sleep, pt. ii [dick/damian]
Title: Sleep [Part II]
Warnings: Cursing, Implied Sex
Rating: 16+
Word Count: 12,355
Characters/Pairings: Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Ra's Al Ghul, Talia, Bruce Wayne, etc. Dick/Damian, mostly, Dick/Jason, for like, a second.
Summary: Sleeping is something that most in Gotham City take for granted. However, Dick and Damian relate a lot to the sacred act of sleeping, as it isn't something they get much of. It helps to sleep with someone next to you, someone special, and when they're gone, it's almost impossible to remember what it's like to sleep without them again.
Part I
★
The call comes from Jason at nearly three in the morning, and he’s so concerned he could throw up. It’s been almost six months, and his seams are ripping apart. He’d been ready to fall asleep, but that had shocked all notions of rest from his brain, and as he’d listened to the other man’s words, he stood up and yelled.
“What?!”
“You heard me,” His voice chimes over the phone, tinny and angry. “Ra’s is on his way. As much as I appreciate his help for what he did to me so many years ago, you and I both know that that’s not good news for any of us, but especially not for the kid.” There’s a pause and both of them have balled fists, concern and a wash of emotions come over their faces. “Look. I know you haven’t seen each other in a while, but it’s going to be a long, messy battle, and we’re going to need all the help we can get. So at least try to talk to him, alright? Kiss and make up, Dickhead.”
“Har har,” Dick laughs with absolutely no humor and stares out of the window. In a cracked voice, he speaks. “What do I say?”
“I don’t know-I fucking love you, brat, so come here and let’s fuck? Sounds like a personal problem.” He laughs honestly at that, and Jason smirks. “Just try not screw it up a second time, okay?”
“I’ll do my best,” The first Robin smiles distantly at the phone and he tries to sleep just one more restless night. But his humor from the call is soon lost. Ra’s is close, days away, but still closer than he had been. He would be looking for Damian, trying to coerce him, and if he didn’t make a move soon, the youth might’ve felt a press to return to his maternal family, and his heart clenched with the idea of not being able to catch fleeting glimpses of him as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop with either Bruce or Tim.
He tosses, and turns, and his eyes are cold air around him. Hands and legs are tangled in sheets, and he tries to sing himself to sleep with Nature Boy, but it isn’t effective in the least. His mind races with thoughts and examples of what he would say the next day, but nothing works, so he bites his lips and tries, tries his very very best to get to sleep, and nothing works.
Where did it all go wrong? Dick thought to himself, thinking about their big separating event, frustrated with himself more than anyone else. It’s my fault, I’m sure, but I’m going to figure it all out, apologize, and I’ll return to Damian. We’ll be together. We’ll be…we’ll be…
His mind wanders to the boy’s smirking smile, his glinting, mischievous eyes, his delicious, saucy, tan body, and his low hum of a voice, all of it with the familiar song ringing in his ears.
“My God,” He whispers to an empty room. “I’m in love with Damian.”
That definitely makes sleeping more difficult, and thoughts of the boy run through his mind the whole evening until the sun begins to rise.
. . .
“We move tomorrow, while the Grayson boy is away,” The man’s deep, gravelly tones echo in the cave as he prepares to lower himself into the pit. “Understood, Talia? This is not about you-it’s about me, and my legacy,” His eyes are almost maddened, and yet incredibly clear. His daughter is feeling particularly vengeful, and her glare is hot enough to melt an ice cap, but she merely nods and bites her lip. “I said, understood?”
“Yes, Father,” Talia mutters, frustrated. “I understand.”
“Good,” Ra’s slips under for a time, letting the deteriorating flesh of the man he currently inhabited replenish itself and sucking in the renewed life force.
Somewhere nearby, one of their men enters and brings his robes, his gaze connecting with Talia’s for a moment, nodding at her and turning swiftly on his heel.
“Come, daughter,” The demon that has managed to survive the centuries murmurs to her, a half-smile on his face. “There is much to do.”
. . .
He sucks in a deep breath, and can only pray that the youth won’t knife him in the chest or kick him in the groin when that door opens. Actually, with the security at the mansion, he can’t even be sure that he will answer the door.
Another breath. He prepares to press the doorbell, but then someone’s sharp knuckles collide with his neck and he’s out. A red mask glints in the moonlight, and he makes a low rumbling sound that almost sounds like a laugh. “Always so trusting, Grayson,” Jason murmurs with a touch of remorse as he picks the acrobat up and slips into the shadows. “But right now, you can’t be here.” He snaps, and a horde of ninjas appear to get rid of him, and in the meantime, he prepares to slip into the back of Wayne Manor so that he might find its lone inhabitant, knowing well that Bruce, Timothy, and anyone else that might have been visiting were preoccupied this evening.
. . .
He’s in a terrible mood, surlier than ever. Damian and Colin had tried to save someone from falling off of a building, but three people had ended up dead due to their carelessness, and Colin had rampaged against him, almost losing control of his powers. Damian couldn’t help but feel frustrated, because at a time like this, back then, before the mess with Grayson had separated the two of them. In order to keep himself from going completely insane, he’s been trying to spend time with someone-anyone-in bed, either sexually or not, but it’s not the same, and he felt as though his gray-blue eyes haven’t truly closed in months. Six months, to be precise.
Colin understands his loneliness, and it’s been so long that he finally feels the need to break things down to his friend. “You’re not over him,” He says quietly, his eyes far away. “It’s easy to get. You guys lived together, and he’s been gone for half a year.”
Damian snorts a little bit around his broken, bandaged fingers that he’s pushing by holding the mug filled with hot, self-brewed, incredibly strong tea. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I don’t miss Grayson.”
The redhead rolls his eyes. “Don’t even joke with me. Look at yourself, Damian!” He points to the other youth, who dons an eyepatch to make up for the sty he’s gotten in his left eye, he’s covered in bruises, and the two of them are splayed out on the floor in the mess that the kitchen has become since the youth hasn’t felt moved to clean it. “You’re going crazy, admit it.”
His mind races as he scowls deeply, and he curses the other youth for bringing thoughts of that face, with its five o’clock shadow, with its dainty nose, and that clumsy, affectionate smile, and his most attractive feature, aside from his backside, his lovely, shockingly blue eyes. The mental picture is almost like a photograph and he clenches his eyes shut tightly, trying to force it away, but all that crosses aside from Grayson is nights alone in silence, with nothing but the uncomfortably large space Wayne Manor provided and the large windows that let in the moonlight there.
“See,” Colin murmurs softly. “You miss him.”
He kicks his friend in the right leg, despite its being bound in a cast. The redhead glares at him and thinks about kicking him back, but it hurts too much to move. “Shut up.”
