Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“And here you go!”

Dick handed Damian the present with that charming grin on his face. He’d been edgy all morning, bouncing around and ever the most excited about giving out gifts. Somehow, they’d managed to get the whole family to come, including Jason, and Dick was ready to give his gifts out by the time they’d finished breakfast and migrated over to the tree. Alfred had conveniently disappeared, despite their insistence he join them.

Jason and Tim had gone slow on purpose and by the end of everything, Dick looked like he was going to explode. Cass and Steph had had the curtesy to move things along with their own gifts. And Dick could’ve sworn that Bruce had slowed down his process a little too. Dick had given all his gifts immediately and then shoved his favorite and the one he was the most excited for into Damian’s waiting hands.

Damian looked down at the carefully wrapped box. It looked like one of the clothes boxes, but was much heavier. His father had gotten nice new ties and a Christmas sweater that they all knew he would only wear for Dick’s sake. He had been happy with Jason’s gift, but the man had begrudgingly thanked Dick and asked how he knew he needed a new one. Tim had already opened the book he’d received and was reading it. Cass got new ballet shoes, and Steph was fawning over a small little purple heart necklace.

“You’re the last one! It’s my favorite, and I think you’ll like it!”

Damian looked down at it and slowly, with a small smug smile, began to unwrap it. He could tell it was killing the older man, but he carefully unfolded the small pieces of paper.

“Get on with it already, kid!” Todd snapped. He was leaning forward though, curious too.

Damian got the paper off and slowly lifted the book. In the center was a long, old and worn looking leather book. The edges were faded, showing faded brown underneath where the leather had chipped away. He pried it out of the box. About halfway through the pages were crinkled and used, obviously from something wet.

“I don’t understand,” he said, confused.

“You got him an old book?” Jason asked. “Jeez, Golden Boy, you’re usually good about gifts.” He patted the holster next to him.

But Dick was smiling. He reached forward and opened up the book to show the first page. “It was my mother’s sketchbook. She never got to finish it before she… before she died. And I know you like to draw and sketch, I thought maybe you could finish it.” Dick’s face was growing red, and he scratched the back of his neck. “I can understand if you think it’s a little lame—.”

Damian shoved the present to the side and lunged forward to wrap Dick in a hug. He felt the man’s arms wrap around him. “Thank you!” Damian yelled.

“Oh, whoa, okay! No problem, kiddo!”

Damian pulled away, fearing that perhaps Grayson would think he actually enjoyed hugs. He turned back to the present and pulled it back into his lap. The first page had a signature.

To Mary,

Merry Christmas from Dick and John! We love you!

Love, John and Dick

And underneath that was fresher ink, blacker, and in sharper scrawl.

To Damian,

Merry Christmas from Dick! I love you, kiddo! Maybe you can finish what she started!”

Love, ‘Grayson’

He opened up the sketchbook and felt the rest of the family crowd around him. There were small watercolor sketches of the Eiffel tower, of the trailer that the Grayson’s had lived in. There were clipped polaroid’s of pictures of the family. A pen and ink sketch of a café in Spain next to a graphite drawing of a series of columns in Greece. There were drawings of muscles and hands, feet, arms, backs, eyes. Damian flipped through further. There was a small drawing of young ‘Dick, Aged 6’. Drawings of a castle in Germany, a market in New York. Some were familiar, ones in Gotham or places he’d seen in Star City or Metropolis. There were five or six pages dedicated to geometric tiling designs. Underneath, she’d written ‘Morocco, 2003’.

“I don’t know,” Damian said suddenly, “I’m not that good—.” He felt unsure of himself, a feeling he didn’t particularly like. But this was a heavy gift. He was getting something from Grayson’s parents. It was something that clearly Grayson loved, that he cherished. And he was giving it to Damian— he was giving a gift to Damian that was so important. This was the gift you’d give your child. Someone who’d continue a legacy.

“I didn’t inherit my mom’s talent,” Dick shrugged, “and it won’t get finished. I want you to finish it, Lil’ D. You’ll do great!”

“Okay, yes, thank you, Grayson,” Damian said, a smile tugging at his lips.

They dispersed later and Damian went up to his room that was here. Most of his stuff was at the penthouse, but he kept some things here. Some books and clothes that he didn’t wear often. There were a few of his weapons on the walls, but nothing that was particularly comforting. It wasn’t home. Damian turned away from his empty room.

 He grabbed a pen from the desk and laid out the sketchbook on it, opening it to the first page. There behind the hardcovers were the notes to the giftees. On the opposite page was thicker paper and a ‘This Book Belongs To…’ with the name Mary Grayson signed beneath it on a line. Damian took the pen and touched it to the paper just beneath the line.

He wrote down ‘Damian’ and then paused. He’d figure out the rest later.

He opened the book to the newest page, it was clean and straight, a little messy from some ink that had stained through on the other page. He smoothed it out.

What to draw?

