#yeah yeah i know someone's gonna put a clark speech bubble under this

[unavenged-robin]

Hey! You're writing is really fantastic! I was wondering if you could do something angsty with Dick and Damian. Please? I love your stories!

Thank you! And what a combination! Write angsty things with Dick and Damian is exactly what I was put on this earth for. (Well, this is more nostalgic than angsty but humor me, okay?) (Also one of the things I like to think about to make myself sad is grown-up!Damian giving up Robin, so here you go, have some completely unnecessary angst) (Last parenthesis, I promise. This story can be a very, very loose sequel of this one. If you need more angst, that’s it.)

For some reason, the sound of knocking has always made Dick feel uncomfortable. Maybe it has something to do with his days as a policeman, when he had to knock at some stranger’s house to give them one of the protocolled bad news speech. Or maybe it’s just the ominous feeling of the unexpected waiting on the other side of the door, like a sense of predestination, of destiny in progress.

Maybe he’s just tired.

He finds Damian waiting on his doormat, a box under his arm, a backpack over his shoulder, and the hint of a nervous smile on his lips. Dick feels something tighten in his chest, another silent warning that something’s wrong, that there are bad news coming for him too. He smiles anyway.

“Hey, kiddo.”

The nickname rolls out of his mouth as easily as Damian steps into the invitation of his open arms. And it’s still such a weird feeling to not be able to enclose him completely into his hold anymore, to have to settle with wrapping an arm across his shoulders and the other around his waist instead, because Damian’s taller than him now, and thicker too. Not quite as big as Jason yet, but getting there.

Scrawny ten years old or bulky eighteen, Dick’s affection for this kid is still all there, warming him through like sunlight on a winter day. Damian smells like expensive leather and Bruce’s aftershave, and that too makes Dick feel warm. He’s not been home in months, dragging his whole attention from a solved case to the next one, barely giving himself enough time to catch his breath, or a good night of sleep. It’s an old, unhealthy cycle he’s very familiar with, and still one he has trouble fighting or even identifying without the intervention of someone else. And right now, with the solid weights of Damian’s body pressed against his, he feels more grounded that he’s ever been in weeks.

“Do you plan to release me at some point tonight?”, Damian asks, but he doesn’t put in enough sarcasm to cover the amusement and the fondness in his voice. They haven’t seen each other for too long.

Dick laughs at that, and squeezes his brother a little tighter before letting him go.

“There, you’re a free man again”, he jokes. “Now come inside. Did your policy on beer changed since the last time I tried to get you drunk?”

Damian hesitates on the doorstep, the wrinkle between his eyebrows deepens, and he licks his lips before answering.

“Yeah, I’d like a beer, thank you.”

The comfortable, domestic bubble around them shatters just like that, and the churning feeling in Dick’s guts comes back to torment him, to remind him that family is always a bittersweet affair, that Damian has the kind of look in his eyes that usually heralds a storm. Dick glances again at the box under his brother’s arm and hides a sigh behind another smile. It’s not like he wasn’t expecting it, after all. He was just kidding himself.

“Good”, he answers, stepping aside to let Damian in. “I feel like I’m gonna need one too.”

Damian takes a step forwards and looks at him, and immediately relaxes as he realizes that Dick already knows, that he’s not angry nor disappointed, and that he’s not gonna try to talk him out of it. It hurts a little bit that after all these years Damian’s first reaction is still being defensive, that he still expects a blow instead of a hand on his shoulder, but Dick tries not to take it too personally. They’re all like that. Some of them just hide it a little better.

“Let’s sit outside, mh?”

-

Climbing on a rooftop with only one hand is no challenge to either of them. Not spilling the beer is the real difficult bit for Dick.

“You could’ve waited to open it, you know?”, Damian nags at him, leaning back on his elbows.

Dick shrugs and takes another sip before sitting down beside him.

Summer has not yet begun, but the smog from the cars and the factory fumes already make the nights soggy and sweltering, and only high up in the sky the air is clear enough to breathe without wheezing. And if that’s Blüdhaven, then Gotham must be more hellish than ever these days. Not that its demons would be bothered by that.

“Are you going to tell him?”, Dick asks as an afterthought. He doesn’t know why, but he’s sure that Bruce doesn’t know yet. Otherwise there would be some kind of black cloud over Gotham. Rainstorms of locusts, wolves howling in the moonlight, or something. Dick needs to believe that there would be something.

Damian smiles a bitter smile.

“I have to. I’m not sure he would even notice otherwise.”

“Damian…”

His brother looks at him with angry eyes and shakes his head just once, in warning.

“Don’t.”

So Dick doesn’t. He lets the silence settle between them and looks at the stars above their heads, still sipping the beer. Damian hasn't opened his yet.

“Are you going to stay with the Titans?”, Dick asks again, after a while. That’s what he did, oh so many years ago. Left a giant, lonely house for a giant, noisy place full of friends and laughters, and for a while he had been able to pretend that the loneliness wasn’t still waiting for him just underneath the surface, that it was just Bruce’s problem and not his. He knows better now. But Damian’s always been more honest with himself than Dick ever was, so he’s not surprised when his little brother shakes his head again.

“Clark said I could stay with them for a while. They moved back to the Kent farm, did you know?”

“No, I didn’t”, Dick answers after a beat. Then he frowns, not knowing how to say what he wants to say without sounding hurt, or jealous, even if he’s a little bit both of these things. “Damian, if you needed a place to stay…”

Damian scoffs, cutting him off before he can continue with the obvious.

