#final chapter alert!

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?