fic: Inside the Lines
Oh my goodness, I thought it was finished and I was wrong, it took FOREVER. *dies*
Title: Inside the Lines
Fandom: DCU - Batman
Characters: Steph, Cass, Damian, Dick, Titus the dog
Word Count: 2,387
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Bat-anything.
Warnings: None
Summary: Tonight, there is no justice, only crayons. The girls are determined it shall be so.
A/N: Because I miss Damian and his awesome big sisters. Post-Batman & Robin #8, when Damian is recovering from his encounter with NoBody. (If Cass and Steph still existed, and suchlike things.) Also, I am sorry my titles are just increasingly terrible puns....
Steph puts her hand on Cass’ shoulder and stands on her tiptoes. If she leans in carefully, she can just make out the sad little pile on the sofa while staying out of sight herself. The curtains are drawn in the dim, cool living room, and Damian is curled up on his side, blinking in the flickering light from the television. His broken arm is tucked into his chest, his other hand hanging off the edge of the couch, petting absently at Titus’ sleek fur.
“Oh my gosh,” Steph whispers. “He looks so…tiny when he’s not trying to murder anything. It’s almost kind of adorable.”
Cass elbows her in the stomach, hard, and she takes a step back. “Damian,” Cass says, poking her head into the room. “Are you awake?”
Something rustles distantly, and Titus’ dog tags jingle. “What do you want?” a small, irritable voice calls back.
“I brought you a surprise,” Cass answers, tilting her head to the side.
Rustling again, restless shifting noises. “Is it a shot of adrenaline?” Damian says morosely. “If it is not, you may go.”
Steph snorts, and Cass promptly steps down on her foot. “Funny,” Cass says. “But no. Rest is good.” She leans further into the room. “What are you watching? Is that the news?”
“Yes, the news,” he snaps. “You should avoid Kane Street when you patrol tonight; there was a water main burst.”
“That seems…not restful,” Cass says. Steph, for her part, facepalms silently. “Your surprise agrees with me,” Cass announces.
Steph can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Is my surprise a blond woman who ought to spend more time training and less time eating waffles?”
“Careful, D,” Steph laughs, letting Cass tug her through the door. It takes her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the half-dark. “Next time I won’t share.”
Damian makes a tsking sound. “That is an entirely idle threat. You manufacture more baked goods than you could ever consume by yourself.”
Steph sits on the edge of the coffee table and scratches behind Titus’ ears. His tail thumps happily against the feet of the couch. “Hey, we’ve all got our coping mechanisms. Bruce sits on gargoyles and broods. I make delicious, delicious waffles. I think it’s pretty clear which method works.”
Damian just huffs.
Cass perches on the arm of the sofa and smiles at them both indulgently. Then she ninjas the remote away from Damian and clicks the TV off.
“Give that back,” he complains, swatting at Cass with his good hand. “That was unfair, and you are an unsportsmanlike harridan. See if I ever help you plan your routes again.”
“No,” Cass says, sounding amused. She dodges him easily and tosses the remote across the room. “You can fight crime later. Get better first.”
“I am sufficiently recovered to watch the evening news,” Damian grumbles, but it’s a weak protest. He aims one last smack in Cass’ direction, then collapses back against the sofa. With the dark circles under his eyes and his face pressed into the leather cushions, he looks like any other sick little kid. Steph wants to punch something when she remembers somebody tried to break him. She shoves that thought down and manages a lopsided smile.
“She might be right, little D,” Steph says. “I think your pupils are different sizes.”
Damian pulls a face, managing to look both utterly condescending and more than a little pathetic. “How observant of you. I do have a concussion.”
“Yeah, sweetie, I know.” Damian just sort of blinks at that, like he’s too tired to fight her. “Oh, hey,” Steph says, fishing his present out of her bag. “I brought you something.”
“What are those?” he asks, wrinkling his nose suspiciously. “Did Pennyworth tell you to bring me workbooks?”
She laughs. “No, Damian, they’re coloring books. I’ve got crayons in here, too, somewhere.”
He frowns and withdraws further into the sofa. “I am not an infant. I can manage a pencil. My drawings frighten the Batman, after all."
Steph’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but it makes her toes curl inside her sneakers. A line of concern appears between Cass’ eyebrows, and she reaches down and pets very lightly at her brother’s hair. She gets in one, two, three strokes before he shakes her off-that might be what throws Steph the most. Whatever happened when he ran away, it’s worn his defenses unusually thin. It makes her stomach hurt, thinking about what it would take to do that to Damian.