He looked around his room. There were was couple of pictures he hadn’t taken with him to the penthouse still pinned up to a cork board behind his desk. There were mostly pictures of him and Grayson that the man had gotten printed. At the time, Damian found most of them sentimental crap but now he was thankful for the memories. He tore one from the corkboard of him and Grayson at an ice cream shop. It’d been shut down recently, but they’d gone last year before that had happened. Grayson had asked a random couple on the street to take their picture. Grayson had his charming smile on full throttle at the camera, and he was leaning closer to Damian, his arm across the back of Damian’s chair. Damian’s own smile wasn’t forced, it was small, sure, but genuine. He’d been happy.

The couple had then commented that Damian looked ‘just like his father’. Damian had then loudly proclaimed that Grayson was not his father and who dare assume as such and then Grayson had silently thanked them and they’d gone home silently.

Now Damian wasn’t so sure about his statement. He had regretted ruining the moment later, but at the time it hadn’t been a question. Grayson never mentioned the outburst and there was no reason for him to— Grayson wasn’t his father. At least, he wasn’t biologically. But Damian’s own father had been a father to Grayson, and they weren’t related biologically either at all. Biology, as much as Damian was loathe to admit it, didn’t really make much of a difference.

He placed the image on the sketchbook page, taping it down. He grabbed one of his pencils and slowly began to draw the picture. Underneath, when he finished, he wrote ‘Grayson and I, 2022’. He looked at it with satisfaction and then nodded. Yes, a good addition.

He began to flip back through the pages, looking at all the sketches and drawings Mary Grayson had compiled over several years. The oldest ones had faded considerably and even the recent ones from 2005 were rough. There was small notes along the margins, grocery lists, book titles, and songs. Damian made a note to ask Grayson about them.

Some of the margins held phone numbers.

Call Sarah L. 753-8745

“Curious,” he remarked before turning the page. Another margin full of notes. This time, though it appeared to be a code. EmGDAm and a strange series of lines with dots on it. Damian frowned. A code. Strange. What reason did Mary Grayson have for writing in code? He turned quickly and pulled out a sheet of paper from the desk and sat down writing anything he could come up with. He wasn’t quite as well-versed in codes as he should have been, his training in that area had been cut short. The dots must’ve been equal to the letters, but Damian couldn’t seem to make the connection.

He scowled. This was ridiculous. Morse code didn’t work. The dots equaled nothing. He held the pen tightly and slammed it on the desk. How could some woman in a circus create a code that a son of the Batman couldn’t break!

He hopped off the chair and pulled the sketchbook underneath his arm, leaving his room to go find Grayson. The Manor wasn’t empty, no, but it felt that way as he padded down the stairs toward the main levels. In the distance, he could hear Drake in his room. He heard Brown laughing from the library, where she and Cain had remained at the end of the gift giving. Todd had disappeared, no doubt leaving as soon as he could.

Grayson was in his father’s office. They were talking about something seriously, given Grayson’s unusual solemnity. The tense atmosphere didn’t leave when Damian opened the door.

Grayson turned toward the sound, frowning. “Dami?”

“Grayson, father,” he sniffed. “I apologize for my interruption.”

His father opened his mouth but Grayson laughed. “It’s alright, what’s up?”

Damian slowly entered the office, ignoring the glare his father was sending Grayson’s way. He handed the sketchbook to Grayson and opened it up to where he’d drawn the picture of them.

“Is it satisfactory?”

Grayson stared down at it blankly before he laughed. “I love it kiddo! I told you you’d be great! I didn’t even know you still had this picture.” The unspoken words between them were obvious. Grayson didn’t think he’d have kept it after the incident after it’d been taken.  

“Of course,” Damian insisted, standing on his toes to look down at the sketchbook better. “I enjoyed the time we spent together.” He turned to his father. “Would you like to see?”

Bruce Wayne hesitated a moment before he nodded, holding it hand out. Grayson passed the sketchbook silently. His father stared at it for a moment before he smiled. “It’s very good, Damian.”

Somehow, the words didn’t mean the same to Damian as they did when they came from Grayson. His father handed the sketchbook back to Grayson, who stared down at it for a moment before giving it back to Damian.

“It’s great, you’ve got real talent, Damian. I’m serious.”

“I appreciate your comments,” Damian said, “They’ve been noted. I do have a question about the code.”

Grayson blanched. “Er, code?”

“Yes,” Damian huffed. “Surely you’ve cracked it after this long.” He flipped the pages of the book back to where he’d found the code. The letters and lines sat there taunting him as he handed it back to Grayson. The older man stared down at the code before laughing loudly.

“Grayson!” Damian snapped. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Oh, Dami, you’re adorable.”

“I am no such thing!”

“You think this is a code?”

“What else could it be?”

“Chord charts,” Grayson replied with a smirk. He handed the sketchbook back to Damian and laughed harder. “E-minor, G, D, A-minor. My mom played guitar, she was coming up with a chord progression.”

Damian stared down at the letters. Em, G, D, Am. Chords. Sounds. He felt like an idiot. “Noted,” he muttered, and turned back away from them and left the room without another word, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t move though, leaning back a little to hear anything. It was silent for a long minute.

Grayson’s muffled voice shifted through the door. “Really, Bruce?”

Damian didn’t wait along to hear his father’s reply, scampering off back to his room. He wanted to go home.  

To be continued... 

Chapter Text

“Robin, you copy?”

