dreamsanddisasters | Pokemon AU ( p l u s )

[Dick's apartment is easy enough to find-- the building is rather mundane, but it's a tall one and he has the highest apartment on the top floor, which was unsurprising to essentially anybody that knew him.

Tonight is his night off; he'd decided. Sometimes he remembered that he did need to relax, and there he was, lounging on the couch of his apartment-- actually he was half asleep, though it would seem the night had other plans for him, because he was promptly woken up by a scratch at his window.

He jolts back to full awake immediately, his feathers quite literally ruffled from the start-- thankfully it seemed that the only source of disturbance was Damian at the window, and he quickly moves over to the window.

(No screen on it, also something completely unsurprising to anyone that knew him.)]

Hey, hey-- Calm down, you're scratching the glass! [He moves quickly to unlock the latch and open it up before the little red bird made it so he had to get a new window pane.] What's going on?

[ He barrels inside, in a fury, flapping and darting and circling to and fro around the room before dropping to smack into Dick's chest, hooking onto the fabric of his shirt with his claws and hanging there (much like a certain, stone-faced Noivern), glowering up at him. ]

He is being ridiculous, and I am staying here until he comes to his senses.

[ His claws prick holes in the fabric, but he's unconcerned about that, crawling his way a little higher. His tail whips to and fro, indignant. Whatever Bruce has done this time certainly has the boy in a fuss, and Damian sounds like he means it when he says he's refusing to return home. ]

I will have Pennyworth bring over my things in the morning. If Father comes here, I will not speak with him.

[ What a good day off for Dick. Caught in a war between father and son. At least Damian's grief isn't with Tim this time -- the Staraptor clean knocked Damian out of the sky last time before Dick broke up their fight. ]

Whoah--

[Oh great. Damian was at war with the other members of the Wayne Household once again-- though this is certainly the first time that Damian has been willing to squat in Dick's dingy little apartment over it. Usually it offended his delicate high class sensibilities.

He didn't have claws of his own-- only on his feet at least, and wasn't that just ironic in a family full of clawed beasties-- but he still latches a firm grip on the scruff of feathers around Damian's neck, gently pulling him off his shirt before he needed to buy a completely new one of those too.]

I said calm down. [Sterner, but-- whatever's set him off, he sounds a bit more severe than any of his usual tantrums. Something was definitely up.] If you stay here, you're definitely sleeping on the couch.

Now, what did Bruce do this time?

[ Dangling, petulant, he gives a half-hearted jerk to free himself before going limp, though his little body's still vibrating with pent-up anger. Scruffing's always been the easiest way to get him to stop and calm down -- for as long as he's in a hold, at least. ]

I won't. You sleep on the couch all the time, anyway.

[ He will fight you for the master bedroom, Dick. This boy has no sense of propriety when it comes to demanding his perceived dues. ]

Father-- [ No, his voice won't wobble. ] --Father means to cage me, because of some stupid vision he claims to have seen. He's actually convinced I'll destroy the world.

[ This goes beyond petty arguments -- if Bruce thinks Damian is a genuine threat to the larger public, it could mean severe measures taken against the boy. Measures like locking him away, for good. It's no wonder he's in such a snit; after working so hard to gain his father's trust and respect, the sudden turn-around is a slap in the face. ]

[No, he's going to stick to his guns and retain his own bedroom rights. The fact that he was about to fall asleep on the couch is irrelevant.

(But he'll probably end up caving and letting Damian take the bed anyway. That usually happened.)]

What?

[There's so many things to pick apart about that claim-- and so many things he could be reacting to. The fact that Bruce would believe in some kind of vision. That he's trying to keep Damian caged up-- that he could believe, or that Damian ever would destroy the world. Dick's well aware that Damian was... er, created, to be crude, to do just that-- but while it's a possibility, he doubts it'd ever happen.

He finally drops Damian onto the ground when it seems he's... mostly calmed down, at least.] What did you do, start building a giant robot or destroying the fine china? That's ridiculous.

