water's temperature (which is now much warmer) he lets it soak into the cloth. Then he turns the water off and maneuvers back over to Damian's spot, wiping the boy's mouth as carefully as possible.
The kiddo doesn't move, he lets Dick wipe the washcloth over his mouth and accepts the hand combing back his sweaty hair. The boy's eyes droop with each swipe of his hand so Dick sets the washcloth in the bathtub, all while whispering a stream of quiet reassurance. He feels an almost desperate need to convince the boy in front of him that he's safe, cared for and that Dick has everything under control. He guesses it's not odd to want to convey that message to anyone who's sick, but Dick feels it so strongly, like if he doesn't -he won't ever see Damian again.
It's a little terrifying.
Dick doesn't even know why he feels like this! He understands that Damian is technically a child, at eleven years old it would feed into Dicks headspace…(If he and Damian had a more harmonious relationship. But they don't.)
Dick knows though that normally a full dive into his headspace…well, something like that takes a Little . Outside of when he first presented, which is how everyone presents- by slipping into their headspace fully- he only dropped into headspace one other time. It was a patrol as Nightwing not even a full year into being in Blüd', he'd come across a woman who was curled up in an alleyway. She had been in work clothes and when he asked what happened she said she’d missed her bus to home and Dropped.
The kind of Drop that needs medical care.
So Dicks Headspace had been all too willing to comfort a Little in the middle of a Drop after a really hard day. He had let her cry for a while before guiding her to the help center; they weren't perfect by any means but it had been Dicks first cleansing operation when he moved cities. He made sure to clear it out and that the replacements were good at helping people who had Dropped, and who were clean about their paperwork.
As Dick Grayson he even knew people who worked there personally and as Dick Grayson-Wayne he donated to the help center very generously.
So he trusted that this Little would get the help she needed. Afterward it took Dick only a few minutes to come back out of his headspace- job complete after handing the Little into more professional hands. (he even went back the following night, after completing hours of his own day job, just to see if the woman was ok, which, thankfully, she was.)
He doesn't understand why he's clearly in his Headspace now.
Maybe…maybe it's because he hasn't appeased it for a while. And now that an eleven year old (no matter how deadly) is sick, it's rising up to help him. objectively misguided but not inherently bad. Seeing as he still has both his hands and a beating heart…and the fact that through this horrible ordeal he has managed to comfort the boy who would normally pull out a poisoned blade if they so much as brush arms.
…maybe.
(...or maybe it's the thought nagging at his brain. Possibly it's the one thing that is scary to consider. It might be the insistent feeling in his gut- even if he can't bring himself to think about it yet. Because if it is the case- he has no clue where that possibly leaves him and this child.)
He comes back to Damian, who ,while Dick’s been busy, (Lost in thought like an idiot - he needs to pay attention to the sick kid two feet in front of him. He needs to make sure Damian doesn't feel ignored. He needs to make sure he doesn't run .) has managed to get on his knees.
Dick has no idea if Damian is even coherent right now. The kid seems to be almost dissociating, (another box ticked, but he stuffs the wayward thought out of his mind.) starring dully into the toilet bowl. Slack where he is normally stiff with tension and hyper awareness. It's jarring to see Damian so lifeless. Being sick is never easy (even harder if what he thinks might be true-) and Dick can't imagine it being welcomed in the league, let alone anyone there to bring comfort.
Maybe Talia if Dick is feeling generous but he's not. No, he's not when he saw Damian cry and mumble over ruined chances and a hurting body and weakness being on display. Slurred and mumbled, so very clearly not for Dicks ears- not for a single soul to ever hear he would wager- but out in the open anyway because Damian is not totally there. He's sick and in pain and was throwing up after a barely touched breakfast after a barely started day.
Dick feels his heart squeeze in sympathy. He remembers when Tim got sick-
Nope. Not now, can't go there without hurdling, like a space shuttle to an asteroid, right into a breakdown.
All he needs to be focusing on is the boy in front of him.
First things first! get them both out of the bathroom.
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It took a minute but after some tender words and patient movements he was able to get Damian out of the bathroom.
The next thing he wants to do is get Damian changed into pajamas. No way is he going to stay in those god awful school clothes. Dick has wanted to burn those since this morning and the urge to commit arson has only increased over the course of an hour. (he checked his phone as soon as he got Damian out of the bathroom- who was now sitting, instead, at the foot of his bed.)
Dick walks over to Damian's closet- (noting with muted distress that Damian does not have nearly enough clothes and the ones that do fill his closet are all dark and dreary, meant for combat no doubt. Not shocking in any way, but sad despite expectations being low.) and grabs a soft pair of grey pajama pants, thin and well made. Then because he wants to at least try, he turns back into the room and asks Damian a question.
“Hey bug, I know your throat hurts so you can nod yes or no. I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to sleep in one of my shirts tonight?” Grayson holds up a black, skin tight shirt. “It's ok if you don't- I just think it might be more comfortable to have a big shirt rather than the compression shirts you normally sleep in…”
Damian is speechless, and it's not just because his throat is actively attempting to assassinate him. He’s nearly slacked jawed that Grayson can be so…so…so intuitive . Like he just knows everything. Knows what Damian means before Damian does. It's horrifying. Like he's being put on a display case. (hopefully not one that says ‘good soldier’ on the front but he's self aware enough to know he's nothing but.) glass proudly showing off Damian's defectiveness.
He feels glaringly transparent to the man in front of him and he can't understand why. Damian doesn't know the rules to this lesson. His brain can't compute with the reality that is Richared Grayson standing in front of him understanding he is in pain and instead of berating him - or much worse- he is taking… he is taking care of Damian. He is…being soft and merciful. He is tending to Damian's hurts.
He is offering up a shirt so Damian can get better rest.
Damian must be silent for too long because Grayson makes a subtle questioning noise before coming a little closer to the bed.
“I'll grab something nice and soft ok?” The voice is melted sweets and warm sun rays.
Damian is helpless to do anything but nod his assent.
(He is grateful Grayson made the choice for him, he's decided it's simply easier right now, as his brain has collapsed in on itself and he is compromised. He has very few thoughts at the moment and wishes to keep it that way, for when he wakes from this nightmare-soft-confusing-dream he will awake to horrid reality, where all this will have repercussions.
He will stay in this floaty not-space for as long as he can.)
Damian hears footsteps fade and his breath hitches.
He doesn't want Grayson to leave him. He is not capable- he couldn't protect himself if he needed to. It was safer to have Grayson in the room, just in case.
He gets off the bed and shuffles over to the door. His eyes are itchy, his throat hurts and his brain is mush.
Is it so much to ask that Grayson stays in the same room?
…although if Grayson got sick of him…if he left because he's had enough of taking care of Damian, then it would be best for Damian to stay out of the way. Lest Grayson decide to get rid of Damian more permanently.
Damian had been expecting this anyway. He should not be blindsided. Of course the other would not want to be around a sick person- Damian would crawl out of his own skin if he could. If Grayson has the option to leave, it makes perfect sense for him to take it.
(Damian ends up by his door anyway.)
He doesn't have to wait long for Grayson to come back. Of course he came back. Damian knew he would. Grayson said he was just getting a shirt. Damian - for some unknown reason - was being dramatic.
(but the vile despondent feeling in his gut was irrepressible. The sensation of rejection staggering in his own mind. So maybe he was being dramatic but he didn't know what to do about it.)
Grayson comes back in the room, and if he's surprised or bothered by Damian's half- attempt at following him, he does not show it. Instead he only holds up the prize which he left for.
“How ‘bout this one? It's smaller than some of my other shirts so you shouldn't drown in it.” Grayson gives him a soft smile and Damian finds himself wishing he could return it. Right now, he cannot muster up the energy to do anything other than nod.
Grayson softly instructs Damian to sit on his bed again and to lift his arms up. Damian complies with both instructions. Now that his stomach has emptied itself he feels an exhaustion coating his bones. He is convinced he has never felt this tired in his life.
Damian vaguely registers the white button up he has on leaving his body, then feels new fabric in its place. Not leaving much time in between to get cold. The fabric covering him now is red with a butter yellow Wonder Women logo. Despite what Grayson said about it being smaller, Damian feels himself swimming in the worn fabric. The sleeves mock him as they come down to his elbows and as the rest of the shirt pools onto his lap.
Damian is once again reminded that, under normal circumstances, he would never allow such a thing to touch his body. It's an insult to his ego, his place as an al Ghul and to his Wayne blood.
Then a sneeze racks through his body, setting off a horrible throbbing in his head. Suddenly it's not hard to remember that this situation as a whole- is far from normal.
(He has the grim realization that he feels… tiny in Grayson's clothing. In a…possibly good way? He's not entirely sure what ‘tiny’ even means. Just that it's the right word for it. It feels right.)
Damian sniffles miserably and wipes his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. He hears Grayson make a soft noise but can't bring himself to think anything of it. (it's… kinda wonderful, he doesn't feel awake enough to overthink anything. He almost wishes he could feel that way all the time. Without the being sick part, he supposes.)
Damian looks up and sees Grayson fluttering about in front of him. His face is pinched in a way Damian can't be bothered to read. He's honestly really sleepy right now. He would like to lay down. Which is strange, last he remembers he was just getting up. He had no reason to feel so exhausted. Though he concedes that he's been a bit…emotional. Not to mention the throwing up. Maybe he can tell Grayson he's tired. If it's allowed- he can sleep. If not…well. At least he'll know.
Damian hesitates, his words coming out more slurred than they should. “Can…I sleep now?”
Grayson seems to settle with Damian's voice, his odd movements halting. Grayson's lips shape into that sunshine warm smile again and Damian feels at peace.
(Like that smile could make him feel every gooey feeling in the world and he'd be perfectly content about it.)
“Of course kiddo, can you stand up for one more second though? I'm betting those pants you have on aren't very comfy.”
Grayson's right. The uniform pants he has on now itch and cling to his skin un-pleasantly. He spies the gray pajamas in Grayson's hands with a critical eye before deciding they will be better.
Damian stands, a slight wobble that has him stiffening his knees, ready to grab the pants from Grayson when the other man kneels down. Damian's eyebrows scrunch together in confusion but before he can ask what's happening Grayson holds out the pajamas, his hands widening the leg holes and looking up at Damian.
(it's a horrible realization but he can't help noticing that even with Grayson down on one knee, Damian is only maybe a head taller.)
It's obvious now what Grayson expects of Damian but even his new found fuzzy brain can't bury the surge of pure embarrassment that comes from the situation.
Damian may be tired and a little out of it but he can still dress himself! He is perfectly-
Damian's knees wobble and his hands land on Grayson's shoulders. He squishes his eyes shut at the clenching of his stomach, though this time he is unsure if it's nausea at the sudden movement or humiliation making him sick.
The soft voice comes again.
“You're ok Damian. It's ok. I know this sucks but you can crawl into bed soon and we…dont have to talk about it after, ok? I promise I'm just helping this one time.”
The words are a balm to his pride. They rest his fears. If Grayson says they don't have to talk about all this, Damian believes he'll stay true to his word. He has to or he'll take drastic measures to insure every part of this day has been permanently erased from this world.
It means Damian can…let go and never face the consequences. Grayson has offered him an out.
So Damian lets go.
Both physically and mentally, He removes his hands and steps back a bit to step out of his school pants, still trying to be swift. He moves one foot into the offered pajamas but finds himself needing to rest a hand on Grayson's shoulder again for balance. He feels a scorching heat on his cheeks but tries his best to forget it's there. Instead focusing on getting his other foot in the hole.
When both his feet are on the floor, Grayson shimmies the pants up, standing in the same movement, and gently taps Damian's waist once the pants are secure.
These small touches are lighting him on fire. It's all so casual and delicate, the way Grayson treats him. Damian is not used to such unthinking gestures, he's not sure how to…reseev them. His body wants to lean into the touch like a life line. His mind however recoils at the very notion of accepting such coddling treatment.
(…right now, his mind isn't really in control.)
A palm comes to Damian's back and leads him to his bed. Grayson goes as far as to pull back the covers and Damian wastes no time crawling onto his bed and shuffling under them. Grayson pulls the covers back over Damian and up to his chest, letting Damian find a comfortable position.
(Damian's heart is pumping more than a horse on a race track. His mind is presenting to him new emotions, an onslaught of feelings he's never even tried to imagine, let alone can name. He doesn't know how he's not spiraling under the sudden weight of it all. How he hasn't blown himself into a panic attack at everything that's happened tonight. He also does not want to question his good fortune seeing as he's mostly content to just fall asleep and let this all turn to black.)
Grayson's smile hasn't left his face, but Damian swears it gets softer.
“Sleep tight bug. I’ll come see how you're doing in a few hours, if that sounds ok to you?”
He's a little unsure of Grayson leaving him. He wants to…do something , to keep the man here. But the idea is silly and he's not so far gone as to try and hold Grayson's hand.
Besides, Damian's eyes have already drifted shut. His body being vertical has drained any will power out of him and all he wants to do is fall into the beautiful void of the dream realm. He cares not for night terrors, he doesn't care that the lights are still on or that he should be in school.
He is in the softest clothes he's ever touched. He has just been tucked into bed for the first time in his life. He has had a rollercoaster of emotions in a matter of hours. He wants to sleep.
He is tired enough that his stuffy nose can be ignored, despite his breathing suffering from it. He is drifting close enough to sleep that his sore throat does not bother him. He simply snuggles farther into his pillow and comforter. One fist clenched into the blanket, the other under his head.
He never responds to Grayson's words but he hears the other give a huff in what could be amusement, followed by a soft mutter of ‘i’ll be back’. He knows the lights go off and he hears the creek of his door.
Damian huffs his own breath of relief. His body finally starts to forgive him now that he's laid down.
He settles, mind already drifting to soft words and comforting hands and pleasant humming.
So different from his usual thoughts. So pleasant and warm. Nothing like the blood- harsh coldness his mind's fortress is usually made up of.
(He is only a little ashamed to admit it's a nice change. A welcome one.)
Damian's last thought before sleep takes him is distant and easily forgotten, but there nonetheless. He almost wishes, just a little, that next time he falls asleep, Grayson might be willing to stay in the room with him. Just until he is able to drift off.
He falls into dreams with the thought of Grayson sitting on his bed, softly humming that perfect tune. Holding his hand.
He sleeps, and no nightmare comes to haunt him.
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Chapter 2: Tightrope
Notes:
Thank you for so many kind comments!! I was super nervous to post this story because of how self indulgent it is but I am SO glad I got the guts to. It really is the thing that got me out of a writing slump and I've been searching for Little!Damian and Caregiver!Dick for a long time now with no success. So I thought I'd give it a shot myself- then my brain hyper-focused on it big time, and I ended up with THIS.
This will be a series as you know- and Tim, Jason, Bruce and Alfred will get POVs. I already have some stuff written for them! But for now, the main characters are Dick and Damian and the stories will mostly revolve around them navigating being Caregiver and Little.
ALSO I know I tagged non-sexual age play but I want to make it clear this isn't age play AT ALL. It's age regression but I noticed almost every age regression story has that tag and I thought it'd be better to play it safe and tag it so people would know this was supposed to be fluff not kink.
Anyway enough rambles.
Happy reading~
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(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Dick shuts the door behind him, crouches down on the floor, puts his head between his knees and lets out a long breath.
He stays that way for a moment, his body feels like it's been dropped by superman and he's plummeting back into the earth's stratosphere.
Holy fucking christ on a goddamn stick.
Damian mother fucking al Ghul is the cutest child he has ever met.
He's also the deadliest.
Dick’s brain feels like scrambled eggs. All mushed up and fried.
The last hour and a half have completely re-arranged his world. And that is a statement he has consistently thought of for two months now, so really, why is he surprised that it's happening again?
He shouldn't be- that is for sure. Dick has long since been trained to expect the unexpected. He has contingency plans for his back up contingency plans. Yet in the last few months of his life his world has shifted and crumbled and been rebuilt over and over.
And so far, it's all been centered around the green eyed boy currently sleeping in the room behind him.
Dick closes his eyes but stands up. He needs to get so much done and he only has a few hours to do it all. He has no idea how long Damian will stay asleep, and he would like to be there when the kid wakes up. Just in case he decides to do something rash.
(those are the pesky Instincts acting up again. The nudge to do something, be there, he needs this . But Dick will -a little begrudgingly- listen to them if solely for the reason they have not steered him wrong yet.)
He needs a thermometer, easy to digest food for Damian, extra blankets and pillows. A computer so the kid doesn't tear his hair out in boredom once he's up. A cool wash cloth, a new set of cloths in case Damian wants to shower once hes up-
Fuck he should have never let Alfred take time off.
No, no he doesn't mean that. The man deserves his two weeks. He deserves time to grieve on his own for an almost-son he no longer has. He was stoic for Dick and did most of the funeral plans. Alfred helped Dick sort out so much fucking paper work, helped him get Damian as his temporary ward.
He'd offered so many times to stay, despite being the one who asked for the two weeks, just in case Dick needed him here. Dick had convinced him they'd be fine. It was fourteen days and he did not plan on patrolling for a while, Damian was going to (maybe) be in school most of the day and Dick had plenty still to do in the aftermath of Bruce's passing.
Alfred more then deserves time off, it's just that Dick doesnt know what the fuck he’s doing.
God. He can't believe how out of it Damian is- no how out of it Dick was! He crashed like a plane in the Bahamas into his Headspace, because, apparently seeing a sick eleven year old (no matter who they are?) is enough to have him slipping like his fifteen again.
Damian must think he's crazy! Worse, Dick still didn't know what Damian knew about headspace's and classifications, and if the answer is zero- then Damian just went for one hell of a ride. It's not like Dick’s cold to the kid on a regular basis- the opposite really. But he certainly hasn't tried to treat him like a Little before.
Dick had carefully gone into this relationship the same way Bruce had with him. With a few minor changes.
Damian was sorta his brother. And wanted to be his Robin. Dick could work with that, and wanted to work with it. Encourage it. He knew what it was like to be both. He has worn both masks. He could foster a relationship with Damian, and this time- do it right .
He has always been and will always be grateful to Bruce Wayne. He knows their good outweighed the bad by a long shot. But there was undoubtedly a time when Dick was hurt and Bruce was hurt and neither of them communicated. Ultimately it was the masks that had got in the way. They needed to be Bruce and Dick, not Batman and Robin- for just a moment, just long enough that they could talk things out instead of going for the throat.
But they never did. They just grew up and grew past it.
He's not sure he'll ever get the chance to be there for Damian, to have a foundation solid enough to be Damian's Batman, to be his partner. But he'd let himself hope, just a bit, that they could get there one day.
Because where Bruce was rough with communication, Dick had long since learned how to use his words to his advantage.
Dick is more than used to balancing on a tight rope. He'd have to find a sweet spot between in charge and equal. Bruce hadn't ever found that spot, but Dick was raised to shift his weight with perfect precision. He could do flips on a tight rope and land flawlessly, he could do that metaphorically too, he's sure.
Of course when do his plans go so smoothly?
Fucking never, apparently, considering Damian just went and upheaved ( literally , the poor thing.) his entire rope act and instead turned it into a complicated knot.
Dick was expecting the knives and the katana. He knew Damian's tongue was sharper than the cold wind on a snowy day. He was fully aware that fighting was going to be inevitable. That he would need patience and empathy to get the picture as Damian saw it.
He wishes he could say he didn't know what to do with this new side of Damian. But if it's what he thinks it is- he does know. Well, at least a core part of him does.
Dick guesses it doesn't really matter though. There is only one thing that has been made clear, one thing he cannot ignore- no matter how unintentional he might've been doing so.
