#rayerequests

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers into the night. The rain and clouds making the city lights misty coating everything with a layer of water. It was almost beautiful, watching the light twinkle from the roof of a tall building. But this night, neither of them were watching the lights or weather.

The teen grips the railing, knuckles turning white.

“Why, pray tell, should I not? It is apparent to me everyone was perfectly fine leaving me. Why, why should I be the one that is always left behind? Between my parents, siblings, and friends, everyone was so preoccupied with themselves that they never remembered the one sitting alone at home.”

“I never wanted to leave you. Never wanted you to feel alone. Never wanted you to think no one cares,” the man explains, his voice layered with grief like how the mist layered water on his hair and face.

“Well, too bad. I was left. I was alone. I thought no cares. If I am being completely honest, I still think that way. I am tired of being angry, of being lonely, of being thinking that I am the problem.”

“Damian—”

“No!” he screams, slamming his hands onto the railing, “I’m done with this-this push and pull of family! Days where people walk in and out of my life like a revolving door. People you told me that should stay. You told me that family doesn’t desert each other. And it seems like that’s all this family does!”

“I’m sorry!” Dick yells back, hands clenched in fists, “Is that what you want to hear? I’m sorry that I had to go save the world—”

“I’m not angry that you went to save the world!” Damian’s voice still raging against the night before dropping low, “I’m angry because you and Father put on a sham for making your family to believe you were dead. I’m angry that all that this family is not a family at all.  All we do is offended each other, abandon each other…” Reaching his small hands towards his face, he wipes the small amount to water gathering in his eyes.

“And I’m angry that I can’t seem to make myself leave. That I keep coming back, no matter how many times I pick up the pieces of myself that this family uses then discards like garbage.”

“Damian, look at me,” Dick begs slowly closing the gap between them, “please?”

Placing his large hands on the teen’s shoulders, Dick slowly, so slow as if too fast would make Damian run away, turns Damian around. Finally facing each other, Dick looks, really looks, at his little brother, taking in the changes since Dick left.

The bags under his young eyes that have seen too much too soon. The ashen sheen that means too little sunlight on his previously dark skin. The limp in his hair he used to take so much pride in. The shaking muscles that speaks to how much he is overworking his body.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you and everyone else by tricking you into thinking I was dead.”

Damian’s eyes widen at the word. Hurt. That’s what he felt wasn’t it? Hurt? He was hurt because Damian was becoming the scapegoat for everyone’s problems it seemed.

Drake was angry? Damian must have messed with something.

Todd was brooding? Damian must have said something.

Grayson was pouting? Damian must have done something.

Father was being abnormally silent? Damian must have disobeyed.

It seemed that being Damian meant being a failure.

And it hurt.

Take stock of what you have before choosing a plan. This lesson was one of the first things Damian was taught when he began his tactician training under his mother’s and father’s instruction, so that is what he did as he was shoved onto the sand below him. He had his sword and a knife in his boot still but no utility belt, the left side of his mask was shattered and showing his bruised green eye, his uniform was torn and stained with mud, blood, and sweat in various places, and Tim was laying in a pool of his blood and unconscious. Damian can feel the exhaustion in his bones, blood pumping in veins, and adrenaline fading from his system. As he moves to stand his muscles protests, but his mind screaming at him to keep going, racing with various plans, odds, but most importantly, Tim.

How much time does he have? How much blood left in his veins? He can’t last much longer before he—

He cuts that thought before it can fully form. Because Tim can’t. He just can’t. Damian won’t let him go.

With aching feet, he stands and lifts his sword with throbbing arms and hands, pointing the tip of his blade towards his opponent.

“Oh, you are so foolish, Grandson. You have no way out, or contacting anyone. Why do you think you can win?” Ras mocks, his voice smooth yet Damian can feel it grate against his skin.

Damian keeps his eyes trained on Ra’s, and begins to place his plan into action. “I do not expect to win,” he says with a calm, confident voice.

Ra’s raises an eyebrow at his words, intrigued by the teen’s words. “Then why do you fight, if not to win?”

“I fight to keep my family away from you and your evil plans and excruciating manipulations. No one should suffer as I and my mother have. I will make sure of it.”

“So, you are delaying the inevitable?”