[Seriously though, that's-- ridiculous. He can't imagine what Bruce must be thinking right now.]

[ Mostly calm. Mostly calm is the boy picking himself back up, a little less Pokemon and a little more human, movements jerky and eyes dry but rimmed red. As much as he blusters and roars, his father's distrust cut him deep. ]

No. [ He pauses, then amends: ] It is a small robot. A bodysuit, really.

[ Straightening his back, he stands stiff, almost huddling in Dick's living room. A strange mix of regal airs and affront and unhappiness. ]

He believes that, when I am killed-- I'll take every living thing with me. That kind of power.

[ His lip curls, sneering, as if the very thought is preposterous, but there's an uneasiness in his eyes when he looks at Dick, almost pleading. ]

It's impossible, of course. [ Right? ]

[Wow. And he was mostly kidding about the robot thing. Mostly.

The question isn't spoken aloud, but Dick can almost tell-- can see on his own by that posture and the look in his eyes just how much this was bothering him. Though of course he'd never admit it.

He takes a knee in front of Damian, reaching one arm out to curl around the back of Damian's shoulders and settle on top of his head, letting more white plumage bristle to existence on the palm of his hands and the length of his arm. A bad habit, even for how often Damian pushed him away, but with those he cared about he was clingy at the best of times.]

There's... so much about you that we still don't know. [The thing is, Dick could believe it; Damian wasn't anything like they'd ever seen before. He'd studied his power and abilities for a long time; he was strong, had raw power in spades. And he'd only get stronger the older he grew up-- maybe he could cause some kind of widespread catastrophe when all that energy is finally released. Could believe that Talia would do something that twisted to her own son.

Could, but not would.]

Your abilities have surprised all of us. But that doesn't mean he's right-- if all it takes is your death to do that, then locking you up isn't gonna help anybody. Especially not you.

If there's a chance that's possible-- what we should be doing is finding a way to prevent it. [He didn't believe in absolutes.]

[ His nose wrinkles at the wispy feathers tickling against his ear and the back of his neck, but otherwise makes no move to swat him off, instead scooting forward until the tips of his horns bump against Dick's shoulder. Not exactly a hug, not with the space between them and his arms held rigidly at his sides, but it's closer than he usually allows. ]

I'm different. [ Acknowledgment, and said the same way he says that he's the best, or the strongest, or the most unique and glorious creation in all the world. Damian takes pride in his ability to stand out. ]

He wants me removed from the field, away from danger. [ Danger that Damian hones in on like a Hondour. He's gone toe-to-toe with so Team agents and evil Pokemon and any number of enemies, and trounced them all, but not without his mistakes. There'd been plenty of close calls already. ] The Manor is safer, but I will die of boredom.

[ Nobody wins in that scenario. Damian would make their lives a living hell out of spite and malaise if he were locked up. He perks up a little at Dick's alternative, eyebrows bunching as he looks up at him in puzzlement. ]

Prevent it? Where would we start? Not-- [ He makes a face, sour. ] --not the Professors, right?

[ Arceus save him from that gaggle of buffoons. Sure, some of them are Grayson's acquaintances, but that doesn't mean he'll tolerate their poking and prodding and babble about ancient texts. ]

[It's a horribly flawed thought process, though what could he expect from Bruce? The man cared, he really did, but he always seemed to act with blinders on, not truly being able to understand the full repercussions. He wasn't a people person-- of course Damian would find a way out, and of course trouble would come along. He couldn't keep anyone safe forever.]

No, it doesn't have to-- but I do think you should talk to them. [The guys at STAR helped him out of a pinch more than once, and Professor Allen was one of the best of the best he could think of.]

...I can talk to them, on second thought. [Asking Damian to cooperate with an authority figure may as well be joke of the year.] But we can figure out more how your powers work-- where it comes from. What it can do. If this really is a threat-- there's gotta be a way to defuse it.

[There had to be.]