Damian really is just a kid.
A highly trained, cult raised, brutally efficient kid.
He's also a severely traumatized, deeply sweet, touched starved to hell and back kid.
Dick thought he knew what to do with the first one. Now it's like Damian has (probably very unwillingly) showed him a softer, less armored version of himself.
Even just thinking about the watery green eyes has his heart puttering sadly.
Damian is sick and tired and probably has been for days- Dick just hasn't noticed. He's glad he caught on before the kid started school, but hell does it make him wince to think about how the kid would have gone anyway- if he hadn't been forcefully knocked down by his stomach.
The kid looked so confused. Like being sick was new to him. Or maybe it was just the way he was treated while being sick- Dick still can't wrap his head around the fact that he slipped so deep into his Headspace.
(or that it worked, but he's pointedly not thinking about that at all.)
Damian al Ghul, the first child to make Dick slip fully into his Caregiver headspace. It's so unbelievable. Laughable really, what are the odds?
…
…Pretty damn good apparently.
Maybe it's all the stress. Stress is common to make you slip and Dick has sure had his fair share over the last few weeks, maybe Damian getting sick was just the final straw.
Right. Ok. That makes sense.
It's not as complicated as he's making it. No need to overthink it, especially considering it's not likely to happen again. Dick’s indulged it now after all. So his instincts should be more than satisfied and chill out in the next few hours.
In the meantime he needs to get to work. Collect everything a sick child needs, then grab an Ipad so he can work on WE shit. Just because the day has gone a little off the rails doesn't mean he can slack off. He's had paper work sitting that he needs to, at least, look at.
Damian first though.
Dick sets his jaw and starts marching around the house, gathering everything Damian could need.
He quietly checks in on Damian after dropping some of the items in the boys room. (and isn't that the biggest red flag of all, Damian not waking up in the presence of another.) The boy needs sleep Dick knows so he goes about doing work on the couch for a while. He tries not to dwell on the events of the last few hours, and though it's difficult he does find himself in the zone after a while. Replying to emails making sure his shifts at the gym are still covered. He calls Damian's school to let them know he's come down with a fever and won't be attending till he gets better.
Mudan stuff until the clock hits five pm and he realizes he's maybe been too zoned.
He gets off the couch and walks back to Damian's room, peaking the door open and spotting the tousled jet black hair still in bed.
Damain checked on he then he heads to the kitchen to heat up some homemade soup Alfred left. (along with several other dishes that can be easily heated up. He fucking loves Alfred.)
It takes a little while to heat up and he leaves it for a little to cool down too. Damian's been asleep all day, Dick has a hunch he'll be pretty hungry by now.
Hopefully Damian can get some food in him, Dick knows though, that after you've thrown up, eating becomes anxiety inducing.
Damian doesn’t have to eat much, but he needs the kid to stay hydrated enough to not warrant a trip to the med room in the cave. Dick’s goal here is to avoid hooking Damian up to an IV.
He can already imagine the hell that would rain on him just trying to pierce Damian's skin with a needle. Major fucking pass.
He brings up the tray of food, it's been roughly an hour and a half, it should be around seven o clock by now, a weird time to eat but Damian didn't touch his breakfast and threw up before drifting off to sleep, he could use the nutrients.
Dick doesn't knock- just in case the boy is resting peacefully- walking into the room and setting the tray of food down on the table as silently as he can.
He looks up to see if Damian is still knocked out, only for the breath in his lungs to evaporate in an instant.
The blankets have been discarded and rumpled over the bed, the empty bed.
The empty bed that is just a few feet away from the open window.
Dick puts his face back in his hands. Breath returns to him in a hitching, uneven rhythm.
Agh Fuck!
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Damian wakes up stuffy and slow. His brain has been filled with cotton and his body aches in a strange way he has never experienced.
It's distinctly different from his training in the shadows. He feels clammy and his limbs are heavy.
Damian realizes his nose is doing a horrid job at completing its only task. Apparently his body has deemed breathing unnecessary. His mouth clicks open a smidge and he feels proper air fill his lungs, though in doing so he gets the lovely experience of his throat setting on fire.
For a moment Damian thinks he must be poisoned- then he is suddenly flooded with a barrage of memories.
He stills every muscle in his body at the realization that he has already gone through this process of elimination and remembers the events that led to his utter downfall as an al Ghul.
Damian heaves out a breath through his mouth, then another as air comes in too quickly.
He's still tucked into bed, blankets draped over his body. His face is resting against his butter soft pillow. His room is dark save the barest golden light filtering through his window.
Damian could easily fall back into the dream realm.
He is a bottle of sensations his nerves have never greeted before. His mind runs through words like he's flipping through a dictionary, searching for the right one that summarizes what the candy-sweet feelings he is experiencing in synonyms.
Cozy.
Soft.
Comfortable.
Safe .
His reality has flipped on its head, broken all its bones and now he has encountered the kind of life he has only read in old books that were eventually confiscated due to delusions of comfort and love.
He needs to get out of here now .
Damian wishes he could say he was calm and calculated in his exit plan- but the truth is he's far from calm and his brain is working on auto polit.
(which he has to be grateful to his years of assassination for, otherwise he would not have been able to leave this manor without getting caught, he's sure.)
He rips the sleep warmed blankets off his body and jumps out of his bed like it's caught on fire. Though he thinks it's more accurate to say he has, considering he feels like he's sweating buckets.
He doesn't bother to pick up or straighten out his bedding, just stumbles over to the other side of the room. He tries not to think about how weak his legs feel, or how much his stomach protests all the sudden movements he's making. He only lets the thought of escaping fill every corner of his mind.
The window is slammed open and he scrambles to his closet in a rush of clumsy limbs. His body is not at full capacity. He is working with nothing but his elite muscle memory and the panicked adrenalin coursing through his veins.
He digs his way through a thin layer of hanging clothes to the back wall of the closet, a panel sits impeded in the seemingly dead end and he puts his hand on it. A light shins through the wardrobe as it scans his hand, a hissing sound echoes loud in his ears in what he hopes is exaggeration, and the wall in front of him opens.
Red, black, yellow and green stare back at him.
He yanks the uniform off its display and hesitates (clothes that he let himself be changed into - whywhywhywhy - clothes that make him swim, clothes that keep him fuzzy and warm.) for only a second before changing.
(he can feel the slick regret in his throat at finally putting the Robin suit on, tries to convince himself it's bile gunking up in the back of his throat and not the shameful feeling of running away while in a suit made for those with loyalty and unparalleled bravery.)
He forgoes the window plan when he looks down the three flights, normally he wouldn't be bothered. He should be able to make that kind of jump with his eyes closed, but he feels shaky, the uncoordinated mess his limbs made when he was just trying to get dressed makes him uncertain he can make it to the ground without injuring himself. In addition- he needs stamina to actually get into the city.
He instead opens his door slowly in an attempt to stay quiet. When he sees no one (he refuses to think about the- the other person occupying the house walls.) in the hallway he scoots out and shuts the door behind him with a silent click.
He gets down two floors below his room when he finally hears the other body in the house.
It's shuffling in the kitchen and a soft hum that makes his entire being want to tip-toe back to the bed he's left behind in a pile of chaos.
The thought is gut-churning. The odious behavior is the tipping point for his need to escape.
(why does he want to curl up with Grayson humming to him close by? Why does he want to sniffle and cry? He feels like he's drowning in these overwhelming urges. He's never had to face such appalling actions as he's had to tonight.
He cannot believe he would let the likes of an unwanted circus boy comfort him in…in a way he never has been before. To think about all he's let himself become with only a few whispered words out of a mutts mouth. To think of the prince he used to be, dead at the altar along with his dignity and pride. Butchered and bleeding out. All but turned into a cautionary tail for the league to spread.
Oh, the dread that crushes him. That he Damian al Ghul, heir to the demon throne, son of the Bat, should fall so far as to act as though he's some infant-
No. )
It doesn't take long to find a window in the hall he's sneaking about in.
He jumps as though he's done it a hundred times and he rolls softly to brace his fall. He doesn't flatter as he picks himself up and speeds through the manor grounds. His determination may rub some shoulders wrong but it has yet to fail him. He lets the feeling, the power it gives him, fuel every pump of his legs, every swing of his arms.
Racing to the first rooftop he can possibly find.
He will do anything- go anywhere, to get out of this mess he has created.
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Dick has to take a few minutes to pull himself together enough to think logically.
How the kid managed to get up and out of the manor in between the last time Dick checked on him and bringing up the food is beyond him. It's been maybe an hour at most.
Then Dick thinks about it and remembers how he's also seen Damian do batshit -pun intended- insane stunts before and he can't say it's not believable.
(…the idea of living somewhere other than the manor comes knocking once more. If they had been somewhere without a million hallways and at least a hundred rooms to search through, he might have been able to see or hear when Damian decided to leave. He could have tried to stop him. Instead they are here in the unfeeling cold and terribly impersonal mansion haunted by the pressure of the Bat legacy.)
Dick sets his shoulders and takes a breath. He pushes any unnecessary information to the back of his head. He needs to focus on getting Damian back- if he's not somewhere in this massive house.
DIck shakes his head at the thought, he just has to assume Damian left. He doesn't have time to waste looking through the whole manor and coming up empty. It would be too long a time to leave Damian, who is sick , out on the streets without any backup.
His headspace is like a nagging in-law whispering how he should go about this.
He ignores it for now, seeing as it follows no logic to jump out the window and go searching for a tiny shadow boy in the setting sun whilst still in civil-
Civilian.
Would Damian have jumped out a three story window in civilian clothing?
Dick swings his head to the right and sees the closet door he'd shut early wide open on its hinges.
He walks over and -low and behold- a missing suit. The panel still has Damians palm print on it, the hidden wall open behind racks of clothes. But Dick sees all he needs to know that Robin is out on the streets sick and probably confused.
(and maybe something else.)
The Robin suit will have a tracker in it- but if Damian was in any right state of mind he would have removed the sucker first chance he got.
(he doesn't want to think about Damian not being in the right state of mind. Doesn't want to think about the boy out there moving on auto pilot and running roof top to roof top on muscle memory. It doesn't bode well. It also makes his Headspace freak . The stinging sensation through his chest and head telling him to fix this . )
Dick races down one set of stairs and slides down the banister of the other, jumping off in a move that he's done a thousand times.
He makes his way to the cave, he'll pull up Damian's location, put the bat suit on and get them both back home.
Dicks is not sure how Damian will react to seeing him, if Damian will come back without a fight but Dick knows it doesn't really matter. Robin isn't allowed on the streets when sick. Dick’s current plan is to try and win Damian over with logic. Facts.
If it becomes clear that Damian will not be moved, only then will he resort to force.
He's incapacitated Damian without injuring him before- he will do it again if needs must.
Dick gets to the computer and as soon as it loads sees the blinking red dot in the south.
Dick has to give it to the little bugger- he's made it pretty far. The dots’ still moving, but Dick notes it's not fast so whatever power Damian had pushing him quickly before has been wiped out.
He walks around to the Batsuit and gets it on as fast as he can. It's not even close to the time Bruce had been able to change- but for Dick, the suit has more fabric and armor than he's used to. Like, way more. The cape is really the cherry on top for the overdramatics. It's a fabric that can withstand a barrel of bullets and the weight of it shows that neat fact off.
(it feels like putting on a skin that doesn't fit. A mask that pulls at your flesh awkwardly. It almost hurts. But the world needs Batman a lot more than a circus boy in blue. Gotham needs the bat to keep its darkness at bay. Jason couldn't do it. And Tim was too young.
Dick thinks there's always been a part of him, shriveled up and resentful, that has known he would one day be the one in this suit. That he would be the one to take the mantle no matter how much he ran from the title. The burden. Bruce hadn't prepared the others the way he had Dick.
Maybe Dick has always known. Maybe that's why he feared it so much more than his siblings.)
Dick does get the suit on eventually and he rushes back over to the computer as soon as the last piece of fabric is in place. He sets about pulling out a small wire in the suit glove and plugging it into the computer, letting it download the data and location into the small screen sitting on his forearm.
It only takes about thirty seconds before he's jumping in the Batmobile and speeding out of the cave.
He no longer sees the sun's rays of light- Gotham cities run-down buildings towering over the streets and covering any last light the star could shine. Gray darkness, foggy and daunting. Lights flicker in and out, homes are locked up tight. The city holds her breath, wondering if tonight will be one full of bloodshed.
That's all fine though, night life in Gotham is what he knows best.
It's where Robin was born and that would never change, no matter the outfit he wore. No matter how many times he runs from the manor. Gotham would be his home.
Dick knows everything there is to know in this city. Now he just has to use that knowledge to find Damian.
To find the newest little Robin.
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Damian has been moving non stop for roughly forty minutes when he finally stumbles, the streets are lit by gross green light, barely enough to see by. The smog is thick and the starless sky is draped across the city like a sign of defeat. The sun has set and the Gotham night is starting to stir.
Hopelessness carries his mind into darker pits.
Damian has reached the conclusion that the world wishes him dead. He thinks he should have made this connection much longer ago, considering what his life has looked like up till now.
But he cannot dwell on one thought too long, he must focus on pushing himself forward, it's only a matter of time till someone is alerted he's gone missing, he tentatively hopes it won't be till tomorrow morning but he has the vaguest of memories stating that Grayson would be checking on him. It's not much but he knows better than to take the chance, so he must, at all costs, keep moving forward.
Like clockwork, just as he feels another spring of determination, he also feels another shiver making his body tremble as he trugs on.
His fever has only risen, his body is on fire, yet, the numbing cold of Gotham night makes his chest tight with pain. The suit he's wearing is doing nothing to help. It only sticks to his inner joints like glue and the cape on his back weighs a ton.
And as much as Damian wishes it wasn't so- he desperately misses the warmth and tenderness Grayson has shown him in the last few hours.
He feels another whine building in his throat and grits his teeth against it. He is not helpless.
But…but he is a little tired. And he kind of wishes he was still in bed.
He’s trembling and cold too- his body is all out of sorts, he feels small, like the world is much too big for him, much too scary.
He feels like-
Like he’s-
Oh no.
No
No no no no-
(Damian didn't want to think about it, he didn't want the possibility to be his reality . If only he could run faster, harder. Maybe then he could erase the fast flying thoughts in his head. Maybe then he could still avoid his problems. But he's sick and he is collapsing under it all and he is not running fast enough.)
The conclusion for his behavior finally hits him. The sensation of being infant-naked standing in below freezing temperatures and having it sting your skin is better than the all consuming wash of misery that envelops Damian in this moment.
Please , he thinks, more than a little desperately, please don’t give me this.
Because Damian knows, he knows that if he has this, it will be ripped from him, it will be murdered in cold blood- Likely by his own hands.
But he feels tiny ( and oh, how that word makes sense now. How could he have been so foolish?) and these emotions are too big, and he’s still so cold. He would do anything for a soft blanket, cozy and a nice color. He imagines how it would feel to cuddle with it. The more he lets his mind wander the more he sees other things he wants to snuggle up in his bed with. Soft textures and…and toys…
Damian has never even had a toy before. He doesn't understand the urge to have something he's never experienced in his lifetime. He doesn't want to think of these things! He doesn't want any of this- he can't!
He sniffles again, his head hurts so much!
It's throbbing in time with his thoughts and his body hurts from his time running, he's gotten far but feels like he is now paying the price for moving at such speed non-stop.
Damian has been caught in a loop of torment. Two sides of himself trying to take over at the same time.
(If this is what presenting feels like, he cannot begin to fathom why others talk about it with such joy. Maybe Damian is too broken for such human things. For such basic biology. Damian is a weapon. A tool to be used or discarded at the will of another. Maybe he is not allowed to be a person at all.)
Damian wants to cry. He can feel his bottom lip wobbling and he can feel the way he curls into himself- balling up and trying in vain to protect his vitals. To recreate the feeling of safety Grayson had given him.
Damian wants to be tucked in again.
And…and snuggle with Grayson. Yes. Yes, that's exactly what he wants. He wants the others' arms around him- letting him feel safe and content. He needs to feel protected to relax, and he has never felt more so than in the presence of Grayson.
Soft and warm and gentle.
Soothing words and whispered reassurance.
Grayson is what he needs right now.
Right now when he feels small and uncertain. He needs someone to help him cover this weakness.
But he can’t ask- no he can’t possibly give into this feeling. No matter how much he wants to cry and…and wail for Grayson- he must bite his lip, must bleed if necessary, so that he does not bring shame on himself and the legacies his blood carries.
What would his Mother say? If she saw him now, weak in mind and body with a Classification that requires him to be dependent on another- she would kill him, Damian thinks. It would be for the good of the al Ghul name. It wouldn't be in righteous fury, but in cold disdain. It would be done with a blade of disappointment.
He has all but condemned himself in less than twenty four hours. Worse- Grayson most probably already knows. He must, with his damned Classification of Caregiver.
(How pathetic, he Presents and all he can do is whine and cry and sick up on a man who barely knows him. On a man who is only watching him due to a martyr streak so deeply ingrained in his bones he redefines what a hero is supposed to be just by existing. Grayson has no need for Damian, in fact now that he is what he is, Damian would only be set upon him as a burden. A weight Grayson would feel he could not let go of.)
There is no possible way to make this good. No possible solution or hope or even a bright side.
This is a curse, a form of karma that he surely deserves but cannot afford.
(He cannot possibly be a little. He would sooner run a knife across his throat.)
He huffs, chest tight, lungs breaking on him as he moves. His legs wobble in their uncertainty. If he gets too distracted by his thoughts he will lose his focus on walking. (The sheer weakness that bleeds from that sentence is appalling but it's a fact that he cannot ignore.) One leg in front of the other, footsteps echo off the dark stone beneath him. The eerie glow of Gotham lights bounce off the buildings he's in between.
Damian moves forward in chunky steps. He needs to find somewhere hidden. Somewhere he can take cover until his mind is back online. This fuzzy feeling will get him killed on the streets of Gotham. He- he just needs… needs…
Damian stumbles and lands harshly on the palms of his hands, the grime and dirt on the ground digging into his skin. Damian's mouth lets out a sound he refuses to acknowledge. He shuffles backwards onto his butt, leaning against cold brick, his shivering picks up a notch, his body aches with every twitch.
He's going to get himself killed.
(He would rather run a knife across his throat)
…he needs to call Richard.
(He will die either way.)
Another cough racks its way through his body, lungs weeping in their attempt to keep him breathing.
His hand inches down to the emergency press button that every Robin suit has.
(Pathetic. Worthless runt. You coward. You sniveling helpless bab-)
His hand flinches back. But with the movement he catches a glimpse of himself in a foggy window, the building in front of him built with some sort of deep basement, a small rectangular piece of glass lined up with the alley floor.
What he sees looks revolting. He looks like death warmed over. A complete wreck. Damian sucks in a breath and coughs again, realizing that he could easily be mistaken for a street druggist if it weren’t for his distinctive colors.
(He is tarnishing the Robin name. Just being out here, looking as he does. Just by existing. Breathing. He should never have put on this costume. He is more than a disgrace. He has the hands of a killer and the mind of a useless infant. He holds no value if this is his Classification.)
His eyes burn with moisture. He sniffles once more, head bowed low to avoid seeing anything else, despite knowing such an act can get him killed. Damian slowly crawls his hand into his suit and presses the button.
(How childish.)
(How demeaning.)
…
(How relieving.)