There’s a silence that passes over them all of the sudden, and they only breathe, not looking at each other. Their thoughts are far away, and they feel guilt and old wounds, as well as the ones fresh on their adolescent skin, torture their thoughts. But then, when things get too hard for the orphan to think about, about that horrible night with Scarecrow and Hush, about the night that had granted him his terrible, and yet helpful, powers, he turns his green gaze back at his only friend, knowing that the two of them had that in common. They were so alike, although their situations differed, and here in the darkness, they’d blended even more into the same person. However, this was one thing Colin had yet to struggle with in his life, and he had a sneaking suspicion that when things of this nature came into his life, family dynamics, old partnerships, and age wouldn’t be such an issue. As far as he saw it, Damian was stuck, and he couldn’t even come to terms with the whirlwind of events and emotions that had overcome him in this past half-year. He’d had to rediscover himself and study himself, honestly, because he was lost without the last anchor to life that he’d had. “Damian,” Colin speaks in a sort of curious and yet broken voice. “Do you love him?”
A crinkle passes over his face and he almost looks disgusted that the question was asked. His gaze narrows and he glares at the darkness, but the scowl lessens and he thinks for a few minutes before answering. “No,” The answer isn’t all that surprising, but Colin, at least, is a little disappointed in his friend. They’re nearly nineteen, and he hasn’t yet realized such a simple thing yet. But then he keeps talking, all strained and betrayed tones, and Colin suddenly understands how wrong he’d been. “I need Grayson-needed him this whole time, and he left.” Damian snarls the last bit, his eyes giving the moon a stink eye strong enough to ward off even a two-bit criminal. “And he’s…he’s not coming back.” He stubbornly curls his fingers into fists.
Colin Wilkes immediately feels a wash of emotions, from sympathy for his friend and irritation with Dick Grayson, to feeling sad for both of them. They were trapped in this cycle, and neither of them even knew how the other was crumbling.
After a long time in silence, he nods a farewell at his friend, in it telling him silently to take care of himself and not to get too lonely in the expansive quarters of the mansion. Since that incident, it’s been a week, and every evening has raised the hairs on Damian’s neck. He can feel something happening, and something in the base of him screams that it’s Grayson, that he’s coming back, and he doesn’t know whether he’s infuriated or enthralled. But something more dangerous plagues the back of his mind, and he enhances security measures, feeling particularly paranoid. He calls his father to warm him, as well as the woman known as Oracle, and his fingers linger over the speed-dial to Grayson, knowing that he should warn him, but he can’t. He can’t hear his voice, not now, not when it’s been so long. Not when they haven’t talked about their issues yet.
But then this night hits him like a storm, and he’s left snarling at the familiar frenemy known publicly as the Red Hood. “Todd, you tool. I knew you weren’t trustworthy.”
“Good instincts, kid,” Jason practically purrs as he leaps across the room, intercepting Damian’s short sword with a taser. The youth expertly drops it before the shocks can run up his body and flips backwards, using the spring of his exhausted wrists to kick him in the face, the move forcing the older man to stumble back and reach for something from the inside of his coat, and when he pulls it out, he rushes back, knocking Damian off of his feet with a quick, sweeping kick. He leans over him dangerously, steps on his already broken wrists and pulls out a binding mechanism that ties his ankles together when he throws it. The gun’s barrel stares right into those glaring eyes and those scowling lips. “But mine are better, and we have an appointment to keep.”
“You’re kidding yourself if you think this is over,” He frees his legs, but Jason quickly jumps off of him and lets the bullets fly into the boy’s Kevlar-lined suit, knowing it is pointless, but they’re more of a warning and an attempt to knock him out of the air than anything else.
“Maybe I was,” But then Damian feels his body getting heavier, and he begins to curse in Arabic. His eyes start crossing, and when he starts seeing double and struggling to stay standing, he snarls at Todd. “But the gas has been pouring in here since I came in. Scentless, powerful, and quick. Pretty soon, you’ll be sleeping harder than you have since before Dickiebird left the nest.”
Even in his daze, that causes his heart to race and his eyes dart to the ex-Robin. “What did you do to him?!” He manages to gurgle out, forcing his eyes to stay open and focus on the real Red Hood. “I’ll kill you, Todd! Kill…you…!”
He falls out cold and Jason lets out a sigh of relief, glad that that’s over with. “Fuck, the kid’s got a mouth.” He pushes a button on his watch and it puts him through to Ra’s. “I’ve got him. I’m headed your way.”
“Excellent,” The man says back pleasantly. “Wonderful work, boy.”
It ends the communication, and with an ounce of guilt, Jason looks down at the teenager. In a whisper, he speaks to himself, because the adolescent is knocked out cold, his breathing in even tones, and the furrow in his brow gone. “Don’t you worry, kid,” Jason murmurs. “You and the pretty boy will see each other again before too long.”
. . .
His eyes flicker open to an array of familiar faces, and he isn’t happy to see a one of them. As soon as he comes to a full consciousness, he snarls, tries to free himself from the restraints, and scowls in irritation when the resistance is futile.
“Damian,” Ra’s gives him a glare to end all glares, and the two of them hold gazes. “Like I’ve said many a time, there is no such thing as escaping your fate as an Al Ghul.” He paces the room, prowling like a cat around the youth that has given him so much trouble for so many years. “You let yourself grow soft in the absence of the Grayson boy, when you should have been honing your skills as an assassin.” The demon lays it on thick, carrying his weight like a proud shoulder, his words heavy and demeaning on Damian’s furrowed brow. “I tried to give you a chance to redeem yourself, to change your ways, after you and he had separated yourselves. I wrongly assumed that you would come to us when you had no one else, but I suppose that’s only one of the things I’ve been wrong about, regarding you, boy.”
Gray-blues that remind him so much of his old adversary do not even flinch, and he hardly blinks, his odd, almost perfect gaze isn’t nearly as haunting as his grandfather’s, but he says nothing, only watching, waiting, as though someone would swoop in and save him at any moment.
“No one’s coming, Damian,” His mother comes forth from the shadows and he scowls even more. “No one knows you’re here, and everyone that could come looking has their own problems. We made sure of that.”
“I won’t be your slave, Mother,” He says it like a curse, in gravelly tones he hasn’t quite grown into. “Nor yours, Grandfather. I’ll escape from here, and I’ll come after you with the Calvary.”
His mother puffs up with anger and she’s about to raise her finger and begin a reprimand that will end up with her in a furious rage, ranting on and on about how he was made to obey her, and where had things gone so wrong, that he still sided with those that had betrayed him, but Ra’s had held up a hand, and it stopped everything she had to say.
“There’s no time,” The old man says somberly. “Today, things must be done. Today, Damian,” He says this, and although Damian doesn’t outwardly react, he does feel a shudder in his spine. “You will learn what it truly means to serve the Al Ghul family.”