“All clear, Grayson,” Damian whispered, touching his fingers to the comm. unit in his ear. There was a muffled sound of a body hitting the ground through the comm. and Damian heard Batman’s grappling over the distance.

“No names in the field,” Batman replied.

Damian pursed his lips and leaned a little further out of his perch on the rooftop. They were over the docks, near Wayne Enterprises own warehouse, shutting down a drug bust from Black Mask’s men. Batman had instructed Damian, as Robin, to take the East end where the shipment was coming from. He was waiting for Batman to take out the west side of the operation. There was a biting cold that numbed Damian’s face and his fingers felt frozen as he gripped the iron railing in front of him. As much as he enjoyed this, he really wouldn’t have minded being back home in the penthouse and drawing in his new/old sketchbook.

Thus far, he’d filled it with sketches of pictures, Alfred the Cat, a drawing of just the west end of the Manor, and some old trees he’d found at the back of the grounds. He’d been keeping it from Grayson so far and figured that once he’d filled it all up he could show him and demonstrate how much he’d improved.

He hadn’t said anything about it, but he’d written Damian G. underneath Mary Grayson’s name. It’d been a split second decision that he hadn’t even realized he’d been doing until he’d done it. And then he’d groveled around the penthouse for a day and a half until Grayson told him to “Cowboy up” which was possibly the stupidest expression on Earth.

“Head down and around toward the water, I see a truck coming in,” Batman’s voice said through the comm. “Don’t take anyone out yet, I want all their guards to report in on that side.”

“Copy that, Gray— Batman,” Damian replied, a faint blush covering his cheeks as he reached for his grappling hook. He swung it out and zipped silently past some guards. The barest hint of a shadow fell over the Earth and Damian leaned back into one of the shipping containers. A guard with a large gun passed by him unawares. Damian leapt out into the moonlight and back into the shadows, throwing his hands up and flipping onto the top of one of the containers. He landed silently, a slight echo going through the metal.

He walked silently over and flipped onto the next one. In the distance he heard a truck coming in, lights almost blinding. He saw it almost immediately after he heard it and leaned down lower into the container. He couldn’t risk their lights landing on him. The truck was several feet away when it stopped, two of the guards walking forward to talk to the drivers. One reached down for his radio.

Damian narrowed his eyes.

A faint voice. “Group 1, report.” A pause. “Group 1, report.” Another long pause, the man motioned for two more guards in the shadows to head where Batman had taken out the other men.

“Two coming your way, Batman,” Robin reported.

“Noted,” Batman replied.

“Four more.”

The man called for the other groups too, but none called in. He motioned for four more men to go. Several minutes later, none returned. The man’s irritation was clear. He was turning around calling orders, scowling the entire time.

“How many men left there?”

“Two by the truck, including the presumed leader. Two in the truck, drivers. Three more to my left and two to my right. All armed aside from the drivers.”

“Here is clear. Can you take them out?”

“Of course,” Robin said before he thought too hard about it. If he was smart about it, he could take out the man patrolling and pull the other out from his right into the shadows. They’d shoot at him but if Robin was smart, he’d be out of there and they’d kill their own men. So long as he didn’t kill them, he didn’t care.

“Mm. Wait for my signal, you’ll know when you see it.”

Damian frowned and leaned further down so he was almost completely flat. He waited and listened. From behind, there was the faint sound of someone walking. He tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. Robin slunk back and tiptoed away from the truck toward the sound. There was one man that Damian had missed still patrolling. He was almost directly underneath where he was sitting. A few more seconds. Damian grinned and launched himself onto the man’s shoulders. His knees buckled and Robin flipped off, rolling to a fighting stance.

“What the fu—!?”

“Watch your language,” Robin snapped, throwing his leg back and slamming the man’s face into the shipping container with his foot.

He touched the comm. “I took out one behind the container. I’d miscounted.”

A pause. “What happened to wait for my signal?”

“Have you let off your signal?”

“No.”

“Then is makes no difference,” Robin replied.

“It does. But we’re not having this conversation now. Get back up and wait for it. This time, do not engage until you see my signal.”

“Tt,” Damain scoffed, jumping back up and rolling onto the container. He moved back to where the men were again. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum had moved from his right and out of the shadows.  In the distance, and only because he knew what to look for, he could see Batman lurking in the shadows. There was a pause and Batman made eye contact with him, as much as they could through the whiteout lenses. He held up a fist. A pause. And then he threw several smoke pellets out.

Robin grinned and leapt forward. The signal.

A swung around and punched one of the men in the face. Tweedle Dee went down, only firing off one shot before his head hit the ground with a satisfying crack. Robin leapt forward and launched his small self into Tweedle Dum, grabbing the man’s shoulders and bringing him down before skidding across the pavement. Dum twisted around on the ground, holding his gun out wildly.

“Come here you little creep—ack!”

Another resounding crack of a gun. Robin’s breath stilled. Had he been shot by another member of the group?

The smoke had already begun to clear and Robin could see through the dissipating fog Batman holding the leader up against the truck. The man’s face was pale white. Robin leapt up at another one of the men, the one who’d accidently shot his friend, knocking him against the ground and throwing down a punch for good measure.

“Tt,” he muttered, “Idiots.”

