Damian Wayne | Robin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
earlybird) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dreamsanddisasters2014-11-20 04:28 am
earlybird) wrote in dreamsanddisasters2014-11-20 04:28 am
Pokemon AU ( p l u s )
[ His father's words still ring in his ears. Nagging. Aggravating. Lies.
"She made you for this purpose."
And his father believes them, wholly, because of some ridiculous fever dream. Believes that Damian would--
"When you die, you'll take every living thing down with you."
--he wouldn't. He won't. It's preposterous, and more, it's insulting. He is, was, the only one of his kind, and what would his father or his mother know about what he can do? Nothing, that's what. Damian knows himself best, and he's fast and recovers quickly and his Oblivion Wing move is magnificent and unique and his, but he would never--
"You're staying in the Cave until we decide how to handle this best."
As if. No sooner had Bruce declared him under lock-down than he'd escaped, took to the skies (a tiny, strange bird with a red underbelly and a grey back and claws on its wings, not a Pokemon you'd ever see again in your life). Blüdhaven is maybe a half hour's flight away, and Grayson's apartment easy to find, even if he'd only ever visited by car. He dives down, alights upon the window ledge, and whacks insistently at it with a wing, claws leaving scratches in the glass. ]
Grayson!
"She made you for this purpose."
And his father believes them, wholly, because of some ridiculous fever dream. Believes that Damian would--
"When you die, you'll take every living thing down with you."
--he wouldn't. He won't. It's preposterous, and more, it's insulting. He is, was, the only one of his kind, and what would his father or his mother know about what he can do? Nothing, that's what. Damian knows himself best, and he's fast and recovers quickly and his Oblivion Wing move is magnificent and unique and his, but he would never--
"You're staying in the Cave until we decide how to handle this best."
As if. No sooner had Bruce declared him under lock-down than he'd escaped, took to the skies (a tiny, strange bird with a red underbelly and a grey back and claws on its wings, not a Pokemon you'd ever see again in your life). Blüdhaven is maybe a half hour's flight away, and Grayson's apartment easy to find, even if he'd only ever visited by car. He dives down, alights upon the window ledge, and whacks insistently at it with a wing, claws leaving scratches in the glass. ]
Grayson!
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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. ]
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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.
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(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. ]
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[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.
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[ 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. ]
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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.
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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. ]
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[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.
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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?) ]
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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?
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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.
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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.]
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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.) ]
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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??]
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[ 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?
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[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?
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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. ]