[ He worries his lip, an unconscious habit he's picked up from hanging around that Wilkes kid, before nodding. The thought that he could really be a threat -- beyond even his own impressive bounds -- is a sobering one. Damian talks a large game, and he can more than back it up, but the boy's done nothing but try his hardest to be good since he came to them.

He will just have to suffer the nosy questions and comments of the scientific community. If Grayson's there, it should be fine. ]

I'm still not going back. [ Stubborn, and snobbish. Bruce remains on his black list. ] He's an ass.

[ Bruce tries. But he and Damian don't see eye to eye, and they're both too abrasive for their own good. He rubs irritably at an eye, huffing. ]

You can cook, right?

[ Else he'll have to demand Pennyworth remain here, too. ]

He is an ass, but he's still your dad.

[Dick spent days alternating with being the first to defend him and the first to call him out.]

Of course I can cook. [He lets out a breath that could almost be a sigh if it weren't too short, ruffles up Damian's hair a bit before he releases his protective arm and stands back up. He was no Alfred, of course, but he'd been living on his own for enough time to not have to order take-out every day.]

You seriously wanna stay here? You'll be complaining about the lack of accommodations within the hour.

[ So much sneering, and he (lightly) headbutts Dick in the stomach before flitting away to inspect the rest of the room, distaste written plainly on his face. ]

Yes, I wish to stay.

[ Bruce will be swinging by shortly to bother Dick, no doubt, but Damian won't be going back with him. He turns back to Dick, crosses his arms, and then drops back down onto the couch, challenging. Dick won't be able to throw him out. ]

There is certainly a lack of accommodations, but I am a Wayne, and I will make do. [ The look he's probably going for is regal severeness, but into it just comes across as a stern pout. Not exactly the fiercest look in his arsenal, but he's tired and stressed by the sudden shake-up in his life today, and--. ]

I'm hungry, Grayson.

[ Congratulations and welcome to motherhood, Dick. You now have your very own baby bird, cheeping demandingly for food. This is your life now. Alfred will send the "My Utmost Sympathies" card soon. ]

[He lets out a sigh, placing his hands on his hip. As if dealing with Bruce's outrage when he finds out where Damian's gotten to wasn't bad enough. Was this how Alfred felt, whenever the little attack bird wandered downstairs and demanded something to eat?]

What do you want? I don't have much, but...

[To be honest, he'd meant to go grocery shopping, but he'd left it off until tomorrow. Guess it was back to the realm of adult responsibilities for him.

(He'll probably just end up ordering in anyway. Maybe a special treat would make Damian feel better anyway-- there's no way this situation was going to end up permanent, right?)]

[ He folds his legs, looking askance at Dick. ]

How would I know what's in your cupboards, Grayson? Fix something, and I'll eat it if it's not terrible.

[ Y u p. This is exactly what Alfred enjoys. A dismissive lack of interest in what food, so long as it's not junk. He'll find plenty to complain about anyway, but he'll shove it in his mouth nonetheless. The boy isn't actually that picky, no matter what fuss he makes.

Speaking of fuss, however, he's seized the throw blanket on the couch for himself, wrapping it over his shoulders and wedging himself into the corner of the couch, against the arm. He's too proud to pull together an actual nest, but when he's stressed he'll stake out a spot and huddle there like a sulking Dragon-type. ]

[That was almost less helpful than being picky, at least when he was only used to having to feed himself.]

Fine. Then I'm ordering pizza. Speak now, or end up with toppings that are terrible.

[Yes, he's going for the junkiest junk food possible, as he hops over to kitchen counter where his PokeGear had last been abandoned.]

And I'll go shopping tomorrow. Maybe I'll even take requests.

[ Less than helpful is his trademark. The boy's nose wrinkles, imagining the kind of toppings Dick might pick, and quickly straightens out.

(If it's pizza, he knows what he wants.) ]

Margherita. No meat. And fresh, sliced tomatoes must be substituted for the sauce.

[ Heaven forbid the pizza have pizza sauce. ]

I'll make you a list for tomorrow. [ Requests? Demands, he means. ] Otherwise you'll inevitably decide that Kraft is an acceptable cheese to buy, or something.