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Notes:
This chapter is shorter than the last, but the next one is already at 8000 so I hope you can forgive me. I think(?) the fourth chapter will be shorter too, more of a wrap up chap. That depends on how long I drag out the third chapter and if I need to just post it and add more stuff to the forth. So. We shall see.
Thank you again for all the love. I really thrive off of it and it's what keeps my hyperfixation going. Every comment is so exciting to me, I try to respond to all of them because they make my day!
I will see you all next chapter.
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Chapter 3: Tempest
Notes:
Ok ,this is a long one! I am probably posting this way too soon to be honest but I have a lot more to add in chapter four then I realized so I am giving you this early.
I had NOTHING written for this chapter- every other chapter I had already pre-written something to build off of. This was fuckin’ raw dogged. Absolutely just winging it. I hope it doesn't mess with the rhythm too much.
It's 11000+ words, so. Can’t be to pissed <3
Speaking of that though- I've edited this chapter for almost a month now but it will probably still have mistakes as my eye balls have been burned with computer light. Forgive me -pls and thx.
ALRIGHTY Get ready for some classic whump folks.
Happy reading~
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(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Dick is less than a minute away when he gets the emergency alert.
Damian's tracker had stopped moving eight minutes ago and Dick had nearly had a heart attack right then and there. Damian's tracker said he stopped in between two buildings and hadn't moved since. Dick , of course, had started to fear the worst.
(The kid was dead. Shot. Strangled. Stabbed. He was passed out due to hunger- Dick had missed their lunch and the kid hadn't eaten breakfast. He was stolen, the Robin suit left behind as collateral damage. One of the Bats rogues escaped tonight and Dick hasn't gotten the alert yet, now there's a Robin out )
All sorts of scenarios ran through Dicks mind like a whirlwind on the east coast, taking away any rational thoughts.
The sky has darkened in the last twenty minutes Dick has been on the road, the Batmobile's sleek design is silent despite the speed he is punching it at. The streets are lit with odd lamps and streaks of glowing lights from clubs and 24hour stores. The neighborhood he's in now isn't crazy far from the manor but it's a bit more run down then anything closer.
It has him on the edge of his seat. Damian shouldn't have come out here by himself- let alone while sick. Actions like that are going to get him killed. Dick would set a new record for the quickest to lose a Robin.
Christ he's going to strangle the brat once he's safe and healthy.
The car sweeps past a corner and he slams the breaks when he realizes Damian is maybe six or so paces behind him.
Dick wastes no time getting out of the car and making his way to the glowing red dot that tells him where Damian is.
( be there, be safe, be right here, let me find you, be safe.)
The opening of the alley way is dingy and smells rancid but he sees a small glimpse of yellow and enters without hesitation.
When he rounds the wall he spots the kid.
(oh the poor baby- )
Damian is in full suit, but it's not really Robin that Dick sees. It's just Damian, curled in on himself breathing heavily enough Dick can hear his panting from two feet away. His heart feels like it's been stabbed. He can't believe he let something like this happen.
“Dami.” Dick breaths in relief.
Green eyes look up at him, one hand going behind Damian’s back for, presumably, the handle of the katana, but the boy's fingers fumble to grasp it and that seems to only set his nerves alight because Damian is scooting backwards in the same motion- trying to get away from danger.
Dick watches it all with sorrow. It's never a pretty sight to see a kid scared enough they just- can’t really move. In this case he knows it has more to do with Damian being so obviously sick, but Dick sees the detached look in Damian's eyes for what it is- preparation for the worst.
When you've been in the game so long, as Dick has , as Damian has, you can tell when things won't go your way. So long as you are aware enough of your own limits, you'll get an idea of when you aren't strong enough to defeat your opponent. Damian, it seems, knows he's not all there, he knows that whoever is in front of him is at an advantage.
It spurs Dick to get Damian back under a safe roof even quicker than before.
Seeing Damian so out of it sets Dick’s own nerves alight too. It's jarring to have Damian acting as he is, when all Dick has seen in these past few months of knowing him is vigilance, shrewdness and ultimately being hyper competent all around.
Dick can tell that Damian's not really seeing him - the kids eyes are wide and glassy and the flush on his cheeks speak on how cold he must be. The sweat on his brow tells the story about how high his fever is. The contrast must be hard on the boy's body.
God, what a shitty day it's been for the two of them.
“Dami, bug, it's ok. Just me. It's just Dick.” he speaks low.
He wishes he could take off the damned mask.
There's no cameras here and they are both tucked far enough into the alley that someone would have to be in his line of sight in order to hear them- but Dick doesn't want to draw attention to the Bat and his Bird. He doesn't like using names out in the open like this, (one of Bruce's rules that will be ingrained in him till the day he dies.) but he needs Damian's attention before he switches to calling him Robin. If it were Tim or even Jason he could probably snap them out of such a state with the title, but Damian hasn't been Robin long and Dick isn't sure if the name would only cause him to shut down farther.
He doesn't know Damian's triggers- he's learning, has been one of the only people who's even tried but it's hard to get to know someone who doesn't want to be in the same room as you, let alone have conversations about traumatic stress.
Right now all he can do is shorten Damian's name and hope for the best.
He doesn't try to imitate the Bat Voice™, he softens his own and talks like…well he talks like Damian is younger then his age physically is.
(It's telling, when it starts to work.)
“Darling, you're safe now. I’m right here kiddo, just hang tight for me.”
He watches as Damian's body language slackens and how he starts to focus in on Dick’s voice like it's the only thing in the world worth paying attention to. The feeling of Dick’s headspace creeps into the edges of his vision once more and he lets it happen, the damned thing had helped and guided him when Damian was sicking up and then continued until he was able to get the kid in bed and asleep. It was only when he stopped listening that things went to shit.
If there's one thing Dick can do, and do well, it's learn from his mistakes. If the headspace will do a better job at knowing what the kid in front of him needs to calm down and come home- Dick will let it happen to the best of his ability,
He just wants Damian safe.
And tucked into bed.
He would also prefer the kiddo to get some food in his belly.
But that's all for later- assuming he actually succeeds in getting Damian to come with him without a yelling match and a blade embedded into his skin.
Damian makes a choked off sound that brings Dick’s attention right back to him in a millisecond.
(it's not the kind of sound that someone with much fight left in them makes)
Dicks never felt like this- like his whole world revolves around someone so…intensly.
Bruce comes close, if he had to make a comparison to the feeling. But it's still vastly different and underwhelming compared to the hold Damian currently has on him. It feels like every move the kid makes, every word that comes out of his mouth- Dick has to be in tune with. Has to know what to do in a split second. What to say, which actions to take.
He also feels like, if he lets it happen, he's capable of such a feat.
It's terrifying.
(it might be incredibly rewarding.)
Dick gets closer to Damian, he lets his humming fill the air, the song's tune coming as natural to him as flying through the air.
He sees the moment Damian recognizes him, or at least his voice, in the way his eyes start to water and his lips start to tremble.
The boy doesn't move again, hands behind him on the floor, legs tucked close to his chest. He lets Dick approach. Stares at him with the gaze of an emerald under water. The color peaking through the white lenses of his , hastily - Dick can see- put on mask.
Dick gets in touching range and gently runs a hand through Dami’s hair.
The tears fall and Damian crashes into his arms with the grace of a runaway train.
The desperation that Damian puts on display with the movement pulls at Dick’s heart strings. But Dick can't help but admit it lights a candle inside him too. Because Damian (even if it's not completely voluntary) has deemed Dick a safe enough person to cry in front of.
(he supposes that the bar is low though, in this dingy back alley they are occupying.)
The kid's grip on him is crushing, it steals all the breath from Dick’s lungs and they both go backward with the momentum, the heavy cape on his back not helping at all with their balance.
Dick isn't bothered by any of it though, not by the seizing hold or the mucky ground they find themselves on.
He wishes they were somewhere cleaner but only for the sake of Damian's fever.
Dick is mostly just grateful .
(and maybe a bit mad.)
He was worried over a fight for nothing. He had panicked that Damian was going to be hurt or unwilling to listen to Dick.
He was obviously wrong.
Damian shoves his head under Dick’s chin at the same time his hands start tightening into the cape around Dick’s shoulder. It's like the kid wants to bury himself under Dick’s skin.
But Dick knows the darling is just touched-starved to all hell. Dick winces internally, the chances of this being the first hug Damian’s had, at least in a while, are high and sad.
So he does the best he can to reciprocate it.
Dick wraps both his arms around Damian. Holding on tight too.
And- holy fuck this kid is so small. Dick can feel the muscles through the Robin costume. And he knows Damian can pack a lot of hurt in the swing of his fist. But dear god is it a reality check to hold this kid and feel in real time just how puny he is compared to Dick.
He can't be more then 4 '5 which is mildly concerning on a number of levels.
Bruce is tall, his first thought is that Damian would be too but he supposes that Damian could take after Talia. It wasn't a mystery who his mother is after one glance at the kids eyes, that's for sure.
This is also something Dick doesn't really have time to think about right now. Not when said kid is shaking in his arms- still holding on like he is about to be stolen from under Dick’s protective hug. (never gonna fucking happen-)
He gathers up the kid closer, which admittedly isn't much seeing as Damian had already made that his goal in the first place. Damian tenses with the movement but otherwise has no protests for Dick picking him up and resting him against his chest.
Four limbs wrap themselves around Dick and hold on tight. It doesn't seem like Damian is doing much in trying to keep his weight light though, just seems intent on squeezing Dick to death. It doesn't matter because in the end Damian is small and light as a feather in Dick’s arms, he doesn't even blink at the full weight of the kid he's carrying.
Dick walks back to the car, relived he didn't park it too far, and continues humming to a now slow blinking Damian, who makes it his mission to stay buried in the crook of his neck.
(not so subtly hiding himself from the rest of the world. No matter that no one is around to see, they both have masks on and it's a starless Gotham night.)
The thought of putting Damian in the backseat doesn't even cross his mind. He gathers them both and leans the driver's seat back, settling Damian on his lap and engaging the auto drive mode.
It's not the safest thing he's ever done, but it's definitely not the most dangerous. Even if that bar is shot to hell.
He reminds himself that the car is safe, with so much built in security it would be laughable had it not saved multiple bat-kid asses in the past.
He leans back and takes in the now sleeping child.
It's not a question any more.
Not an inkling in his mind or a soft thought drifting between his ears.
Dick’s heart is going to explode.
It feels like he can barely breathe but at the same time he thinks his heart is trying to make a determined escape from his chest with how fast it's beating. The blood rushing through his ears makes it hard to think about anything else except this .
Just, here. This moment.
Damian- fast asleep in his arms, head lolled onto Dicks shoulder and rhythmically sucking on two of his fingers.
Wayward curls and baby soft cheeks with the aftermath of tears shining down them. A small, content sigh. No frown lines in sight.
So, at least now Dick knows why his Caregiver instinct has been going insane.
Damian’s a Little.
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Damian (with muted horror) is starting to get used to the feeling of waking up fuzzy .
It's not entirely unpleasant, he just knows that with any amount of logical thinking his brain would come up with ten different reasons why he shouldn't like it the way he does.
Good fortune or not- he's not thinking very logically right now.
He's stirred awake with the changing of light. Before- he had found only darkness and the odd spots behind his eyelids. Now he is awoken to bright fluorescent lights.
He's laying on something… moving?
Damian’s eyes pop open but before he can throw himself in a stabbing frenzy- a warm hand runs itself through his hair.
Damian melts .
His bones are no longer bones. Just jelly- no, they are in a completely liquid state. There are no bones here. His muscles are quick to follow that same path of destiny, relaxing as if they have nothing to worry about. His body has apparently decided he has no reason to be on guard here, no reason to be alert or vigilant.
Which makes exactly zero sense because Damian’s next thought is where he was last. Dark and ugly, the alley way he had found himself tucked into was his doom. He had felt void of all hope. The world had felt frustratingly big. Like the universe was trying to bite him and Damian could do nothing to fight it off.
Then Richard came.
…
…Grayson . Then Grayson came.
(Richard had come for Damian. He had gotten there so quickly too, had the man already been looking for him? Damian…isnt sure (or doesn't want to think about,) why that makes him feel so…tender?)
He's suddenly aware of the chest moving in slow breaths under his ear. Feels the way his legs are scrunched up on either side of another pair.
He's sitting on the man's lap- almost laying on it - (he ignores the thought for a moment, trying to get his brain online is apparently a significant feat of strength when one has a hand playing with his hair.) and they appear to still be in the car, although it's parked in the cave now. This probably means Damian has been unconscious for longer than he'd like to have been.
He tries to shuffle away, his sleepy muscles showing token protests at such a childish position but the hand wrapped around his back keeps him close and there's a soft shushing noise coming from Grayson that does a quick job at steading his heart rate.
Damian, for some reason, thinks this is all the convincing he needs and stays firmly put.
Why would he bother moving? He's so comfortable and Grayson is making his head hurt less. And his stomach isn't even bothering him- which feels like a miracle compared to when he was awake last.
He hears a soft sound come from above him but pays it no mind- right now his only goal is to stick as close to Gryasons skin as possible. The contact is incredible- it makes Damian feel light as a feather. He feels like he'd be lost without the arms around him. Floating in space without a tether. Damian has not a clue as to why he doesn't let Grayson hug him more- this is the best thing that's ever happened to him.
Damian peaks his eyes up to look at Grayson.
It takes a moment to realize the Bat-cowl is on the passenger side of the car, but other than that Grayson is still in full bat regale. Damian himself feels the missing weight of his cape, katana and there is no sticky glue on his face- so his mask must have been rubbed off too.
He realizes that he had forgotten his gloves all together when he left the manor.
A hand comes down to his forehead and Damian leans into the cold palm eagerly, still loving the direct contact and the coolness that rests on his skin.
“Oh little bug, I'm sorry. You must be hot, huh?” Grayson's voice is honey.
Damian doesn't know how to respond. He is hot. His body is sweating in places that are most uncomfortable with the Robin suit on, however, despite that, he doesn't want to move. He fears ruining this peace he's managed to maintain in Grayson's arms. He doesn't want to leave them.
He thinks back to what had him pressing his call button in the first place- it was the idea of cuddling that had been Damian's downfall. He wanted so badly to be wrapped in the presence of Grayson- to feel safe .
Damian…Damian doesn't know how to do- or be - safe. He's never experienced such a thing. Damian's life has always been constant vigilance and trials of battle. He could not afford such things as rest and vulnerability.
It's not to say he didn't have other things. Damian was fed the kinds of meals that kings would drool upon seeing. His bed was made of the finest fabrics and his room was much larger than the one he claimed in the manor.
(But Damian also never really slept in that luscious bed- because he could be killed that way. And he never felt secure in his room- there were too many places an assassin could hide.
He'd been forced to keep that food down no matter how many times his training demanded he throw it all up.)
The core feeling he gets in Richard's arms is a feeling he'd only read in books.
He can't figure out the most accurate word- but it must be safe . This must be the thing he's read children feel when they are with…when they're with adults who care .
Damian may not have much experience with it, but he can tell, this is it. This sensation of fuzzy warmth. He is protected here. He is taken care of.
(it is reminiscent of a foggy time in the league. When his mother was more than a mentor or assassin to look up to. When she would still hold him. When she was still looking at her baby. Not an heir.)
Damian must have drifted off again, because he refocuses on Grayson's voice a bit suddenly. He hadn't even realized he'd been falling back into the dream world. They're out of the car and a few steps up the stairs to the exit of the cave. They must be going back inside.
“Easy now little one… I've got you. Well get you nice and cozy here real soon.”
Damian is a cloud.
“That's it darling, oh gosh, aren't you just precious. You're just a little thing, hmm?”
No thoughts. What are thoughts? Damian simply feels and nothing else. He is happy. He is safe. He is a cloud. Weightless and warm.
“I know, your eyes look so heavy, why don't you close them bug? …That's it. Nice and tuckered out.”
Whispers and coos. Words float alongside Damian but for the most part don't touch him. He is nothing but air and he is perfectly happy to stay that way.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊
Dick can not believe this is happening. It's surreal.
He has a forearm under Damian and his other arm is wrapped around his back, hand still carding through wild black hair, keeping the Little (Damian presented oh gosh-) tucked securely to his chest.
The boy's limbs are hanging about- sleep still weighing them down.
Dick watches the sweet thing in his arms with a sort of fondness he didn't know existed within him until now. The boy's eyes flutter shut at Dick’s words, attempts at keeping them open and alert parish under soft guidance.
Dick gets them into the manor's main living space and continues his way up the stairs, heading to his own room. Dick had thought about putting Damian back into his own room but when he felt the anxious tug from his headspace decided it was better to keep an eye on the squirt.
Dick’s room has a swinging chair attached to the ceiling- whereas Damian’s only has a single bed in his own. Dick can sit in the chair and Damian can sleep in Dick’s bed.
He'll have to grab the stuff he dropped in Dami’s room earlier but he'll be quick about it- ah and he still needs Damian to eat .
The soup he attempted early will have gone long past cold by now. There's more in the fridge…but Dick thinks it's better to wait and get Damian to eat once he's more, you know, awake.
Should he just wake Damian up though? He hasn't eaten all day, that can't be helping him get any better.
…maybe he can just get some fluids. Water or even juice. Then tomorrow he can make an easy breakfast. Toast and scrambled eggs are hard to mess up, even for Dick’s mediocre cooking skills.
Plan vaguely forming in his mind, Dick gets inside his room. He doesn't bother turning on the big lights, he has a small lamp on his side table casting a warm yellow on everything so he can see just fine. He carefully sets Damian down on his plush mattress. Trying hard not to stir the little one awake.
He tucks Damian in, Robin costume still on. Dick won't change Damian- not while he's unconscious, not without his permission. So he does the next best thing and removes the laced up high-boots, unlacing the long strings. The cape and mask are already gone, leaving the kiddo in just his armor. Hopefully it's enough. Dick is worried about Damian not sleeping well but if the kid wakes up from being too uncomfortable, Dick can have him change back into pajamas and hopefully drink something too.
It's then, as he automatically goes to pull the gloves off the child's hands, that he sees the bleeding. It's only now that Dick realizes Damian hasn't had his gloves on- he must have forgotten them in his escape.
The blood isn't even dripping- but now that Dicks is looking at it, he spots the raw cuts on the palms of Damian's hands. Dirt and gravel sticking into the skin. His palms are red and sore looking, a little puffed.
Dick sighs softly. Tugs at the high collar of the Batsuit, he needs to change.
This clean up comes first though. The cuts need some antibiotics and definitely need to be wrapped.
Dick makes his way in and out of the bathroom, every one in the mansion has a heavily stocked first aid and Dick‘s is no exception. He grabs what he needs for Damian's hands and pads back to the bed. Damian hasn't stirred and Dick hopes it stays that way, he doesn't want to wake the kid up with stinging wounds.
Four cotton balls, a wash rag soaked with water and two bandage wrappings later, Dick is done with his task and Damian hasn't risen from his sleep deprived rest. Dick puts the med supplies away and throws out the trash.
With that done, Dick sets to gathering anything he needs on hand. He has no desire to leave Damian alone once he's up. At the very least Dick needs to explain what's happening to him.
God he has no clue how he'll start to explain this to Damian if he doesn't know anything.
And truthfully that's even if he wakes up… big enough to actually have a conversation. There's a very real chance that Damian wakes up just as tiny as he was when he fell asleep in the first place. Which honestly- isn't ideal. But Dick is nothing if not adaptable.
He will make sure to take care of Damian until he is back to feeling eleven.
Until that happens he will have a sick little kid on his hands and he needs to be ready to handle it.
