Batfic: Too Much
Ughhh. I am sick as a dog and utterly miserable. There is a rapidly growing pile of tissues on the table and I have chugged an absurd amount of tea (not that that's a bad thing) and my head feels really stuffy. Blargh. I feel so gross.
Anyway, enough of my belly-aching. I wrote more Batfic! This is meant to be a companion to my other fic, Too Big, which also deals with a Batman and Robin duo and the theme of nightmares. I wanted to show the difference between the Bruce & Dick dynamic and the Dick & Damian dynamic, so... voila!
I made Damian act a little more like the ten year-old he is in this one, so if he seems a little off, well. That's why. BECAUSE HE IS A CHILD. WHO NEEDS HUGS. LOTS AND LOTS OF HUGS.
Yep.
Enjoy, guys!
- - -
Title: Too Much
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson.
Summary: Damian did not have nightmares. Nightmares were for children.
- - -
Damian did not have nightmares. Nightmares were for children.
He sat up in bed and held his head in his hands, breathing deeply. He closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to dispel the images that kept floating into his mind, images from a dream so terrifying, so utterly unnerving, that Damian would have called it a nightmare, except that he did not have nightmares. But even with his eyes closed he could still hear the gurgling breaths, could still smell the blood, feel the blade in his hands, and that was even worse. He opened his eyes.
Rain sluiced down the windowpanes, casting gray reflections upon the bedspread. Damian stared at the swirling watery patterns and thought involuntarily of blood. Blood on his hands, soaking through his gloves, slick and steaming and everywhere -
Damian clamped his eyes shut and forced those thoughts away. It was a dream, nothing more. Not a nightmare, of course, because only children had nightmares. No. It was just a vivid, terrible dream, and it was ridiculous. Damian should not be so upset. Honestly. He threatened to kill Grayson at least three times a day, so why should a dream in which he actually carried out that threat bother him so much?
And... it did bother him. That much Damian could not deny. Pressure burned in the back of his throat and his eyes felt oddly prickly and swollen. His hands shook as they curled into his hair. The more he tried to forget about the dream the more he saw it, saw the blood leaking over Grayson’s heaving chest, soaking the gray material of his uniform and obscuring the bat emblem as Grayson gasped for breath through the gaping slit in his throat, the slit Damian had put there - so easily - because Grayson trusted him, let him get so close -
Bile surged in his throat and Damian bit back the urge to vomit.
Ridiculous. This was utterly ridiculous, and completely unacceptable. He was acting like a child, letting something as inane as a dream perturb him this much. Dreams were only images, involuntary biological sensations occurring during certain stages of sleep. They were not real and should by no means be feared.
Of course Grayson wasn’t dead. He was in his bedroom just down the hall. Asleep. Breathing.
Alive.
Damian knew that. He knew that.
And yet he was already sliding out of bed and walking across the room and opening the door, like his feet had a will all their own.
The hallway was chilly, the floor downright cold against his bare feet. He made no sound as he crept - no, not crept, walked. He walked down the hallway. There was no reason for him to hide what he was doing. This was his home. His hallway. His choice to visit Grayson’s room in the middle of the night.
… More or less.
Damian didn’t hesitate when he got to Grayson’s door. He pushed it open (it was not even locked - stupid trusting idiot) and slipped inside. It only took a moment for his eyes to adjust, and then he could see him.
Grayson slept on his back, head tilted to one side, one arm curled against his chest and the other flung out to the side. He looked peaceful, comfortable. Almost childish.
The position irked Damian. It was like Grayson was baring his belly to an enemy. It left him so vulnerable to attack… it made Damian think of his dream, and he saw again the knife in his hands, the blade dripping with blood, and Grayson sliced open, bleeding out, dying…
No.
No, Grayson was right there. He was perfectly fine. He was breathing and alive and just fine and Damian had not killed him.
And that’s all he needed to know.
Damian turned to leave the room, but then Grayson shifted and murmured something and Damian froze. He glanced back at the bed and saw that Grayson had just turned onto his side, still fast asleep.
Damian sighed. Idiot. What kind of Batman didn’t even notice an intruder in his bedroom? Admittedly, said intruder was incredibly light on his feet and an expert in stealth, but still.
A thought came unbidden to Damian’s mind, and he suddenly realized how simple it would be for him to seek out comfort, if he was so inclined. It would be so easy to climb onto that big bed, curl up against Grayson’s chest and listen to his heartbeat, if only to avoid being alone for once. Grayson wouldn't mind. In fact, he would probably welcome the contact, the touchy-feely weirdo, and he would twine his arms around Damian and hug him close and Damian would be forced to spend the night there.
It was much more tempting than it should have been and that frightened Damian almost as much as his dream.
He spared one last glance for Grayson’s sleeping face, then turned on his heel and left the room before any more disturbing thoughts came to him. The door clicked softly shut behind him and within moments he was crawling beneath his own sheets, shivering in the late night chill. He tugged his extra pillow to his chest and settled in for a sleepless night. There was no point in risking another dream when he had to be up in two hours’ time, anyway, and he was no stranger to sleep deprivation.
Damian listened to the rain and watched the glowing numbers tick away on his bedside table. Even though the images from his dream were dissolving before the slowly approaching dawn, he still felt oddly unsettled. He felt like he had forgotten something, something important. Damian curled into a ball around his pillow and stared at his clock.
Only one hour and fifty-four minutes to go.