[ Ugh. No.

It's easy enough to kick his shoes off and pull his feet up beneath the blanket, and his sharp little fingers dig for whatever crack in the couch the remote's fallen into this time. ]

...--It's really alright, though? If I stay? [ He frowns, pries the remote up, and fiddles with the buttons. ] Father will be angry at you, you know.

[ Grayson must know Bruce won't be pleased that he's harboring Damian. ]

You even manage to take the childish enjoyment out of pizza.

[Vegetarian style has never been Dick's forte; he got what was delicious, and mostly what was cheap. So basically, anything that was unhealthy. Not much had changed since they day they'd pig out in the Teen Titans' headquarters as barely-teens.

He wasn't even sure Blud Pie had Magherita, but he has the money to spring for it from whoever does. And hey, at least Damian wasn't one of those kids who were indecisive and indirect so he had to guess what he wanted.]

'Course it's alright. [He wouldn't have offered if it wasn't. Maybe. But he's so nonchalant about the subject of Bruce's anger that you might think he's not even paying attention as he taps some buttons on his gear.]

Do you know how many times I've made Bruce angry? [A little more than the number of time he's tried to fire him or bench him. It used to be the scariest part about being Bruce's partner, about his childhood and adolescence, to see the man cross or disappointed with him. It was less so, nowadays.]

I can take the fury of a Noivern scorned.

What you eat isn't pizza. I've been to Naples, Grayson, I know what pizza is.

[ That cheesy, thick-breaded monstrosity you always order? Not pizza.

He squints a little at Dick, as if he can't believe that Bruce would ever be angry at the prodigal son. ]

Really?

[ Can't imagine it. Not even a little. Whenever Dick has had to step in and argue on Damian's behalf before, his father's listened. Damian wasn't there for Dick's fallout with Bruce, for when he became Nightwing, or even the subsequent arguments over Tim's treatment as Robin or his reluctance to be the heir to the Wayne name, let alone to Batman.

All he'd seen of Dick, and Bruce, was respect. Disagreement a lot of the time, but understanding and some level of cooperation.

(No major arguments, no blow outs, not like Tim and Jason had seen. Bruce relies heavily on Dick's judgment in all matters regarding Damian, considering his own uncertainty in how to deal with his unexpected, and troubling, existence.)

Sometimes, it seems like Damian's always been a part of the household, with how he elbowed his way right in and took what he pleased. Othertimes, it's obvious how much he missed, how much he really doesn't know.

And also obvious how he tries to skirt around the fact that he doesn't, as if not knowing, not being told, is shameful. If he doesn't ask questions, if he doesn't bring it up, they can overlook where he doesn't fit in. Like now, when his eyebrows furrow, and he turns his attention back to the remote, snorting and clicking the television on to the local news. ]

I'll be joining you on patrol, correct? [ The boy actually looks pretty excited -- as excited as he can look, at least, with a frown on his face. It's been a long while since he and Dick teamed up to do some take-downs. ]

[There was no pizza in the world that Dick wanted that wasn't partially a cheese monstrosity. And Wally would just be disappointed if he came over and found any other leftover in his fridge.]

He kicked me out of the house at least twice. [Damian may not want to ask, but Dick doesn't mind telling; not now, years later, with a close family member. A part of him is even smirking, as if he's remembering with fondness. Which couldn't be totally true, because they weren't exactly the best times in his life. But he didn't need to share that part.] A few more times I just ran away myself. Kinda like what you're doing now.

[It had taken a long time and a lot of years to work up to the kind of respect and understanding the two had today.

He takes a moment to consider Damian's request, humming thoughtfully as he multi-tasked; this was becoming even less and less like a night off. But Damian was... stressed, and he had to admit-- he missed working with a partner sometimes.

So, he shrugs his shoulders.] Why not. Guess it wouldn't hurt to let off some steam.

[ Damian is determined to ensure that there's not a single slice left for West. ]

Then he should be familiar enough with this procedure.