“Hey, I know you’re not,” she says, ducking her head a little to make eye contact again. “But sometimes it’s nice just to pick out the colors. Relaxing, you know? I did a ton of coloring when I-” She realizes she isn’t sure what he’s been told about her almost-death, if he’s been told about it at all. “-the last time I was in the hospital. And come on, I even got you one with Superman. You know how hard those are to find outside of Metropolis?”
Damian eyes the cover disdainfully. “Why would I want to color pictures of a Kryptonian reporter?”
“Because,” Steph answers, leaning in to poke his shoulder. “He’s only the coolest ever. Every kid wants to be Superman when they grow up. I did. Even Dick did, and he lived in Batman’s freaking house.”
“That is untrue,” Damian says automatically.
“Ask him,” Cass says.
“It’s true. Cross my heart.” Steph traces an X on her chest. “Babs told me, and the Oracle never lies.”
Damian appears to consider this, then pronounces, “You and Grayson have terrible taste. My father is obviously the superior warrior.”
Steph bites down on a laugh. Concussion or no, she’s pretty sure Damian can still kick her in the stomach from three feet away. “Yeah, I’ve been told that before. I’m sure Dick’s heard worse. You wanna talk about bad taste, you should see his old Nightwing suits.”
“I liked the shiny one,” Cass says thoughtfully.
“Which shiny one, Cass?” Steph smirks.
Damian sighs exaggeratedly. “If I concede to examine these…books you brought me, will you cease this foolishness?”
Steph exchanges a smile with Cass. “Sure, D,” she says. “Do you know which one you want?”
“Tt. It does not matter.” He slowly pushes himself up on the sofa, rubbing at his forehead and squinting when Cass turns on the nearest lamp.
“Okay?” Cass says, her hand still on the chain.
Damian just nods and accepts the Superman book from Steph. “You can’t color if you can’t see,” she says, passing him the box of crayons, too. “But it can always wait if you’re too tired.”
“No one said I was tired,” Damian objects. He frowns at the book, paging through it very deliberately. Towards the back, he locates the only picture of Supergirl and folds it along the crease. He tears it out carefully and thrusts it at Steph. “Here,” he says. “It is the alien. You can color her.”
“Thanks, Damian,” she says, confused and weirdly proud at the same time. “What are you going to color, though?”
Damian slumps back against the sofa. “I do not wish to color anything.”
Steph is not about to let him out of this. If Damian thinks relaxing when you’re sick means compiling traffic data from the news, then someone needs to make sure he relaxes a little less. He’s only ten, for goodness’ sake. “Okay, well, what if you pick the crayons and I color?” she wheedles. “I know you love telling me what to do.”
“That is a stupid idea, Brown,” Damian says. His haughty tone is undercut by the fact that he is currently sliding down the couch and doesn’t seem to realize it. “I am perfectly capable of doing both by myself if I cared, which I do not, and I do not need-”
“Hey, take it easy, buddy,” Steph says. “I didn’t mean it like that. You can think of it like, um, supervising. I haven’t colored anything in a long time. You’d be helping me out. Making sure I don’t screw up, you know?” Stephanie Brown, she thinks, you are so full of shit.
Damian continues glowering at her for a moment, then nods his approval. “All right. That would be…acceptable.”
Cass is making that face-the one that means she loves you, but she’s laughing really hard on the inside. Steph isn’t sure if Cass is laughing at her or Damian or everyone in her entire family. Possibly the latter. It’s quite frequently the latter.
“What color should we do first?” Steph asks, crossing her eyes at Cass for good measure.
Damian has by this time slid all the way down and is sort of puddled out across the sofa. He tips the crayon box carefully so as not to spill it, and pokes around inside until he finds the brick red, which he hands over to Steph with an air of complete solemnity. It takes everything she’s got not to laugh.
“She was here yesterday. The Kryptonian,” Damian says, watching Steph trace the S-Shield and fill it in with red. “You missed a spot.”
“Aww, and you guys hung out without me?” Steph dutifully colors the spot Damian points out. “What was she doing here?”
“Super-mail,” Cass volunteers.
Damian passes Steph a yellow crayon. “She brought me a card,” he mumbles into the sofa. “I wish she hadn’t done that. She came when I was sleeping and I thought someone was trying to infiltrate the house.”