. . .
The serum inserted in his neck brings his eyes flying open and he gasps quickly, his heart racing. As soon as is possible, he breaks free of his loose restraints and tackles the man behind the helmet to the ground.
Coughing, Jason speaks up. “Goddamnit, Grayson, I woke you up because I needed your help, not because I wanted to die!”
Suspicious and paranoid, Dick doesn’t quite let up, but releases his vicegrip from the former ally’s throat. “You could’ve killed me with that dosage. That was enough tranquilizer to knock an elephant out.”
“Case and point,” The Red Hood muttered out, receiving a punch in his face. “Okay, deserved that. Haven’t lost your touch, pretty boy.”
“Start talking,” Blue eyes narrow and he tightens his grip on his legs with his own calves and the other man’s wrists with his fists. “And it better be good.”
“I have a double playing my role at the Al Ghul’s right now,” Jason says deliberately, but not slowly, in no rush to get punched again. “I set this whole thing up. I never told Bruce, or you, because you would’ve interfered. But now, we have to stop Ra’s, or else he’s going to be in control of your boyfriend’s body by two in the morning.” Dick sucks in a breath and all of the sudden, things fall into place. “I convinced Ra’s that the best way to start earning your trust was to sleep with you, and that got the ball rolling. But we’ve got to hurry and catch up with them, and you’re in charge of bringing the Calvary. I’ve got a plan to get rid of him-for good.”
There’s a pause as a rush of emotions overcomes Dick like it hasn’t in months. “Lead the way.”
Jason smiles beneath his disguise. “I knew you’d see things my way.” Another punch. “Ow!”
Dick smiles, feeling humorous. “You deserved that.”
The Red Hood grimaces and rubs his smarting face, grumbling under his breath about the chatty aerialist.
. . .
He opens his eyes slowly in the sauna, which is terribly difficult to even pretend to enjoy, while he was bound with chains and a bomb strapped to his neck. Although his eyes were closed and he was sucking in deep breaths, his mind raced, thinking of everything. Of how he’d disappointed his father. Of how deranged his mother and grandfather were. About…
About Grayson, and that song of his, that had lulled him to sleep many a time. It was hardly the time to be thinking about such a thing, but he found himself humming it in his mind, and had the situation not been so dire, he could have even smiled, a rare, fleeting thing for him. It’s been so long that he’s almost forgotten the words, but the tune is still there, and the look on the acrobat’s face is so clear that he can almost see him there when his eyes flash open. He almost feels something in the distance, but he blinks like nothing has happened. His grandfather and mother don’t have that sense. They don’t know what’s headed their way, and they won’t know until it hits them.
The only reason he doesn’t smile is through years of practice, and he just pretends like he’s walking into his death, like they want him to. For a moment, his mind lingers on what will happen if they are too late, if he becomes their pawn, the container for his grandfather’s soul. It terrifies him deep down, but it’s easier to rely on the image of Grayson crashing in, all theatrics as usual, the black cape he’d donned on and off since leaving, switching between Nightwing and Batman when it suited him. But now, with Batman and Robin issues, it was hardly likely he’d be wearing the first suit.
We’re still here, Grayson, He thinks to himself with a mental smirk. Still here, alive, and if we make it out, I swear to God I’ll kill you myself, right after I punch you in the face and fuck you, if it’s the last thing I do on this earth.
. . .
He makes the phone calls while hopping into the Batmobile, taking it aerial quickly enough. Bruce isn’t far behind, although he’s in Brazil with Selina, and Stephanie and Tim ride together on their way. They even make a phone call to Katherine Kane to help them, because they need all the help they can get.
However, he even goes the extra mile to be undetected to launch himself from the jet after setting it to auto-pilot back to the base in security mode, and with a parachute on his back, Dick Grayson leaps into action, bursting into the Al Ghul’s current hideout, Jason not even a mile behind him. The back-up he’s brought along takes care of the ninja security, as well as some of the more powerful grunts, and this lets him get close, crashing into the roof just outside of the sauna. He knocks out the bodyguards and rushes in to check for the youth, and there he is, just as Jason promised.
Their eyes connect, and he wants to scream, cry, and hug him all at the same time, but they only share a look, and then he directs his cowl-shielded glare at both Talia and Ra’s. “Hello,” The man looks dangerous, but the older Al Ghuls look positively livid.
“Seize him!” Ra’s calls in his personal guard, but Damian, despite being unarmed and quite wounded, bursts out of the room with fists flying, side by side with Dick. Ra’s throws his glare to his daughter, who hasn’t moved. “Talia! Retrieve your son!”
She shudders and turns her fury upon her father. “I won’t. I’ve had this planned for months, Father. Now, I have plans for Damian, and they don’t involve your taking him over for the next five centuries!” Talia smirks pleasantly, whipping out a set of knives, hoping that they will be enough to take on her father, at least until help arrives. “Seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Ra’s snarls and lunges at his daughter with unbridled rage, hardly thinking about their familial ties at this point.
.
“The hell took you so long?” Damian mutters as Dick pulls an array of clothing out from the bag where his parachute had been. The youth pulled on the underwear and the suit like they were pajamas and felt immensely better with the domino mask on his face, smirking up at him. “Almost thought you wouldn’t show.”
“I was getting the Calvary,” Dick smiles that awkward, adorable smile. “And, if you believe it, Jason was telling me about what happened.”
Damian snorts. “You trust that filth?”
There’s a pause, as they’re both hurrying to find Bruce, Tim, and the rest of the gang. “He helped me save your life, and he picked me up when I was down. Maybe I don’t trust him, but I sure as hell owe him a favor or two.”
The teenager understands and yet doesn’t, but he’s surprised at how fluid they are. As if they’d never been apart, they fight as one machine, no gaps, just fluidity, acrobatics, and theatrics. They mow over his grandfather’s men like they are wilted flowers and arrive at the entrance almost too quickly, but then Ra’s and Talia stumble out, still brawling, and Jason is close behind them, prowling. A trap is laid out, and he pushes a button, with the woman tossing her father into a cavern of sorts, and she and Jason share a look, one that makes it clear that the two of them had planned for this to happen.
Dick, Bruce, and Damian wander over, hesitant, but in the wake of the day’s events, ready to perhaps accept the mantra “The Enemy of my Enemy is a Friend,” at least for now.
“I designed it,” Jason said almost proudly, and yet somberly, knowing the disappoints and deaths he’d caused, sharing that with Damian, and they nodded to each other, scowling. It was an odd sort of understanding, much like his relationship with Dick and Bruce. “I spent time in that pit, and he’d taught me how it worked, so I took a sample, created something of an antithesis to the Lazarus pit.”