The bathroom attached to Dicks room is close- so he doesn't need to grab anything in case Damian feels nauseous again, and he has his ipad to keep busy with.
The first thing he does is change. He wants to get out of the suit as fast as possible. He doesn't go down to the cave to drop it off, he doesn't want to be that far from Damian right now, he just leaves it in the hollowed out suit display in his own wall and calls it a day- he will get it back down to the cave at some point.
Dick grabs two bottles of water from the kitchen in record time, makes his way through Damian's room to grab an extra pillow and blanket for himself, then heads back to his own room.
Damian is still passed out, a leg kicked out from under the covers but the rest of his body still tucked in snug. Dick puts everything down and gently shifts Damian's leg back under, once more situating the blanket around the boy.
Dick is feeling a bucket's worth of headspace induced sensations. He feels protective and fond and heartbroken and most of all gentle. It's no secret Dick loves his siblings. Even if what got him to open his eyes was brutal, ever since that day he cant help but want a connection with them. Fights for it even. And he's no stranger to the feeling- the need -to keep them safe.
This feels like that but on steroids. His whole body is thrumming with the need to make this kid as safe as possible and make him believe he's safe. He wants Damian to trust him and wants to give this kid anything he asks for.
It's a title wave of mild insanity. He's only known Damian for a few months and in those months it's not exactly sunshine and rainbows. They've reached (finally- they had just finally reached) even footing. A sort of pact that while they weren't going to be buddy-buddy they were going to be work partners. And Dick was going to do his best with those boundaries.
This throws everything off balance.
(Dick is one hell of an acrobat though.)
Damian has presented. Damian is a Little , and though it's hard to tell right now, Dick is a detective for a damn reason- it's a pretty sure conclusion that Damian regresses young .
It shouldn't even be real. The chances of someone presenting so young, let alone a Little-
It speaks heavily about how Damian must have grown up. Fast, bloody and with no choice in the matter.
Dicks heart hurts with the thought, but he must face the reality of this situation.
Damian had up and fled the moment he was (somewhat at least, seeing as he hadn't made any smart moves in order to not be caught) in his older headspace.
Dick has to assume Damian will be all too willing to do that again.
He also has to think about the fact that Damian falls into headspace so easily.
It could be a few things, presenting around a caregiver, no matter who, could keep him Little. But that is…not all that likely. Considering the running away and fighting off headspace thing Damain’s got going. Or it's even just being a young Little so it's harder to control the headspace.
Or it could be Dick.
(When Jason met Bruce he'd been thirteen and presented on the spot. Bonding almost immediately with his pack alpha. Jason would have presented at some point to matter what, but to present that early…it made since it would be with his match.)
It could be Dick.
He settles himself into his chair, letting his shoulders fall back as he slumps. The chair's momentum kicks up with his movements. He lets it swing for a moment before planting his feet firmly to the ground and pulling out his ipad.
He needs to get some work done.
He can think about everything else later .
*ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊
Dick hears an annoyed Tt before Damian's eyes are even open.
Damian is not ok with waking up fuzzy every time he wants to reopen his eyes.
(because so far, every time he's opened his eyes, he's been in a new place. That's minorly terrifying when every bone in his body tells him to be constantly aware of his surroundings.)
Dick looks up from the research paper he'd been reading.
The bed covers shift with the rustling of Damian’s movements. As Damian sits himself onto his elbow, Dick gets up from his spot and goes to sit on the edge of the bed.
Damian’s eyes flutter open for less than a second before slamming shut as a myriad of coughs hit him like a speeding car. Damian bends over with it, hacking in a way that sounds wet and painful. Dick puts his hand on the Little’s back and pats it rapidly.
When Damian stops it's with a wheezing breath and Dick gets up in a sharp movement for the water bottles he brought in a few hours ago.
He sees the stiffening of Damian's muscles at his hurried move and tries to remind himself to be more conscious of Damian. It's clear that he woke up young and therefore might be more sensitive. Dick needs to tread lightly here.
He comes back to the bed with softer movements and offers the water.
“Here you go kiddo,” Damian reaches to take it but Dick doesn't let go right away. “Both hands please, bug.”
Damian stares at him wide eyed for a moment, when the words enter his brain and registers the ask- He blushes a hot red, embarrassed and reflexively repulsed by the command.
Then he thinks about how shaky his hands are and how his eyes keep falling closed despite just waking up. If he doesn't make it a big deal, then maybe it doesn't have to be.
He obligingly pulls up his other hand to wrap around the bottle, and takes a few slow sips.
Damian pauses for a minute seeing his newly bandaged hands, white sterile cloth staring back at him. He registers it apathetically, not caring much about his hands when before they were in pain and now they don't bother him at all. Damian decides it's better to leave the bandages alone for now. If they start to get in the way he'll remove them.
Dick watches, ready to ask Damian to drink more as the kiddo pulls the bottle away. Instead of handing it back though, like Dick thought he would, Damian rests the cool plastic against his forehead. Sighing in relief once it touches his skin. Then after a few moments of silence, the boy goes back to taking small sips.
Dick hums a small approving noise and stretches over to grab the thermometer, sitting nice and in reach on the bedside table. If Damian is that hot, he should at least check out how high of a fever they're dealing with here.
Dick suspects a stomach bug of some sort, seeing as this started with throwing up. But he also doesn't actually know how long Damian has been feeling under the weather, so his early symptoms might be different. It's possible Damian's coughing just triggered his gag reflex and throwing up has nothing to do with the kid's stomach… but Dick’s pretty sure the kid said his stomach hurt.
God this was so difficult. Was it like this for Bruce when Dick got sick for the first time? He knew having Damian around was going to become a big responsibility, he just didnt expect his first trail with the kid being him hold up in bed sick and fucking Little .
No really. What kind of dumbass bad luck is that?
(he ignores the metaphorical feeling of his headspace jumping up and down like an excited puppy at this particular Little.)
He brings himself back to the present when a whine of displeasure breaks the air in the room.
Damian pulls a face at the sight of the device and Dick watches as his chances of this being an easy task take a running leap off a cliff and plummets to death.
The Little is intelligent and apparently this still holds true no matter what the age because Damian leaves the water bottle sitting on his lips, taking tiny sips every thirty seconds.
Oh boy.
Dick sits and watches for two minutes as Damian takes sip after sip, staring at Dick like he has all the time in the world and would continue to do it until the threat of the thermometer is gone.
Dick tries a diplomatic approach.
“Darling, it's super quick. I just need to take your temperature before-” a shit bad idea to mention meds. “You go back to sleep.”
Dick smiles, the practiced stunt fitting his face naturally.
Damian’s eyes narrow.
…this is not going to end pleasantly for either of them, is it?
It hits Dick that, technically, he's meeting Little Dami properly right now. Well. Sick lil’ Dami at least.
He's also learning that stubbornness seems to be a trait Damian has no matter the headspace.
That's fine. Dick is stubborn too.
Damian does not know what device is in Grayson's hands but he refuses to let it get anywhere near him.
He turns his face away- bottle of water still in his mouth. If he's drinking from it Grayson won't make him do anything else.
His plan is flawless. Foolproof. Absolutely gonna work.
If his chest had given him a break and not erupted into a series of throat scratching coughs that is.
The water that was in his mouth is spit out immediately, spilled over what he now realizes is his Robin uniform, he's grateful when the bottle is taken from his hands before he can spill what's left in that too.
Grayson pats his back rhythmically while Damian hacks out a lung.
(humiliating. Gross. Something slick whispers in his brain. What a incompetent burden he's being.)
When Damian's breath evens back out Grayson sits back and speaks.
“I think it's some sort of stomach bug Damian, but I need to check your temp real quick ok-”
(Damian will later be appalled at his lack of fight.)
He doesn't have a chance to protest, one minute he is looking up at Grayson the next there is metal being stuck into his mouth.
The first thing he learns about the unforgiving metal is that it tastes disgusting. Sour in a way that has a whine bubbling out of his head and throat - nasally and loud.
He tries to spit out the cold object but a hand keeps his jaw shut and Damain drowns in the fact that he's being punished.
He didn't mean to get sick- he promises! He doesn't want to be in trouble. He doesn't want Grayson to be upset with his behavior. Damian can do better! He can claw his way out of this foggy haze that seems to have settled on his brain. He can!
But the hand stays on his jaw and the metal is still poking the roof of his mouth.
(it's not even close to the worst punishment he's had, no, Damian recalls the times his ankles were lashed when he moved wrong in combat training, that he would say is in the top five worst. However, right now , he's convinced it's the end of the world. Nothing could get worse than Richard being mad at him.)
A small beeping noise fills the room and the tears gathering in Damian's eyes finally make their fall. There is no end in sight- every tear that rolls down his cheek has another following quickly.
Damian feels horrible . Gross. Like he is a gasleak that is about to be set aflame.
(He wants the metal gone , he doesn't want to be in trouble. At the same time he knows this is better than Richard leaving . He would rather Richrad be angry and punish him then Richard be angry and leave him right now. The idea of it alone has him shaking harder.)
The metal leaves his mouth but the crying doesn't seize. Damian doesn't care. He hasn't been able to express his displeasure any other way yet. Crying about it seems the only option left.
(he has no dignity left anyway. He is a ghost haunting these manor halls for now. He will join the afterlife sooner, rather than later.)
He is sick. He is unhappy. He's upset with Richard. He wants to stop feeling so sensitive .
“Shhh, shh. I am so sorry Dami. you did so good-” oh, there's the honey voice again.
(Richard hasn't left him.)
Warmth washes over him, the words are soothing his jagged feelings of discontent.
Damian’s eyes flutter open (he needs to pay more attention to when they close…) and he sees that the warmth he felt was literal.
Grayson has wrapped Damian's shoulders in a soft, light blue blanket. It has yellow stars on it and when Damian touches one he is surprised to find it's a different fabric to the rest of the blanket. More silky compared to the blue parts of the blanket.
He grabs the edges of it and pulls it tighter around him, reveling in the softness and how it intensifies the fuzzy feeling in his chest.
Damian sniffs loudly and cringes at the snot running down his nose. It's super uncomfortable.
He sniffs again and almost regrets it when he feels the tickle in the back of his throat that warns him of an oncoming coughing fit. Thankfully it passes, no coughing in sight. His eyes have shut again. He doesn't want to sleep though and there's a voice telling him Damian should get changed before going back to bed.
Oh- wait, that's Grayson. Is he still upset with Damian?
Soft hands seem to answer no.
Soft words too, once Damian pays attention.
“Come on little bug, lets get you back into comfy clothes. Ok? I’ll get a wash cloth and some soap too." The voice rambles and Damian tries to pay attention but he can't focus. He's tired and wants to stay in -
Damian’s eyes widen a bit at the new walls he's surrounded by. There are posters he's never seen and his weapons are nowhere in sight. This is not his room.
He understands now why he woke to the smell of Grayson.
He's in the man's bed .
…Damian thinks he should probably be bothered by this turn of events. However, all he can think about is how long it will be until he's allowed to snuggle back under the covers.
He is safe here. Protected. He can be weak and not come to harm. Outside of the odd metal forced into Damian's mouth, Grayson has been nothing but kind to him.
He wants to stay in this bed that smells like Richard and he wants to cuddle with the soft blue blanket he was just given.
What he doesn't want is to get up from his comfy position. Or to change or even to go to the restroom. He doesn't want to move at all.
Damian whines, he can feel the drying tear tracks on his cheeks crack and is a bit more prepared when fresh tears make his eyes hot in response to his nonverbal state.
Everything feels big .
From the room to his emotions, everything around him feels fit for a giant and Damian is anything but.
He doesn't know what to do with it all. He wishes he wasn't feeling this way but is unable to stop the active volcano that is this whole day (days-?).
“Alright how about this sweetheart-”
Damian flies.
His world spins and he chokes out a sob. His stomach swops in a way that is scary so he holds his breath and shuts his eyes.
Thankfully it all only lasts a moment.
The blanket of stars is still wrapped around him, in fact it seems to fit even more snugly. Warm and holding him together. Damian feels a solid forearm under him and another arm around his upper body, across the pan of his back. He's slotted on the side of Dick’s hip like a coddled child and if he was feeling even a fraction better he would stab the man from mortification. As it is all he does is place his head down instinctively to the shoulder that beckons to be the perfect pillow.
He snuffs a little and inches as close as he can to Richard's neck, then sighs when he finally finds the sweet spot. (Richard’s pulse point)
This is so much better than the bed. The bed was empty and while it was soft- it wasn't nearly as secure as Damian thought, no, not in comparison to the wonderful feeling of content safety he gets actually being in Richards arms.
He could stay here forever.
His throat hurts and his eyes are a little sore. His nose is the worst!
But it's not so big now. Not in a way that's too overwhelming to handle at least. Not when he has the promise of Richard holding onto him.
Damian should be worried. Fearful of the fact Richard could throw him out onto the streets and Damian couldn't do a single thing to defend himself. He should be scared of this loss of his body's autonomy.
He's not.
He is not worried or fearful or scared.
A part of him- the one that is most prominent and in charge right now - assures him he is out of harm's way. He is soundly safe and doesn't have to worry about the harshness of his everyday life. Right now he can relax .
Damian isn't sure he's ever actually relaxed before.
If he really knows how to.
(if this is what it is to relax, then it's something he wants to be permanent in his life.)
Dick’s whole body sags with relief when the Little in his arms finally calms down.
A huffy sigh makes its way out of Damian's mouth but other than that there are no more tears and no more complaints.
Damian has a temperature of 101. It suggests that this is a cold and the throwing up is from the excessive coughing and not something Damain ate this past week. Dick also knows that if that temperature gets any higher, they will need to go to the hospital. Dick isn't sure if that's really an option when it's Damian he needs to take.
So that temperature cannot fucking climb.
He walks them to the bathroom, pausing only briefly to scoop up the pajamas he left out for Damian to get changed into.
Dick sets Damian down on the sink counter. Well he attempts it at least- a small whine keeps him from going more than a few inches from Damian. The kids’ hand stays on Dicks shirt, clenching his fingers around it hard enough to make Dick wince.
The whimpers become louder as Dick stretches more out of reach to grab a fresh wash cloth.
And maybe he should have expected it. Maybe if he'd thought a bit more about how Damian had been clinging to him and what that meant , then he'd have been prepared.
He is woefully ignorant and naive though.
Dick is out of his depth. He is using instincts to guide him but they aren't magic. He's trying his best but his best is shitty and he has no clue what he's actually doing.
He lets his hands leave Damian's skin for a moment trying to get the sink water running cold so he can cool Damian down with the washcloth. A trick he remembers his own mami doing for him as a child.
Damian screams.
Dick flinches back violently at the sound echoing off the bathroom walls and the giant glass shower. Unexpected as it was and even though he knows it was just a reflex, Dick feels immediately guilty for moving farther away from the child. It seems that Damian is on the same page and the harsh movement only makes the situation that much worse. Damian goes from a single piercing scream to hitching sobs with loud (so so loud- he didn't know Damian could use his lungs to such a capacity-) cries hiccuped in between.
He had thought the thermometer had been bad, holding Damian's jaw shut so he wouldn't spit it out had been a new kind of torture- the little one had been so sad, it had made Dick want to cry himself. But he knew it was a necessary evil, he had to know if he could avoid taking Damian to the hospital. Or in this case, how long he had till that answer changed. Chances are he's going to have to check again in a couple hours. After meds and a cold cloth and maybe some more sleep.
That was the plan at least. Now he is staring stupifed at a wailing baby with no clue or what-how on what to fucking do . Useless limbs ragdolling beside him.
Like an angel sent from the heavens his headspace is kicked back in full force. His body moving before he realizes what his brian had even commanded it to do.
In a matter of milliseconds he had a squirmy, snotty, sobbing baby in his arms. He held Damian so each leg was dangling on either side of Dick’s hips. Chest to chest- or well, almost, Damian was a little too short for that.
Damain protested loudly for a few moments. Yelping out another whine when he was moved off the counter like a disgruntled cat. Dick circles his arm around Damian's back, trying his best to keep them both steady.
Dick panics when he sees the kid working himself up to a full blown panic attack. The stuffed up nose is not helping at all. Hindering more of Damian's air ways and making the boy cry harder in response.
“Easy baby boy. I need you to breathe Dami. I need you to breathe . Come on sweetheart, copy my breathing.” Dick has to almost shout over the other cries.
He bounces them, rocking back and forth. Just moving in small motions to try and ease the kid into a calmer state. It's hard when Damian is still wiggling like a worm in his arms. The child's upper body shifts side to side as he scrunches up his hands and tears rush down his cheeks faster than a waterfall on the Iguazu River.
Dick pats his back in a rhythm that he soon realizes is Morse for S-A-F-E and takes exaggerated breaths. He keeps talking.
“All good buddy, we'll get you fixed up. Being sick sucks, huh? It's ok to cry lil’ one but take a breath for me now ok- yes” Damian takes a shuddery breath and shouts again when it cuts off into a series of hiccups. “Yes Damian. Good job. That's it baby. One more.” Dick tries his best to keep it going. Hoping the more he talks the more Damian will realize it's all ok. No need to panic.
“I’m right here baby, I'm not going anywhere. Just take your time and breathe sweetheart.”
Damian exhales heavily. It turns to a mean cough though and that sets their progress back a bit.
“Oh gosh, that cough is so uncool. I'm sorry Dami. Can we try to breathe again?” Dick asks, rushing in before Damian gets too discouraged and works himself up even more .
Damian is an absolute champ , he tries again and once more after that when it doesn't work. Damian is now actively listening to Dick which is a good sign too.
Slowly, slowly. He works Damian down from a panic attack.
When Dick falls silent for a moment between pet names and encouragement, he sees that he's navigated them back to the bedroom. Sitting on one side of the bed and still swaying side to side.
He looks down at Damian, the kid's breathing is still ragged. His eyes are swollen, unfocused and wet. Dick can hear every wheeze in and out and he wishes, sudden and desperate , that he could take all this pain from him.
It's irrational. Dick has very little reason to feel this way. He hasn't known Damian long. He hadn't ever imagined having custody over the child but when it did happen he thought it would be stiff and business-like.
It's turned into much more than that in the past twenty four hours and Dick knows that the next steps are going to be crucial to their relationship.
Damian is still learning how to be human.
It's not something Dick likes to think about, and he won't ever say it aloud unless Damian himself brings it up- but it's true.
Damian was raised with the mentality that he is a weapon. A tool to be honed, taken care of and used only to shed blood. A sad life. Dick gets that mentality though. Knows what it is like to live there, in that dark place full of ruthless survival. He knows what it's like to be groomed into a deadly knife. And though his time had been significantly shorter than Damian’s he understands intimately what it's like to have that kind of life.
Dick -even before all of this- wants Damian to find himself, his humanity and who he is without the league's influence. He wants Damian to make his own decisions and carve out a place in the world with kindness instead of killing.
Right now, in order to get to that place, in order to convince Damian that that's an option at all- it's crucial that Damian comes to trust Dick. That they can learn to rely on each other.
The next few months of Damians life are so fucking important.
Dick isn't sure if Damian's presentation is going to help or hinder that progress.
(but oh, the rope around his neck is hope .)
Dick closes his eyes for a moment, keeping up his rocking movements. Soothing Damian as best he can.
He will make this have a silver lining. He will make sure Damian sees being Little as a positive in his life.
He's not sure how Damian will react to all this when he's big again, or how long he'll remain in his new headspace.
For now all he can do is help Damian feel better and make sure the Little gets all the care and affection he wants while sick.
