FIC: All Hallows' Eve
Title: All Hallows' Eve
Characters/Pairings: Dick, Damian, Alfred
Rating: G
Warnings: None needed
Summary: It's Damian's first Halloween in Gotham, and neither he nor Dick are finding it a treat.
Word count: 1400
Notes: For
bradygirl_12 's Halloween Challenge--prompts: candy, trick-or-treating, Gotham.
"I shall kill the next whelp I see in a Robin costume!" Damian crossed his arms and set his chin, glaring at the closed door of Wayne Manor as if daring it to open and reveal a doomed trick-or-treater. "The uniform is a sacred trust and not to be worn by civilians!"
Dick sighed and resisted an impulse to roll his eyes. "So far they've all been dressed in my Robin uniform, which is a modified circus costume and hardly a 'sacred trust.' And I don't mind at all. I think it's cute."
"Cute!" Damian's expression boiled with the outrage that only the very young could manage. "Cute!" he sputtered again, disbelieving.
His impending rant was cut off by the sound of the doorbell. Dick swung the door open, peering to make sure there were no children in pixie boots risking assault on the other side. "Trick or treat!" cried a trio of kids dressed as a ghost, a zombie, and a Green Lantern.
"Oh my," said Dick, "Aren't you all scary?" There was a sardonic snort behind him as he reached into the heavy wooden bowl on the banister and pulled out a handful of candy. As he dropped the sweets into upraised bags, the woman behind the children leaned forward, her eyes avid.
"Oh, is that the Little Prince?" she cooed, stepping forward to ruffle Damian's hair. Dick put a hasty hand on his shoulder in case he was tempted to cut off the offending hand at the wrist. "How sad that his daddy isn't here with him. Fathers should be with their children on holidays."
"My father is--"
"--our father is recuperating from his recent kidnapping and can't be with us," Dick interrupted smoothly. Their cover story was that Bruce Wayne was on a tropical island somewhere, "recuperating" with a variety of attractive women. The woman made a tsking noise with her tongue, disapproval in her eyes. "I just think it's a shame that Mr. Wayne isn't spending more time with his children."
"Happy Halloween to you as well, ma'am," Dick said politely, closing the door in her face.
He looked down at Damian, expecting to have to fend off another burst of vitriol, and was surprised to catch instead a fleeting expression that he couldn't read--was it sad, or hurt? As Damian's expression usually ran the gamut from "angry" to "contemptuous" he couldn't be sure. It was gone immediately as the boy's face shifted to its default "sullen." "We should be out on the streets," Damian muttered.
"I know you'd love to be out there trick-or-treating with the other children," Dick said, "But it's a Wayne family tradition that someone is here to hand out treats personally, no matter what." He knew that wasn't what Damian had meant but took a petty pleasure in mis-reading his statement. "Huntress, Oracle, and the Question are on patrol tonight to cover for us--"
Damian shrugged off his hand. "That's not what I meant and you know it, Grayson," he spat. "You insist on treating me like a child when I'm more mature now than you'll ever be." Dick felt his eyebrows climb as the boy continued, "We should be on the streets, honing our skills, improving ourselves even more to live up to my father's legacy. Maybe you don't care about such things, but--"
"--our father's legacy was about more than just kicking people in the head," Dick said. It was hard to keep his voice even. "His work as Bruce Wayne: his philanthropy and community service, bettering Gotham in the daytime, all that was vital to him."
"Philanthropy." Damian sneered. "If my father were alive, he'd be with me on the streets, not fawning over stupid children in shoddy costumes."
"If our father were alive," retorted Dick, hating the if, the finality of it, "I wouldn't blame him at all if he really did abandon you to cavort on an island somewhere."
The flash of hurt on Damian's face was more pronounced this time, a microsecond of pain before it contorted into rage. He spat something obscene in Arabic and bolted past Dick, his feet pelting up the stairs to his bedroom, the door slamming behind him.
Well. At least he hadn't run off and gotten himself captured this time. Although Dick would have to check later and make sure he hadn't fled out the bedroom window.
"Having troubles with the young master again?" Alfred materialized with a fresh bag of candy.
"I'll let you know when I'm not," said Dick heavily.
"You're doing your best, sir," Alfred said as he emptied the candy into the bowl.
"Sometimes I'm not so sure," Dick said, sitting down on the stairs. "He gets under my skin, Alfred. He seems to know all the right buttons to push to make me want to slap his arrogant face." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I hate when I feel that way. I'm the adult. It's up to me to be a good role model for the kid."