“A reverse,” Timothy chirped up, ever the intellectual. He had one brow raised, almost impressed, his arms folded over his chest. “You created a pit that would make him deteriorate faster.”
“I knew I could count on you, Timmy,” Jason mocked, earning a kick in the shins from Dick. “Geez, I was only kidding. Can’t take a joke anymore, Dickiebird.”
Bruce gives him that disapproving scowl, but beneath its layers lies a look of pride, and he’s undeniably impressed with the work of his wayward son. Finally, as it dawns on him that they’re all waiting for him to say something, he speaks. “Are you coming back to Gotham?”
Jason, beneath his hood, closing his eyes. He shakes his head a bit and turns to Talia, who is standing there torn between satisfied and upset. “We have some business to finish first.” With a little wave, he slips into shadows. “Try not to miss me too much.”
Talia’s gaze lingers on her once-lover for a moment, and she spares a moment to nod at him before looking at their son. “You’re always welcome to come back, Damian,” The words are loaded, because going back to her means control, much like his grandfather’s, but more in the way of worded influence and less in the way of bodily control. “Circus boy,” She glares at Dick in a way that only a protective mother can. “You take care of my boy, or I’ll hunt you down.” With that, she also goes into the shadows, and Bruce, as well as his gathered comrades, look at the mess they’ve made and go their separate ways.
Bruce’s gaze lingers on Dick for an especially long time, even after Stephanie, Tim, and Kate have left. His hand claps his shoulder, as if to say, “Good job, but we’ll have to talk about all of this later,” And then he too leaves into the shadows in his own Batmobile, his cape billowing behind him dangerously.
It leaves Dick and Damian standing there in the middle of the deserted area seven hours outside of Gotham by car, staring at each other. Finally, the man carefully reaches for the youth’s hand, despite both of their hands being gloved, and he murmurs tiredly. “Let’s go home.”
. . .
For a couple days, they don’t talk about it, but on the third morning after the youth’s kidnapping, Dick is lying on the couch, and he can’t help but reach for Damian’s hand as he walks by.
“Come here,” He says, the words soft against his wrist. Dick pulls him into his lap and just starts talking, about everything. He’d tried to go to Kory, but it had left him in a bad place, and she’d agreed to end it before anything had begun. Pouring his heart out to Barbara left him torn, and he yearned to come back, but he needed to rediscover himself, see who he was without Damian. Talking to old friends, like Roy, only left him angry and frustrated, and talking to Bruce had been about as effective as talking to a brick wall, and finally, with Jason, he’d realized. “I missed you,” He was practically crying, eyes glistening, face flushed, and voice broken. “I wanted to see you, so much, and it ached. I hated not being to able to see your face after we had sex, or your stupid little smirk, or anything else. I was sure that if I came back, I’d never leave again, and I wasn’t sure I wanted that, but now…” He thought to the worry in his chest when he’d found that Damian was gone. “I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
Damian snarls, pinning the man to the couch and glaring daggers at him. “I needed you-fucking needed you! I thought I was going to claw my eyes out, damn you, and I’ve never depended on anyone, or anything in my life. You think I don’t know how you felt?!” A bruising kiss to the side of his mouth. “You think I was happy when you left? I couldn’t even sleep!”
Breathless after Damian had sucked the life out of him with a hard French, his words were airy. “I couldn’t either.” They stare at each other, only breathing, with their heartbeats hurried against each other’s chests. “Damian, I’m…I’m so sorry.”
“You’ll apologize to me on a later day in bed,” The young prince answers haughtily, the two of them worn out by the day’s crime-fighting and recuperations. “Until then, I’ll accept your existence, and your entertainment, as long as you never do that again.”
Dick squeezes the boy in hug, pulling him close, and he whispers back into his ear. “I promise.”
. . .
The day is unwanted, but not unexpected. Their father, surrogate or otherwise, fell long, long ago, and left them unattended, but they’d taken care of themselves for so, so long.
They were both getting on in years now, and in this dark surrounding, with the two of them, the manor, and the couple of cats they owned, one named Alfred, and the other Bruce. But one of them was significantly older than the other, and his blue eyes had become a washed out color in recent days.
His time was ending, and he only wanted to spend these quiet last moments with one person. That person was next to his bedside, head full of stubborn white hairs, and his eyes as sharp as always. “I thought you’d promised, all those years ago.”
“I did,” Dick laughs tiredly, his thin, brittle body wheezing as he did so. “But now, I suppose I’m not making very good on my promise, am I?”
“No,” Damian refuses to cry, even though he’s breaking again. “Damn you, making me suffer all over again.”
Dick’s hands, soft as a baby’s, cradle his own, and with a tear from his eye, he whispers faintly, his voice failing, as is his air supply. “Damian,” He murmurs, the name an old memory on his lips. “I don’t want to fall asleep.”
Damian leans over him and pretends the water he feels is sweat from Grayson’s chest, where his head is leaning. Shakily, he begins to sing the familiar old tune, which had been sung to him more times than he’d known, even moreso after his return eternities ago. “There was a boy,” Those blue eyes were barely staying open, and his chest moved up and down so slowly. “A very strange, enchanted boy.”
Although he was fading, he began singing along with him, their voices a dark harmony, an opera of the damned and broken. “They say he wondered very far…very far…over land and sea.” Their baritones mixed together, Dick’s breathy, dying tones, and Damian’s choking, scratchy variations. “A little shy…and sad of eye…but very wise was he.” Dick was getting fainter, and sobs almost wracked Damian’s chest, but he held his head high, tears falling. “And then one day…one magic day, he passed my way. While we spoke of many things,” The words brought so many memories back, good and bad alike, in bed and out of, in costume or not. Damian shook his head, trying to focus on these last, precious moments. “Fools and kings…this he said to me.” Dick’s eyes fluttered open so daintily, and they connected gazes for what they knew would be the last time. “The greatest thing…you’ll ever learn…is just to love…and be loved…” They hold the note carefully, low and quiet. “In return.”
Damian’s lips are shaking and he’s choking back sobs a mile a minute, gray-blue eyes proud despite their tears.
“Good night, Damian,” Dick murmurs softly, his eyes closing and his hands falling. Damian’s shoulders fall and quiet sobs at last wrack his body when the acrobat’s chest stops rising and falling, and death hangs in the room like a thick blanket.
“Good night, Grayson,” He murmurs after sitting there over his dead body nearly an hour, sparing one last glance at him before pulling the covers over his face and walking out of the room. The song hangs heavily there until he is gone, and the curtain is closed.
Years later, when he joins him, he thinks only, Asleep at last, and gray-blues fall closed to the hum of song just one last time.
The two of them, in the warm recesses of death, sleep for good.