The two other men were down for the count too, taken down by the Batman. Robin looked around him, a slight grin to his face. He’d taken down Tweedle Dee and Dum, and the third man. The drivers were tied up, and the leader was currently being scared out of his wits by Batman. Robin walked up behind him. The man’s eyes briefly flickered to Robin before Batman shook him.

“What was Black Mask doing with the shipment?” Batman growled, his voice low. Grayson had gotten much better at the low growl Damian’s father could achieve.

“He— ah— he was moving some stuff down for Lex Luthor! That’s all he would tell us!” the man insisted.

Batman paused. “Lex Luthor? What is he doing dealing with Black Mask?”

“I don’t know! I swear!”

Batman slammed the man against the truck. A small dent cracked behind the man. Robin reached back for his katana.

“Perhaps I should have a go with him?” he asked.

“Oh god,” the man whimpered, closing his wide eyes.

“No, head back to the Batmobile,” Batman said, his voice losing a little of its terrifying nature. “I’ll meet you there.” He turned around and slammed the man into the truck.

“Talk, punk,” he snarled.

Robin scowled and let go of his katana. He stalked over past the shipping containers and where the man he’d forgotten was knocked out.

Damian kicked him for good measure.

He continued down the path up toward where most of the warehouses were and shot his grappling up and landed on the roof. He shivered, his body cooling down. He knew Batman would tell him what the man reported. Grayson didn’t generally hold back when it came to what they gathered. He insisted that they were partners, and that Damian should be aware of what was going on. That didn’t stop him for committing his own investigations and doing things on his own, but intel wasn’t held back. And Damian appreciated it. He felt appreciated it. If Grayson wanted a different opinion, he’d turned to Damian.

It was so different from how Damian had been raised.

He walked over the roof of the warehouse and pressed a button his utility belt. The glass roof of the Batmobile opened and Damian fell right inside. He folded his arms and pouted. Not even a minute later, the roof opened up again and Batman fell in.

The roof slid up, covering them completely. Batman took off the cowl, returning to Dick Grayson.

“Transporting drugs that were stolen and are important in several cancer researches for Luthor,” he said, starting up the Batmobile. The car’s low rumble stirred up around them. “Police are on their way.”

“I doubt Luthor was using them for cancer research,” Damian bit, slipping his mask off.

“No, and Black Mask was transporting them.”

“So there’s connections to Bane?”

“Probably. I have a feeling that the Luthor drugs were a cover,” Grayson said, shifting gears. They remained in silence for most of the road back. Despite the Batmobile’s incredible speeds, it still took almost twenty minutes for them to arrive back at the vault. As they got out, Grayson laid a hand on Damian’s shoulder.

“You did good today, Damian, I was impressed,” Grayson said, his voice serious despite the grin on his face.

“It was a drug bust,” Damian said, even though it ended up being a little more than that, “Hardly impressive.”

“No,” Grayson said, shaking his head. “I’m proud of you. Once you realized you’d miscounted, you backtrack and got the guy. If you hadn’t, he could’ve snuck up on us and shot. But you fixed it.”

Damian sniffed, trying to keep his face composed. “I think I broke his nose.”

“Oh, that’s unfortunate,” Grayson said, shaking his head.

Damian smiled a little. “Truly a misfortune.”

“Guy should have thought of that before becoming a hired gun.”

“He shouldn’t have had such a good face to kick,” Damian said, leaning a little into Grayson.

Grayson rubbed his hair, his grinning full throttle. “You did me proud, Lil’ D.”

Damian paused a little, smiling up at Grayson. “Thank you, Fa— Grayson.”

If the older man had noticed the slip up, he didn’t note it. He walked away from Damian and up toward the computer, sitting down in the seat. Damian turned away from him and toward the changing rooms and showers that’d been added. He could deal with his lose tongue later. For now, he’d revel in the pride he’d gotten.

He was appreciated, he thought, and there was nothing better than Grayson’s proud hand as he guided Damian.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

5.

" It ain't no use sit and wonder why Babe! If you didn't knooooooow by now!"

Damian slid further into the seat of the car they were driving, Grayson's voice growing obnoxiously nasally as they drove down the Baltimore-Washington Parkway. They were currently headed to a business meeting that they couldn't miss having to do with their Washington D.C location. In reality, the meeting was in a couple of days, but Dick had insisted on dragging Damian down for a road trip several days ahead of time and to take him to various places from Gotham to their final location just outside of the nation's Capital.

So far, they'd hit the Statue of Liberty in New York and the Cloisters and Garden Museum also in New York. Then the Train Museum in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Then they hit Philadelphia and got cheese steaks and then they hit the Inner Harbor in Baltimore and Edgar Allen Poe's home as well. Damian found most of the places mildly fascinating if only so he could people watch.

But Grayson was arguably the worst to drive anywhere with unless it was in the Batmobile or on his motorcycle. It had taken Damian a long time to figure out how Grayson had convinced Bruce Wayne to allow a motorcycle at all. But he figured it boiled down to— do you want constant movement with free space in a car or my thoughts completely focused on not dying? Apparently Grayson must've won. But he fidgeted and sang and messed with buttons. It drove Damian insane. He would turn the volume up, then down, and then up again. He'd open the windows, then close them. And then decide he wanted the air conditioning.