[ There's the cranky brat. If his father learned anything from Dick's runaway episodes, then he'll leave Damian in peace until the boy's ready to talk to him. And when he is, Bruce had better be ready to listen, or so help him, this will get dragged out for weeks.

Dick might be looking at hosting him for longer than just a few days, if Bruce isn't willing to compromise about keeping Damian under lockdown at the manor.

Dick's agreement -- Nightwing and Robin, partners again -- is met with a fierce, but glad smile, there and gone, and the boy's clearly pumped by the okay. He squirms out of the blankets, changing mid-struggle to climb up the back of the couch and glide his way over to the kitchen counter, landing with the click-clack of small, sharp little claws tapping against marble before he makes himself comfortable perching on his brother's forearm.

(Ah, yes. Dick's rightful place in the world: as furniture.) ]

I've learned a new move. And it's mine. Nobody else's. You'll see.

[ So eager to show off Oblivion Wing. It's very impressive, Grayson. You'll be jealous, he's sure. ]

Every Robin has their spat.

[It happened with Jason. Happened with Tim. Happened with Steph a lot. And it wasn't the first time Bruce grounded someone "for their own good." Though... ending the world was a might bit of a different problem, he had to admit.

Bruce would be stubborn about it, but Dick and Damian were both just as stubborn as him.

He didn't bat an eye when Damian came to land on his arm; even lifted his arm up a little so Damian could stand horizontally as he brought the PokeGear up to his ear and listened to it ring.]

Really? Tell me it doesn't have anything to do with that giant robot.

[ He's not the most graceful of birds. In fact, it's dubious whether he can even be called a bird; not when he crouches, wings thrown forward like arms to curl his claws over Dick, rather than folding them at his sides or flapping them to keep his balance. His back tail will wag, or even curl around the other way like a third arm in a pseudo-circular hold. When jostled, knocked over, he'll hang, like a Noibat.

Even for a Pokemon, his taxonomy is bizarre. Talia, without a doubt, played god with her son's genes.

For now, he clings, a comfortable weight, and tosses his head -- half annoyance, half preening. ]

No. That's a side project, for when I'm bored.

[ Just building robotic exoskeletons in his spare time, whatever. ]

I call it-- [ He whips his tail, throws out his wings, in emphasis, feet digging into Dick's sleeve to hold on. ] --Oblivion Wing! Originally, it was Death Wing, but Father said no.

[ (Sometimes Damian passes, convincingly, as a twenty-year-old man, given his language and maturity. Other times, it's painfully obvious how young he really is. Death Wing, really?) ]

[Oh yeah, giant robot fighting robot hobbies. That was normal.]

Oblivion Wing?

[His voice was part ways between amused and incredulous, though mostly the prior. "Oblivion Wing" was about the most ten year old thing he'd ever heard, and he'd been there when Wally an Garth were make up ridiculous attack names themselves,

He belayed continuing the conversation for a moment when the Italian Restaurant on the other end answered-- "One large vegetarian margherita pizza, fresh tomatoes and no sauce please--" and quickly placed his order before he hung up the gear and looked at Damian again.]

'Death Wing' does sound a lot more like something that's gonna bring about the end of the world. [What, is it too soon for jokes--]

How's it work?

Edited (HTML THO) 2015-02-21 00:28 (UTC)

[ He hears the amusement, and snaps his beak in annoyance, giving a quick (if harmless, this time) peck at Dick's thumb, shuffling further up his forearm in a huff. Oblivion Wing is perfect attack name, you ass. ]

Laugh it up, Grayson, I'll use it on you.

[ He'll bring the pain. Wipe the floor with you. Nothing but cumulus fluff. ]

Oblivion Wing-- [ He glares. ] --is a move that inflicts significant damage, while regenerating myself.

[ Vastly different from other offensive-healing moves, of course. It has its own unique look that's all his. Violet, shocking.

He preens, smoothing down his feathers. ]

Anything it touches withers, or turns to stone.

[OK yeah. That definitely sounded like a check in the 'gonna destroy the world if not careful' column. He made a mental note to mention the move to Barry when he paid a visit to the lab.