Quick note! The song, Nature Boy, was based off of a tune from a Piano Quintet that came out in 1887, and the popular version was originally sung by Nat King Cole in 1947. That’s it! :3
Warnings: Cursing, Implied Sex
Rating: 16+
Word Count: 12,355
Characters/Pairings: Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Ra's Al Ghul, Talia, Bruce Wayne, etc. Dick/Damian, mostly, Dick/Jason, for like, a second.
Summary: Sleeping is something that most in Gotham City take for granted. However, Dick and Damian relate a lot to the sacred act of sleeping, as it isn't something they get much of. It helps to sleep with someone next to you, someone special, and when they're gone, it's almost impossible to remember what it's like to sleep without them again.
Part I
★
The call comes from Jason at nearly three in the morning, and he’s so concerned he could throw up. It’s been almost six months, and his seams are ripping apart. He’d been ready to fall asleep, but that had shocked all notions of rest from his brain, and as he’d listened to the other man’s words, he stood up and yelled.
“What?!”
“You heard me,” His voice chimes over the phone, tinny and angry. “Ra’s is on his way. As much as I appreciate his help for what he did to me so many years ago, you and I both know that that’s not good news for any of us, but especially not for the kid.” There’s a pause and both of them have balled fists, concern and a wash of emotions come over their faces. “Look. I know you haven’t seen each other in a while, but it’s going to be a long, messy battle, and we’re going to need all the help we can get. So at least try to talk to him, alright? Kiss and make up, Dickhead.”
“Har har,” Dick laughs with absolutely no humor and stares out of the window. In a cracked voice, he speaks. “What do I say?”
“I don’t know-I fucking love you, brat, so come here and let’s fuck? Sounds like a personal problem.” He laughs honestly at that, and Jason smirks. “Just try not screw it up a second time, okay?”
“I’ll do my best,” The first Robin smiles distantly at the phone and he tries to sleep just one more restless night. But his humor from the call is soon lost. Ra’s is close, days away, but still closer than he had been. He would be looking for Damian, trying to coerce him, and if he didn’t make a move soon, the youth might’ve felt a press to return to his maternal family, and his heart clenched with the idea of not being able to catch fleeting glimpses of him as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop with either Bruce or Tim.
He tosses, and turns, and his eyes are cold air around him. Hands and legs are tangled in sheets, and he tries to sing himself to sleep with Nature Boy, but it isn’t effective in the least. His mind races with thoughts and examples of what he would say the next day, but nothing works, so he bites his lips and tries, tries his very very best to get to sleep, and nothing works.
Where did it all go wrong? Dick thought to himself, thinking about their big separating event, frustrated with himself more than anyone else. It’s my fault, I’m sure, but I’m going to figure it all out, apologize, and I’ll return to Damian. We’ll be together. We’ll be…we’ll be…
His mind wanders to the boy’s smirking smile, his glinting, mischievous eyes, his delicious, saucy, tan body, and his low hum of a voice, all of it with the familiar song ringing in his ears.
“My God,” He whispers to an empty room. “I’m in love with Damian.”
That definitely makes sleeping more difficult, and thoughts of the boy run through his mind the whole evening until the sun begins to rise.
. . .
“We move tomorrow, while the Grayson boy is away,” The man’s deep, gravelly tones echo in the cave as he prepares to lower himself into the pit. “Understood, Talia? This is not about you-it’s about me, and my legacy,” His eyes are almost maddened, and yet incredibly clear. His daughter is feeling particularly vengeful, and her glare is hot enough to melt an ice cap, but she merely nods and bites her lip. “I said, understood?”
“Yes, Father,” Talia mutters, frustrated. “I understand.”
“Good,” Ra’s slips under for a time, letting the deteriorating flesh of the man he currently inhabited replenish itself and sucking in the renewed life force.
Somewhere nearby, one of their men enters and brings his robes, his gaze connecting with Talia’s for a moment, nodding at her and turning swiftly on his heel.
“Come, daughter,” The demon that has managed to survive the centuries murmurs to her, a half-smile on his face. “There is much to do.”
. . .
He sucks in a deep breath, and can only pray that the youth won’t knife him in the chest or kick him in the groin when that door opens. Actually, with the security at the mansion, he can’t even be sure that he will answer the door.
Another breath. He prepares to press the doorbell, but then someone’s sharp knuckles collide with his neck and he’s out. A red mask glints in the moonlight, and he makes a low rumbling sound that almost sounds like a laugh. “Always so trusting, Grayson,” Jason murmurs with a touch of remorse as he picks the acrobat up and slips into the shadows. “But right now, you can’t be here.” He snaps, and a horde of ninjas appear to get rid of him, and in the meantime, he prepares to slip into the back of Wayne Manor so that he might find its lone inhabitant, knowing well that Bruce, Timothy, and anyone else that might have been visiting were preoccupied this evening.
. . .
He’s in a terrible mood, surlier than ever. Damian and Colin had tried to save someone from falling off of a building, but three people had ended up dead due to their carelessness, and Colin had rampaged against him, almost losing control of his powers. Damian couldn’t help but feel frustrated, because at a time like this, back then, before the mess with Grayson had separated the two of them. In order to keep himself from going completely insane, he’s been trying to spend time with someone-anyone-in bed, either sexually or not, but it’s not the same, and he felt as though his gray-blue eyes haven’t truly closed in months. Six months, to be precise.
Colin understands his loneliness, and it’s been so long that he finally feels the need to break things down to his friend. “You’re not over him,” He says quietly, his eyes far away. “It’s easy to get. You guys lived together, and he’s been gone for half a year.”
Damian snorts a little bit around his broken, bandaged fingers that he’s pushing by holding the mug filled with hot, self-brewed, incredibly strong tea. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I don’t miss Grayson.”
The redhead rolls his eyes. “Don’t even joke with me. Look at yourself, Damian!” He points to the other youth, who dons an eyepatch to make up for the sty he’s gotten in his left eye, he’s covered in bruises, and the two of them are splayed out on the floor in the mess that the kitchen has become since the youth hasn’t felt moved to clean it. “You’re going crazy, admit it.”
His mind races as he scowls deeply, and he curses the other youth for bringing thoughts of that face, with its five o’clock shadow, with its dainty nose, and that clumsy, affectionate smile, and his most attractive feature, aside from his backside, his lovely, shockingly blue eyes. The mental picture is almost like a photograph and he clenches his eyes shut tightly, trying to force it away, but all that crosses aside from Grayson is nights alone in silence, with nothing but the uncomfortably large space Wayne Manor provided and the large windows that let in the moonlight there.
“See,” Colin murmurs softly. “You miss him.”
He kicks his friend in the right leg, despite its being bound in a cast. The redhead glares at him and thinks about kicking him back, but it hurts too much to move. “Shut up.”