Dick thinks about tucking Damian back into bed- not messing around with the cold wash cloth or change of clothes. It'd be easier on both of them- to just get back under the covers and try again when Damian wakes.
But then he takes note of Damian's shivering, of the sweaty hair stuck to his brow and the smell of the Robin costume. Yeah, the struggle is worth it. He needs to put Damian first .
Dick takes a moment to realize that this is his job now- for now. He's the Caregiver, that means he has to make the decisions that will be best for Damian. So even though Dami might not want to, if it's going to keep him safe and healthy, Dick has to. That's a lot of pressure, a lot of responsibility. He is in charge of caring for and keeping this child alive. He thinks he would have learned this lesson, that it would have only been a matter of time. That it wouldn't have even mattered if Damian was Little at all because he really is still just a kid . It's just that Dick is learning it early, learning it now , under more drastic circumstances.
Dick doesn't put down Damian- no no, he learned his lesson well and good- he stands up and keeps the boy in his hold, absentmindedly bouncing still.
“Ok Damian, we're gonna try this one more time…” Dick doesn't get a verbal response but Damains eyes are still open and his hold seems to double down on Dick’s shirt so he assumes Damian is listening.
Dick walks into the bathroom again, picking up the discarded shirt and pants from the counter. Instead of having Damian change on his own like he'd originally planned, he takes them both back to the bedroom, he bends down with Damian and reaches one hand down to scoop up the star blanket that had fallen to the ground on their way over to the bed.
It had seemed that Damian liked the old thing when Dick had wrapped him up in it earlier. The blanket was one of the first things Bruce had bought him when Dick had been taken out of the juvie center and moved into the manor. He'd been having night terrors and Bruce had bought him a ‘magic’ blanket to help keep them away.
(he misses his dad.)
Dick shakes his head and focuses. Dami liked the blanket so it stays. He lays it out on the bed and rocks Damian side to side for a moment.
“Ok buddy, don't you worry I won't go anywhere, we got this.” Dick doesn't even know why he's talking- it's really just saying it aloud to himself. Maybe Damian is hearing him though. Dick hopes that talking about the next steps will make them a little less anxiety inducing.
“Pajamas coming right up for the little bug.” he says, trying to lighten his voice and make sure those newly dry eyes stay that way.
He sits down on the bed, Damian sitting easily in his lap. Dick has to nudge Damian a bit before he leaves the safety of Dick’s neck but eventually he concedes and goes with the motion Dick is making to lean back a little.
Once he has Damian sitting up on his own, the next battle is getting the Littles arms up to the sky. The small hands still holding tight to Dick’s shoulders refuse to leave.
Dick is persistent though- soft.
“Just a sec bug, we have to reach up for a moment and then you can have all the snuggles you want!” Dick smiles big. He rocks back and forth, trying to make the movements soothing enough to get Damian to drop his guard for a moment.
“Come on lil’ one…” he whispers.
With the encouragement of Richard's voice (and the overwhelming urge to hear more nice words-) Damian squeezes his eyes shut tight enough to see spots. He lifts his arms slowly.
He hasn't had a moment of peace since waking up in Richard's bed. Damian doesn't want to be set down again- this whole thing has been terrifying. The bathroom was cold and massive and Damian wasn't sure if Richard was ever going to come back, the hands that had been holding him together had left and without them he fell apart. He broke into a million little shards, sharp enough to dig into the skin and make you bleed.
When Richard had picked him back up Damian hadn't even felt better . He just felt alone and sick and like he was a burden. The crying that came from his gut was loud and obnoxious but he couldn’t help it- he'd tried to stop the wailing but that had seemed to only make it worse.
What helped in the end was the constant chatter of Richard's voice.
It's a nice voice- a sound that Damian is quickly coming to rely on. (which is a decidedly bad thing but also not a thing he's thinking too hard about at the moment.) It's not deep and raspy like the voice that talked to him in the league, and it's not his mothers calculated evenness.
Damian knew from the first night Richard had taken the Batman mantle (though that was already weeks ago.) that Richard could make his voice sound remarkably similar to Damian's father.
This voice was nothing like that either though.
It was a voice that fluctuated with honesty. It was the voice that sang to him in whispered lyrics and a foreign language. It made him feel tiny. Like Damian was about to melt into a pile of goo.
Damian wanted to hear more . If that meant he must lift his arms up for a moment- then he shall.
Dick doesn't waste any time, he sees the kiddo lift his arms and immediately sets to work on shimming off the top half of Damian’s armor.
He unfolds the baggy t-shirt from the pile of clean clothes and pulls it over Damian's head and gets his arms into the sleeves. Dick hadn't taken the extra minutes to find a shirt that would be smaller for Damian- instead grabbing the first sleep shirt his hand touched. So the white graphic T-shirt (one with a massive blue skull on the back that says Razor in graffiti inspired letters.) is a lot bigger this time.
As soon as Damian’s arms are released he crashes heavily into Dick’s chest again, letting out a whimper and gripping onto his shirt once more.
(It kinda makes Dick feel evil . Ugh. This kid is gonna have Dick wrapped around his finger so quickly, huh?)
Now the hard part.
“Almost done Dami. Let's just get these sweats on and we can lay down.” Dick whispers into Damian's hair. Letting them both take a moment to calm down.
Damian nuzzles closer and Dick pets his hair gently.
It's a sweet moment. One Dick won't be forgetting any time soon. Not the image of Damian's eyelashes on his cheeks, or how two fingers have found their way back into his mouth. Dick isn't sure if he should nip that in the bud but right now it's not a worry, Damian has finally calmed down and is sleepy once more. He can dissect every research paper and child raising book out there later .
Dick rocks them back and forth for a moment, not wanting to ruin the peace they've managed to fall into in the last half-hour.
He sits up straighter after a few minutes though. He wants to get Damian in bed properly.
Dick stands up and turns around- he could try to make Damian stand but he knows that would ruin the blissful air in the room, so instead he grabs Damian’s free hand and folds it in his own and slowly lays Damian down on the bed, right on top of the light blue blanket.
The legs slid off his hips easily and Damian slumps into the covers with slack limbs. Still sucking on his fingers but not even bothering to open up his eyes.
Dick reaches sideways and grabs the pants, which are also going to be six sizes too large on Damian but Dick thinks it'll be ok for just sleeping. He'll have to dig around Tim’s old stuff to find something comfy for Damian to wear when he gets the chance.
He pulls down Damian's waist band a little and Damian finally stirs. Eyes fluttering open to peer at Dick.
For a moment it doesn't seem like Damian cares. His eyes track the bed sheets rumpled around him, even lets out a cute hum when he feels the fabric of the soft blanket under him and spots his new T-shirt with mild interest.
Then he seems to realize he's no longer against Dick‘s chest.
It starts with a few stuttering gasps, then Dick has to abandon the pants in favor of pulling Damian’s hand out of his mouth when he sees sharp teeth bite down on small fingers hard.
“We’re good-” Dick stops when a cry interrupts him. Evidently the hand in Damian’s mouth muffled those cries far more than Dick realized.
Ok . Ok! What if he just-
Dick lets go of Damian's hands causing another loud wail to build up and out of Damian's mouth, sticking his fingers back in- trying to get as much comfort as possible.
(Dick has no clue why Damian is so worked up. He feels awful, he doesn't know how to calm Damian down and get him dressed at the same time. He's not good enough for this.)
How Damian can even muster up tears at this point Dick doesn't have a clue but he does and they are fast falling. Damian's skin is still fever-flushed and clammy looking which just makes the whole picture that much sadder.
Dick is moving quickly now- Damian's thick Robin pants come off and the sweatpants are half way up his legs before Damian starts to fight it.
A leg kicks out at Dick. Landing in startling (though he supposes he shouldn't be surprised.) accuracy on his knee cap and making him bend forward in pain for a second. He's not proud to say he gets frustrated. But he is! It is frustrating. All Damian needs to let him do is put the pants on- then they can get under the covers and Damian can sleep! That's all it would take.
That anger doesn't linger though, it's followed by a crashing wave of guilt for even feeling such an emotion in the first place. Damian is just a baby . (Or at least pretty young.) Babies cry to communicate . That's all Damian is doing. He's overwhelmed and this is all new and Damian is probably feeling so sensitive right now-
He's also a sick baby. God! Dick can't be mad at a sick baby.
“Almsot there baby. Almost. Cry all you need to sweetheart. Bet that's cathartic huh? Yeah.”
Dick talks more to himself than Damian. Damian’s allowed to cry- fuck, if Dick had to make a bet he’d say that Damian could probably count the amount of times he's cried on one hand.
(Dick will probably have a good cry too when this is all over, if he's being brutally honest.)
Damian’s cheeks are puffed out like a chipmunk in anger, tears falling down them with no end in sight, though now it's coming from a place of pure displeasure. Dick can't blame him, Damian feels like crap and wants to be held and Dick hasn't been able to fulfill that need yet.
(apparently for all that people said the role of Caregiver makes sense for him, he's doing a pretty shitty job at it.)
Dick wiggles the pants up Damian's hips, rolls the elastic band twice so they stay put and sags down in the bed with relief.
Much to both his dismay and relief having some of his body weight on top of Damian seems to please the little bug. He stops crying so loudly and five fingers find Dick’s shirt sleeve and twist the fabric into a fist.
Dick doesn't let much of his weight fall on the boy but he puts his forehead down by Damian's shoulder and takes a few deep breaths. sits there, takes a few more.
Ok.
“All done,” he sighs out. “Bed time now.”
He sits up and before Damian can get started again he sweeps him and his blanket up in one motion, right into Dick‘s arms.
The Little makes a distressed noise and tries to bury himself into Dicks skin like a parasite once more. Dick doesn't try to stop him.
The idea of trying to get Damian to sleep by himself flew out the window an hour ago. So he crawls them both into bed.
Damian won't be letting go of Dick any time soon and who is Dick to deny some extra comfort? He's already been the bad guy enough today, the boy needs snuggles and hugs and now that they are both in comfy clothes Damian is going to get them.
He settles down on the bed keeping Damian tucked into his chest and makes sure not to move as Damian shifts around, only halting his movements once he is laying fully against Dick, Damian's legs stretched out across his own, the child's ear right above the beating of Dicks heart.
It's really fucking cute actually. Kinda makes Dick wanna squeeze Damian harder.
(he doesn't- obviously. He just really wants to.)
Dick pulls the covers above them and leans backward, running a hand through thick black hair without much thought behind the action. He tucks the star blanket around Damian a little tighter, fussing with the edges to make sure Dami’s all comfy and warm.
He will need Damian to take a cool bath at some point. Sweating out a fever is possible but not if Damian just racks up his fever. Which cannot happen because that means hospital. He needs to get Damian to take medicine too.
The idea of leaving Damian by himself at all right now is a risk though. Dick will need to wait until Damian is asleep again. Then he'll get a wet wash cloth to cool down the boy's skin.
He lays there, snuggled up with Damian for roughly ten minutes before he determines the kiddo is knocked out good and cold. He shimmies out from under Damian and makes his way to the bathroom- quiet enough that it's almost reminiscent to the silencing air of patrolling- grabbing a fresh cloth and running it under the sink.
Dick makes his way back to the bedroom and gently touches the cloth to Dami’s forehead, ready and expecting just in case the Little wakes up. His fears are put to rest when all the kid does is huff out a deeper breath. Dick goes through the motions of rubbing the cloth along Damian's face, wiping away fever induced sweat, stress induced tears and under his runny nose.
He sets the cloth on top of his nightstand and crawls back into bed with Damian once he considers the boy efficiently cooled off.
It's not nearly as much as Dick wanted to do, but he also hadn't been expecting so much push back- not that it's the kiddos fault, Dick will just have to be prepared for when they next wake up.
It doesn't take long for Dick to scooch back under Damian. The Little's head resting once more on his chest, Dick’s own arm coming around to hold Damian.
His eyes close soon after and he doesn't bother trying to fight off sleep. It's been one hell of a day.
He's tired.
The weight of Damian is making him sleepy. He imagines it's like having a cat.
Hm. Yeah, Damian’s pretty cat-like actually. A feral, snobby, claws first- questions never kind of cat.
Thinking about it- Damian and Tim are scarily similar in that way…like wet kittens.
God Dick’s brain is mush. Eggs . Still in the pan and still scrambled.
The pillow is soft and his mattress feels like heaven. Damian is knocked out and safe.
Sleep sounds like the best thing in the world right now.
So Dick drifts. Falling into the dream world like Alice.
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Notes:
Poor Dami. He's not feeling too good. And I made Dick kinda self loathing, hmmm wonder how that will play out in the future…?
Hehe. (I do know.)
Anyway! Thank you for every comment, kudo and bookmark they mean the world to me- I can't say this enough, it genuinely keeps this story going.
I'm just throwing this out here one more time- it'll probably be a while before I post the last chapter. I need to write four days worth of sick Damian. (so good news, next chapter is one to look forward to!) Which I've started but it does not have ANY fluff yet, just boring outline stuff.
Thank you for all that stay sticking with this story!
See you in the last chapter!
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Chapter 4: Trials
Notes:
Oh brother, did this chapter fight me! I’m so sorry for the long wait.
Thank you to everyone who bookmarked, commented and gave kudos! This story is much more welcomed then I thought it would be and that makes me immensely happy! Like, I will always be shocked lmao.
(I am not kidding. I have over 100 bookmarks on this sucker. W h a t. )
The long wait means you get a nice long chapter. (I thought this would be about 5000 words) as it is now up to 14000+ soooo. Enjoy that.
I hope I do an ok job fluctuating between what the characters want and what's holding them back!
ALSO I make no promises that I don't go back and edit this work with subtle foreshadowing after posting/writing the other parts to this series. I didn't plan out these fics AT ALL before posting this work- so I may find inconsistencies later on and come back to fix that- though I will tell you if I do!
Happy reading~
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(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Dick comes-to with a long stretch and a loud groan. He feels extremely well rested and content- for some reason though there's an odd buzz in his head. His headspace is more active then-
Ah- right, Damian.
He shifts his head to the right and gazes at the little bug dead asleep next to him. Damian has staked his claim on 90% of the bed- star-fished out with all four limbs in opposite directions.
Including a stray hand smacked right into Dick’s cheek.
(A thought- soft and a little too insistent to ignore pokes at his brain. It's not unlike how an infant could be found in their crib.)
Damian is face up and taking deep breaths that are just barely able to pass as snoring. Mouth clicked open to help him breathe. Dick guessed the kid's congestion hasn't given him a break yet. He'll have to make sure Damian blows his nose next time he's up.
Dick sits up all the way, still looking down at the boy next to him. Honest to god- Dick could eat Damian up, he's so cute. There is something giddy in his chest at seeing Damian so open. Even the crying- hindsight is everything they say- and he realizes that Damian being able to let go of all that bottled up, festering emotion- leaves something close to fulfilled stirring in Dick’s heart. He was actively being a safe place for Damian.
Dick has never gone so far down into his headspace before yesterday. It's kind of like using a new muscle. Dick will have to make sure to keep exercising in order to grow strength. That means he's going to have to let himself actually fall fully into headspace- but… he might be thinking a little too far ahead at this point. He's still not sure what Damian’s knowledge and consequential reaction is going to be to all of this. It might be devastating.
(it might be acceptance?)
He sighs. His brain is not going to drop this permanently and he finds he doesn't want to undo this line of thought- but he needs to compartmentalize. So he shoves all the worry and overthinking into a box and throws it into the void.
Damian is still sick and Dick doesn't have time to focus on much else.
He takes in the starfish next to him once more and can't help the little snort he makes.
It seems like Dick would've woken up falling if he'd slept any longer. The kid has somehow managed to stretch even farther with Dick sitting up!
He reaches out and lets the palm of his hand rest on Damian's forehead. Feeling for the kids' temp without the horror of a thermometer.
Still way too warm but not anymore then- he glances at the electric clock that glows in soft yellow numbers- yesterday it seems, as it's now clearly eight in the morning.
That is a horrible time to wake up with all the lack of sleep Dick’s gotten in the last few weeks. He can pretty confidently say that every Batkid or Batkid adjacent has trouble with insomnia, unfortunately it comes with the whole fighting crime at night thing they've all got going on, Dick however has had a decent handle on his sleep system till recently.
Eh- who knows maybe waking up this early will give him an opportunity to actually sleep well later.
He needs to start going out as Batman. God- it's been too long since Gothams had her knight to protect her. But how the fuck was he supposed to leave Damian alone while newly presented and sick? He can’t- so what is the solution?
Dick closes his eyes with an agitated sigh. He realizes that when Damian had woken up last night- it might have more likely been really early in the morning.
So it has been a full day since Dick found out Damian was sick- he lets that sink in.
The good news is that he did not give Damian medicine, in this case he would have had no idea when Damian could next take it- at least now Dick himself is more clear headed. He can make sure to take note of what time Damian takes the medicine.
Dick got up and out of bed- looking back once to make sure Damian was still out cold.
…yeah that kid isn't getting up any time soon.
Dick takes the free time to clean up his room a little. As well as gather new clothes for Damian to change into. He puts his batsuit in it's rightful place in the cave- then promptly comes back to check on Damian, who is, thankfully still asleep.
Dick goes down to the kitchen and starts on his breakfast plans. Unforgotten- eggs and toast are swiftly made, he's hoping Damian doesn't mind them scrambled (looking at them whilst cooking he decides he couldn’t have come up with a better comparison for where he was at mentally yesterday.) but if he does, toast is a solid choice and Dick can always make something else if Damian wishes- they have yogurt or cereal as options too.
Dick comes back to the room with two plates full of breakfast. When he gets into the room he sees Damian still knocked out, except now the boy has found the soft blue blanket Dick had managed to dig out of his closet yesterday (he wonders if it feels like magic to Damian just like Dick had felt it had when he was a kid.) and has a corner of it pressed up against his face.
He wakes Damian up as nicely as he can manage and once the kid is sitting up on his own (with one hand fisted into Dicks t-shirt.) he brings over a box of tissues and their breakfast.
Dick grabs a tissue and bunches it up a little before pressing it to Damian’s nose and then asking Dami to blow into it, the kiddo does and then immediately flinches backwards- like he was surprised by the action.
Dick lets him go- throwing out the tissue in the trash can under his side table.
He passes a hand through Damian’s hair and that’s all it takes for the baby to settle, tucking himself snugly into Dick’s side when he sits on the bed with both their plates.
Dick helps Damian eat a few forkfuls of eggs- there are no complaints about the choice of breakfast it seems- and Damian is able to nibble on his toast too before whining and burying his face into Dick’s forearm.
It’s a little less than half the plate gone but Dick can’t really ask for much more. He's just glass Damian finally has some food in his belly.
Dick sets there plates out of the way again and Damian gets himself back under the covers. Closing his eyes and tugging lightly on Dick.
He takes the obvious ask, slipping in beside the boy and carding his hand through soft hair strands. He doesn’t mind if Damian wants to go back to bed for a little. Dick still has a few more things to get done and needs to hunt down some meds for the kiddo to take anyway. A few more hours of sleep won’t hurt.
Dick stays with Damian till he’s out for the count once more. Then gets back to work.
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The rest of the day at least goes smoother than the bout of panic that plagued them in the earliest hours of the morning. Dick is able to get some things around the house done before Damian enters the world of the living again.
Damian still wakes up sick as a dog and already whining for Dick to hold him- which the man was more than speedy to oblige considering the anxious meltdown that happened mere hours ago.
