daveofguy

Pairing: Dick/Damian?? 

Rating: E for everyone :))))

Word Count: 791 words

Summary: Dick wakes up to the taste of guilt in his mouth and Damian sitting on the worktable with a blank expression and a cloud of something internalized and dark swallowing him whole.

Author Notes: Dang I hope this isn't terrible weh HAPPY FRIENDSHIP DUCKS.

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Dick wakes up in the console chair, drool on his face and a distinct feeling in his chest that someone’s watching him. He sits up, wipes the drool away, and feels guilty for sleeping in the chair again. He doesn’t do it often, but sometimes when he’s feeling alone, or terrified of his responsibility, he sits there and remembers and falls asleep thinking of when he was too small for this chair and someone so much more important sat in it.

 

He hopes it isn’t Damian sitting there when he turns around, because he doesn’t want Damian to know that he sleeps in the Batchair (because it’s weird, he knows it’s weird, and he knows that Damian will think it’s weird) but his prayers go unanswered. Damian is sitting on the edge of the worktable, half in shadow and looking at him with a blank expression. He doesn’t say a word and so Dick doesn’t either. They stare at each other in complete silence until Dick can’t stand it.

 

“Damian--”

 

“Why do you care?”

 

It’s like he was waiting for Dick to start so he could talk right over him, and Dick can’t help but think that’s so Damian.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Why do you care about any of us? Drake, Todd --” if Dick didn’t know Damian better he would think that Damian hesitated before speaking again, “ -- me. Why?”

 

That takes Dick off guard. He doesn’t know. He’s always cared, it’s what he’s good at.  He’s so very good at feeling things and giving a damn, but he’s not good at knowing why. So he just says anything.

 

“Because you’re what I have?”

 

It comes out much more like a question than Dick would like, but it’s the truth. They’re all he has, completely fucked up or no, and he’s always cared. Why stop?

 

Damian clicks his tongue like he always does but the way he’s sitting says that he’s not feeling normal. He looks angry, but it’s not the normal anger that clings to him like smoke -- it’s something so much more internalized and dark. Dick, worried, stands up and walks over to him. Damian’s eyes watch as he walks but he doesn’t move, not an inch, and Dick thinks that maybe he’s a little too trained, a little too wound up, but it’s nothing he hasn’t thought before.

 

“Are you okay?” Dick asks once he’s standing in front of Damian and he puts a hand on Damian’s forehead almost instinctively, like his mother used to do, like Alfred still does sometimes. He pushes the hair off Damian’s forehead and when Damian closes his eyes he keeps petting his hair.

 

“I don’t know why I care.” Damian finally says, and it comes out just a little bitter, like the words are biting his tongue on the way out.

 

Dick would ask, but he thinks maybe he doesn’t need to.

 

He’s always been good at understanding.

 

He watches as Damian opens his eyes and reaches for Dick -- but stops. Damian pulls away, like because he couldn’t reach out all the way he has to retreat completely. He shakes his head, a sharp motion, and Dick pulls his hand away.  Damian still doesn’t look up but he’s grimacing and that’s a good sign (so strange, Damian just isn’t like other people but that’s almost why Dick cares so much).

 

“It’s hard.” Damian mutters, and once again he doesn’t elaborate.

 

Dick smiles.

 

“And I thought nothing was hard for you.”

 

Damian looks up and his brows furrow and he disdainfully clicks his tongue again but he looks more like his normal self so Dick feels relieved. This time, when Damian reaches for him he doesn’t stop and he fists a hand in Dick’s shirt and just frowns up at him. He looks so frustrated, so mad, but Dick doesn’t think the anger is directed at him.

 

Dick stares back but with a loose grin on his face and his hands cup Damian’s neck and jaw. They don’t say anything else but Dick knows that Damian’s trying to tell him something. He’s always been good at understanding, so he leans forward and kisses the top of Damian’s head.

 

“It’s okay.” He murmurs into Damian’s hair. “It’s okay.”

 

Damian gives a heavy sigh and Dick feels his fist open up until it’s just a flat palm against his chest.

 

Damian leaves soon after and Dick falls asleep in his own bed an hour later. They don’t talk about it, but there’s nothing really to be said so Dick doesn’t mind. 

 

When he finds Damian asleep in the console chair the next week, Dick smiles and puts a blanket over him. He understands now, and that’s what really matters.