There’s a silence that passes over them all of the sudden, and they only breathe, not looking at each other. Their thoughts are far away, and they feel guilt and old wounds, as well as the ones fresh on their adolescent skin, torture their thoughts. But then, when things get too hard for the orphan to think about, about that horrible night with Scarecrow and Hush, about the night that had granted him his terrible, and yet helpful, powers, he turns his green gaze back at his only friend, knowing that the two of them had that in common. They were so alike, although their situations differed, and here in the darkness, they’d blended even more into the same person. However, this was one thing Colin had yet to struggle with in his life, and he had a sneaking suspicion that when things of this nature came into his life, family dynamics, old partnerships, and age wouldn’t be such an issue. As far as he saw it, Damian was stuck, and he couldn’t even come to terms with the whirlwind of events and emotions that had overcome him in this past half-year. He’d had to rediscover himself and study himself, honestly, because he was lost without the last anchor to life that he’d had. “Damian,” Colin speaks in a sort of curious and yet broken voice. “Do you love him?”
A crinkle passes over his face and he almost looks disgusted that the question was asked. His gaze narrows and he glares at the darkness, but the scowl lessens and he thinks for a few minutes before answering. “No,” The answer isn’t all that surprising, but Colin, at least, is a little disappointed in his friend. They’re nearly nineteen, and he hasn’t yet realized such a simple thing yet. But then he keeps talking, all strained and betrayed tones, and Colin suddenly understands how wrong he’d been. “I need Grayson-needed him this whole time, and he left.” Damian snarls the last bit, his eyes giving the moon a stink eye strong enough to ward off even a two-bit criminal. “And he’s…he’s not coming back.” He stubbornly curls his fingers into fists.
Colin Wilkes immediately feels a wash of emotions, from sympathy for his friend and irritation with Dick Grayson, to feeling sad for both of them. They were trapped in this cycle, and neither of them even knew how the other was crumbling.
After a long time in silence, he nods a farewell at his friend, in it telling him silently to take care of himself and not to get too lonely in the expansive quarters of the mansion. Since that incident, it’s been a week, and every evening has raised the hairs on Damian’s neck. He can feel something happening, and something in the base of him screams that it’s Grayson, that he’s coming back, and he doesn’t know whether he’s infuriated or enthralled. But something more dangerous plagues the back of his mind, and he enhances security measures, feeling particularly paranoid. He calls his father to warm him, as well as the woman known as Oracle, and his fingers linger over the speed-dial to Grayson, knowing that he should warn him, but he can’t. He can’t hear his voice, not now, not when it’s been so long. Not when they haven’t talked about their issues yet.
But then this night hits him like a storm, and he’s left snarling at the familiar frenemy known publicly as the Red Hood. “Todd, you tool. I knew you weren’t trustworthy.”
“Good instincts, kid,” Jason practically purrs as he leaps across the room, intercepting Damian’s short sword with a taser. The youth expertly drops it before the shocks can run up his body and flips backwards, using the spring of his exhausted wrists to kick him in the face, the move forcing the older man to stumble back and reach for something from the inside of his coat, and when he pulls it out, he rushes back, knocking Damian off of his feet with a quick, sweeping kick. He leans over him dangerously, steps on his already broken wrists and pulls out a binding mechanism that ties his ankles together when he throws it. The gun’s barrel stares right into those glaring eyes and those scowling lips. “But mine are better, and we have an appointment to keep.”
“You’re kidding yourself if you think this is over,” He frees his legs, but Jason quickly jumps off of him and lets the bullets fly into the boy’s Kevlar-lined suit, knowing it is pointless, but they’re more of a warning and an attempt to knock him out of the air than anything else.
“Maybe I was,” But then Damian feels his body getting heavier, and he begins to curse in Arabic. His eyes start crossing, and when he starts seeing double and struggling to stay standing, he snarls at Todd. “But the gas has been pouring in here since I came in. Scentless, powerful, and quick. Pretty soon, you’ll be sleeping harder than you have since before Dickiebird left the nest.”
Even in his daze, that causes his heart to race and his eyes dart to the ex-Robin. “What did you do to him?!” He manages to gurgle out, forcing his eyes to stay open and focus on the real Red Hood. “I’ll kill you, Todd! Kill…you…!”
He falls out cold and Jason lets out a sigh of relief, glad that that’s over with. “Fuck, the kid’s got a mouth.” He pushes a button on his watch and it puts him through to Ra’s. “I’ve got him. I’m headed your way.”
“Excellent,” The man says back pleasantly. “Wonderful work, boy.”
It ends the communication, and with an ounce of guilt, Jason looks down at the teenager. In a whisper, he speaks to himself, because the adolescent is knocked out cold, his breathing in even tones, and the furrow in his brow gone. “Don’t you worry, kid,” Jason murmurs. “You and the pretty boy will see each other again before too long.”
. . .
His eyes flicker open to an array of familiar faces, and he isn’t happy to see a one of them. As soon as he comes to a full consciousness, he snarls, tries to free himself from the restraints, and scowls in irritation when the resistance is futile.
“Damian,” Ra’s gives him a glare to end all glares, and the two of them hold gazes. “Like I’ve said many a time, there is no such thing as escaping your fate as an Al Ghul.” He paces the room, prowling like a cat around the youth that has given him so much trouble for so many years. “You let yourself grow soft in the absence of the Grayson boy, when you should have been honing your skills as an assassin.” The demon lays it on thick, carrying his weight like a proud shoulder, his words heavy and demeaning on Damian’s furrowed brow. “I tried to give you a chance to redeem yourself, to change your ways, after you and he had separated yourselves. I wrongly assumed that you would come to us when you had no one else, but I suppose that’s only one of the things I’ve been wrong about, regarding you, boy.”
Gray-blues that remind him so much of his old adversary do not even flinch, and he hardly blinks, his odd, almost perfect gaze isn’t nearly as haunting as his grandfather’s, but he says nothing, only watching, waiting, as though someone would swoop in and save him at any moment.
“No one’s coming, Damian,” His mother comes forth from the shadows and he scowls even more. “No one knows you’re here, and everyone that could come looking has their own problems. We made sure of that.”
“I won’t be your slave, Mother,” He says it like a curse, in gravelly tones he hasn’t quite grown into. “Nor yours, Grandfather. I’ll escape from here, and I’ll come after you with the Calvary.”
His mother puffs up with anger and she’s about to raise her finger and begin a reprimand that will end up with her in a furious rage, ranting on and on about how he was made to obey her, and where had things gone so wrong, that he still sided with those that had betrayed him, but Ra’s had held up a hand, and it stopped everything she had to say.
“There’s no time,” The old man says somberly. “Today, things must be done. Today, Damian,” He says this, and although Damian doesn’t outwardly react, he does feel a shudder in his spine. “You will learn what it truly means to serve the Al Ghul family.”
. . .