He was still kind of smirking in amusement at the sound of 'Oblivion Wing' (still totally adorable), but at least this time he didn't comment on it. In fact, the move does sound pretty impressive.] Not bad, Li'l D.

I can't pay for your pizza if you turn me to stone, though. So how about you save that for a last resort.

[Seriously. Don't.]

[ The preening intensifies, ego inflating his chest and tail giving a pleased wag.

That's right, Grayson. Recognize: it's very impressive.

(And he'd only turn a little of you to stone. Doctor Thompkins can heal it just fine.) ]

Combined with my perfect EVs -- [ Genetic. Superiority. ] -- it can be devastating.

[ Which is just how he likes it. ]

I'll spare you for now, considering you did order the correct pizza.

[ How gracious of him, how merciful. His weight shifts on Dick's arm before he hops off, changing back to land easily on his feet, straightening out his shirt. Nobody really takes to swapping forms as naturally as Damian does; Talia never discouraged him, not like most parents would.

(It's impolite to switch so frequently, especially in conversation, and the rule of thumb is to stick to the human side most of the time, but he turns up his nose at all of that.) ]

Yeah. You know how hard it is to find an Italian restaurant open at this hour? [Late night pizza places didn't really have fresh tomatoes to slice up.

He didn't swap back and forth like Damian did nowadays, but he didn't take offense to it-- he'd spent enough of his life in the wild, and what was considered 'rude' here was pretty commonplace in a travelling circus. When he was a kid he probably spent most of his time as a Swablu sitting on Alfred's head while he was cooking.

He pushed away from the kitchen counter, strolling back over to the living room before he flopped back on the couch. Maybe not the wisest decision when Damian was probably raring to go, but they at least had to wait for the pizza.]

Get too devastating and you'll fill up hospital beds instead of jail cells, you know. [Y'know the opposite of what they were aiming for??]

It's the city. It can't be that hard.

[ He sniffs, disdainful. Not like Dick lives on the very outskirts, either. It's not even two a.m., yet -- he'd be more surprised if there wasn't an open Italian place.

Raring to go is a good way to phrase it. The possibility of going out on patrol, especially after Bruce had announced that he was benched until further notice, has him as close to bouncing off the walls as a kid like him gets: a restless walk-around, fidgeting with Dick's stuff and poking his nose into everything in the apartment, television no longer affording a suitable distraction.

(This is why child-owners should walk their hellspawn every night.)

His retort comes from somewhere down the hall. ]

I don't see that problem with that. As long as I'm not filling up morgues, right?

It's Bludhaven. It's not exactly a metropolis of progress like Gotham is.

[He loves the 'haven, he really does. But Dick has always been set apart from the tastes and preferences of Bruce, Tim and Damian. He grew up poor. He liked the grit and grime of the streets instead of the clean tiles and caviar of some downtown penthouse. He wasn't born here, but Bludhaven feels like home. Not... quite the case with a bunch of his other friends and family.

But he was used to Damian's antsy-ness at least. At this point he hardly even batted an eye, and instead made himself comfortable, nudging himself into the soft back of the couch cushions as if he was actually nesting right now. Fill up stomachs, then patrol.]

Think of it this way; even if they're injured, it's a lot easier to break out of a hospital than a prison, don't you think?

[ The click of his tongue is audible, even from the back room. As is the scorn. A few more seconds of rummaging (fainter, lord, that's probably Dick's room, now--) and the boy's trotting back out, one of Dick's hoodies now officially stolen for himself, over-sized on him.

Just making himself right at home. ]

Not if both their legs are broken.

[ Perfectly logical. Damian has no qualms about swinging himself up over the back of the couch to drop down onto the cushions next to Dick. He's quiet for all of thirty seconds, back to watching the television with a bored face and restless fidgeting, before piping up again. ]

Did you know that Great Danes make excellent apartment animals?

[ Even a blind man could see where this conversation was going. ]

Pokemon AU ( p l u s )

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