“Perhaps, but it will be enough,” Damian speaks with assurance, akin to someone pointing out the obvious. Because Damian knows that what he does has to be enough, otherwise Damian is going to die and he is not interested to do that again, at least not until he reaches his twenties.

Maybe he could live to his thirties, that would be splendid.

Ra’s gives Damian a disappointed look, and when Damian was younger that look always made him feel worthless. However, now it drives him and gives him the strength to continue, because if he was disappointing Ra’s then Damian knew he was doing something right. When Ra’s speaks again his voice is oozing with disgust, “You have become more foolish every time I see you.” Then Ra’s brings his sword against Damian’s, then his voice morphs to a calm tone, “But if you are determined to act this way, it is up to me to punish you.”

“At least I have a family. Since Mother has left your cult, you have no family, no heir,” Damian says, beginning to put his plan into action, “You have no one. Is why you dragged Timothy out here? For you to have a protégé? Or a second in command? Perhaps you were going to take his body over instead, since you could not have mine.” As he continues his speech, Damian backs up, slowly making his way to Tim. He hears Tim’s shallow breaths and a glance down tells Damian that Tim’s eyes are beginning to open.

Perfect.

“I think when you took my brother, you were not only trying to pick a new participant for your pathetic council, but also trying to hurt my family by taking a vital member of it. But there is one problem with your plans.”

“What is that, Grandson?”

Damian runs at Ra’s sword swinging, but dropping at the last second and slides between Ra’s’ legs, then swings his sword to block Ra’s’ sword coming down on him.

Ra’s eyes grow wide as a knife was sunk into his back.

“We keep each other safe,” Tim says as Ra’s turns to face the older Robin, “and you never seem to learn that lesson.”

Ra’s shoves Tim off of him, Tim rips the knife out of Ra’s back, and Damian swings his sword causing Ra’s to jump back. “I will not let you children stop me!” he shouts and begins to hack at both the Robins. Damian and Tim split and surround Ra’s, fighting in sync, where one would block the other would attack, and when one would get hit the other would distract Ra’s till the he recovered. The three fought with fluidity, as if this was a routine dance that they have practiced hundreds of times.

Soon the wind picked up and sound of a gun being fired echoing through the battle field, causing the three to halt their dangerous dance. Tim could see a red helmet stick out of the door, blue flash jump out of the helicopter and run to them, and he feels Damian and himself relax slightly to see their brothers.

“Hey! You took some people that aren’t yours!” Jason shouts from his place.

“I didn’t know you collected little birds, Ra’s. Too bad these already have a perfectly good home!” Dick quips as he lands a kick to the old man’s jaw.

 ***

Dick was in the medical bay with the top half of his suit pooling around his waist as Alfred checks Dick’s ribs for any fractures and Bruce is sitting by the Batcomputer when he notices smudges through the reflection. “Dick, what are those?” Bruce asks incredulously, pointing at the ink on his eldest son’ s side.

Dick looks at Bruce quizzically and says, “Um… tattoos? I got them after getting out of Spyral, Bruce. All of them are in my chart.”

Bruce was flabbergasted at the news; did he really not notice this for nearly six months? Granted Dick has been at the Titans Tower for a month with Tim to mend their relationship, then he took Damian to Bludhaven for a few weeks to understand everything that Damian has done, then Jason snagged Dick for a couple of days for a case. This was the second month he is in Gotham and the days were spent with Barbara, Cass, Duke, and Stephanie, Bruce couldn’t remember the last time they had an actual conversation outside of mission debriefings.

Well, that couldn’t stand.

“Bruce? You doing okay?” Dick asks hesitantly.

Shaking his head, Bruce stands up and walks to Dick. “I’m doing fine. I guess I haven’t checked your chart since you gotten back from there,” he says, and points to the few inked areas on Dick’s ribs, “What are they for?”

Dick breaks out into a smile, causing Bruce to sigh in relief, and begins to point to the black outline bat that is sitting on Dick’s first rib, “Well, this one is you,” then to a black bird with blue wings under the bat to the right, “this is me,” the green-colored bat under the bat to the right, “that is Barbara,” a red-winged bird right under the bat, “Jason,” a bird with wings that fade from yellow to red under Jason’s bird, “Timmy,” yellow colored in bat under the green one, “Cass,” a purple bat next to Cass’s, “Steph,” a bird with green wings, “Damian,” a yellow-winged bird next to the green one, “Duke,” then to the lone owl that is place almost on his back, “finally, this one is Alfred,” Dick finishes with a fond sigh.