“I know, Richard.”

“Then why not?”, Dick urges, striving again not to sound too resentful. “If you don’t have other plans, you could stay here, in Blüdhaven”, with me, he doesn’t add, because there’s no need to. “Nightwing could always use a partner, you know?”, he says instead, on a gentler note.

But Damian bites the inside of his cheek at that.

“Nightwing never had a partner”, he reminds him, after a moment. “I think that if he’d ever wanted one, then he would’ve had one.”

The words are soft and not at all accusing, but they still feel like knives, and they cut just the same into his skin, making him angry and defensive. But he swallows down the sudden burst of rage and grabs Damian’s arm, shaking it to force his brother to face him.

“Don’t”, he warns, in the same tone Damian’s used on him before. “Not ever.”

Damian meets his glare with impassive eyes, but after a moment he nods, and pats Dick’s hand on his arm with his own in reconciliation.

“I wasn’t claiming that...”, he starts, then he clears his throat. “What I mean is, I don’t think that’s what I want. To exchange a Batman for another one.”

“I’m not Batman, Damian.”

“To me you’ll hardly ever be anything else.”

Dick can sense the feelings in their voices clash against one another. There’s bitterness in his own words, old grudges and a dormant fear that never really disappeared, but there’s fondness and a touch of nostalgia in Damian’s. It’s one of those things they’ll never agree upon, one of those choices that cannot be made again anyway.

He squeezes Damian’s arms again, reassuringly, before turning back to look at the city underneath their dangling feet. Damian follows his gaze, hums and finally opens his bottle.

Dick looks at him while his brother tilts his head back and swallows half the beer in a big, practiced gulp. Sometimes, with the right lights and shadows, Damian resembles his father so much that Dick can't help but overlap the two images: the much more younger, light-hearted Bruce of his childhood, and the much more older, graver Damian of his present. It was stupid of him to think that things would get easier with time. He should know better than anyone else that time doesn’t make anything better.

“What are you going to do then?”

Damian smiles around his beer, and for the first time tonight it’s not a tired, bitter, or nervous smile, but a content one. A happy one.

“I don’t know”, he answers, looking at Dick with an unfamiliar glimpse in his eyes. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Dick smiles.

Wonderful, yes. And terrifying, if he remembers correctly what is like to be eighteen years old and leave home for the first time. He throws an arm across Damian’s shoulders, pulls him closer until their heads are touching and Damian is leaning more or less comfortably against him.

They finish their beers in silence, and even if it’s not a goodbye it feels just like one.

-

“You sure you want to leave that here?”, he asks once they’re back in his apartment, pointing at the box still sitting on his kitchen table.

Damian picks up his backpack before looking at it, then he shrugs.

“It was you who gave it to me first”, he answers. “So it feels right to give it back to you now.”

“As a formal resignation, you mean?”, Dick jokes, and he wishes those words wouldn’t hurt so much because they really shouldn’t. He’s happy for Damian. This is a good thing. Dick’s just being stupid. And a little hypocritical.

Damian only nods.

“You’re not going to put it in a case or something equally disturbing, right?”, he asks after a moment, only half-joking.

“Nah, no cases”, Dick assures him. “But maybe I’ll bronze it. You know, like baby shoes. Don’t think Bruce’s ever done that.”

Damian swats him on the shoulder with way too much violence, and the scowl on his face is exactly the same one he used to wear when he was ten years old and barely reached Dick’s chest.

Now Dick can hide his face in the crook of his little brother’s neck, which is a significant advantage, since he’s pretty sure Damian has no use for his pain right now. He came here for his brother’s support, not to deal with Dick’s regrets.

“I love you, kiddo”, Dick murmurs into his ear, rubbing Damian’s back.

Damian hugs him back one last time, then he’s gone.

-

He waits a few minutes before going back to the kitchen and opening both the box and another beer.

He takes a few sips, then lifts the cardboard lid and of course Damian’s uniform is right there, perfectly folded by expert hands. But it’s not the last uniform that was made for him, it’s the very first one Damian’s ever worn, the one Dick designed for him when he made him Robin, all those years before.

He stands beside the kitchen’s table and trails a finger along the golden edges of the cape’s hood, then cups his hand over the R patch on the uniform’s chest, fingernails gently scratching over the stitches.

Maybe he should call Bruce, Dick thinks. Drops little hints to give him the time to process the information, even if he suspects that Bruce too has been expecting to lose their shared Robin for some time now. But maybe it’s not his place to ease the process, maybe that’s not what Damian wants.

I’m not sure he would even notice otherwise, Damian had said before, because he still doesn’t know that Bruce always notices everything, even if he pretends not to. Especially when he pretends not to. But Damian’s going to learn that in time, just like they all did.

He pulls the uniform out of the box with the half-intention of hangin it besides his own, at least for the time being, and that’s when the rustle of paper catches his attention. A little white card falls on the kitchen’s floor and Dick has to crouch down to pick it up from under the table. The paper is thick and rough between his fingers and there are only two words written on its front, inscribed in black ink in Damian's unmistakable elegant and precise handwriting.

Thank you.

Dick can only sit down and stare at both the card and the uniform for a long, long while.

#dick grayson #damian wayne #listen i have a thing for future angst okay #don't blame me idk why i was made like this #also i'm gonna hide this here in the tags because every time i say things like this i sabotage myself BUT #but i really wanna write another part with damian and jason and the outlaws #and i have a prompt with damian and tim that would make another nice part of this future au thing #so you know WHO KNOWS #shari writes #asks #Anonymous