Damian settles into being quiet after being held, which Dick considers a miracle because the kid has no less tears to shed and is still as sick as yesterday. Coughing like his throat is protesting every drag of his lungs and small whimpers leave the boy's mouth as he points to his head when Dick asks him (voice softer than the finest silks Damian had once slept upon.) where it hurts.
Dick still wishes he could take this discomfort from Damian but his head is blessedly much less fuzzy than yesterday and he can properly give Damian cold medicine.
Which…is an interesting experience to say the least.
Damian seems a little intrigued by the gummy pink liquid as Dick pours it onto a metal spoon. Looking at what Dick is doing with a glaze shining in his eyes from his perch on the kitchen counter, head tilted at an odd angle to see while still managing to be pushed up against Dick’s chest. (Physical contact of some kind was a must. Dick would not fail in that department ever again.)
Dick was grateful he'd found the bathrooms stocked with different medicines, cough syrups and the like. He supposed Alfred had kept it stocked for emergencies or it was from when Tim was still living in the manor full time rather than the tower. Or- well wherever he's crashing now.
Dick had taken Damian in his arms and headed down to the kitchen. He could do this a couple ways- have Damian down it and hope he didn't spit it out, which was a dumb idea. Dick could have a water bottle at the ready- better but not the solution he was looking for.
So instead of floundering about, Dick had taken a moment to immerse himself in memories he kept distant. Good memories- but undeniably tainted by a breakdown worthy grief if he was not careful. He thought about what his Mami did when he was sick, medicine down the hatch quickly followed by a spoon of honey.
Dick loved the sweet flavor of it as a kid and his parents had used it, and similar sweets, to bribe him on multiple occasions.
Did Damian like honey?
One way to find out.
Dick reaches for the honey and pulls another spoon out of the silverware drawer, piling on a generous amount.
Damian seems enraptured by the golden liquid. Or maybe it's just that he's curious about what Dick is doing.
Either way Dick takes it as a good sign.
Now he's got to spoons in his hands and the water bottle is in Damian's lap- so really, what could go wrong?
Damian spies the gold and pink substances with suspicion.
What is happening?
Did Richard intend to eat that? It looked…odd. Damian knows not to trust unknown foods and drinks. These spoons hold neither. But he is unsure what they hold. Well. no. He is pretty sure that the golden one is honey- honey, when added to things such as tea, toast, desserts and such can be delicious.
It's also well known for its healing capabilities. One of natures most natural medications-
Oh. ok so that was meant for Damian to eat.
He's never had a spoon full before but honey is not the worst thing out there to consume.
He turns his eyes back to the unnatural toxic color of the other liquid.
That- Damian does not know a name for.
It seems he won't be getting an answer either.
“Ok kid,” Richard starts. “This goes down the hatch and you'll feel better. You can have some honey after too, ok? To help wash it down.” there's a soft hopeful look on the older man's face- accompanied by something of a nervous undertone that Damian is too small to catch.
It's perfectly clear to Damian what Richard is asking of him so he opens his mouth.
The sour-sweet taste of something utterly appalling and fake hits his tongue and Damian chokes.
It's vile, and Damian is only a second from coughing it all up when a hand covers his mouth.
He does not bother to stop the tears from falling. Another punishment then.
It seems words from Richard refute that line of thought. “I’m so sorry Damian. Just swallow for me buddy- come on. You can wash it down with water baby-” Damian swallows and decides he hates this pink liquid and everything to do with it. Hates being sick. Hates feeling gross. Hates everything!
The hand is moved swiftly away from his face and comes closer with a new spoon. Damian flinches backward at the sight. Sobbing openly now that his mouth is free. He really doesn't want more!
The shushing enters one ear and goes out the other. Damian hears none of the whispered reassurance. His only focus is the sickly-sweet concoction that is in his stomach. He can still taste the horribleness of it. Can feel it running down his throat as though the yucky slime he had before wasn't bad enough.
He cries. At some point he doesn't even know what he's crying about. Just that it seems to be the only way he can express his frustration at the situation he's been put in.
It takes a while for him to calm down.
He doesn't know how Richard does it but somehow, every time Damian cries, Richard seems to teleport them into a new place. Maybe the man is a secret meta.
Now Damian is cradled in Richard's arms, limp and entirely unhelpful, as they walk through the living room. Pacing in front of the couch. Then behind. Side to side as Richard's body rocks.
The motions help soothe Damian, rest his eyes and calm his racing heart.
He can't help the anxiety that sweeps through his body after his hysterics come to an end. He doesn't understand why he is feeling apprehensive but he can't help but think he should be much more embarrassed about this all then he currently is.
A whimper falls through his mouth along with the remaining hiccups that plague him. An unfortunate symptom after crying he has learnt.
He doesn't get why his body is so full of conflicting emotions. It's staggering, Damian isn't capable of holding it all inside of him.
It's not like he can do anything about it yet though. So with a heavy sigh he lets his eyes full shut.
The boy shoves his head under Dicks chin, quickly it seems, they are both getting used to the feeling of Damian curled in Dick’s neck. (Dick wouldn't be mad at it being something so permanent.)
Dick sways them back and forth. Rocking as the last of the littles sniffles turns to heavy breathing. Sleep once more takes Damian in its hands and Dick slumps a little in relief. Sleep is good, the boy's body can fight the sickness with the help of the medicine.
He feels a bit awful Damian didn't get a reward for taking it though. It did not go down easy and Damian deserves to know he did very well under such distress.
God- the fact that Damian, of all times, present whilst under the weather- horrid. It's almost down right evil.
A sick Little at all is terrible. Everything is dialed to ten, instincts and emotions. All the while they feel gross and have a harder time regulating. Sleep becomes harder and throats become achy. It doesn't help that Caregivers hurt to see their littles so icky. No one likes to see a child crying in pain but for a Caregiver it's far worse and more than heartbreaking. The feeling that you're not doing enough for your kid- that somehow you're letting them down…
(Dick really should not be feeling that way. For one- he's never been a proper Caregiver. He never had a little to take care of, so he obviously cant be talking from experience. Two- Damian’s. Not. his. kid.)
(and yet.)
Dick sighs, resting heavily onto the couch now that Damian is asleep. Just…just a few more days and Damian should be right as rain.
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Dick eventually gets moving once more- he regretfully wakes Damian up around lunch (which judging by the pout that gets stuck on Dami’s face, he is not happy about.) and is able to get him to eat some soup.
He and Dami sit at the dining room table this time, Damian had started to kick up a fuss at the sight of the kitchen so Dick made the executive decision to avoid that room for now. (he really hopes that he hasn't traumatized the kid badly enough to truly be scared of going into the kitchen…something to address at a later date though.)
He sits them both down, giving Damian his own chair for now and sets the freshly heated soup in front of the kid. It takes three spilled spoon fulls from Damian to make Dick act, gently taking the spoon from clumsy hands and feeding it to Damian himself. Thankfully Damian eats the entire bowl this way without complaint. Which hopefully means his stomach has settled too.
It's really not much nutrients but the fact that Damian has proper food in his system is enough to ease some of Dick’s haywire nerves for the moment.
When he next puts his palm to Damian's forehead he sags even farther. The kids temperature has gone down- thank fuck. He cleans efficiently, wiping away spilled food and dabbing the shirt Damian still has on- unsuccessfully getting the stains out. That will require a trip through the washing machine.
Dick stables them both once Damian is up in his arms, walking them back to his bedroom once more (after grabbing a fresh water bottle.) sitting down on the bed with Damian still tucked on his lap.
Earlier he had been able to rifle through some of Tim's old clothes grabbing a much more fitting t-shirt for Damian and a pair of shorts to sleep in. (Dick seriously needs to get this kid more clothes. He understands the necessity of having more formal wear but to have no lounge clothes is a straight up crime. Comfy pajamas are a must.)
The shirt he found is a plain red one and the shorts are black with a little white sports logo on the bottom of the pant leg. He lays Damian down on the bed like he did the day before, this time holding the Littles hand to keep skin to skin contact and moving much quicker. There's significantly less whining then the night before too, which helps. The shorts are still a little too big so Dick rolls the waist band once and calls it good enough.
Dick crawls on top of the covers after tucking Damian under them, they both stay awake for a while yet. Dick ends up grabbing his Ipad and playing a movie for Damian, a simple story line and bright colors. They both watch for about an hour before Dick feels Damian nuzzle into his arm, fast asleep and drooling.
Dick waits a few minutes to play it safe before
shuffling Damian onto his pillows and leaving the room, cracking the door and flipping off the light switch.
He has some work to do- the cave has been empty for almost two days and it's starting to grate on Dick. He needs to check in and see if anything has happened since he was last down there. See what's on the streets of Gotham.
Work it seems will never seize.
(He doesn't much think about how his head feels more clear than it has in months. How his body feels well rested and his energy levels seem fully stocked, he doesn't think about why that all might be. But he does notice. It would be impossible not to.)
*ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊
On day three; a sun beam drags Damian from sleep.
He feels immediately ticked off by the slightly open curtains letting the sun in. Ticked off that this Gotham morning chose to be bright and cloudless- such an unusual look to its normal mask of gloomy skies.
There’s an ache in his body that makes him feel yucky. Like he has been still for too long.
Damian swears he can feel his bones shifting. Like they don't fit right beneath his skin.
He feels awful!
Damian hears a stifled cry leak from his mouth. He wants to retract the unforgiving sound immediately but he can’t because he has to put all his focus on not letting the tears gathering in his eyes fall. He curls up tight in a ball, barely noticing the shifting fabrics that twist around his body at the motion.
His head hurts. A throbbing that's insistent. He recalls all the weeping he had done before falling asleep and assumes that's the origin of his aching head.
With shocking clarity he comes to his right mind.
The first thing he says is, “this is humiliating.”
Damian had glanced down at the fresh pajamas he'd changed into- and then had to make the mental correction- Richard changed him into. Like he'd been an infant. He'd laid down while being changed for heaven's sake!
What was even happening to him?
(He Knew He knew He knew)
Everything burns. His veins are running hot and the ringing in his ears is loud.
He’s dizzy with the knowledge that he presented- that Damian is-
“Humiliating.” he muttered out repetitively. He remembers things like fog over glass. If he's gentle, a warmed finger can brush the fog away and he can peek through more clearly.
Crying is something he remembers well. The overwhelming feeling of loneliness was a little harder to decipher. He has to sift through his feelings and memories- they are entwined in a way Damian had thought he grew out of. (He Knew. He Knew.) His clear bearer between action and emotion has crumbled in a few meager days.
Damian does not bother to glance at the other presence in the room who was doing a mediocre job at summoning lasers from his eyes, what with the way he was boring holes into Damian's skull.
Richard. Richard. Richard.
Every moment. Every memory. The man's presence is cloaked over him like a cape. Protective and caring. Every warm and tender emotion Damian doesn't even have the vocabulary for.
The way the man had cradled that headspace Damian must have fallen into- the way his words were sickly sweet.
He is rapidly trying to sift through all the information about presenting that he learned from mother, from his time in the league, but he comes up with only the most basic of information. Nothing more than what a computer search could get you, a simple summary. He knows that his classification was up in the air- but he'd had two Alpha parents and Ra’s had been a Dom- it wasn't a leap that he would present as something similar.
(That- had very obviously- not happened.)
He's dizzy. The room spins and he can not make his eyes still on a fixed point, instead they move back and forth around the room in twitchy movements, unfocused.
He remembers being held. His feet haven't touched the floor in days. The fuzzy spots at his vision deter him away from the line of thinking lest he wants to experience a panic attack. Or worse, fall right back into his- that headspace.
The thought makes Damian wish he still had the energy to throw up.
Then he hears his voice and feels rage snap into its rightful place.
“No- no Damian. Just breathe kid- ” The man attempts but Damian’s chest is heaving and his face is red and he will not stand for any of this!
“No! No! This is not happening! I will end your life-” Damian chokes, mucus sliding down his throat and sneezes hard.
Snot- gross and sticky runs down his skin and he tries to hide it with his hands before Richard can see it.
This is not happening. It's not. There is no way that the first time Damian gets sick in years is under the care of the man who needs Damian the least. The man who has every incentive to throw Damian to the gallows and watch him drown in a sea of poverty.
He did not get sick and present at the same time. There is no chance in hell. The odds are so unlikely that it's laughable to even consider.
There is no way that reality is as it appears to be. Damian can not live in a world where Richard Grayson is coddling him. Pitying him. Cannot fathom a world where he is anything but perfect. A weapon of destruction and precision. He has not been a child in a very long time- he sees no reason to start acting like one now.
He demands his body obey him- that the sickness leaves it at once. That Richard would become blind and unable to see the growing plague Damian has somehow procured.
Of course this wouldn't work in the first place but currently Richard is watching Damian like a hawk hunting food for its nest. Damian could hide nothing right now.
A tear falls and Damian is lost.
He is floating in an abyss of uncertainty. He is untethered to his body- floating away to a place none of this can possibly reach him.
“Easy there baby-” Damian is lost. Yet- A dry texture touches his hands, pushing against them gently. It keeps him here. “Remove your hands kiddo? Just for a sec.” Richard asks.
(Richard. Richard. Is it always going to be Richard? Gentle. Damian cannot believe how gentle this man is to him. So unlike anything Damian has experienced.)
Damian shakes his head. As stubborn as he can afford. Which, sadly, isn't much. His stocks are low and his willpower seems to be running on empty. His pride flares but is dying like sparking embers.
“Please Dami?”
Damian lowers his hands and almost sniffs- but the dry touch of a tissue stops him in his tracks.
Damian tries to back away. The last of his reserves trying to fight and claw at the infantilization. The other part of him, the underbelly that is weak to attacks, rolls over in submission to the caring treatment. (he wants it- he wants what his classification could give him.)
“Blow Dami.” Damian does as told, slipping into that peaceful headspace easier than the first time. Like the more time he spends in Richard's presence the less he feels the instinctual need to fight it.
Dick doesn't wince at the now snotty tissue, just throws it away and sits on the edge of the bed- trying to gauge how Damian is feeling and if he's actually older.
They haven't faced any more nausea which is a good sign- but Damian hasn't gotten rid of the cough or congestion. The fever is lower but still sticking to his skin and making him clammy.
He watches Damian and sees the glazed eyes that are purely ‘little’, sees the trembling lip.
(Ok. still baby.)
Dick gets closer, moving into Damian's space like an offering.
It's one Damian takes. He settles into Dicks space like the perfect puzzle pieces. A carved out little spot just for him. If Dick believed in fate or some sort of higher power he'd say it was there all along, just waiting for Damian to feel he could take it. (and who knows? He's seen weirder things than destiny at work.)
Wide eyes start to water but it seems to be in response to relief, rather than negative emotions. Dick doesn't mind either way.
He was tired that first night but with a clear head and a softer heart he realizes just how open Damian is being with him. He knows not all of it is intentional but it means something (it has to mean something.) for Damian to let himself fall, even if it's only because Dick is a Caregiver, it is a big step in and of itself for the boy. The Demon heads heir. The last Wayne.
(god, their lives are so fucked up.)
Dick lifts Damian up from under his armpits and settles him snuggly in his lap.
“It's ok,” he says. Pleading almost. “You're safe here.” he promises.
Dick isn't sure if Damian can really hear him- understand what he's saying. If he can pick up on all the different meanings that promise could possibly have.
Dick sure as hell means it though. He wasn't sure before saying it out loud but hearing the promise whispered into the air of the cold room- yes. He will do everything in his power to ensure Damian feels safe here. Here in this home. Here in Gotham. Here as Dick’s Robin. Here with Dick. In his arms.
(Here with his Caregiver.)
He hopes that Damian can hear a fraction of that promise, so that he knows Dick will protect him till he can once again protect himself.
For now that's all that needs to be said really.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊
Alfred comes home on day four like a ghost.
Dick spots him when he comes down to the kitchen to make tea for Dami, who thankfully had fallen into an afternoon nap after another bout of medicine. Though that had ended with more strawberry pink on Dick’s hand then inside Damian's stomach.
Dick had been planning on waking him up after the three hour mark with some warm tea. Damian has been able to eat a few soft meals the last few days without any of it coming back up, which Dick knows they are both grateful for.
However, when Dick gets into the foyer he sees Alfred and a small suitcase at the bottom of the stairs.
He's a week and a half early.
Dick stares for a second trying to figure out why the butler is here- Dick is running on maybe seven hours of sleep between the three days Damian has been out, so that's probably why he lets out a surprised question without thinking about the words coming out of his mouth.
“What are you doing here?” he asks in shock. Then bites his tongue at how rude he sounds.
Alfred raises a brow that would have Bruce ducking his head in shame. Dick is just as weak to the crushing disappointment that radiates off their butler.
“Sorry Alfie- I was only surprised. Your home so early, is everything ok?” he amends as he comes closer to the bottom of the stairs.
Alfred nods his head in approval and Dick can keep living a long life.
“Master Dick…I have been the butler to this estate for far longer than you've been alive. I have grown to have a sense for when something has gone amiss in this home.”
The unspoken “what the hell happened in the four days I've been gone” is loud and perfectly clear to Dick’s ears.
“Damian presented.” He blurts out.
He closes his eyes, trying to stave off the tension headache that is throbbing between his ears. He better not catch Damian’s cold- that would be a disaster.
“I am only telling you that because you would know in a matter of minutes. Pulse your family Alfie. Right now you're what's left of my family” Dick resents the crack in his voice. He's not some prepubescent teenager. He needs to get his shit together. “But please don't share this with anyone else, it's Damain’s privacy.” and pride, he carefully doesn't tack on but he hears in his own head, in a voice that is reminiscent of the little boy upstairs.
Alfred nods his head again and rests his hand on the handle of his suitcase.
Waits.
Ugh. “He’s also got a cold.” Dick says hesitantly and judging by the glint in Alfred's eye- that satisfied the sixth sense the butler apparently had.
“Then it is good to be home. I will see to food and clean up- what rooms have been used so far?”
Out of all the questions the butler could have asked, this one was not entirely expected. Dick supposes he should be used to Alfred surprising him though- even after all these years he keeps to his job with an outstanding loyalty. The butler has a way of knowing things without ever asking for information anyway.
Dick idly wonders if that's a Dom thing or just an Alfred trait.
“Kitchen, dining room, living room, Damian's room.” he reports. “Though I've set us in my room the majority of the time. It was easier to stay with Dami than not.”
That seems to bring a soft smile to the man's lips. “Ah, I see.” Alfred says simply and Dick doesn't bother to guess what the butler means. He knows. His headspace is practically on display right now. Alfred would have to be blind not to realize what Damian presented as.
(considering this is the man who raised Bruce- who raised Batman. Dick thinks it's fair to say he is decidedly just as good of a detective as the rest of the batclan.)
“I will unpack and afterwards, take care of food and clean up. You go be with Master Damian.”
Dick hesitates though. “You just got back Alfie. You can take-” take a break Dick tries to say but Alfred gives him a piercing look. Message received.
Dick’s shoulders sag. “Ok, Alfred. I was just going to make Damian tea- he said his throat hurt before he fell asleep.”
“Then he shall have some. Wake him up as soon as you wish.” Alfred goes to walk up the stairs with his bag but Dick halts him by grabbing the suitcase from the butler himself.
At Alfred's look he pauses but doesn't let go. “I’m going this way anyway Alfie. Let me take your bag.”
Alfred makes a noise that - had it been any other human Dick would say is a scoff, this is Alfred though so it's classified as a dignified hum.
He lets Dick take his bag up the stairs before grabbing it back himself- going down the opposite wing. Dick heads to the right and makes his way to his room.