Bruce, processing everything, begins to speak, “If your suit tears or…”

Dick frowns, begins to get off the bed, and bits out, “I wrap them every night, and take all precautions I do when I head to walk the beat. I know what I’m doing, Bruce, I’m not going to expose our identities.”

“I know you aren’t, Dick. That’s not what I’m worried about,” Bruce stumbles through his thoughts as Dick begins to walk into the showers.

Dick turns around and cocks his eyebrow, “Then what?”

“I’m just worried about your suit aggravating the area, Dick. Tattoos can be kind of tricky to take care of.”

Dick lets out a small smile and explains, “I know, Bruce. I have had the first one for about five months, the newest one is a few weeks old.”

“A few weeks?”

“I let everyone choose their own colors, well, almost everyone,” Dick says, the shrugs his shoulders, “I didn’t know if you wanted to or not so I just left it with an outline. I was going to get a set of trapeze next, figure I should get all the members of my family.”

Bruce could feel his heart pick up just a bit at Dick’s nonchalant declaration that Bruce is a part of Dick’s family. “I think, if its okay with you, I would like to go with you next time, Dick. There is something I have been thinking about getting for a couple years now” Bruce requests.

Dick’s eyes widen slightly then nods, “I—Sure, Bruce. That would be great. What were you thinking?”

“It’s a surprise.”

A few days later everyone was at the BatCave finishing up a family meeting before heading out to patrol. Bruce had these meeting once a month, when possible to keep everyone on the same page and if someone needs help or to leave their post for an extended time someone else could cover their city/district. At this point everyone was just munching on Alfred’s cookies, drinking their beverage of choice, and talking amongst themselves when Bruce got up, his tank top bulging around bandages on his ribs.

“Father, when did you get injured?” Damian asks, “I do not recall any recent encounters with anyone that got that close.” This causes everyone to quiet down and look at Bruce, gauging whether it was serious or not. But Dick looks like the cat that ate the canary and Bruce’s heart melts just a bit at the boyish upturn on his eldest. He hasn’t seen that smile in a long time.

Bruce turns towards his children, seeing their worried faces, and quickly tries to calm them, “I’m not injured; it’s a tattoo, well a couple, actually.”

Tim jumps out of his chair, sending it to the floor. “You got a tattoo, too?”, he asks incredulously. When Bruce nods his head, Tim glances around the table, before inquiring, “What is it?”

Bruce looks around the room, lifts his shirt, and slowly peels the bandage away, on the slightly redden skin of his ribs is a black bird with blue, red, yellow, and green feathers, underneath it was the date that Dick was declared Bruce’s ward, a dash, and an infinity symbol. Next to it was a black bat with green wings, a yellow head, and a purple torso with the date of Barbara joining Bruce on his crime crusade with a dash and an infinity symbol.

After a minute Bruce replaces the bandage and drops his shirt, then speaks, “Dick and I both have tattoos now, and we have updated our medical records both here and on the Watchtower.”

Then he turns towards the locker rooms and announces, “Patrol time. Get geared up. Damian and I will be taking the docks, Stephanie and Cass will look for Puppeteer at the old theatre. Jason and Tim will cover Bludhaven, and Barbara will be patrolling the Upper District. Dick, you are on monitor duty, you still need to heal up from your last mission with the Titans.”

“Father!” Damian loudly calls out, beginning to run after Bruce along with his other children. Well, except Dick and Alfred, who has a soft smile gracing their faces.

Finally the pictures (remember they are on the ribs)

Dick’s Bird tattoo:

Dick’s Bat tat:

Dick’s Owl tattoo:

Damian could tell when he walks into Dick’s apartment something is wrong. To be honest, this was the apartment that he and Dick shared for five years, so noticing the furniture was unnaturally shoved against the walls was not hard. This was the first place Damian ran to after leaving Father and Gotham, but after turning eighteen, Dick and Kor’i’s wedding, and subsequent pregnancy, Damian wanted to move out as to not cramp the new family and make his own home. This leads to Damian to this moment, picking up the last of his things and all the dangerous weapons from Dick and Kor’i’s apartment while Kor’i is choosing the major pieces of baby furniture in town.But slowly walking his way into the living room, Damian pulls up short, because in the middle of the floor is Dick with his head in his hands, slightly shaking.