The serum inserted in his neck brings his eyes flying open and he gasps quickly, his heart racing. As soon as is possible, he breaks free of his loose restraints and tackles the man behind the helmet to the ground.
Coughing, Jason speaks up. “Goddamnit, Grayson, I woke you up because I needed your help, not because I wanted to die!”
Suspicious and paranoid, Dick doesn’t quite let up, but releases his vicegrip from the former ally’s throat. “You could’ve killed me with that dosage. That was enough tranquilizer to knock an elephant out.”
“Case and point,” The Red Hood muttered out, receiving a punch in his face. “Okay, deserved that. Haven’t lost your touch, pretty boy.”
“Start talking,” Blue eyes narrow and he tightens his grip on his legs with his own calves and the other man’s wrists with his fists. “And it better be good.”
“I have a double playing my role at the Al Ghul’s right now,” Jason says deliberately, but not slowly, in no rush to get punched again. “I set this whole thing up. I never told Bruce, or you, because you would’ve interfered. But now, we have to stop Ra’s, or else he’s going to be in control of your boyfriend’s body by two in the morning.” Dick sucks in a breath and all of the sudden, things fall into place. “I convinced Ra’s that the best way to start earning your trust was to sleep with you, and that got the ball rolling. But we’ve got to hurry and catch up with them, and you’re in charge of bringing the Calvary. I’ve got a plan to get rid of him-for good.”
There’s a pause as a rush of emotions overcomes Dick like it hasn’t in months. “Lead the way.”
Jason smiles beneath his disguise. “I knew you’d see things my way.” Another punch. “Ow!”
Dick smiles, feeling humorous. “You deserved that.”
The Red Hood grimaces and rubs his smarting face, grumbling under his breath about the chatty aerialist.
. . .
He opens his eyes slowly in the sauna, which is terribly difficult to even pretend to enjoy, while he was bound with chains and a bomb strapped to his neck. Although his eyes were closed and he was sucking in deep breaths, his mind raced, thinking of everything. Of how he’d disappointed his father. Of how deranged his mother and grandfather were. About…
About Grayson, and that song of his, that had lulled him to sleep many a time. It was hardly the time to be thinking about such a thing, but he found himself humming it in his mind, and had the situation not been so dire, he could have even smiled, a rare, fleeting thing for him. It’s been so long that he’s almost forgotten the words, but the tune is still there, and the look on the acrobat’s face is so clear that he can almost see him there when his eyes flash open. He almost feels something in the distance, but he blinks like nothing has happened. His grandfather and mother don’t have that sense. They don’t know what’s headed their way, and they won’t know until it hits them.
The only reason he doesn’t smile is through years of practice, and he just pretends like he’s walking into his death, like they want him to. For a moment, his mind lingers on what will happen if they are too late, if he becomes their pawn, the container for his grandfather’s soul. It terrifies him deep down, but it’s easier to rely on the image of Grayson crashing in, all theatrics as usual, the black cape he’d donned on and off since leaving, switching between Nightwing and Batman when it suited him. But now, with Batman and Robin issues, it was hardly likely he’d be wearing the first suit.
We’re still here, Grayson, He thinks to himself with a mental smirk. Still here, alive, and if we make it out, I swear to God I’ll kill you myself, right after I punch you in the face and fuck you, if it’s the last thing I do on this earth.
. . .
He makes the phone calls while hopping into the Batmobile, taking it aerial quickly enough. Bruce isn’t far behind, although he’s in Brazil with Selina, and Stephanie and Tim ride together on their way. They even make a phone call to Katherine Kane to help them, because they need all the help they can get.
However, he even goes the extra mile to be undetected to launch himself from the jet after setting it to auto-pilot back to the base in security mode, and with a parachute on his back, Dick Grayson leaps into action, bursting into the Al Ghul’s current hideout, Jason not even a mile behind him. The back-up he’s brought along takes care of the ninja security, as well as some of the more powerful grunts, and this lets him get close, crashing into the roof just outside of the sauna. He knocks out the bodyguards and rushes in to check for the youth, and there he is, just as Jason promised.
Their eyes connect, and he wants to scream, cry, and hug him all at the same time, but they only share a look, and then he directs his cowl-shielded glare at both Talia and Ra’s. “Hello,” The man looks dangerous, but the older Al Ghuls look positively livid.
“Seize him!” Ra’s calls in his personal guard, but Damian, despite being unarmed and quite wounded, bursts out of the room with fists flying, side by side with Dick. Ra’s throws his glare to his daughter, who hasn’t moved. “Talia! Retrieve your son!”
She shudders and turns her fury upon her father. “I won’t. I’ve had this planned for months, Father. Now, I have plans for Damian, and they don’t involve your taking him over for the next five centuries!” Talia smirks pleasantly, whipping out a set of knives, hoping that they will be enough to take on her father, at least until help arrives. “Seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Ra’s snarls and lunges at his daughter with unbridled rage, hardly thinking about their familial ties at this point.
.
“The hell took you so long?” Damian mutters as Dick pulls an array of clothing out from the bag where his parachute had been. The youth pulled on the underwear and the suit like they were pajamas and felt immensely better with the domino mask on his face, smirking up at him. “Almost thought you wouldn’t show.”
“I was getting the Calvary,” Dick smiles that awkward, adorable smile. “And, if you believe it, Jason was telling me about what happened.”
Damian snorts. “You trust that filth?”
There’s a pause, as they’re both hurrying to find Bruce, Tim, and the rest of the gang. “He helped me save your life, and he picked me up when I was down. Maybe I don’t trust him, but I sure as hell owe him a favor or two.”
The teenager understands and yet doesn’t, but he’s surprised at how fluid they are. As if they’d never been apart, they fight as one machine, no gaps, just fluidity, acrobatics, and theatrics. They mow over his grandfather’s men like they are wilted flowers and arrive at the entrance almost too quickly, but then Ra’s and Talia stumble out, still brawling, and Jason is close behind them, prowling. A trap is laid out, and he pushes a button, with the woman tossing her father into a cavern of sorts, and she and Jason share a look, one that makes it clear that the two of them had planned for this to happen.
Dick, Bruce, and Damian wander over, hesitant, but in the wake of the day’s events, ready to perhaps accept the mantra “The Enemy of my Enemy is a Friend,” at least for now.
“I designed it,” Jason said almost proudly, and yet somberly, knowing the disappoints and deaths he’d caused, sharing that with Damian, and they nodded to each other, scowling. It was an odd sort of understanding, much like his relationship with Dick and Bruce. “I spent time in that pit, and he’d taught me how it worked, so I took a sample, created something of an antithesis to the Lazarus pit.”
“A reverse,” Timothy chirped up, ever the intellectual. He had one brow raised, almost impressed, his arms folded over his chest. “You created a pit that would make him deteriorate faster.”