“Ha,” Steph says. “See, Cass, I told you it was scary having Bat-people in my window at night.”
Cass shakes her head dismissively. “Not at night. It was lunchtime.” She gives Damian a playful shove. “He broke the glass. Keeps a Batarang under his pillow. Apparently.”
Damian bats her hand away. “If Pennyworth wouldn’t insist upon…dosing me, perhaps I would stop falling asleep at inopportune times.”
“Well, I’m sure dealing with your broken window taught Alfred and Kara their lesson,” Steph answers, shading in Supergirl’s hair.
“I hope so,” he says, sounding distracted. Steph thinks that’s a little weird, but Damian’s never been the best at following sarcasm. When she holds out her hand for the next crayon, though, there isn’t one waiting, just Damian blinking heavily, his arm slack over the box.
“Hey, little D,” she says softly, and touches his hand. She doesn’t want to startle him. “You wanna give me that box before you spill it and wake up with broken crayons inside your cast?” Damian makes a grumbling noise, but he lifts his arm just enough that Steph can move the box away. Then he rolls to face the back of the sofa, and after a few minutes, she sees him go limp.
“What now?” Steph mouths. Cass just shrugs. Steph is trying to figure out the best way to pantomime “Is he actually asleep?” when she hears footsteps in the hall.
“Damian, mail from San Francisco,” Dick sing-songs, postcard flapping in one hand. He freezes in the doorway, murmurs, “Oh, oops, sorry.”
“Hey, Dick,” Steph whispers. “We think he fell asleep.”
“Well,” Dick says. “If you think he did, he probably did.” He wanders in and ruffles Cass’ hair, then pokes Steph’s knee with his foot. “It’s okay, you can talk and stuff. Last night he managed to knock out in the Cave while Tim and Cass were sparring. I mean, they both fight pretty quiet, but he also slept through B’s traditional lecturing-Jason-about-guns phone call, so. I guess the one thing his ‘genetic superiority’ didn’t give him is any kind of tolerance for Vicodin.”
“Aww,” Steph says. “Poor little Angry Bird.”
Cass actually snorts. Dick stifles a laugh and says, “You know if you call him that when he’s awake, you’ll probably lose a finger, right?”
“Oh, I know,” Steph answers. “I figure he’d probably cut off both my thumbs, to make sure I’d never play phone games again. It would only be fitting. Or something.”
“Mhm,” Dick says. He’s smiling, but it’s distant. “Or something. As long as you’re prepared.”
“No finger cutting tonight,” Cass says. She’s laughing at them with her face again. Or maybe she never stopped. “What’s this?” She asks, and takes the postcard from Dick. Steph catches a glimpse of the front- a cheesy tourist shot of Titans Tower, lit up against the night sky.
Dick smiles for real, all big-brother pride. “I think Damian found a buddy. I should have figured he and Rose Wilson both like big swords.”
“Damian’s getting mail from the Ravager?” Steph boggles.
“I know. Rose never sends me get-well-soon cards, and Rose Wilson loves me,” Dick says.
“Or me,” Cass adds, laying the card on the end table.
“Or you,” Dick agrees, and gives her a friendly nudge with his elbow. He leans over her shoulder to peek at Damian’s sleeping form. “Well,” he says after a minute. “I guess we may as well take him back to his room.”
Cass nods, and Dick steps over Titus to crouch beside the sofa. He smoothes Damian’s rumpled hair and very quickly brushes a kiss to the side of his head. “If he ever finds out I do that, look for my head on a pike,” Dick says, scooping his little brother up carefully. “But somebody’s gotta kiss the kid goodnight, and B’s doing good when he remembers how hugging works.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Steph promises, laying her hand over her heart.
“Oh,” Cass says. “I’m getting piked, too.” Dick gives her a conspiratorial grin. Then he steps around the coffee table and heads out of the room.
Steph keeps watching the doorway for a few minutes after he leaves. She wonders if Damian stayed asleep all the way to his room, and if having visitors makes him happy even though he just complains. Cass kicks her lightly in the shin and Steph turns around, sticks out her tongue. It’s weird that Batman’s house feels so much like home, but here she is, sitting on his coffee table, making faces at her best friend. After all this time, it still surprises her to realize she belongs. She’s sure Damian hates being off patrol, is itching to get back on the streets, but she hopes he knows he belongs here, too.