Damian is still flopped onto the bed. Once more spread out across the covers. It's endearing and Dick feels his chest warm at the sight, even as his heart achs with soft regret. Every other time Dick has seen Damian asleep it's been curled up and often the boy isn't fully under his covers. It's stiff and so painfully awake.
Dick wonders if sickness isn't the only reason Damian has been sleeping so much- so heavily too. It might be that the boy’s body is making up for lack of rest since being inside the manor. Dick can't help but think about all the ways the kid must have felt unsafe, if he felt he couldn't even sleep properly.
He sits himself at the edge of the bed, watching the kids face for a minute. Damian looks peaceful. (he has the urge to make that a permanent state for Damian. Regardless of him feeling small or not.)
He gently brushes his fingers through Damian's hair. Slowly shifting it back and forth.
Damian's eyes flutter after a few minutes. He lets out a groggy sound, a small complaint at being woken up.
Those eyes eventually open more solidly and fall to Dick’s face. Green stares in his own blue, a childish spark to them that has Dick’s headspace humming.
“Hey kiddo.” he whispers. “Want some tea? It'll help that throat of yours.”
Damian closes his eyes again, leans into Dick’s hand and mumbles out , “R’chard.”
Dick shifts a smidge in shock. His hand pauses, stilling in black hair.
Damian hasn't spoken much in the last few days. Crying and whines of complaint have come in an abundance sure- but Dick had assumed Damian would be a Little who went non-verbal. Though, that could just be because he's sick, or just smaller now then he normally would be…
Still. Dick is a little surprised that Damian said anything at all.
(Dick also notices he's been promoted. It's a very odd feeling- to be so honored that a kid has granted you the privilege of being called by your first name instead of last. He kinda wants to rub it in someone's face- which is. Sad. A little embarrassing.)
Damian's voice is softer than he's ever heard- which has part to do with it being barely audible but a bigger reason is the state of mind he's in.
Of course Damian has been acting out of character these last few days- it's expected to see in a newly presented person. Dick himself went through it too, he'd always been geared toward helping people but the mother-henning he'd done the week during his presentation was drastic in comparison to his previous behavior. (and then Slade got his grubby hands on everything and mucked it all up- but Dick tries to ignore that part.)
It's not surprising that Damian has been emotional and clingy, he is expressing behaviors common for his Classification.
Yet for some reason, it's only hitting Dick now that Damian isn't just a Little but a young one. He sounds young.
Damian is only eleven- so of course he still sounds like a kid. But Damian also has made it his goal to put as many old English words into one sentence as possible- so to hear him sound so simply small is a jolt to the system.
“Yeah it's me baby. How are you feeling?” Dick makes sure to raise his voice just a bit. Easing Damian into the fact that they are waking up now.
Dami hums a little. “Yucky.” is all he says.
Dick stares. “I bet. How about that tea?”
Like magic, Alfred comes into the room with a tray. The man is in a fresh suit and despite being home for maybe ten minutes it looks like he never left.
As he comes to the bed, Dick can see the intelligent brain working behind his eyes. Putting the pieces together for himself in a matter of moments.
Dick is in full Caregiver mode. Damian is sick. They are snuggled into bed together. Damian has just presented.
It's not a hard picture to put together when all the pieces are lined up in front of you already.
Alfred thankfully doesn't ask any of the questions Dick is sure the man has, instead he quietly places the tea on the bedside table.
Damian doesn't seem to mind the other presence in the room, much to Dick’s relief. He plays contently with Dick’s left hand while Dick’s right still runs through the boy's hair.
Dick smiles a little. Spoiled. He thinks. Then realizes he wouldn't have it any other way.
When Dick looks back up there's an expression on Alfred's face he's never seen before. Something distinctly fond but a little melancholy too. It's gone before Dick can ask, replaced with a soft smile and raised eye brow. That is an expression he has seen.
“Anything else Master Dick?” the butler asks, Dick shakes his head in response.
“I’ve got it from here Alfred. Thank you for the tea.”
The man leaves the room on silent steps, Dick would like to think it's to take the rest of the day off, like Alfred was promised but even Dick is not that delusional. No, the butler is more likely cleaning and making food preparations than anything else. The only reason he's not gone through and cleaned Dick’s room is because Damian is still sick.
Dick sits up and takes Damian with him, so that they are side by side against the bed's headboard.
After they are situated he brings the mug of tea up to Damian's lips, offering the drink up.
Unlike with the water Damian does not seem inclined to take it himself, instead he just opens his mouth a little and lets Dick tip the warm liquid into his mouth.
After a few sips Damian turns his head away and starts shuffling in the bed.
Dick sets the mug down and goes to grab the ipad again- seeing as Damiian will need to eat again soon (and take more medicine) Dick can hopefully keep him up and occupied with a movie. He seemed to like that last cartoon Dick put on so another should go over well enough.
When Dick turns back around though- he finds that Damian is still shuffling awkwardly on the bed- it doesn't look like the kid is trying to get comfortable but what else…?
Then he puts it together when a look of panic settles on the Littles face.
“You have to go potty kiddo?” he asks, quickly coming to the Littles side, ready to haul him into the bathroom if need be.
The boy nods his head and reaches his arms up in the universal gesture of ‘pick me up right now please’ which Dick has to wonder comes from time with Talia or if it's just natural to Damian after four days of being carried around by Dick.
Either way it doesn't matter. Dick scoops the kid up from under his armpits and they settle ribs-to-chest for the most part. Dick walks them to his bathroom and goes to set Damian down when he hits a bit of an obstacle.
Damian won't let go of his neck.
(Shit.)
“It's ok, bug- it'll only be a couple of seconds. Promise, then we can get some yummy food in your system!” Dick tries to appease.
The attempt is fruitless and only earns him a whine and clingy arms in response.
“I swear, I won’t leave. I'll be right here ok? I’ll stand next to you, little one. I know you feel small huh?” Dick whispers the last part. Half burying himself into Damian’s hair.
(Damian must be feeling so tiny. Dick isn't sure he has a handle on this.)
Damian sniffles but loosens his hold, Dick let’s him drop to the ground in front of the toilet and as promised- stays right next to him.
It’s not a great solution but it’s all he has so, looking up at the ceiling Dick puts his hand in Damian’s hair and cards his fingers through it rhythmically.
Damian tilts his head against his palm and finally seems to take the compromise.
Once Damian is done they both step back and Dick flushes the toilet- then bends down and rolls the waist band of Damon’s slowly falling pants for him.
Dick picks up the baby once more and head to the sink, Damian sits on the counter and together they wash their hands, Dick add soup to both their palms and Damian lets out a small huff as they wash- watching the soup with a small sparkling in his eye that Dick takes careful note of for later.
It’s all very sweet, if Dicks being honest. It shows him that Damian could have a very soft, very different side to his headspace- that him being sick is affecting the way he acts right now.
(Dick really would love to meet a small Dami who is free of painful coughing and high fever. He thinks it would be a very tender thing.)
When they get back in bed Damian is the one to speak first.
“Movie?” He whispers, looking up at Dick.
Dick smiles, glad to see Damian feeling well enough to ask for things. “Of course, bug! Wanna watch a new one?”
Damian nods his head and leans heavy into Dick’s side like he’s claimed the spot for himself.
Dick settles in the bed with the Ipad again- pulling up a movie about a little boy and a fish who turns into a girl. Damian watches with his eyes glued to the screen the whole time. The movie plays and they both swim in the comfortable air around them, Dick has not felt so at peace in a very long time.
These last for weeks have been nightmare after nightmare, living out one and not getting any breathing room before being shoved into the next.
Maybe…despite being stressed as hell and yeah- Damian getting sick sucks- except maybe…maybe there are some silver lining to this whole…thing. Damian presenting is a good thing! It can be very exciting. Even if it's a bit early. Pulse- for Dick….well this has been good. Healthy. He hasn't stepped into the role of Caregiver properly before and now that he has had the chance, he can't help but want it again.
On top of that, he doesn't know who they were blessed by but he owes them thanks because Gotham has been silent as a graveyard and not even in the way that spells trouble! It's regular robberies and odd crimes. Yet all the rogues remain in captivity.
All in all this has been an oddly comforting break in his routine. His thoughts aren't as heavy as they were a week ago. His mind isn't clouded by grief and confusion. He's more steady. Feels more solid. It's a good change.
It feels right.
To sit with Damian as he starts to drift off to sleep, to help take care of him. To see that he gets better from this cold. It all feels right.
The nicknames that have been lipping out of his mouth without rhyme or reason. The need to hold and help. It's all singing to his instincts and he feels so much better for it.
He hopes that - even if it's just in the future- Damian feels the same way. That's what the classification is for after all. To help improve your life. Not hinder it. To aid your mental and physical health.
If someone had told Dick just a few days ago that Damian would be a Little- well he would’ve laughed in their face and told them to fuck off- now however, gosh.
Sharp green eyes blink open wide to catch a scene in the movie, trying to stay awake, then they come to blink at Dick. He smiles down at the boy he's cuddled up with.
“You can sleep again baby…” Dick whispers.
Damian yawns in response.
Three minutes later he's knocked out and drooling into that star blanket.
Yeah. Dick can't imagine anything else but Damian being a Little.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊
Day five is when things go wrong.
The sound of Damian's coughing wakes Dick up from his rare and very mediocre rest.
It seems like congestion is still Damians worst enemy right now.
The coughing is still rough and uneven- like Damian might even be trying to hold it back. Dick practically teleports to the side of the bed Damian sleeps on, already making shushing noises but it's for nothing when it becomes clear Damian is not hearing him at all.
The kid is up and out of bed quicker than a bullet from one of Jason's guns. Shooting off into the bathroom where the sound of coughing increases.
By the time Dick is in the doorway the little one is already throwing up.
He's quick to kneel beside the boy and even faster to run a hand through black hair. Just long enough for his fingers to be buried in the locks. Pulling it away from the boy's face.
That touch alone tells him Damian's fever has spiked. Hot against his palm- Damian’s skin is clammy and his fringe sticks to his forehead with sweat.
The problem is Dick doesn't know why it's gotten worse! Damian had been climbing the hill, he'd been eating food and resting. Outside of classic symptoms like the mountain of tissues they've got and a lot of coughing- it had been looking like it could be over in a day or two.
Dick sits and Damian retches, small body shaking with every heave. Dick winces when one turns into a sob. Their poor thing doesn't deserve this at all. It's so mean.
Dick spies Alfred in the doorway- likely woken from all the noise- holding a wet wash cloth. When their eyes meet Alfred sets it on the sink counter and says he's making something for Damian's throat.
Dick nods his head beyond grateful to have the butler home and willing to help Dick navigate this.
It takes another three minutes for Damian to stop throwing up, when he finally does he immediately throws his body backwards, falling into Dick’s chest and taking stuttering breaths.
Dick knows he makes a series of shushing noises and encouraging whispers but he can't really pay attention to what is coming out of his mouth. He reaches behind him with one hand, grabbing the wash cloth Alfred left for them, his other circling Damian's stomach and rubbing it with his hand in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. Considering Damian goes boneless in his lap he'd say the answer is a solid yes.
He flushes the toilet and takes the cloth to Damian's mouth, but it's a bit in vain. There's an unfortunate amount of puke down Dami’s shirt and the smell isn't better. Add in the fact Damian's hair hasn't been washed in four days and he has a pretty dirty Little.
How to handle it though?
So far he'd just done cloth baths. A little warm water and soup rubbed into Damian's arms, legs and neck.
But his hair is a whole other story and a bath is almost a must at this point.
Just as he's thinking about turning on the water attached to the bathtub a few feet away from him- Alfred comes back.
The man is holding a small mug- it smells like a cinnamon tea of some sort, sure to have honey to help Damian's throat.
Alfred passes it over to Dicks hands and he gently lifts the cup to Damian's lips, who drinks it after a few seconds. Taking small sips in hopes to not set off his stomach again.
Damian can't help but let out a small whine, his throat just hurts so much but the tea helps.
It washes away some of the dryness that never seems to leave him alone, he can't have very much before his stomach gets queasy though. He tips his head back onto Richard's shoulder and closes his eyes. He doesn't feel good at all, he's never woken so suddenly before. Never in his life has his sleep been deep enough to wake disoriented.
He finds the experience horrible, for the record. Not fun.
He can feel more tears leak through his shut eye lids. He wishes he could muster up the energy to cry harder- even though he gets anxious after he tends to feel a bit better. Like he can breathe a little easier. Damian is so tired though, he feels like it would be too much effort to even lift his pinky finger, let alone try and sob as he has the last few days. He thinks it's been days. At least two? Damian has slept a lot recently and things feel completely out of order. Scrambled in a way he gets overwhelmed by.
Damian comes out of his thoughts at the sound of running water, peaking his eyes open a little. Penny- um. It has money in it or…something. Damian can't remember the man's name.
The butler is leaning over the bathtub they are next to. Plugging the drain and letting water fill it.
Damian studies the scene for a few seconds before deciding to dismiss it. He does not care what the man is doing, all he wants is for Richard to change him so they can go back to bed.
Despite sleeping for so long Damian still feels like he could fall into a coma if he wished. The thought of the comfortable bed that smells like warm laundry and something earthy, has him half way into dream land all ready.
He's a little bothered when Richard starts to shift but knows he will be in safe arms in a matter of seconds so he lets it happen with minimal complaint.
At least that is till the man starts talking to him.
“Ok Dami- I know you're super tired but we need to take a bath first ok?”
…huh?
Dick stands up, silently impressed that his knees don't pop on the way up, he sets Damian down on the counter in an apprehensive mirror image of the last time Dick did this.
The bath next to them shuts off a little over half way full thanks to Alfred- who saw the same things Dick did and realized the Little was in desperate need of a wash. The man makes sure to keep it cool to help bring down the rising temperature too, so hopefully they are knocking out two birds with this bath.
Much to Dick’s gratitude Alfred had added soap to the water and let it mix in while it was still running, creating a thick layer of bubbles for Damian.
Alfred looks up after he's determined it is ready and speaks. “I am going to suggest only one of us washes him, he will likely not appreciate all this when he is older, whether it's necessary or not.”
Dick sighs, because yeah. He's not looking forward to the reaction Damian will have to all of this coming out of his headspace. He hopes that it's a neutral response. A logical one would be good. Feels like that's a ‘slim to none’ kind of chance and ‘slim’ left town.
However the last time Dick straight up ignored the (currently very loud,) Caregiver part of him- well it ended up with Damian on the streets of Gotham, Little, by himself and crying.
So the bath they must face.
“I'll do it, Alfie. If Damian ends up mad- it'll be directed at me anyway.”
Alfred takes a moment to get closer to the two, Dick can see him visibly taking in the way Damian is slumped against Dick’s chest. The way the Little has buried his face into the Caregivers neck.
Alfred looks at him. “You're doing a wonderful job. He just doesn't understand it.”
It hits Dick in the chest. Alfred has always been able to tug at the right strings when Dick is in turmoil. It's hard sometimes to realize that while Bruce was very much like a father to him- Alfred worked just as hard when Dick was a kid, he worked to be a safe place for Dick as much as Bruce was. Even with all the butler formalities, Alfred had always been there.
He's here now.
Dicks eyes water, he runs a hand up and down Damian’s back- this time though he knows it's a soothing gesture for himself rather than the Little.
“Thanks Alfie.” he rasps.
The butler gets softer at the sight. “My boy, you are taking care of him in a way he needs. Even if it gets difficult, do not forget that part. Master Damian may not know it yet, but the two of you will help one another. Of that I am certain.”
Dick smiles, unguarded in a way it hasn't been for a while. He misses the rest of his family something awful but he still has members of it right here. It's not perfect- not complete. It's something though. Dick has gone through several bouts of being isolated. He had been on his own in ways that are damaging to the soul- that's not what's happening this time. He wont let it.
Alfred pats his shoulder and then steps around him gathering a couple of towels. He sets down a small green plastic pitcher, wash cloth and three fluffy towels onto the counter.
Dick gathers himself and when he feels ready, gets to business. “I’ve got a pile of Tim's old clothes on top of my dresser for Damian. The kid has no pajamas so I've had to be a bit creative.”
Alfred nods his head. “I’ll see what I can find without going through all the old boxes. I'll come back with something suitable for bed.”
With that he takes the half-empty mug of tea and steps out of the bathroom. Dick looks down at the boy nearly passed out on his shoulder. Damian's limbs have gone limp and he is open mouth drooling on Dick’s shirt. Eyes shut and uncaring of where he's fallen asleep.
Damian hadn't responded earlier when Dick had told him about the bath but that seemed to have more to do with the lethargic energy of his demeanor rather than because he didn't have an opinion.
He gently shakes the boy's shoulder. “Come on little darling, bath time now…” he speaks softly.
Damian wakes but shakes his head and squeezes his eyes tight, like if he doesn't open them he won't have to leave the dream world just yet.
“Come on Dami, it'll be super nice to be all clean.” Dick hums. Lifting the edges of the kids shirt.
Damian opens his eyes purely to glare at the man before him. Damian was so comfortable and now Richard has gone and ruined it! Damian can feel his stuffy nose and tired arms and hot skin. It was so much easier to be asleep!
Damian feels a light tugging on the shirt he's wearing and lifts his arm unthinkingly- answering the silent request. The shirt comes off of him with a murmur of thanks from Richard, the soft words lulling Damian once again. He's safe here- nothing, and he means nothing, no ugly thoughts or hurting hands can touch him here. Not when Richard is taking care of him.
(it's so nice to be cared for. To be wanted.)
Damian is lifted against Richard's chest (you will get no complaints out of Damian- seeing as it's now his favorite place in the whole world.) being carried to the…bathtub?
The bathtub is full of cloudy bubbles, taking up the entire surface and looking very soft.
Damian kinda really wants to touch it.
He's set down on the edge of the tub, which for a moment erases any thoughts of curiosity because; if touching the bubbles means Richard leaving- no. no, no. Definitely not worth it.
But the man doesn't leave, he kneels down to Damian's level and puts a hand in the bathwater.
It's about then that Damian realizes what Richard means about bath time.
(He's sure that later, he'll come to hate how long that took him to put together. For now though he pays his slow train of thought no mind because nothing can touch him here in this floaty space of ease.)
He wiggles a little- unsure if he really wants a bath. He doesn't feel very clean though. His nose has been runny for so long and his hair feels a bit stringy…and he still really wants to touch the bubbles.
Damian stares for a moment longer. The water seems…intimidating for some reason. Like it has teeth Damian doesn't know about yet.
But hands are rubbing up and down his arms in a soothing motion that keeps him calm and when he has to stand he leans his weight onto Richard's shoulders and steps out of the ill-fitting pants.
Damian doesn't have much chance to feel cold or un-comfy. One minute he's standing and the next he's lifted and buried into a sea of bubbles.
They come up to the top of his stomach and he is very pleased with the confirmation that they are in fact as soft as they look.
Not blanket soft- they dissolve and are airy to his touch. He carefully reaches out and scoops a blob of them into the palms of his hands, cupping them gently. Just like when Richard holds him. Damian must be soft with them or they will disappear.
Dick watches with his breath stuck in his throat as Damian becomes enraptured with the bubbles he's surrounded by. No crying. There is no shivering like the bath is too cold. He doesn't demand to be let out. Just sits and-
And plays with bubbles.
Despite the very strong urge to just sit and watch Damian finally relax, undisturbed by life in general and seemingly enjoying himself immensely, Dick doesn't push his luck. He just kneels down at the side of the tube and gathers what he needs.
Dicks bathroom isn't stocked well with anything that would make Little Damian happy- it's got a two-in-one soap and shampoo, conditioner, hair gel and a body scrub.