Alfred rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment. "Sir, the fact that you're thinking like that is what makes you a good role model. You're only human and the child is half-feral, he only knows how to wound, how to hurt. He will take a great deal of patience, but I know you have it within you to be his mentor."
Dick shook his head, but the doorbell rang before he could answer and he had to jump into action again as the head of the household. A long string of trick-or-treaters followed, and Dick was busy until they started to dwindle to a trickle. When it became clear the evening was over for children, Dick was forced to admit that he was going to have to go upstairs and talk to Damian.
He was almost half-hoping the boy had run away again; that way he could go bail him out of whatever trouble he was in and they could avoid this damn talking about it all. But there was a wordless grunt when he knocked on the door, and Dick entered the room to find Damian on his stomach on the bed, staring at a glow-in-the-dark skeleton that Alfred had hung on the ceiling. "This holiday makes no sense, Grayson," Damian said without preamble.
Dick edged into the room, unsure about the shift in topic but relieved Damian didn't seem ready to immediately attack him. "Oh?"
Damian kicked upward, setting the grinning skeleton swinging. "You mix fear and laughter. With my grandf--with Ra's, fear was fear, and to be respected, not laughed at. We did not mock death in the League of Assassins."
"Whistling in the dark," Dick said. "We laugh because we're afraid." He had never heard Damian laugh, he realized. "All Hallows' Eve is a night when the dead are supposed to walk the earth. The candy is the remnant of offerings to keep the dead from being angry with us. We fear their anger. And so we laugh at it."
"My father would be angry that we were not on patrol."
"Your father was Bruce Wayne as well as Batman," Dick said softly. "Your mother has taught you about the latter, but you still have a lot to learn about the former."
There was a long pause. "My father would not have abandoned me," said Damian, his voice small in the darkness. "He wouldn't have." Another silence. "He didn't."
"No," said Dick. "He never would have abandoned any of his children. I was wrong to say he would have. He never abandoned me."
"Ah," said Damian. There was a small, thoughtful silence. "So you were as much an annoying brat as I am?"
"Like hell," Dick said instantly, and was rewarded with a slight, dry chuckle. "It's late, but let's go on patrol for a couple of hours anyway," he said before the brief moment of connection passed.
Damian jumped up from the bed. "Race you to the Batmobile, old man," he said, and was out the door and sliding down the banister.
Dick shook his head. "That's Batman to you," he called after the disappearing figure.
Then he slid down the banister as well, just to show how it was done.
Characters/Pairings: Dick, Damian, Alfred
Rating: G
Warnings: None needed
Summary: It's Damian's first Halloween in Gotham, and neither he nor Dick are finding it a treat.
Word count: 1400
Notes: For
bradygirl_12 's Halloween Challenge--prompts: candy, trick-or-treating, Gotham.
"I shall kill the next whelp I see in a Robin costume!" Damian crossed his arms and set his chin, glaring at the closed door of Wayne Manor as if daring it to open and reveal a doomed trick-or-treater. "The uniform is a sacred trust and not to be worn by civilians!"
Dick sighed and resisted an impulse to roll his eyes. "So far they've all been dressed in my Robin uniform, which is a modified circus costume and hardly a 'sacred trust.' And I don't mind at all. I think it's cute."
"Cute!" Damian's expression boiled with the outrage that only the very young could manage. "Cute!" he sputtered again, disbelieving.
His impending rant was cut off by the sound of the doorbell. Dick swung the door open, peering to make sure there were no children in pixie boots risking assault on the other side. "Trick or treat!" cried a trio of kids dressed as a ghost, a zombie, and a Green Lantern.
"Oh my," said Dick, "Aren't you all scary?" There was a sardonic snort behind him as he reached into the heavy wooden bowl on the banister and pulled out a handful of candy. As he dropped the sweets into upraised bags, the woman behind the children leaned forward, her eyes avid.
"Oh, is that the Little Prince?" she cooed, stepping forward to ruffle Damian's hair. Dick put a hasty hand on his shoulder in case he was tempted to cut off the offending hand at the wrist. "How sad that his daddy isn't here with him. Fathers should be with their children on holidays."
