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)
dreamsanddisasters2014-12-17 07:14 pm
earlybird) wrote in dreamsanddisasters2014-12-17 07:14 pm
RISE.GIF Reunions (for Plus)
Dead?
[ He hates how his voice cracks on the question, even as he hates the wince that crosses his father's face. It's -- it's inconceivable. Grayson can't be dead. Not here, not now, where there should be nothing but triumph and, and happiness, and his father brought him back but where is Grayson? ]
You're lying. You're lying! He isn't. He can't be, I saved him!
[ His denials repeat, increasingly loud, over his father's unwieldy, gentle explanations, until he's yelling and hands are pulling him in, tucking him against a broad chest and wiping away the tear tracks sliding, unheeded, down his face. He doesn't stop. It's unacceptable. Grayson isn't dead. ]
[ Batman had to return to duty at some point. Frankly, Damian is sick of the hovering, constantly pushed under wing. He understands it, but it doesn't mean he's willing to put up with it -- and it doesn't mean his father would ever be able to keep him away from being Robin. Not now that he can do this.
Air, breezing beneath his feet, wrapping around his limbs, and his cape flaps in the wind. He's never taken much pleasure in senseless play, but there's something about the open sky that has him wheeling and diving, speeding up only to stop, shoot up, drop down. It's practice. To master his new skillset. Obviously.
Flying is the easiest. It's the rest that's not so easily handled. Lessons with the alien are an exercise in patience, on everyone's part.
He does his rounds, sneaking back in before his father might suspect anything, and Titus is down in the Cave, claws skittering across the floor to greet him with an excited bark. The mutt's been the same way ever since he came back; as if every time he leaves, it's for good, and every time he returns, it's a miracle. Damian floats above the dancing pup, the toe of his boot tapping Titus' nose, and the brusque look on his face fades into something a little fonder. ]
Your breath smells like tuna, dog. Stole a sandwich, did you?
[ He hates how his voice cracks on the question, even as he hates the wince that crosses his father's face. It's -- it's inconceivable. Grayson can't be dead. Not here, not now, where there should be nothing but triumph and, and happiness, and his father brought him back but where is Grayson? ]
You're lying. You're lying! He isn't. He can't be, I saved him!
[ His denials repeat, increasingly loud, over his father's unwieldy, gentle explanations, until he's yelling and hands are pulling him in, tucking him against a broad chest and wiping away the tear tracks sliding, unheeded, down his face. He doesn't stop. It's unacceptable. Grayson isn't dead. ]
[ Batman had to return to duty at some point. Frankly, Damian is sick of the hovering, constantly pushed under wing. He understands it, but it doesn't mean he's willing to put up with it -- and it doesn't mean his father would ever be able to keep him away from being Robin. Not now that he can do this.
Air, breezing beneath his feet, wrapping around his limbs, and his cape flaps in the wind. He's never taken much pleasure in senseless play, but there's something about the open sky that has him wheeling and diving, speeding up only to stop, shoot up, drop down. It's practice. To master his new skillset. Obviously.
Flying is the easiest. It's the rest that's not so easily handled. Lessons with the alien are an exercise in patience, on everyone's part.
He does his rounds, sneaking back in before his father might suspect anything, and Titus is down in the Cave, claws skittering across the floor to greet him with an excited bark. The mutt's been the same way ever since he came back; as if every time he leaves, it's for good, and every time he returns, it's a miracle. Damian floats above the dancing pup, the toe of his boot tapping Titus' nose, and the brusque look on his face fades into something a little fonder. ]
Your breath smells like tuna, dog. Stole a sandwich, did you?
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[ He's definitely preening. Behold, Grayson, him in all his benevolence and majesty. He can fly. Did you see that he can fly? He's just going to hover here to really emphasize the point. ]
I'm always on my best behavior. [ He shoots Dick an affronted look, crossing his arms with a huff. ] Drake is still alive after all, is he not?
[ Best. Behavior. We'll just casually ignore that he still doesn't listen to Bruce most of the time, and continues to backtalk and argue the rest, and has been causing both him and Alfred undue amounts of stress in exercising his new abilities. ]
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[He moves one hand to his hip, reaches out and gives a light tug of Damian's dangling shoelaces with the other, all while he had an amused smirk on his face. Yeah, about as well-behaved as a kid standing on their tip-toes was mature.]
Oh-- and try and cut Supes some slack too, OK?
[Even if it wasn't Damian, direct mentoring had never exactly been Clark's strong point. He was a lot better on a team of more or less equals.]
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[ This is just a taste of the future. Although he's quick to shake his foot free of the tugging -- leave his shoelaces alone, Nightwing.
(And it says so, so much that Bruce is even thinking that far down the line. Planning for Damian to reach twelve, and fifteen, and eighteen, and longer; enough to discuss how tall he'll be, what kind of frame he'll probably have, the type of training and fighting styles that will best suit him in the long run. To even talk about the future with his son.) ]
Slack? [ Ah yes, the patented Damian Wayne sneer. ] Never. I demand excellence from my instructors, and accept only the best.
