That Which Fills an Emptiness
Just pretending it's last spring/summer again when everyone was writing dD Reboot angst.
Title: That Which Fills an Emptiness
Fandom: Batman
Characters: Damian+Dick
Rating: G
Word Count: 865
Summary: The partnership is broken. Damian was not enough.
------------
Cold drops spatter against the back of his neck. Damian counts two seconds before the clouds tear open and spill out all their insides. Thunder cracks, the lightning marking electric veins across the darkness. The air takes on an ozone musk, mixing with the smog. And Damian wishes he could blame that for the thickness in his throat, the labor of his breathing.
So far, no sight of his target, no figure in red and black twisting across the skyline. He remains crouched on his sixth-story ledge like an architectural feature, some living gargoyle embellishment.
Father had only silence in response when Damian had voiced his intentions. But the boy had understood the implicit agreement-or rather, permission, Damian noted with resentment-that the man had given him. And when their patrol had ended, the Bat retired to his cave, while the Bird flitted back out into the night.
The rhythm of the rain patters against concrete, smooths the texture of his thoughts and eases him into a state of meditation. A hazy ambience fills his mind, invites it to wander. The constancy of its beats gives him comfort, but that only makes the knotted things inside of him become more apparent in contrast.
When he had been training with the League of Assassins, he had never had to question the boundaries between want and need, not when anything and everything could be made available with right amount of pressure. But now there is a turbulence inside of him, where logic and desire and pride snipe at one another, like the arguing heads of a hydra.
But then the cold rain suddenly ceases to needle at his neck and the scent of hot chocolate is wafting into his lungs. The monster inside of him isn't vanquished, only blinded and put to sleep.
He rises to his feet, trying to wiggle the numbness out of his toes.
“You do have a hood, you know,” Grayson points out, arm extended so as to keep the both of them shielded by the canopy of his umbrella.
“I can handle the rain,” Damian answers matter-of-factly, hoping Grayson can't hear the explosions in his chest.
“Well, pneumonia and hypothermia don't care much for your bravado,” the man says, pushing a carrier tray into Damian's hands, with two cups of steaming hot chocolate. Grayson must have seen him waiting, Damian realizes. He recognizes the cups from this café, the one that he had visited with Colin; he had mentioned to Grayson, just one time in passing when they were still partners, that the establishment made rather acceptable beverages, and of course Grayson would remember such trivialities.
“I've marched barefoot through the ice deserts of Kamchatka,” he says, staring thoughtfully at the sides of the cups, respectively labeled 'Nitewng' and 'Robs' by a hasty barista's hand. “This level of cold is inconsequential for my physiology.”
Something between a laugh and a sigh. “Yup. Superior genes. Engineered protection. I get it.” And then a gloved hand resting on his back, just above his right shoulder blade. He can feel the individual fingertips, the gentle pressure of the heel of the palm. The air is significantly warmer and Damian can't tell if it's from the presence of another body radiating heat, or just the fact that it's Grayson. “I'm just asking you to let me protect you once in a while.”
Damian doesn't answer, too busy trying to will down all the words that try to burst up out of him, trying to calm the prickling heat behind his eyes.
“This isn't about Bruce, I hope?” Grayson's voice is edged with empathy and expectation, a sad certainty that such conflict would eventually come. But that isn't the case tonight.
“No,” Damian manages to strangle out. And there is a litany of grievances that could be aired, but he's not here for that. “I just-” wanted to see you miss you want you to come home come home Grayson. There are a multitude of truths that he will not say. But it doesn't matter. Grayson hears them anyway. He always does.
One friend had been all Damian needed. He had said this before with every certainty. And it's not as though Damian is that unsophisticated, or even that self-sufficient. But only that Grayson had been so complete in his life that Damian could believe without doubt. But this man, Damian has come to realize, cannot pare his life down to that same level. He has always been unrelentingly social, craving contact and conversation.
Grayson has left because he needs his freedom. Because he has grown too large to fit inside of Father's shadow. And Damian can't curb the disappointment in himself, because even though he has only ever needed Grayson, Grayson will never need him in return, at least not with such humiliating wholeness. There is too much that Damian is not, too much that he will never be.
Soon, Damian will allow his former partner to herd him downstairs to dry off. Will accept the offer to stay over, and maybe even patrol with him the following night. But the past cannot be so easily revived.
Grayson will not be kept. Damian has failed.
.end
----------------
(A/N): Wrote this a few days ago while trying to shake off some writer's block. I still have writer's block, but now I'm also weeping. I hope there is at least one Nightwing arc involving a team-up with Damian.