Gently as he can, Damian asks, “Dick? Are you alright?”

Dick’s head pops up quickly, making Damian grimace at the speed, then turns toward Damian. “Damian? What are you doing here? Not that you aren’t welcome b—”

Damian gives Dick an unimpressive look at the change of subject but rolls with it. “I was going to collect the last of my things, but that does not matter right now. What is wrong?”

“No—”

“If you say ‘Nothing, I’m fine,’ then I will be calling Kor’i. Be honest with me, Dick,” Damian threateningly pleads.

Damian's words seem to be the final straw on the metaphorical camel’s back, because Dick begins to breath heavily and ramble, “What if I’m not a good dad? What if they don’t like me? What if I don’t love them enough? What if they get hurt? What if—”

“Baba! Calm down. Take a deep breath, slowly,” Damian instructs as Dick starts throwing himself into a panic attack. These Damian knows how to deal with, he has worked through his own and calmed others (including everyone in the bat family) through enough over the years that his training kicks in. Sliding down on his knees in front of Dick, Damian gently grasps the older man's hands and says, “Hey, eyes on me.  Focus on the present. We are in the apartment, everyone is safe. Breath in slowly and hold it for a few seconds… Good, now let it out.” After a few more minutes of calming Dick down, Damian asks, “Are you better? Or do you need a few more minutes?”

At that Dick shakes his head and lets out a soft denial and, “Thanks, Damian. I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

With another unimpressed look, Damian points out, “You have talked me down through worse, this is literally the least I could do. Now, can you tell me what is the cause of all these thoughts?”

Dick shrugs and points around the place as he begins to explain, “I was moving the furniture to where Kor’i wanted it, then I realized that everything is changing again. For the most part, becoming better. I guess I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. There have been so many great things happing lately, I’m thinking when will the universe screw me over again. Life is good now, but next week? Or a month? Or after the baby comes? Something will turn bad soon, it’s inevitable at this point.”

“So you think because your life presently is peaceful and joyful, soon your reality will become horrible?”

Dick nods his head before saying, “That’s how my life usually works, Chikno.”

Damian decides to not touch that minefield, leaving Dinah to help in Dick’s therapy sessions, but tries to comfort Dick as much as he can. “What if this is the universe giving back after hurting you so many times? After taking so much from you, this is how the universe, karma, whatever, is how you get what you want. Did you ever think of that?”

A few minutes roll by before Dick says, “No, but I—”

Damian cuts Dick off, saying, “No ‘but’s. Everything will work out; you just have to let it. At least that is what you told me.”

“You’re right. I’ve been too pessimistic lately, time to look on the bright side,” Dick agrees then leans on Damian’s shoulder, “Thanks Chikno.” The younger man just hums in return, too used to Dick’s need for touch after living with him for so long that it doesn’t phase him anymore. “Hey Damian, do you need help moving the rest of your stuff? I saw the mountain of boxes you have left earlier.”

Damian’s head drops to Dick’s as he lets out a tired, “I would appreciate the help. I underestimated how many weapons Kor’i had brought when she moved in. It is impressive, if anything else, how quickly she moved from Jump City to here within a few days.”

Laughter erupts from Dick at the end of Damian’s statement, then answers, “She is quick but with the baby on the way, the weapons aren’t needed here. Not allowed, at least not for a few years, when the baby isn’t a baby anymore.”

Damian scoffs then says, “Of course the weapons are not needed, the small one has two of the strongest people I know as parents. The mother is an alien with star bolts and a heart of gold, and the father is quick to action and to love. If anything, the small one is going to have the best parents the universe has to offer.”

Dick’s heart skips a beat and melts simultaneously when Damian speaks and he wonders just when did the small ten-year-old, prickly assassin turned into the eighteen-year-old, hero that says things this sappy. But if Dick points that out Damian might close up, so instead he gives Damian a hug and asks, “What if we finish packing up everything here, head out to lunch, then finishing up at your new place, sound good?”