And he was also self-conscious of the speed of his windshield wipers.

" I'm a-thinkin' and a-wonderin' all the way down the road! I once loved a woman… a child I'm told!"

Damian's face grew redder and he folded his arms across his chest, glancing up at Grayson. He tried not to be too obvious about it, but he knew Grayson had seen him when the man's grin pulled back and grew even larger. "Are you trying to be annoying or is it just natural to you, Grayson?"

Grayson bobbed to the music. "The words 'annoying' and 'Grayson' don't belong in the same sentence!" he cried excitedly, turning around to look over his shoulder as he sped into the left lane.

"You're bouncing like a child," he said, but his heart wasn't in it. In fact, ever since he and Grayson had fought several weeks ago, Damian had been mentally preparing himself to return back home to the manor any day. Well, it hadn't been a fight. But the air around the penthouse had been tense. Grayson had disappeared moments after introducing Damian to the team to talk to Superboy and the Martian. Afterward, he returned and appeared deeply trouble. Thus far, Damian hadn't been able to pull what they'd discussed out. Gordon was no help, and whenever Damian asked she brushed him aside and said it was "Dick's business and his to tell".

But Damian had a feeling it'd had to do with him. And it pained him to admit it, but he was hurt that Grayson wasn't telling him anything. He knew they had good communication for their partnership, perhaps even better than Grayson and Damian's biological father, and Grayson rarely withheld information. Not unless it had to do with Damian and Grayson had to soften the blow of something.

He figured that this trip was a singular goodbye/farewell trip. That after this, once they'd returned, Grayson would return to being Nightwing and go back to Bludhaven and Damian would be shipped off to his father be his Robin. He leaned against the window, pulling one of his legs up and wrapping his arms around it to keep it from sliding off the seat. Grayson bobbed to Janis Joplin.

He'd already mentally established that, no, he didn't really want to go back because Grayson was like a father to him. Home was the penthouse. But if Grayson was going to send him back, it would be a battle of wills; Damian would not let it show once that he didn't want to return. If he wanted Damian gone, then Damian would go willingly off to the Manor and comply with Bruce Wayne's rules. He reached forward and turned the woman off of the radio.

"Grayson," he started and paused a moment to look over at his mentor.

Grayson was frowning and he glanced at Damian only briefly as they pulled off of the Parkway and into Lanham. "What's up D? We're almost there."

"It's not that. I simply wanted to inform you that I appreciate you for taking care of me in my father's absence, even though it was only out of obligation," Damian continued. He'd had a dreadful thought several nights ago that what if Grayson was only watching out for him because of Bruce Wayne? What if he was only watching out for Damian because his father had taken Grayson in as a boy and raised him, and it was only right to do the same thing? Call it moral obligation. Of course, Grayson knew he saw Damian's father as more… estranged and odd father figure as well, but he had no emotional obligation to caring for Damian. Certainly, Drake and Todd had no qualms about letting him know how much they disliked him.

He'd immediately shoved the thought aside. He knew deep in his heart that Grayson did care for him and loved him and was proud of him. So why didn't he want to keep him? Why did he want to hand Damian off? The thought nagged the back of his mind, eating away at his brain as they got closer and closer to Damian's self-proclaimed farewell road trip.

Grayson jerked backed, braking to stop at a light. He looked at Damian sharply, his hands gripping the wheel of the car. "Obligation? Damian, I'm not obligated to watch because you're B's kid," he replied.

Damian felt relief course through him but he powered through. "I don't understand," he said. "My father raised you because your parents were… gone. You in turn help raise me because my father is gone," Damian said.

Grayson shook his head, slamming his foot on the gas. They jerked forward a little and a man cut in front of them. Grayson narrowed his eyes. "I hate driving in Maryland," he muttered. He cleared his throat. "No, Lil' D. I watch… I care for you because I want to. Because you deserve some semblance of happiness in your life that I hope I could provide," Grayson said. "Parents… listen. Kid's don't owe their parents for raising them. They do it because they want to and they love them. Parents aren't there because they're obligated, they're there because that's their kid." Grayson paused again and cleared his throat, glancing in the rearview mirror and breaking checking the guy behind them. They jerked forward again.

Grayson grinned a little at the man's frustrated honk before he got serious again. "Our situation is obviously different. But the idea is the same. I'm here because I love you, because I love having you with me. I enjoy your company and I'm proud of you." He turned to Damian, grin in full throttle, and rested his right hand on Damian's shoulder. "I mean everything I say to you."

Damian isn't quite sure what to say. "Then why are you returning me to father?" he whispered.

Grayson looked over at him sharply, almost jerking back in the seat. Someone beyond them slammed on their horn. He looked back at the road suddenly, his hands holding the wheel tightly. Damian was turned slightly to look right at him, resting his head on his hand almost nonchalantly.

"Is that what this is about?"

"Perhaps," Damian replied, resting back against the window again.

"Ah," Grayson said. He didn't say anything, almost glaring at the road with rejuvenated anger. Damian was reminded a little of his father— where Grayson moved constantly, Damian's father took to glaring at the road as if his eyes alone could part the cars. He acted like the car was a battering ram. When they drove together, he was far more cautious, but still looked around like he was in the horse.

