#dizaryswrites

Damian was decidedly not well when he woke up from the short nap. There were no happy coos or excited kicks when Dick fetched him from the crib. Instead, the baby whimpered and clung to whoever was holding him, rubbing his face against their shirt. He refused all offered puffs and puree pouches, and made soft cries if he was set down.

Out of an abundance of hope, Dick still prepared for patrol, albeit a bit earlier in the evening than usual. By the time he was ready to leave, Damian was cuddled on Steph’s lap with a fabric baby book in his mouth. And, most importantly, not crying. They’d be alright for a little while.

For three hours, Batman roamed the city. Instead of spending precious time on following leads for slow moving cases, Dick focused on street work, reminding criminals Batman still stalked the night.

He'd broken up an arms deal, leaving an alley full of zip tied criminals for the police, when Steph hailed his frequency. “Everything alright?”

She sighed but there was no wailing like there had been on Alfred’s call. “He won't eat. I know he's hungry but he's refusing the bottle from both me and Al. You're his favorite so I'm betting he'd take it from you, but if the city is–”

Dick was already aiming his grapple. “No, it's quiet tonight. I'm headed in.”

The living room was dimly lit. Soft lullabies filled the air as he walked in. Steph was in one of the recliners with Damian sprawled and asleep on her chest. Her hand ran slowly up and down his back. On the end table sat an abandoned textbook and spiral notebook.

“I'm sorry,” Dick whispered.

She shook her head, and held up a stack of flashcards in her other hand. “Don't be. I've been doing these instead.” Once his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, it became clear that it wasn’t a blanket swaddled around Damian but Bruce’s turtleneck. “It comforts him,” Steph said, clearly noting where Dick was staring, “Poor kid. They barely got to know each other.”

Dick swallowed hard, suddenly needing to be the one holding Damian. He stretched out his arms, “I’ll give you a break.” Gingerly, as if they were defusing a bomb, they transferred Damian to Dick’s chest. Immediately, he began rocking the baby, silently begging for him to stay asleep. And he did. Damian barely stirred, only nuzzling his face into Dick’s shirt, lips pursed as he slept.

“Shut up, that’s adorable,” cooed Steph, “but we’re gonna have to wake him up for a bottle soon.”

“I know. Just…let’s let him rest a little more. He didn't nap earlier.” It was relieving to hold Damian. Feeling his little chest rising and falling with sighs, tiny fingers curling and twitching in his sleep. Listening to Damian’s whimpers hurt. To know he wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t tell them why. A failure Dick was wholly unprepared for.

Learning to be an acrobat wasn't always fun. In the beginning Dick fell. Often. One fall had been bad enough that he couldn't quickly bounce back up. He'd laid on the training pad gasping, clutching his left elbow, the canvas tent above slowly blurring as tears gathered.

His parents had come running. His father checked the injury and made sure he could breathe again. Then his mother lifted and held him against her chest even though he was far too big for it to be comfortable. She'd soothed him with kisses and rubbed his back as he sniffled. His father had lovingly brushed dirt from his hair and tears from his cheeks.

That was one of the clearest memories he had. Their love fully enveloping him. Dick could feel them even now, their arms joining his to wrap around Damian. Carefully, he ran his hand over Damian’s head, His little Robin. Dick closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the baby’s head, continuing to sway in place. Who knew he'd actually come to care about the kid?

There weren’t as many happy babbles coming from the crib this morning but Damian still smiled when he saw Dick, releasing the foot he was investigating so he could pump his legs excitedly.

“Good night, huh?” Yawning, Dick lifted Damian from the crib. “Let’s get some breakfast. And coffee. Lots of it.”

The kitchen wasn’t as homey as the Manor’s was. Everything was more sleek in the penthouse. Less personal. For a while, Dick had hated it. Loathed building a new Batcave in the Bunker with none of the history behind it. No memories of growing up around its equipment and trophies. The hatred faded eventually, replaced by carefully curated apathy as he focused on simply getting through the day with most of his sanity.

This morning, walking into the modern kitchen to see Alfred sitting at the table with a small stack of pancakes and fresh pot of coffee, a sun drenched Gotham shining through the windows, Dick felt…comfortable. Not quite “at home” yet but less like he was in an extended stay hotel.

Alfred looked up from his newspaper, used silverware arranged neatly on his plate. “Good morning, Master Richard. Miss Brown has already left for campus and requested that you not ‘get into anything cool’ without her.”

“Raven!” Dick knew his shouting was probably blowing out the sensitive cowl speakers but he couldn’t care less. “Raven, I need you!”

“What’s wrong?” Worry tinged her voice, understandably so.

“It’s Damian. He’s…he got hit with a spell.” Dick didn’t have the brain space to explain what he was seeing, not while sprinting with a literal ton of Kevlar dragging behind him and trying to keep his grip on a writhing Robin. Darts whistled past his ear—dammit, why wouldn’t they stay down!—and pinged off the wall. Dick chucked smoke pellets then a concussion pellet five seconds later. “I’m sending you my coordinates. Please, you have to come right now or else he’ll–”

“I’m on my way.”

She arrived in a swirl of purple at the same time Dick came crashing through the doors, Damian bundled in his arms. The boy’s breaths were coming in short pants, hands clutching at his chest as he bucked. Dick lay Damian on the hood of the Batmobile and immediately spun around to make sure they weren’t followed out. He should’ve expected something insane from Gotham. It’d been quiet for too long and their investigation led to abandoned catacombs below a condemned bank. Prime nonsense territory.

“Can you help him?”

“Do you know the spell that was used?” Raven asked. Violet light glowed from her eyes as she passed a hand over Damian’s twisting body, reflecting off chrome and grimy concrete.