Title: Inside the Lines
Fandom: DCU - Batman
Characters: Steph, Cass, Damian, Dick, Titus the dog
Word Count: 2,387
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Bat-anything.
Warnings: None
Summary: Tonight, there is no justice, only crayons. The girls are determined it shall be so.
A/N: Because I miss Damian and his awesome big sisters. Post-Batman & Robin #8, when Damian is recovering from his encounter with NoBody. (If Cass and Steph still existed, and suchlike things.) Also, I am sorry my titles are just increasingly terrible puns....
Steph puts her hand on Cass’ shoulder and stands on her tiptoes. If she leans in carefully, she can just make out the sad little pile on the sofa while staying out of sight herself. The curtains are drawn in the dim, cool living room, and Damian is curled up on his side, blinking in the flickering light from the television. His broken arm is tucked into his chest, his other hand hanging off the edge of the couch, petting absently at Titus’ sleek fur.
“Oh my gosh,” Steph whispers. “He looks so…tiny when he’s not trying to murder anything. It’s almost kind of adorable.”
Cass elbows her in the stomach, hard, and she takes a step back. “Damian,” Cass says, poking her head into the room. “Are you awake?”
Something rustles distantly, and Titus’ dog tags jingle. “What do you want?” a small, irritable voice calls back.
“I brought you a surprise,” Cass answers, tilting her head to the side.
Rustling again, restless shifting noises. “Is it a shot of adrenaline?” Damian says morosely. “If it is not, you may go.”
Steph snorts, and Cass promptly steps down on her foot. “Funny,” Cass says. “But no. Rest is good.” She leans further into the room. “What are you watching? Is that the news?”
“Yes, the news,” he snaps. “You should avoid Kane Street when you patrol tonight; there was a water main burst.”
“That seems…not restful,” Cass says. Steph, for her part, facepalms silently. “Your surprise agrees with me,” Cass announces.
Steph can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Is my surprise a blond woman who ought to spend more time training and less time eating waffles?”
“Careful, D,” Steph laughs, letting Cass tug her through the door. It takes her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the half-dark. “Next time I won’t share.”
Damian makes a tsking sound. “That is an entirely idle threat. You manufacture more baked goods than you could ever consume by yourself.”
Steph sits on the edge of the coffee table and scratches behind Titus’ ears. His tail thumps happily against the feet of the couch. “Hey, we’ve all got our coping mechanisms. Bruce sits on gargoyles and broods. I make delicious, delicious waffles. I think it’s pretty clear which method works.”
Damian just huffs.
Cass perches on the arm of the sofa and smiles at them both indulgently. Then she ninjas the remote away from Damian and clicks the TV off.
“Give that back,” he complains, swatting at Cass with his good hand. “That was unfair, and you are an unsportsmanlike harridan. See if I ever help you plan your routes again.”
“No,” Cass says, sounding amused. She dodges him easily and tosses the remote across the room. “You can fight crime later. Get better first.”
“I am sufficiently recovered to watch the evening news,” Damian grumbles, but it’s a weak protest. He aims one last smack in Cass’ direction, then collapses back against the sofa. With the dark circles under his eyes and his face pressed into the leather cushions, he looks like any other sick little kid. Steph wants to punch something when she remembers somebody tried to break him. She shoves that thought down and manages a lopsided smile.
“She might be right, little D,” Steph says. “I think your pupils are different sizes.”
Damian pulls a face, managing to look both utterly condescending and more than a little pathetic. “How observant of you. I do have a concussion.”
“Yeah, sweetie, I know.” Damian just sort of blinks at that, like he’s too tired to fight her. “Oh, hey,” Steph says, fishing his present out of her bag. “I brought you something.”
“What are those?” he asks, wrinkling his nose suspiciously. “Did Pennyworth tell you to bring me workbooks?”
She laughs. “No, Damian, they’re coloring books. I’ve got crayons in here, too, somewhere.”
He frowns and withdraws further into the sofa. “I am not an infant. I can manage a pencil. My drawings frighten the Batman, after all."
Steph’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but it makes her toes curl inside her sneakers. A line of concern appears between Cass’ eyebrows, and she reaches down and pets very lightly at her brother’s hair. She gets in one, two, three strokes before he shakes her off-that might be what throws Steph the most. Whatever happened when he ran away, it’s worn his defenses unusually thin. It makes her stomach hurt, thinking about what it would take to do that to Damian.