“I knew I could count on you, Timmy,” Jason mocked, earning a kick in the shins from Dick. “Geez, I was only kidding. Can’t take a joke anymore, Dickiebird.”
Bruce gives him that disapproving scowl, but beneath its layers lies a look of pride, and he’s undeniably impressed with the work of his wayward son. Finally, as it dawns on him that they’re all waiting for him to say something, he speaks. “Are you coming back to Gotham?”
Jason, beneath his hood, closing his eyes. He shakes his head a bit and turns to Talia, who is standing there torn between satisfied and upset. “We have some business to finish first.” With a little wave, he slips into shadows. “Try not to miss me too much.”
Talia’s gaze lingers on her once-lover for a moment, and she spares a moment to nod at him before looking at their son. “You’re always welcome to come back, Damian,” The words are loaded, because going back to her means control, much like his grandfather’s, but more in the way of worded influence and less in the way of bodily control. “Circus boy,” She glares at Dick in a way that only a protective mother can. “You take care of my boy, or I’ll hunt you down.” With that, she also goes into the shadows, and Bruce, as well as his gathered comrades, look at the mess they’ve made and go their separate ways.
Bruce’s gaze lingers on Dick for an especially long time, even after Stephanie, Tim, and Kate have left. His hand claps his shoulder, as if to say, “Good job, but we’ll have to talk about all of this later,” And then he too leaves into the shadows in his own Batmobile, his cape billowing behind him dangerously.
It leaves Dick and Damian standing there in the middle of the deserted area seven hours outside of Gotham by car, staring at each other. Finally, the man carefully reaches for the youth’s hand, despite both of their hands being gloved, and he murmurs tiredly. “Let’s go home.”
. . .
For a couple days, they don’t talk about it, but on the third morning after the youth’s kidnapping, Dick is lying on the couch, and he can’t help but reach for Damian’s hand as he walks by.
“Come here,” He says, the words soft against his wrist. Dick pulls him into his lap and just starts talking, about everything. He’d tried to go to Kory, but it had left him in a bad place, and she’d agreed to end it before anything had begun. Pouring his heart out to Barbara left him torn, and he yearned to come back, but he needed to rediscover himself, see who he was without Damian. Talking to old friends, like Roy, only left him angry and frustrated, and talking to Bruce had been about as effective as talking to a brick wall, and finally, with Jason, he’d realized. “I missed you,” He was practically crying, eyes glistening, face flushed, and voice broken. “I wanted to see you, so much, and it ached. I hated not being to able to see your face after we had sex, or your stupid little smirk, or anything else. I was sure that if I came back, I’d never leave again, and I wasn’t sure I wanted that, but now…” He thought to the worry in his chest when he’d found that Damian was gone. “I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
Damian snarls, pinning the man to the couch and glaring daggers at him. “I needed you-fucking needed you! I thought I was going to claw my eyes out, damn you, and I’ve never depended on anyone, or anything in my life. You think I don’t know how you felt?!” A bruising kiss to the side of his mouth. “You think I was happy when you left? I couldn’t even sleep!”
Breathless after Damian had sucked the life out of him with a hard French, his words were airy. “I couldn’t either.” They stare at each other, only breathing, with their heartbeats hurried against each other’s chests. “Damian, I’m…I’m so sorry.”
“You’ll apologize to me on a later day in bed,” The young prince answers haughtily, the two of them worn out by the day’s crime-fighting and recuperations. “Until then, I’ll accept your existence, and your entertainment, as long as you never do that again.”
Dick squeezes the boy in hug, pulling him close, and he whispers back into his ear. “I promise.”
. . .
The day is unwanted, but not unexpected. Their father, surrogate or otherwise, fell long, long ago, and left them unattended, but they’d taken care of themselves for so, so long.
They were both getting on in years now, and in this dark surrounding, with the two of them, the manor, and the couple of cats they owned, one named Alfred, and the other Bruce. But one of them was significantly older than the other, and his blue eyes had become a washed out color in recent days.
His time was ending, and he only wanted to spend these quiet last moments with one person. That person was next to his bedside, head full of stubborn white hairs, and his eyes as sharp as always. “I thought you’d promised, all those years ago.”
“I did,” Dick laughs tiredly, his thin, brittle body wheezing as he did so. “But now, I suppose I’m not making very good on my promise, am I?”
“No,” Damian refuses to cry, even though he’s breaking again. “Damn you, making me suffer all over again.”
Dick’s hands, soft as a baby’s, cradle his own, and with a tear from his eye, he whispers faintly, his voice failing, as is his air supply. “Damian,” He murmurs, the name an old memory on his lips. “I don’t want to fall asleep.”
Damian leans over him and pretends the water he feels is sweat from Grayson’s chest, where his head is leaning. Shakily, he begins to sing the familiar old tune, which had been sung to him more times than he’d known, even moreso after his return eternities ago. “There was a boy,” Those blue eyes were barely staying open, and his chest moved up and down so slowly. “A very strange, enchanted boy.”
Although he was fading, he began singing along with him, their voices a dark harmony, an opera of the damned and broken. “They say he wondered very far…very far…over land and sea.” Their baritones mixed together, Dick’s breathy, dying tones, and Damian’s choking, scratchy variations. “A little shy…and sad of eye…but very wise was he.” Dick was getting fainter, and sobs almost wracked Damian’s chest, but he held his head high, tears falling. “And then one day…one magic day, he passed my way. While we spoke of many things,” The words brought so many memories back, good and bad alike, in bed and out of, in costume or not. Damian shook his head, trying to focus on these last, precious moments. “Fools and kings…this he said to me.” Dick’s eyes fluttered open so daintily, and they connected gazes for what they knew would be the last time. “The greatest thing…you’ll ever learn…is just to love…and be loved…” They hold the note carefully, low and quiet. “In return.”
Damian’s lips are shaking and he’s choking back sobs a mile a minute, gray-blue eyes proud despite their tears.
“Good night, Damian,” Dick murmurs softly, his eyes closing and his hands falling. Damian’s shoulders fall and quiet sobs at last wrack his body when the acrobat’s chest stops rising and falling, and death hangs in the room like a thick blanket.
“Good night, Grayson,” He murmurs after sitting there over his dead body nearly an hour, sparing one last glance at him before pulling the covers over his face and walking out of the room. The song hangs heavily there until he is gone, and the curtain is closed.
Years later, when he joins him, he thinks only, Asleep at last, and gray-blues fall closed to the hum of song just one last time.
The two of them, in the warm recesses of death, sleep for good.
Quick note! The song, Nature Boy, was based off of a tune from a Piano Quintet that came out in 1887, and the popular version was originally sung by Nat King Cole in 1947. That’s it! :3