…He may have been neglecting his hygiene lately. He normally has a few more products for his hair at least. He will just have to make due for now.
Dick knows that at some point they will have to get Damian some little stuff. Dick isn't sure if Damian has experienced discomfort with whatever products he's using yet, but typically after presenting, Little's skin gets extra sensitive. Dick will need to get baby shampoo and body wash for Damian sooner rather than later.
He's not happy using harsh products on Damian’s skin- it gnashes at his Caregiver instincts like grinding teeth but it's all he has right now and Damian needs to get cleaned up.
Dick reaches out and grabs the plastic pitcher from the counter- were Alfred found it; he has no clue but he's pleasantly surprised to find it makes his job much easier. All he has to do is encourage Damian to tilt his head back a little and make sure no water falls into the littles face.
He pours some of the two-in-one into his palm and slowly puts his hands into Damian's hair.
Damian looks up a little at Richard but when he feels the hands massaging his hair he lets it be. His head hasn't really hurt since that first day he got sick and Damian’s pretty sure that has everything to do with Richard playing with his hair. In fact the act seems to ease a rising anxiety Damian didn't know he was battling. He's not super happy that he's no longer in Richard's arms but…this is… fun.
Damian sniffs and rubs his wrist under his nose before going back to the bubbles. This time he lets his hand hit the water with a little smack!
The water splashes up and hits him in the nose- bubbles separate and Damian can see through to the bottom of the tub.
Dick goes wide eyed at the small giggle Damian lets out.
His system goes through a momentary reboot. He almost, foolishly, turns his head as if to look around for the noise. It's obvious where it came from though. The little boy in front of him is playing with the water and entertaining himself in such a child-like manner it makes Dick coo.
It's so soft and heartbreakingly new sounding. It's there though, with every ounce of childish innocence that proves Damian's classification correct.
Bath toys. Damian is getting as many bath toys as he could possibly want.
Holy shit he's too adorable.
Dick lets him play to his hearts content- no need to interrupt and risk distracting the Little from his game.
Dick runs his hands through Damian's hair scrubbing with easy movements. He goes through the same process of rinsing as he did wetting Damian's hair before, shielding the Little's eyes and making sure his head is tilted backwards.
Damian complies and keeps playing with his bubbles. Smacking the water so it splashes, cupping the bubbles in his hands. Drawing shapes into the water with his finger.
When shampoo is all done he grabs the conditioner- finger brushing Damian's hair over the last few days has done very little to help it get untangled and while the hair isn't matted it is knotted. So Dick makes sure to spend a minute running the conditioner through Damian's hair to help.
Dick doesn't rinse it out right away. Instead grabs the wash cloth Alfred had left and carefully dips a bit of it into the water and washes Damian's face.
This finally gets a disgruntled protest from the boy, who can no longer see and therefore can not play. Thankfully no tears come because it's over in less than thirty seconds.
He runs the wash cloth over Damian's chest and back. Making sure not to scrub too hard. Then grabs on arm -whispering reassurance to Damian when he tries to pull it back- washes it swiftly before doing the same with the other.
Then he takes the pitcher from the side of the tub and fills it with water, asks Damians to tilt his head back one last time and rinses out all the hair conditioner.
It's about a fifteen minute adventure and Dick lets Damian play for another three, getting up a little to sit down on the edge of the tub, making sure to be in reach of Damian- just in case.
(At one point he has to pull Damian's hand out of his mouth- the kid trying to eat the bubbles should not have been as surprising as it was. Damian has a habit of sticking things in his mouth it seems.)
After those three minutes Dick starts to notice the heavy eye lids Damian is fighting off. How Damian has slumped to the side and put his head onto Dicks leg even while still playing. (soaking his sweatpants but Dick plans on showering as soon as he has Damian asleep so he doesn't mind.)
“Ok bug, time to get out. Bet that water's a bit cold now too huh?” he says reaching for the towels.
Damian makes a soft noise but nods his head. Dick helps him stand up and wraps a towel around his shoulders.
Damian wants his blanket.
The towel is nice, warm compared to the bathroom air but it's not his blanket and he would like that back now.
He is once more lifted into the air and closes his eyes. He's super tired.
Dick smiles and walks them both to the bedroom after unplugging the tub and to let it drain.
Laid out on the bed was one of dick’s favorite hoodies, a Nightwing themed one that he'd found at a back corner store selling merch of several heroes. It was all black with his symbol in a graffiti-looking style and had blue angle wings on the back. He didn't even hesitate when he saw it and it was now a staple of his wardrobe.
Next to it are a pair of shorts that Dick recognizes from the pile he grabbed earlier- also black but this time had no markings to determine a brand. Pulse a small pair of boxers that are clearly Damian's.
It seems Dick’s hoodie was up for grabs. Not that he minds. He just doesn't understand the logic- Damian's going to drown in all that hoodie.
Dick sets Damian down on the bed and they go through the routine of dressing once more- Damian is tired Dick can tell but more helpful then he was even just a day ago, standing on his own two feet and stepping into the pants. When Dick gets the hoodie situated on him Damian smiles up at him sleepy and reaches his arms up in silent demand.
Dick happily picks him back up and settles them into bed. once more letting Damian get as close as he wants, burrowing into Dick. Then Dick lifts his arms so can wrap both of them around the baby and let him fall asleep. It barely takes ten minutes before Damian is out.
Fever cooled, no more nausea, tea consumed, nice and tuckered.
Eventually Dick’s own eyes close too.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊
Dick is trying not to freak the fuck out.
Damian had woken this morning free of fever and out of head space.
After a few hours of being active himself, Dick had gone to wake the baby up (and he hadn’t been actively thinking about why at the time but it was obvious after a little self reflection that his intention was to wake Damian up early enough that he could be put down for an afternoon nap. As had become a routine.) but when Damian’s eyes opened it was not the sweet flutter Dick had seen the past few days. It was sudden. He was asleep and fully awake in a matter of moments- it was Damian age eleven who had awoken.
And Dick age twenty three, had taken a jab to the throat.
So really not much had changed.
Except it obviously had because after Dick apologized for startling the young assassin, Damian let him check his temperature with no fuss.
Damian sat still as a grave and let the thermometer do it thing, when Dick had taken it out the boy looked away. Not acknowledging his presence at all. (Still that was much much easier than when he was in headspace. If not more awkward.) it came back clear and healthy and Damian demanded he be left alone.
The kid hadn't left the confines of Dick’s bed, half his body still tucked under the covers. It made him seem small still and that was reason enough for Dick to be concerned.
And things had changed. They were different.
Dick asked if he would please come down for breakfast in a bit and Damian seemed ok with the compromise.
(which would later be telling. Damian was definitely not fully up from his headspace.)
When Damian does come down it's half an hour later and unchanged out of Dick’s hoodie and Tim's old shorts.
So here they were, now sitting side by side at the table- Alfred somewhere in the kitchen- eating a breakfast sandwich each and having a cold glass of milk with the meal.
Dick hummed and took another bite.
Things weren’t bad. They were a little stiff, sure, but that’s already better than what Dick had thought they would be. (Worst case scenario was Damian attempting to go on a killing spree followed by either suicide or complete off the grid living till he could remove his headspace permanently. Which, yes, not scientifically possible but he wouldn’t put it past Damian to find a way.)
So, he repeats- Dick was relaxed for the most part, Damian seemed a little quieter than usual but again nothing unexpected given the situation.
In fact the little one had drunk all his milk-
Dick’s arms are full of bony limbs without a single thought. There was a surprised noise at the sudden shift but otherwise the tot he was carrying was quiet, giving Dick the opportunity to stand up and bounce him a little. Damian's head just barely above his shoulder
Damian feels the initial shock of being lifted into the air but once secure arms wrap around him he settles. There is no reason to worry if Richard is holding him- even if he isn't sure he should be feeling that way.
Gently- Dick didn’t want to upset the full stomach Dami had- he started to rhythmically pat his back.
This it seemed finally earned a protest.
“Grayson what-“. And oh shit.
This wasn’t Little Dami he was holding- this was the assassin child who hated being vulnerable and treated young. This is the side of Damian who would stab Dick before letting them touch one another.
(So why didn’t he say anything till now?)
Unfortunately all this didn’t matter because Damian’s sentence was interrupted by the reason he was in Dick’s arms after eating in the first place.
A small burp interrupts Damian’s protest and Dick watches the exact moment it registers why exactly he was picked up in the first place.
Damian feels mortification squeeze his insides. His cheeks take on the heat of a thousand suns.
Richard had just burped him like he was an infant! Oh god-
He refuses to acknowledge the strange…strange- the- god, the strange comfort that erupts inside his stomach. The dreamy feeling that drowns any rational thoughts in his head.
(this can not be something that makes him feel small- he will not allow it to be. Absolutely not, he is above such acts of condescension!)
Dick watches in slow motion as the kid goes through the five stages of grief and somehow lands on ‘overwhelmed.’
First there’s a high pitched shocked noise that comes out of his mouth then his hands fly up to cover said mouth and all the while his face has turned a deep red.
(The poor thing must be so hot with it- it can't be comfortable to be that red..)
And then he starts wiggling in Dicks arms. Muffled words coming through. Insults and death threats no doubt.
Simply put: Dick’s left with two options, let Damian go and watch him bolt to his room on the edge of a breakdown or settle him and have an obvious little boy on his hands .
It’s not a hard choice.
“Shh shhh.” He picks up the bouncing a little more now, one hand under the kids bum and the other coming to the back of his head- soft baby curls shifting through his fingers in a way that's almost second nature now.
“It’s ok. We’re ok. Sorry Dami, I’m still in that in-between spot of my headspace. It’s hard to realize that I’m acting on instincts.” because normally it's a choice. But with Damian- Dick seems to fall into his headspace easier than ever.
Damian shoves his head hard into Dicks collarbone, hiding once more from the reality of everything but he also stops moving to be let down.
“Must you take it out on me?” Comes a flustered whisper.
Dick just smiles- his baby gets embarrassed so easily. It’s just too adorable but he shouldn't be- Dick will have to work on that. There's really nothing to be embarrassed about.
(...his?)
“Sorry baby but you're the one who puts me in my caregiver headspace in the first place.” Dick says. He feels insane saying such a thing out loud. Daring even, like he's issuing a challenge to the universe to even try and take this away. Because he would fight tooth and nail for Damian- a fact he is quickly coming to accept.
Damian whines in response and brings his hands to cover his whole face.
Which -really, they are just both dropping at this rate.
Dick, still bouncing, decides to take this to the couch-when he spots Alfred’s eyes across the room.
Dick watches, wide eyed and slightly flustered himself, as the older man comes over with a cloth and gently places it on Dicks shoulder (the one Damian’s head is not on) and says: “I’ll order the necessary supplies. Don’t fret about what he’ll need.”
And with that walks away leaving a bewildered Richard and frozen Damian to head to the living room.
Damian doesn't move his head from Dicks shoulder but he does stop hiding behind his hands after a moment to glare at the rag across from him.
“...i'm not-...” comes a mumble.
Dick starts to walk over to the living room couch but he tilts his head in Dames’ direction to show he's listening.
“…no…” Damian whines and shoves his face into Dicks shoulder again, muffling his words.
Dick huffs a little, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips- despite the fact even thinking it could lead to bodily harm- Dami is simply too cute sometimes.
"Don' t worry lil’ one, I don't think you're really young enough to need the wash cloth.” Dick says.
He's mostly just saying it to comfort Damian though. Chances are (so long as they continue to learn how to find trust in one another) Damian will drop into a younger headspace. It's not a guarantee by any means -which is why he doesn't mind skirting around the subject with Damian- but the chances are pretty high. Partly because Dick is more than willing to encourage this. Dick’s never had a Little before, never found anyone who fit like a puzzle piece to his own headspace. Damian though, he does. He makes Dick’s headspace feel rewarding! Plus Damian is so stinkin’ sweet. How on earth this Little is so tender when small is almost baffling to Dick. He likes taking care of Damian and has a good feeling it'd be even better when Damian wasn't down and out with a fever.
The other part is simply that while Damian settles at about two years old, if Dick had to chance a guess, Dick has noticed that the Little has baby tendencies; Sucking fingers, constantly needing to be picked up, constant skin-on-skin contact. Putting pretty much anything into his mouth. Not to mention how often the boy naps. (Though he gives that little piece of evidence the benefit of the doubt. If Damian hadn't been sleeping in the manor and then got sick, his body would need all the rest it could get.)
Now to add to that list is the fact that he had a burping after his meal- now that one is definitely on Dick a bit, but if his instincts insisted the Little needed it…and the fact that Dami slipped into headspace immediately…
Well it's not hard to see that Damian has the potential to drop younger than he might let on.
(...and that's all with Damian fighting it.)
But Dami doesn't need to worry about any of that yet.
Damian is still squirming though, stuck in between big and little headspace's. Dick understands the feeling, all off kilter and itchy in your own skin.
Dick settles them on the couch and starts gently rocking, letting it lull Damian and make the Little more comfy.
Damian makes a small snuffling noise before settling down. Dick can see he's yet to get out of that awkward in-between space though- the scrunch of his brows and the way his eyes are still focused…no Damian is still fighting the feeling. That's ok, Dick has a few tricks up his sleeve to help him feel tiny. He hasn't learned nothing over the last five-ish days.
“Your ok bug, you can let go…” he says softly. But Damian squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head a little. Stubborn.
(Endearing too, unfortunately.)
Ok, next trick.
He starts off just humming under his breath, letting the boy feel the vibrations in his chest. He doesn't want to be loud- nothing overstimulating or stressful- but he also wants to be heard.
Then he starts softly whispering the lyrics.
His mother tongue comes like a dream. Soft and clouded but always there. He lets the lullaby from his own childhood flow in the silence between him and Dami. Romanian lyrics are sweet to both their ears.
Soft sentences telling a story about a sleeping baby and loving dreams, he sees the moment Damian starts to translate the song- because the Littles cheeks take on that familiar cherry red, while his eyes start to flutter shut, as if they're too heavy to keep open now that Dick is singing.
Finally slipping into that comfy state of being small.
A feeling of comfort spreads from Dick’s heart all throughout his bones. Here, holding this child, providing safety and comfort and home, he feels like a puzzle piece had been hiding under the couch and he's finally found it.
He's in so deep. He can't imagine Damian not being his Little, he so desperately wants it to be official. Dick’s talking paperwork and adoption and a list of other things that state in bold letters ‘here this one- see this one? He chose me.’ He worries over the intensity of it, but really he can't bring himself to regret the feelings.
(This boy has possibly saved Dick’s life.)
Damian has nestled into Dick’s heart and cut out a spot for himself. Both in and out of headspace. Eleven year old Damian is still jagged, but Dick thinks he might love that too, or at least Dick would like to get to know that side of him better.
This kid has fought for so long- has lived a life most would never survive, and here Dami is not only alive but actively claiming identity. He is still fighting, learning what the rest of the world is like, finding out he can make his own decisions. Can have his own ambitions, and of all people, Dick has somehow wound up the one to help guide and teach him through all of it.
Damian is learning how to use all his sharpness to help the world.
(...they need to talk about Robin. When Damian gets better they'll start doing short patrols to get their feet wet.)
Dick is so, so proud. He's unbelievably proud of this kid. He wants to have the right to show him off to everyone he knows. Wants to have a hand in Damian discovering himself. He wants to be the one Dami comes to for anything- anything at all. School and training, dating or showing off a new hobby. He wants Damian to come to him whenever he's feeling small. He wants to be the one to sign permission slips and chaperone field trips. He wants Damian to come to him if he's feeling sick, or bothered by something or feels unsafe. He wants to be this boy's safety net, his rock.
…he wants to be Damian's parent.
It's almost an outrage to even think about it. God- Bruce has only just passed away mere weeks ago. Damian has come from a life that is full of paranoia and blood. He will not trust Dick with any of those things anytime soon.
But he is drooling on Dicks shirt and he is slumped into Dicks chest and he did let Dick take care of him when he was sick.
…so maybe…maybe one day…
He'll talk to Damian about it soon.
Dick looks down as Damian moves- small fingers find their way to the Little's mouth. Gently chewed on as Damian's eyes finally relaxed. Dick…should really start doing something about the chewing thing, not only could it hurt Damian at some point but it's most likely the cause of Damian getting sick in the first place. Though it could've also been the lack of sleep. Maybe both.
But Dick lets it be for now- Alfred said he'd get Little supplies for their newly presented and Dick trusts that it's in good hands, chances are they'll have things here that Damian won't even need by the time Alfred is done shopping.
Though he supposes going shopping for a Little Dami wouldn't be a bad thing either. Taking Damian around Little Shops and getting lunch together…it sounds nice actually.
But that's for a day the baby isn't so tired, Damian is still coming off from a fever and undue stress would only send him backwards.
“You just need to be a sweet baby, huh?” Dick whispers. Damian doesn't so much as twitch. The fingers have stopped moving and are slack in his mouth.
A paci is definitely high on the list of things they need.
Should probably get some Little clothes too. Pajamas at the very least, but some play clothes would be nice for Damian to kick around in…really Dick needs to figure out just how old Damian slips too. Right now he's only seen Dami sick, any Little would slip young when they had a high fever. God and was freshly presented. Poor Dami’s had it so rough these last few days.
Damian's age will help Dick figure out all the Little gear he's going to need.
Oh! And a stuffie, or a few, he'd bet money on Damian being small enough to want a soft friend or two.
…maybe he should make a list.
Dick sits back, getting comfy on the couch. He'll be here a while if the sleeping boy still tucked into his chest has anything to say about it. He shifts up a little and pulls out his phone. He opens his notes app and starts to type out everything he could need for Damian, he trusts Alfred but it won't hurt to make a list and see if they need to go back out at some point, if Alfie gets it all, then great. If not, Dick has a list.
He begins to softly hum again, naps were probably going to be a must with this one.
He's sure there are cute beds and mats that help with that. He’ll just have to find one that Damian will like.
Dick is in so deep.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊
He doesn't know why he's even mildly surprised.
Dick should have been prepared to wake with a blade to his throat.
He doesn't know what he was thinking really- falling asleep.
It's obvious that Damian had been much closer to his Little headspace when he'd woken up this morning, all Dick had to do was feed into it a tiny bit and Damian slipped right on down.
The assassin looking down on him now, wild eyes and flushed cheeks, yet colder than he's seen Damian in months- despite the oversized hoodie and rolled up shorts - was the older Damian, age eleven.
And boy did the kid look pissed.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊
Notes:
THIS IS MY FIRST COMPLETED WORK! (sorry, had to get that out of my system.)
Next time I see you well have some answers on some reactions to Damian being a little! Mostly from Damian himself. As well as how we're going to handle vigilante work! Dw- it's not been forgotten about.
I honestly can't wait to introduce the other two brothers. I already have stuff written out with their reactions and am bouncing up and down to share it with you. I also have tentative plans for the other batclan members if anyone is interested…(babs, duke, steph, cass…bruce.)
(I want you all to know- in my heart of hearts- Bruce is a secret omega posing as an Alpha and both his parents were subs. Alfred is a dom. Anyone catch my drift? Ahem. ANYWAY-)
Thank you once more for all the love this story has received. I can't believe it.
One day I promise to write something more in line with canon- whether that be this fandom or a different one- seeing as all i’ve done is pretty intense mental health AUs.
For now though- I have PLANS for this AU and I cannot wait to post the next work.
I shall greet you all next time!
*ੈ✩‧₊˚🍼🧸ྀི☾⋆⁺₊
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