"Thank you for your cooperation."

That earned a small smile from him.

You reached over at the red light to squeeze his hand once. “You’re gonna do amazing. I believe in you.”

Damian looked down at your joined hands briefly before nodding. “Thank you"

The second Damian stepped onto the field, you could already tell he was calmer.

You sat near the front row of the stands, yelling support loud enough to mildly embarrass him.

“THAT’S MY BROTHER!”

Damian glanced toward the stands after making a clean interception, expression softening almost immediately when he saw you cheering.

One of his teammates laughed. “Yo Damian, your sister’s your biggest fan.”

“She is very enthusiastic,” Damian replied.

And you absolutely were.

You clapped for every good pass, stood up every time he got the ball, and nearly lost your mind when his team scored the winning goal.

By the end of the match, Damian’s team won 3–1.

The second he walked over afterward, very sweaty and flushed from running around for an hour, you grabbed both sides of his face dramatically.

“You guys WON!”

Damian laughed softly. “Yes. I was there.”

“You played so well.”

“You cheered very well.”

Later that day, the two of you sat in your car, parked outside Big Belly Burger, a chicken one for you, and veggie one for him. The fries balanced between you, with several sauces on the dashboard top, while Damian scrolled through messages from his teammates.

You stole one of his fries.

Damian noticed immediately and pushed the container closer toward you anyway.

“You know,” you said between bites, “I’m very proud of you, and you should be very proud of yourself.”

Damian looked over, his expression softening in that rare way it only ever did around family.

“…I’m glad you came, even though you were a bit loud.” he admitted.

You smiled immediately. “Obviously I came. You're my little brother.”

Damian rolled his eyes fondly before handing you your drink.

And for the rest of the drive home, he looked a lot less nervous than before.

a/n: yes this is directly inspired by Batman and Robin #5

Your knees wanted to give out at the sight of him trying to grin. Even now, even in so much pain, he tried to reassure you. So you helped him, laying him on the couch and rummaging through the cabinet for supplies. A sharp, chemical smell wafted through the apartment. You didn’t flinch. Nor did your hands tremble when you stitched his wounds.

Once you finished, you tucked him into bed and gazed at him, checking for the rise and fall of his chest. It was then that you noticed a chain around his neck, his wedding ring looped through it. This foolish man. He should know better than to carry something so precious out there.

Instead of scolding him like you wanted to, you curled up against him, fingers carding through his hair. You didn’t dare think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been home. And when morning came, he would surely try to calm you.

No, you couldn’t let it go this time. You would not let him distract you with his kisses. He needed to be reminded of just how dangerous this world was.

———

When the clock struck eight the next morning, you flung the curtains open. Sunlight poured in relentlessly, making Dick groan. He threw an arm over his eyes, his beautiful features twisting in discomfort from the movement.

“Sweetheart, the absolute love of my life, could you perhaps not agonize your very amazing husband today?” His voice was low and rough with sleep.

You hummed, bustling around the room for the medication you’d prepared for him. All night, your mind had whirled with ideas of how to make sure he was properly trained. He fought to save. That was the problem. You needed him to fight to survive.

You appeared beside the bed with the pills and a bottle of water. Looking at his injuries, you steeled your resolve. “Take these,” you demanded.

He shifted, opening one eye. Slowly, he sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. The sun painted his skin in soft gold. He looked at you with half-lidded eyes and fondness.

You held out the pills and water.

He rolled his eyes and took them, letting his fingers linger against yours. When he went to swallow them without the water, you cleared your throat loudly.

He paused, eyeing you.

“Isn’t there something you need to do before taking them?” you asked.

He tilted his head. “Oh yeah,” he said with a grin, and gestured for you to come closer. You leaned in, brows furrowed. what—

He kissed your cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me, sweetheart,” he murmured, like the idiot he was. Then he swallowed the pills, and you closed your eyes in disappointment.

“This is worse than I thought,” you said gravely. “You took the poison.”

“Huh?”

“Poison, Dick. That was poison,” you explained calmly.

There was a beat of silence.

“When did my sweet wife get a sense of humor?” he chuckled, eyes crinkling in that careless way that irritated you. Most people wouldn’t describe you as sweet. Dick, though, had always been a little weird.

“Dick,” you said flatly.

He faltered slightly, scanning your face. “Hang on… have I been neglecting you? Because if this is a cry for help, I can clear my schedule.”

Heat flooded your cheeks. “What?!”

“Honey, you don’t have to go to these lengths,” he said softly, reaching for your hand. “You can have whatever you want. I’m yours, remember?”

You grumbled. How was he making you flustered with a few words? The fact that his wife had poisoned him was somehow the least of his concerns. If your dosage was right, he had about thirty minutes before he started throwing up.

You grimaced.

Dick, naturally, took that as confirmation of marital failure. “Baby—”

You shot him a look and reached into your pocket, pulling out the antidote. “Take it.”

He stared at it. “Is that poison?”

“Oh, now you hesitate?” you said sharply. It seemed that with you, he lost all sense of self-preservation.

He closed his mouth and obediently took the antidote. Embarrassment crept across your cheeks. This wasn’t for attention. You just didn’t need him to know the real reason for your worry, poorly disguised as a murder attempt.

Admitting that would only make things worse.

———

Later that evening, you forced Dick to rest, his soft snores coming from the bedroom while you begrudgingly facetimed two very annoying redheads for help.

“This is serious,” you cut through their bickering.

Roy stopped mid argument. “That’s never a good sentence coming from you.”

Wally leaned into the frame, squinting. “Is he actually dying or is this just you being weird again?”

“Neither,” you said flatly. “This is training.”

Roy’s brows furrowed. “Training for what?”

You hesitated, then decided it didn’t matter what they thought. “So he doesn’t get himself killed.”

There was silence.

Then, Wally slowly spoke. “So let me get this straight. To make sure he doesn’t die, you’re gonna try to kill him?”

Roy snorted, which turned into wheezing. “He probably thinks this is foreplay.”

You glared. “What terrible taste he would have to consider this foreplay,” you said. “There is not nearly enough blood.”

Wally closed his eyes. “Yeah, okay. We’ll help— but only so you don’t accidentally kill him.”

“Hell yeah,” Roy grinned.

You sighed. The things you did for love.

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