Damian recalled a time when he'd been in the car with both Grayson and his father. It was like nothing he'd ever seen. Grayson moved constantly and chatted the entire time. Father glared at the road and talked back to Grayson, slapping his hand away from the controls every once in a while. But they were almost in sync. The other never questions when one was or wasn't talking, and they interacted somewhat how Damian imagined their partnership back when Grayson had been Robin.

They drove down the road, heading past a car dealership and a church. Grayson turned the music off, plunging them into silence. Only the cars passing and the rumble of the wheels on the road filled up the air around them. Damian looked around them. They passed another church and a McDonalds and merged right onto the next highway.

"Where are we going?" he asked quietly.

"Bowie," Grayson replied, glancing around. "I'm gonna shove that guys antenna into his ass."

Damian looked behind them in the car and scrunched up his face. "I thought we were going to Washington."

"Metro," Grayson said, jerking his head to his right. "Cheaper than gas."

"Oh," Damian said. He reached forward to turn on the music, Grayson's godawful hippie music, but Grayson reached forward and slapped his hand away from the controls. Damian pulled his hand back, leaning again as far away as he could into the window. He slid the window down. The wind whipped them around them. Grayson slid it back up. Damian turned the air conditioning up. Grayson scowled and turned it off and opened the skylight. Damian turned and threw his feet on the dashboard.

He reached forward and began to mess with the bass and volume levels. Grayson glanced over and gripped the wheel tighter before he slowly pushed Damian's hand away. Damian looked around the window. They were driving through woods now, back roads. They went around a traffic circle and came out next to a large mega-church. Grayson swung the car around the light and sped up, slowly edging the speedometer to 60. Then 70. Damian looked at the speed limit sign. 50 miles per hour. Damian slowly moved his seat up. Then back. Then up and then back. Then he lifted the back of the seat and put it back down again. Then he moved it up, then down.

"Okay!" Grayson finally snapped. "What are you trying to do?"

"Getting your attention," Damian said, pulling his feet off the dash and leaning forward. "I want to talk and you're being difficult."

Grayson signed, glancing at him sharply. They were driving through neighborhoods now. All the streets started with the letter P. "Fine. Fine. You got me," he paused. Then he sighed. "It's not that I…," Grayson paused and shook his head, his shoulder's dropping. "I don't want you to go back to your dad. And maybe I'm being selfish, but I like you being at the penthouse with me. I enjoy having you there, and I know Barbara likes that you're there too."

Damian doesn't say anything, but he feels his heart beating in his chest.

Grayson turned onto another road and they pass a public park and a mall. "I've been arguing with your dad, actually. Do you want some fudge?"

"Tt." Damian paused. "Of course I do."

"Okay. We're going to Annapolis," Grayson said, switching to the right lane. "But like I was saying… B and I have been arguing. He wants you to come back eventually, but I've kept putting it off. I was selfish. I didn't even think about you. And… then a couple weeks ago, when I mentioned you going back and you kinda snapped, I was thinking that I'd never had a lot of time with my dad, you know, because in the grand scheme of things eight years isn't that long of a time. I want you to be with B, really, but I loved," Grayson paused. "I loved having that relationship with you, Damian. I loved being a dad for you."

Grayson turned to look over his shoulder, then to the right, and u-turned back around the way they'd came. The green sign told them 301 was up ahead.

Damian nodded. "I don't want to go back. Home is with you."

Grayson's eyes widened, and he jerked the car a little to the left on accident. They straightened up and slowed to a stop at the light. Damian noted the Wine store across the street, cars pulling in and peeling out quickly.

"Bruce is your dad, Damian," Grayson said, his voice heavy. He looked tired. "You need to be with him."

"I don't want to!" Damian cried. "I have gone over this in my head many times. My home is with you, in the penthouse. I don't want go back into the manor. I… I don't even…" he looked away, his hand curling into a fist. "He didn't even want me. I know he loves me, and I know I love him too. He's my father. But he doesn't…" he let out a long breath. "I'm not his son, not really."

Grayson didn't say anything, only looking over briefly with concerned eyes.

"I'm yours," Damian said, his voice pleading.

Grayson stopped the car and pulled over to the side of the road. They were around some farms. Wind grazed by them and a car or two passed every few minutes.

"I do like being your dad, Damian," Grayson said, turning his body to face Damian. His hand was on the back of the boys seat, as if comforting. It was, funnily enough. "Even if I'm at your school every other week."

"They're all idiots."

"You brought in a sword."

"Cultural heritage."

Grayson barked out a laugh, shaking his head. He calmed down, biting his lip. "I just… I don't want to replace Bruce."

"You're not!" Damian insisted. "You're much better anyway. And I like living at home with you. You're proud of me. I…" he paused, struggling to admit it out loud. "No one has ever been proud of me before."

Grayson smiled a little, reaching forward to awkwardly pull Damian into a hug. "I am very proud of you Damian, don't ever doubt that."

Damian slipped and held the back of Grayson's shirt. His dad.

"I haven't."

"Ready for some fudge?"

"Tt. Of course I am," Damian said, sitting back and smiling.

