The Giving
Wrote this as an impromptu holiday gift for my Tumblr peeps.
Title: The Giving
Fandom: Batman
Characters: Dick/Damian
Rating: G
Word Count: 754
Summary: Unrepentant Christmas schmoop.
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“Grayson, you are absolutely ridiculous.”
It's not a compliment, but it's not a really complaint either. And the way he's twisting distractedly at a dangling thread on the hem of his peacoat, it seems almost fond.
“No one would ever-only you-”
Dick tries not to feel smug. He never has the best or most extravagant presents to offer Damian-Talia works on an astronomical magnitude, and Bruce, with his clumsy way of caring, feels compelled to match her dollar for dollar. But they're not privy to this brand of familiarity. This softened exasperation.
“Reindeer, Grayson?”
The two calves are just weeks old, their hooves still unsteady over the straw and snow. Dick bends for a bit, to brush his knuckles against the white one's flank. The hairs feel impossibly soft.
“They'll have to stay here at the farm. Gotham isn't really the best place for them. But they're yours. We'll visit them lots.”
Damian crouches down, reaching out a hand almost begrudgingly to the dark brown one. The animal seems confused, nosing at his fingers curiously, before eventually leaning into the warmth of Damian's palm. His expression thaws a little.
“They're still feeding from their mother?”
Dick keeps his hands warm in his pockets, gesturing instead with a jerk of the head. “She's in the stables over there.”
Damian runs his fingers behind the foal's ear, rubbing small circles on the raised bumps where antlers would eventually come in. “Make sure they stay with her. Until they're ready.”
“'Til they start learning how to fly?”
Damian manages to call him a boor and an idiot with just his eyes. He's not glaring, but just giving Dick an incredulous, half-lidded expression.
“First father gives me the Dane, and now you with reindeer,” he says. Then tilts his head thoughtfully. “We should bring Titus next time.”
“You don't think he'll scare them?”
Damian's petting more deliberately now. Like he wants to know these creatures. “Really, Grayson? I'm not sure Titus has it in him to be frightening.”
“Okay. If you want to. He gets nervous on normal drives, though, so we'll probably have to lay down some newspaper to keep the Batwing clean." A smile is spreading his lips. “So does this mean like you like them?”
Damian doesn't answer. Still squatting down, he twists away from Dick, and brings his chin down into the warm loop of his scarf. But the tips of his ears go rosy.
*
Through the years, Damian has begun to open himself to the hearts around him. It's a slow process, but he's learning how to take kindness without suspicion, to let others be there for him. But even with his Robin's world growing wider, Dick holds fast to the position at the fore, cupping affection close to his chest.
He can be this boy's everything. It's a knowledge that is riddled with scars, the kind of sad that does not heal. It's the glossy hardness of Damian's eyes, the impudent jut of his chin, the aggression. And all the lonely moments that have bent the line of his mouth into a miserable angle.
It shouldn't make Dick happy. It doesn't make him happy. Time has blunted the edge of the memory, but the circumstances that made them need each other still manage to bring pain. But that seems to be a motif of Dick's life. The way tragedy can fade into something precious. He thinks, briefly, of Christmases with his parents. And then Christmases without them. So many Christmases without them. But they weren't without their own light; you can always rebuild.
Dick sometimes wonders what life might have been, had sadness never come to visit his youngest brother. Would their paths have crossed otherwise? He waves the thoughts away like smoke. It's pointless to dwell on what has never been. He'll just have to keep making the best of reality. It's what he's always done, after all.
*
Damian continues to pet the animals with firm strokes, studiously keeping his gaze away from Dick.
“Merry Christmas, Damian,” Dick says, leaning in close over his Robin's shoulder.
He can be this boy's everything. The thought repeats itself with a sudden ferocity. It comes upon him so strongly, he is almost afraid.
Damian huffs in response, but it's a tender sound. He turns his head gently towards Dick, breath visible in the frigid air of the tundra. It wisps softly against Dick's neck, then disappears. But the warmth remains.
.end
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(A/N): I'm a little embarrassed by how gooey this is. But yeah. It's the season for cheesin'.
And relevant festive headcanon: Damian is slightly over-invested in the Rudolph story, and can't help drawing parallels between himself and the red-nosed reindeer. He's still waiting for his metaphorical foggy Christmas Eve, where he can finally prove that he belongs.