[ Get on his level, Kent. ]
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[His exasperation was mostly feigned; not that Dick's height was anything to sneeze at-- but when you looked at Talia, Ra's and Bruce all together, it was obvious that Damian would grow up to be tall and broad. Though he usually imagined him with Talia's chin and sneer.
(It felt so right that it felt so normal, he barely even realized how not a month ago there wasn't even a chance for Damian to reach puberty. He'd realize later, that this was better. This felt right.)]
I seem to remember you thinking I was less than excellence when I had to teach you, you know. [A knowing smirk that was also a bit smug, and he tilted the side of his head in Damian's direction.
Yeah, pretty much everyone had expressed their dissatisfaction with the shuffle after Bruce's disappearance.]
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(He'd be even closer to thirteen if he hadn't been dead for a year, of course, although age is mostly an assigned thing to him, given his accelerated development. But he's not about to brag that he's actually just turned seven.)
He turns up his nose as Dick's own reminder, sniffing haughtily. ]
To be fair, you were ungainly as Batman. [ Making Batman his own had taken Dick time. ] You shaped up. Eventually.
[ More like Damian learned to respect him, and finally listened to what he had to teach. Before that, there was no winning, ever. He'd disliked Dick, had mocked and criticized him at every turn -- it wasn't until the man had stepped in to save him, had offered unconditional forgiveness despite everything he'd done, that he'd stopped and reevaluated the impostor.
He supposes he can thank Professor Pyg for that, but he'd really prefer not to. ]
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[He turns up an eyebrow; an important distinction. Even to this day, the size and weight of that thing was still completely ridiculous to him. Dick was a lot of things, but he'd certainly never been called clumsy.]
The point is, I'd never had to train someone-- [Not like a protege, not really like a partner; he took to a team setting easily, but one on one was a lot different.]-- and Clark hasn't really either. Just give him time to shape up. Maybe one day you'll even like him.
[Spoken like it was the most preposterous thing in the universe. Which, it kind of was. But Dick still had a spark of hope.]
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Never. ]
I like the super dog better than I like the super man.
[ He's exaggerating, however. Fronting. A check-in with Bruce would tell Dick all he'd need to know. Damian and Clark, although awkward (and Damian, haughty and refusing to listen), have made tentative peace. A single chord, struck, that occasionally gets them through a training session without extreme amounts of backtalk and sass and frustration.
Clark had been guilty. Guilty that he'd actively discouraged, even tried to prevent, Bruce from doing what it took to bring his son back. And now that the boy, alive and well because Bruce had gone behind the League's backs, was in front of him? There'd been regret.
Damian had been very quick to wipe that regret off his face. No pity-parties, no guilt, he refused to stand for it. Shut up and teach him.
It had helped. Surprisingly. ]
Besides, he needs his ego checked. At least one person who won't worship the ground he walks on. Otherwise his head gets too big.
[ This child. ]
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Be careful, or your head will end up just as big.
[Clark was not exactly someone he imagined to be egocentric. Damian? Arrogant as all get out.
He takes a moment to cast a glance around the cave; still no sign of Bruce. Guess waiting around wasn't gonna get him much more than a reprimand once someone back at Spyral caught him being late to something or anther.]
...Guess I better get going while the going's good, though.
[He's smiling, his hands loose and the wave he gives is casually dismissive-- but it was easily a cover for the his reluctance and regret at having to leave at all.]
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[ It's slight, but he clenches his jaw, fingers curling into loose fists, and his stare won't sit still on Dick. Wandering from the man's boots to his shoulder to the weird design on the shirt (ugly uniform, all of it, he doesn't think it suits Nightwing at all), skirting from meeting his eyes. ]
If you're still here when Father gets in, you'll have to listen to him harp at you, no doubt.
[ He sniffs, haughty. ]
God help you if he's in a mood, even. Run, Grayson. Run quickly.
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You say that like he doesn't harp on me anyway.
[Ah yes, if there was ever a constant in his life, it was the neverending lectures.
He turns around on his heel, looking at Damian with hooded eyes and an almost solemn smile, giving him a wave that was a bit more committed.]
Hang in there, alright? Don't go dying on us again.
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[ It's not catching him a second time. No way. He's invincible.
(He's alive, and you aren't, Mother.) ]
...--See you.
[ Soon. Later. Later than later. Maybe never. But he refuses to settle on a goodbye.
Damian's expression is implacably haughty, lips pursed, but he raises a hand back, somber. ]
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[He doubts Bruce can pull that off a second time. None of them can dodge death forever, but he doubts any of them can deal with losing Damian again so soon.
(It's still barely real, like he'l wake up in his room with a call from Helena yelling at him for oversleeping and he'll call Bruce and the man will be telling him the mission failed.)]
Later.
[There's a hesitance in his step, like he might turn around instead and further delay his exit; but he's off instead, departing for the back exit of the cave where no one can see him slip out.]