Grayson reached forward and turned the music up. The soothing voice of Bob Dylan filled up the car, asking how many roads they were going to travel. Damian tried to hide his smile as Grayson turned on the car and they drove down 214. They passed farms and trees and the music was loud and Grayson was singing, and he laughed when Damian tried to hide the fact he was singing under his breath.

They sat on Ego Alley eating large blocks of fudge. Grayson asked someone to take their picture. When they said how much his son looked like his father, Grayson just grinned. Damian hide a smirk behind his half-eaten fudge.

"You know," Grayson said, wiping his fingers with a napkin. "Do you think Alfred will kill us if he knew we were eating fudge? I wanted to post this on Facebook but…" he frowned at Damian dramatically.

"I think either way he'd find out. Did you use your card?"

Grayson looked down at his fudge and then up at Damian. The wind blew around the, whipping Grayson's too long hair into his face. "I might've. If he asks, deny everything, admit nothing, and make counter accusations."

"I'll plead the fifth."

A pause. "Good enough."

A week later when they got back to Gotham, Grayson had a long meeting with Bruce. Damian wasn't allowed to stay at the penthouse all year. He'd have to come to the manor for some of the summer months, and then several weeks in the winter. Bruce hadn't been happy, but he respected their relationship enough to allow it. Life, in the end, didn't change all that much. While the two still argued sometimes, Dick and Damian lived as they had before. Barbara still came. And Damian joined the team after some time. And in the end, Bruce Wayne still traveled as he had. He and Damian occasionally went out as Batman and Robin together when his father was home, but Damian preferred Grayson any day.

Maybe, perchance, Damian could make the "Damian Grayson" signed at the beginning of his sketchbook a reality. Or at least, Damian Grayson Wayne. That didn't have a terrible ring to it.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

6.

Damian didn't like the other Robin. He didn't want him there, he didn't need him there, and he didn't even want to look at him. It was all an accident anyway, and he didn't understand why the other Robin was allowed to stand there stay with them. It should be left to the League. That, and the other Robin was pissing him off. He wouldn't stand still and take anything seriously and he was loud a little obnoxious and his laugh echoed around the cave and Damian just wanted to punt him off the penthouse and scream into the void.

Nightwing loved it.

That was probably because Robin was Nightwing. Or would, eventually, become Nightwing. Because why didn't they just need a case of time traveling. They were staying in the penthouse because Bruce just couldn't get himself back and so Damian was sitting across a small, thirteen year old Dick Grayson who was stuffing his face full of pizza and drinking cream soda like mad.

He gulped loudly. "If Alfred finds out, I'm gonna die."

Damian scowled further and skulked further into his chair, digging his knife into the pizza. Dick continued to stuff his face with pizza, not even bothering with utensils. Grayson sat across from them, slowly chewing and not quite paying attention to them. He was on his phone, scrolling and reading through something on it. Damian could see the blue glow on his face.

The younger Dick looked between them, folding his napkin over and over into various folds. Damain stared pointedly at his food and then up at Grayson, who was pointedly ignoring the both of them. "So, why does he," he jabbed the napkin at Damian, "live with you?" He jabbed it at Grayson.

The older man looked up and looked like a deer caught in the headlights with his mouth still full of pizza. His eyes were wide. His phone screen flickered and went dark. Grayson slowly set it to the side. "I'm Damian's guardian," he explained, "Just while Bruce is off… doing Batman stuff around the world."

Dick looked between the two of them further, narrowing his eyes. "Okay… so…. He's Robin, I got that. Does he even know what that means?"

"Okay," Grayson said loudly, "Time for bed!"

Damian slammed his fork and knife on the counter, turning his body and the seat slightly to look at the younger Grayson. Dick's face was red, and his blue eyes were narrowed indignantly at Damian. Grayson was frozen in his peripheral, not moving or doing anything. Damian didn't see the glow of the phone again.

"I have a full comprehension of what it means to be Robin! It is to protect my Batman and to prepare to carry on the legacy myself!" Damian snapped, slamming his hands on the counter. Dick didn't back down. In fact, he leaned closer, hands curling into fists.

"It's not to become Batman," Dick snapped, "I never wanted to become Batman! And Robin is more than that, it's… it's… it's a legacy of my own!"

"How could you not want to become Batman?" Damian hissed, almost nose to nose with the boy.

Dick huffed and turned away, stomping off in the hallway. It's quiet when he slams a door, probably to the guest room that he's been sleeping in. The argument was short lived and it's quiet now. Grayson has set his pizza to the side and Damian's lost his appetite suddenly. He shoves his pizza out of the way. His half full glass of cream soda almost falls off the counter, almost to the edge. Grayson stares at it quietly and opens his mouth to speak. But the door down the hall opens up and Dick, the small one, stalks into the kitchen again and slams something on to the counter.

Both Grayson and Damian are staring down at his hand. Dick leaps onto the counter and points at the colors in the picture. "Red, Green, and Yellow," Dick snapped, his finger resting on the chest of his cousin who was wearing the uniform of the Flying Grayson's. "Robin is my legacy, and their legacy. And Mr. I-work-alone doesn't just get to give it away to whoever fits his fancy!"