- - -
See? HUGS. ALL THE HUGS IN THE WORLD.
And now I'm going to curl into my own little ball of sickness and sniffle away the rest of the night...
Anyway, enough of my belly-aching. I wrote more Batfic! This is meant to be a companion to my other fic, Too Big, which also deals with a Batman and Robin duo and the theme of nightmares. I wanted to show the difference between the Bruce & Dick dynamic and the Dick & Damian dynamic, so... voila!
I made Damian act a little more like the ten year-old he is in this one, so if he seems a little off, well. That's why. BECAUSE HE IS A CHILD. WHO NEEDS HUGS. LOTS AND LOTS OF HUGS.
Yep.
Enjoy, guys!
- - -
Title: Too Much
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson.
Summary: Damian did not have nightmares. Nightmares were for children.
- - -
Damian did not have nightmares. Nightmares were for children.
He sat up in bed and held his head in his hands, breathing deeply. He closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to dispel the images that kept floating into his mind, images from a dream so terrifying, so utterly unnerving, that Damian would have called it a nightmare, except that he did not have nightmares. But even with his eyes closed he could still hear the gurgling breaths, could still smell the blood, feel the blade in his hands, and that was even worse. He opened his eyes.
Rain sluiced down the windowpanes, casting gray reflections upon the bedspread. Damian stared at the swirling watery patterns and thought involuntarily of blood. Blood on his hands, soaking through his gloves, slick and steaming and everywhere -
Damian clamped his eyes shut and forced those thoughts away. It was a dream, nothing more. Not a nightmare, of course, because only children had nightmares. No. It was just a vivid, terrible dream, and it was ridiculous. Damian should not be so upset. Honestly. He threatened to kill Grayson at least three times a day, so why should a dream in which he actually carried out that threat bother him so much?
And... it did bother him. That much Damian could not deny. Pressure burned in the back of his throat and his eyes felt oddly prickly and swollen. His hands shook as they curled into his hair. The more he tried to forget about the dream the more he saw it, saw the blood leaking over Grayson’s heaving chest, soaking the gray material of his uniform and obscuring the bat emblem as Grayson gasped for breath through the gaping slit in his throat, the slit Damian had put there - so easily - because Grayson trusted him, let him get so close -
Bile surged in his throat and Damian bit back the urge to vomit.
Ridiculous. This was utterly ridiculous, and completely unacceptable. He was acting like a child, letting something as inane as a dream perturb him this much. Dreams were only images, involuntary biological sensations occurring during certain stages of sleep. They were not real and should by no means be feared.
Of course Grayson wasn’t dead. He was in his bedroom just down the hall. Asleep. Breathing.
Alive.
Damian knew that. He knew that.
And yet he was already sliding out of bed and walking across the room and opening the door, like his feet had a will all their own.
The hallway was chilly, the floor downright cold against his bare feet. He made no sound as he crept - no, not crept, walked. He walked down the hallway. There was no reason for him to hide what he was doing. This was his home. His hallway. His choice to visit Grayson’s room in the middle of the night.
… More or less.
Damian didn’t hesitate when he got to Grayson’s door. He pushed it open (it was not even locked - stupid trusting idiot) and slipped inside. It only took a moment for his eyes to adjust, and then he could see him.
Grayson slept on his back, head tilted to one side, one arm curled against his chest and the other flung out to the side. He looked peaceful, comfortable. Almost childish.
The position irked Damian. It was like Grayson was baring his belly to an enemy. It left him so vulnerable to attack… it made Damian think of his dream, and he saw again the knife in his hands, the blade dripping with blood, and Grayson sliced open, bleeding out, dying…
No.
No, Grayson was right there. He was perfectly fine. He was breathing and alive and just fine and Damian had not killed him.
And that’s all he needed to know.
Damian turned to leave the room, but then Grayson shifted and murmured something and Damian froze. He glanced back at the bed and saw that Grayson had just turned onto his side, still fast asleep.
Damian sighed. Idiot. What kind of Batman didn’t even notice an intruder in his bedroom? Admittedly, said intruder was incredibly light on his feet and an expert in stealth, but still.
A thought came unbidden to Damian’s mind, and he suddenly realized how simple it would be for him to seek out comfort, if he was so inclined. It would be so easy to climb onto that big bed, curl up against Grayson’s chest and listen to his heartbeat, if only to avoid being alone for once. Grayson wouldn't mind. In fact, he would probably welcome the contact, the touchy-feely weirdo, and he would twine his arms around Damian and hug him close and Damian would be forced to spend the night there.
It was much more tempting than it should have been and that frightened Damian almost as much as his dream.
He spared one last glance for Grayson’s sleeping face, then turned on his heel and left the room before any more disturbing thoughts came to him. The door clicked softly shut behind him and within moments he was crawling beneath his own sheets, shivering in the late night chill. He tugged his extra pillow to his chest and settled in for a sleepless night. There was no point in risking another dream when he had to be up in two hours’ time, anyway, and he was no stranger to sleep deprivation.
Damian listened to the rain and watched the glowing numbers tick away on his bedside table. Even though the images from his dream were dissolving before the slowly approaching dawn, he still felt oddly unsettled. He felt like he had forgotten something, something important. Damian curled into a ball around his pillow and stared at his clock.
Only one hour and fifty-four minutes to go.
- - -
See? HUGS. ALL THE HUGS IN THE WORLD.
And now I'm going to curl into my own little ball of sickness and sniffle away the rest of the night...