“Hey, I know you’re not,” she says, ducking her head a little to make eye contact again. “But sometimes it’s nice just to pick out the colors. Relaxing, you know? I did a ton of coloring when I-” She realizes she isn’t sure what he’s been told about her almost-death, if he’s been told about it at all. “-the last time I was in the hospital. And come on, I even got you one with Superman. You know how hard those are to find outside of Metropolis?”
Damian eyes the cover disdainfully. “Why would I want to color pictures of a Kryptonian reporter?”
“Because,” Steph answers, leaning in to poke his shoulder. “He’s only the coolest ever. Every kid wants to be Superman when they grow up. I did. Even Dick did, and he lived in Batman’s freaking house.”
“That is untrue,” Damian says automatically.
“Ask him,” Cass says.
“It’s true. Cross my heart.” Steph traces an X on her chest. “Babs told me, and the Oracle never lies.”
Damian appears to consider this, then pronounces, “You and Grayson have terrible taste. My father is obviously the superior warrior.”
Steph bites down on a laugh. Concussion or no, she’s pretty sure Damian can still kick her in the stomach from three feet away. “Yeah, I’ve been told that before. I’m sure Dick’s heard worse. You wanna talk about bad taste, you should see his old Nightwing suits.”
“I liked the shiny one,” Cass says thoughtfully.
“Which shiny one, Cass?” Steph smirks.
Damian sighs exaggeratedly. “If I concede to examine these…books you brought me, will you cease this foolishness?”
Steph exchanges a smile with Cass. “Sure, D,” she says. “Do you know which one you want?”
“Tt. It does not matter.” He slowly pushes himself up on the sofa, rubbing at his forehead and squinting when Cass turns on the nearest lamp.
“Okay?” Cass says, her hand still on the chain.
Damian just nods and accepts the Superman book from Steph. “You can’t color if you can’t see,” she says, passing him the box of crayons, too. “But it can always wait if you’re too tired.”
“No one said I was tired,” Damian objects. He frowns at the book, paging through it very deliberately. Towards the back, he locates the only picture of Supergirl and folds it along the crease. He tears it out carefully and thrusts it at Steph. “Here,” he says. “It is the alien. You can color her.”
“Thanks, Damian,” she says, confused and weirdly proud at the same time. “What are you going to color, though?”
Damian slumps back against the sofa. “I do not wish to color anything.”
Steph is not about to let him out of this. If Damian thinks relaxing when you’re sick means compiling traffic data from the news, then someone needs to make sure he relaxes a little less. He’s only ten, for goodness’ sake. “Okay, well, what if you pick the crayons and I color?” she wheedles. “I know you love telling me what to do.”
“That is a stupid idea, Brown,” Damian says. His haughty tone is undercut by the fact that he is currently sliding down the couch and doesn’t seem to realize it. “I am perfectly capable of doing both by myself if I cared, which I do not, and I do not need-”
“Hey, take it easy, buddy,” Steph says. “I didn’t mean it like that. You can think of it like, um, supervising. I haven’t colored anything in a long time. You’d be helping me out. Making sure I don’t screw up, you know?” Stephanie Brown, she thinks, you are so full of shit.
Damian continues glowering at her for a moment, then nods his approval. “All right. That would be…acceptable.”
Cass is making that face-the one that means she loves you, but she’s laughing really hard on the inside. Steph isn’t sure if Cass is laughing at her or Damian or everyone in her entire family. Possibly the latter. It’s quite frequently the latter.
“What color should we do first?” Steph asks, crossing her eyes at Cass for good measure.
Damian has by this time slid all the way down and is sort of puddled out across the sofa. He tips the crayon box carefully so as not to spill it, and pokes around inside until he finds the brick red, which he hands over to Steph with an air of complete solemnity. It takes everything she’s got not to laugh.
“She was here yesterday. The Kryptonian,” Damian says, watching Steph trace the S-Shield and fill it in with red. “You missed a spot.”
“Aww, and you guys hung out without me?” Steph dutifully colors the spot Damian points out. “What was she doing here?”
“Super-mail,” Cass volunteers.
Damian passes Steph a yellow crayon. “She brought me a card,” he mumbles into the sofa. “I wish she hadn’t done that. She came when I was sleeping and I thought someone was trying to infiltrate the house.”