He leaves the picture there and turns back away, back down the hall. Damian is staring at the photograph and Grayson is staring after his younger self curiously. There's silence except for the door slamming and the news in the background; baseball, the Gotham Knights just scored. The crowd is going wild and the sound of the anchor talking echoes around the room. Damian is still staring at the family, all smiling. There's a small Dick Grayson in there too, younger than the one even they've managed to acquire, and his smile is big and he's holding on to an older kids leg.

Damian slowly shrugged out of his chair, not looking at the picture any further. He tromped off down to his room and slammed his own door shut. His sketchbook, Mary Grayson's sketchbook, was sitting open on his desk. He turned away from it.

He didn't know why he was bothered by the younger-Grayson. Why did the younger version bother him? Grayson had given him the mantle of Robin, even going so far as to strip it from Drake. But he didn't know about the colors, or what else it represented, or that the colors weren't just because Grayson couldn't form a functioning fashion sense. Maybe the younger-Grayson, Dick, didn't like him because he hadn't ever expected to give up being Robin— but Damian expected, even looked forward to, letting Robin go.

He flopped down onto his bed, throwing his arms up over his head. He heard the television turn off in the living room and footsteps go down the hall past his room. The light from the hall turned off and the triangle from the door into his room disappeared. Grayson's door to his study opened and then closed. Damian closed his eyes.

…

The next morning was silent. Dick was standing over Damian, looking down with his arms crossed. Damian could already tell someone was standing there and opened his eyes to find a thirteen year old standing above him.

"What?" he snapped.

"I'm sorry," Dick apologized, turning around and sitting on the bed. Damian shifted over a little and looked at his father figure only a year older than him. The kid looked like he barely got any sleep and his arms are wrapped around his chest tightly. It wasn't cold, it shouldn't be, it was spring and Grayson tended to leave the windows open in the spring because it was a waste of money. Not that they were begging for pennies though.

He stayed silent so Dick cleared his throat and kept going.

"I'm sorry about… snapping at you like that," Dick said, shuffling his feet. "The other me explained everything and said that he… gave Robin to you."

Damian remained stoically silent. Dick continued.

"I guess I just can't wrap my head around not being Robin again. I don't know what I expected, because, well, I don't want to be Batman either so… it's just strange seeing myself being Batman, and someone else is Robin. Robin had always been my thing, you know, it was always my legacy."

"I don't understand," Damian said slowly. "Not for a lack of trying, certainly, I do everything I do to the best of my ability. But… I have always expected to be Batman. I never wanted to be Robin in the first place. That's a different matter."

"How could you want that?" Dick whispered. "How could you ever want that?"

Damian felt himself freeze. He didn't know what to say. The legacy he was taught to always carry on his shoulders wasn't the one he held, it was Grayson's legacy. It was Mary and John's legacy. But he felt attached to it too, now, and Robin felt like a part of him too. And all the other Robin's had left… Todd not quite of his own will, and become their own thing. Grayson became Nightwing, Todd became Red Hood, and Drake became Red Robin. Brown was now Batgirl. Did he want to become Batman, or was it just expected of him?

Grayson didn't expect him to become Batman. Of all people, Grayson was the one who wanted Damian to choose his own path.

"Yeah," Dick said softly, "That's what I thought."

Damain doesn't say anything as Dick leaves.

…

They're standing in the Watchtower watching Cyborg and Raven work on the Zeta portal with Mel to find some way to get small Dick Grayson back to the past. The team is nervously walking around eggshells around the small kid, because it's just weird, and the only ones he's okay with are the original members who are still there. He hangs around Artemis and Superboy, watching his older self as Batman and Damian as Robin dictate the others around them.

They finally get it up and running. Dick stands in front of the portal with a smirking grin on his face and he looks like he found the jackpot. None of the league is there, but that's expected. Damian found that Dick didn't want to see the older Bruce Wayne. Damian isn't sure that if he were transported to the future he'd want to see an older Dick Grayson either. They'd be too different, too changed.

As the glow of purple and blue swirled around the kid, he turned and poked Damian in the chest.

"You're carrying a legacy, kid, I'm damned glad it's you," he said and then back-flipped into the portal.

Damian doesn't say anything and just turned around to look at Batman.

"I always needed the last word," he grumbled. "Let's go, Robin."

They arrive at the penthouse hours later, after a late patrol. Grayson falls on to the couch, grabbing Damian with him. They're lying there in the living room. The TV is on again. It's baseball, again, and this time they're winning again. It feels good, even if Damian doesn't give a hair about baseball.

"You choose your legacies alright?"

"Who said I have?"

Grayson looked down and, from Damian's angle, it gave the older man a double chin. "Have you?"

Damian shrugged. "I… choose my own path."

He looked up to see Dick grin. He squeezed Damian's shoulder. "That's what it means to be Robin, Damian. You choose your own path. You fly on your own, when you're ready. Not because I say so, or because Talia or your dad. You make your own choices. That's what being a Flying Grayson meant, kiddo. And the younger me… he was right… I am damned glad it's you."

Damian felt himself grinning but he doesn't say anything.

"You're my kid," Grayson said quietly. "I'm so proud of you, Damian."

Fin.