“No. He triggered a trap.” Trying to not act as frantic as he was feeling, Dick looked between Raven and Damian. “Well? Can you help him or not?”

“Don’t snap at me, Batman,” She said in an icy voice, holding both hands over Damian, "I'm doing what I can." The purple haze grew stronger as she spoke foreign words, a breeze rippling her dark hair. A flare of light. And then…

Dick didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or scream. Maybe he could manage all three at the same time.

“I hope you like ravioli.”

Stephanie dropped her backpack by the kitchen table with a concerningly loud thunk. She’d left for class after their talk. “Chef Boyardee?”

“Only if they started making lemon chicken and ricotta flavor,” said Dick, grabbing bowls out of a cabinet.

“Oh we’re getting fancy tonight! I’ll take the baby now, thank you very much.” Still holding the bowls, Dick stopped in the middle of the kitchen as Steph pulled Damian from the baby wrap on Dick’s chest. “God these cheeks! I could just gobble them up!” She squealed, pretending to take bites as Damian giggled and batted tiny hands at her. It was perfect timing really. Now he could drain the boiling water with no worries and get everything plated up.

Alfred appeared in time to help set the table like they were proper regular people. “How was class, Miss Brown?” He asked, setting down a pitcher of water with lemon slices.

She was helping Damian stand on her knees, letting him pretend his chubby legs were holding him up. A giant grin was plastered on the baby’s face, eyes sparkling with delight. No doubt he would be a terror once he could walk. “Same old, same old. Which is good! No more chaos, please and thank you.”

“Trade ya,” Dick passed her a bowl of grated parmesan as he took Damian back. The baby sat happily on his lap, eating tiny spoonfuls of ravioli filling Dick gave him in between his own bites. The sounds of cutlery and dishes being passed between them as they ate filled the space with a comforting normality.

Eventually, Dick took a sip of water and cleared his throat. “I wanted to ask–”

“I knew it!” Stephanie stabbed her fork at Dick. Damian reached hopefully for the ravioli still speared on it, already chewing in anticipation. “You making dinner out of nowhere was suspicious, I knew there was a catch!”

Low murmurs drifted up from the parking lot, punctuated by slamming car doors as the men casually gathered. Dick barely touched the binoculars' dial to zoom in even more and study their faces. With this level of magnification, just breathing too hard would probably give him motion sickness.

A black, locked case was being produced now. More snippets of words–the rest was being recorded by the cowl for later analyzing–and a code was punched in. A flash of white tusks before the lid slammed shut again and two men shook hands. Dick wanted to swing down and break all their noses. But he couldn't. That ivory was funding the people he was after. It needed to stay in play for now.

As the gathering began to disperse, Dick began packing up as well. Binoculars away, grappling gun ready, multiple trackers primed, annoying cape not tangled around his ankles–

There was the soft blip of the comm coming online followed by wailing the noise suppression wasn't fast enough to catch. Dick bodily flinched, automatically reaching for his ear to pluck the earbud out. Only to collide with the cowl. Damnit.

Soft chuckling woke him. Blinking sandpaper eyes, Dick peered out at the room. Alfred stood in the open door, digital camera in his hand. “Who let the paps in?” Dick rasped and let his head fall back against the pile of pillows. Another five or ten hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt.

Alfred tucked the camera away. “Good morning, Master Richard. I see you had an eventful night.”

“He’s still a handful if anyone is wondering.” Forcing himself upright, Dick peeked at the baby still nestled against his chest. Miraculously, Damian was still asleep. Magical deaging was clearly exhausting.

“Wait until you have to change his diaper.”

“Very helpful, Alfred, thank you.”

Tim didn’t know what he expected to see once he untangled himself from the parachute. The island he’d crash landed on was covered in a dense jungle so that wasn’t shocking. What was shocking was Damian Wayne scowling down at him.

Tim blinked again. Yep. He was still sprawled on the jungle floor, staring up at Damian Wayne in a nearly monochromatic Robin suit. It was…an oddly comforting sight. Wow. Did he actually miss the brat? Except, he was looking less and less like a brat and more grown. Which was weird, because had it really been that long since he’d seen Damian? Or was it grief aging him, the same way it stole the youthful shine from the rest of them?

At least the spikey toed boots were pretty neat.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Damian hissed.

“Where is here?” said Tim as he climbed to his feet and dusted off his Robin suit. His right knee throbbed but it took his weight. “It’s not on any maps. The ‘why’ is that I had to eject from my ship. I was heading back from Corto Maltese.”

“Why were–nevermind! You need to get off this island as fast as possible!”

Tim shot him a skeptical look. It was very unlike Damian to lose his cool this quickly. “Why? What are you doing here?”

Casting an almost nervous look over his shoulder, Damian tutted at him. “This is Lazarus Island. Where there’s a tournament happening amongst the greatest fighters–”

“And they brought you in? Nice, man, congrats.”

“No, not nice! Because while I cannot die, you can! Half the morons here would love to see Nightwing’s head on a pike but would settle for yours!”

Huh!? Tim gawked at Damian for a moment before reaching for his prickly little brother. “Do you want to be here? ‘Cause I can get you out of here.”

Damian looked over his shoulder again as he shoved at Tim. “Focus on yourself for once! You need to go before–”

“Before we stop in to say hello?” Lady Vic stepped into view behind Damian, her long braid draped over her shoulder. “You know…I was curious about that whole ‘no dying’ thing if someone wasn’t part of the tournament. Looks like we have a new birdie to test it on.” Two more women joined her in matching yellow bodysuits and masks. All three of their smiles had a hungry quality to them.