“Ha,” Steph says. “See, Cass, I told you it was scary having Bat-people in my window at night.”
Cass shakes her head dismissively. “Not at night. It was lunchtime.” She gives Damian a playful shove. “He broke the glass. Keeps a Batarang under his pillow. Apparently.”
Damian bats her hand away. “If Pennyworth wouldn’t insist upon…dosing me, perhaps I would stop falling asleep at inopportune times.”
“Well, I’m sure dealing with your broken window taught Alfred and Kara their lesson,” Steph answers, shading in Supergirl’s hair.
“I hope so,” he says, sounding distracted. Steph thinks that’s a little weird, but Damian’s never been the best at following sarcasm. When she holds out her hand for the next crayon, though, there isn’t one waiting, just Damian blinking heavily, his arm slack over the box.
“Hey, little D,” she says softly, and touches his hand. She doesn’t want to startle him. “You wanna give me that box before you spill it and wake up with broken crayons inside your cast?” Damian makes a grumbling noise, but he lifts his arm just enough that Steph can move the box away. Then he rolls to face the back of the sofa, and after a few minutes, she sees him go limp.
“What now?” Steph mouths. Cass just shrugs. Steph is trying to figure out the best way to pantomime “Is he actually asleep?” when she hears footsteps in the hall.
“Damian, mail from San Francisco,” Dick sing-songs, postcard flapping in one hand. He freezes in the doorway, murmurs, “Oh, oops, sorry.”
“Hey, Dick,” Steph whispers. “We think he fell asleep.”
“Well,” Dick says. “If you think he did, he probably did.” He wanders in and ruffles Cass’ hair, then pokes Steph’s knee with his foot. “It’s okay, you can talk and stuff. Last night he managed to knock out in the Cave while Tim and Cass were sparring. I mean, they both fight pretty quiet, but he also slept through B’s traditional lecturing-Jason-about-guns phone call, so. I guess the one thing his ‘genetic superiority’ didn’t give him is any kind of tolerance for Vicodin.”
“Aww,” Steph says. “Poor little Angry Bird.”
Cass actually snorts. Dick stifles a laugh and says, “You know if you call him that when he’s awake, you’ll probably lose a finger, right?”
“Oh, I know,” Steph answers. “I figure he’d probably cut off both my thumbs, to make sure I’d never play phone games again. It would only be fitting. Or something.”
“Mhm,” Dick says. He’s smiling, but it’s distant. “Or something. As long as you’re prepared.”
“No finger cutting tonight,” Cass says. She’s laughing at them with her face again. Or maybe she never stopped. “What’s this?” She asks, and takes the postcard from Dick. Steph catches a glimpse of the front- a cheesy tourist shot of Titans Tower, lit up against the night sky.
Dick smiles for real, all big-brother pride. “I think Damian found a buddy. I should have figured he and Rose Wilson both like big swords.”
“Damian’s getting mail from the Ravager?” Steph boggles.
“I know. Rose never sends me get-well-soon cards, and Rose Wilson loves me,” Dick says.
“Or me,” Cass adds, laying the card on the end table.
“Or you,” Dick agrees, and gives her a friendly nudge with his elbow. He leans over her shoulder to peek at Damian’s sleeping form. “Well,” he says after a minute. “I guess we may as well take him back to his room.”
Cass nods, and Dick steps over Titus to crouch beside the sofa. He smoothes Damian’s rumpled hair and very quickly brushes a kiss to the side of his head. “If he ever finds out I do that, look for my head on a pike,” Dick says, scooping his little brother up carefully. “But somebody’s gotta kiss the kid goodnight, and B’s doing good when he remembers how hugging works.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Steph promises, laying her hand over her heart.
“Oh,” Cass says. “I’m getting piked, too.” Dick gives her a conspiratorial grin. Then he steps around the coffee table and heads out of the room.
Steph keeps watching the doorway for a few minutes after he leaves. She wonders if Damian stayed asleep all the way to his room, and if having visitors makes him happy even though he just complains. Cass kicks her lightly in the shin and Steph turns around, sticks out her tongue. It’s weird that Batman’s house feels so much like home, but here she is, sitting on his coffee table, making faces at her best friend. After all this time, it still surprises her to realize she belongs. She’s sure Damian hates being off patrol, is itching to get back on the streets, but she hopes he knows he belongs here, too.