"My father is--"
"--our father is recuperating from his recent kidnapping and can't be with us," Dick interrupted smoothly. Their cover story was that Bruce Wayne was on a tropical island somewhere, "recuperating" with a variety of attractive women. The woman made a tsking noise with her tongue, disapproval in her eyes. "I just think it's a shame that Mr. Wayne isn't spending more time with his children."
"Happy Halloween to you as well, ma'am," Dick said politely, closing the door in her face.
He looked down at Damian, expecting to have to fend off another burst of vitriol, and was surprised to catch instead a fleeting expression that he couldn't read--was it sad, or hurt? As Damian's expression usually ran the gamut from "angry" to "contemptuous" he couldn't be sure. It was gone immediately as the boy's face shifted to its default "sullen." "We should be out on the streets," Damian muttered.
"I know you'd love to be out there trick-or-treating with the other children," Dick said, "But it's a Wayne family tradition that someone is here to hand out treats personally, no matter what." He knew that wasn't what Damian had meant but took a petty pleasure in mis-reading his statement. "Huntress, Oracle, and the Question are on patrol tonight to cover for us--"
Damian shrugged off his hand. "That's not what I meant and you know it, Grayson," he spat. "You insist on treating me like a child when I'm more mature now than you'll ever be." Dick felt his eyebrows climb as the boy continued, "We should be on the streets, honing our skills, improving ourselves even more to live up to my father's legacy. Maybe you don't care about such things, but--"
"--our father's legacy was about more than just kicking people in the head," Dick said. It was hard to keep his voice even. "His work as Bruce Wayne: his philanthropy and community service, bettering Gotham in the daytime, all that was vital to him."
"Philanthropy." Damian sneered. "If my father were alive, he'd be with me on the streets, not fawning over stupid children in shoddy costumes."
"If our father were alive," retorted Dick, hating the if, the finality of it, "I wouldn't blame him at all if he really did abandon you to cavort on an island somewhere."
The flash of hurt on Damian's face was more pronounced this time, a microsecond of pain before it contorted into rage. He spat something obscene in Arabic and bolted past Dick, his feet pelting up the stairs to his bedroom, the door slamming behind him.
Well. At least he hadn't run off and gotten himself captured this time. Although Dick would have to check later and make sure he hadn't fled out the bedroom window.
"Having troubles with the young master again?" Alfred materialized with a fresh bag of candy.
"I'll let you know when I'm not," said Dick heavily.
"You're doing your best, sir," Alfred said as he emptied the candy into the bowl.
"Sometimes I'm not so sure," Dick said, sitting down on the stairs. "He gets under my skin, Alfred. He seems to know all the right buttons to push to make me want to slap his arrogant face." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I hate when I feel that way. I'm the adult. It's up to me to be a good role model for the kid."
Alfred rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment. "Sir, the fact that you're thinking like that is what makes you a good role model. You're only human and the child is half-feral, he only knows how to wound, how to hurt. He will take a great deal of patience, but I know you have it within you to be his mentor."
Dick shook his head, but the doorbell rang before he could answer and he had to jump into action again as the head of the household. A long string of trick-or-treaters followed, and Dick was busy until they started to dwindle to a trickle. When it became clear the evening was over for children, Dick was forced to admit that he was going to have to go upstairs and talk to Damian.
He was almost half-hoping the boy had run away again; that way he could go bail him out of whatever trouble he was in and they could avoid this damn talking about it all. But there was a wordless grunt when he knocked on the door, and Dick entered the room to find Damian on his stomach on the bed, staring at a glow-in-the-dark skeleton that Alfred had hung on the ceiling. "This holiday makes no sense, Grayson," Damian said without preamble.
Dick edged into the room, unsure about the shift in topic but relieved Damian didn't seem ready to immediately attack him. "Oh?"
Damian kicked upward, setting the grinning skeleton swinging. "You mix fear and laughter. With my grandf--with Ra's, fear was fear, and to be respected, not laughed at. We did not mock death in the League of Assassins."
"Whistling in the dark," Dick said. "We laugh because we're afraid." He had never heard Damian laugh, he realized. "All Hallows' Eve is a night when the dead are supposed to walk the earth. The candy is the remnant of offerings to keep the dead from being angry with us. We fear their anger. And so we laugh at it."
"My father would be angry that we were not on patrol."
"Your father was Bruce Wayne as well as Batman," Dick said softly. "Your mother has taught you about the latter, but you still have a lot to learn about the former."
There was a long pause. "My father would not have abandoned me," said Damian, his voice small in the darkness. "He wouldn't have." Another silence. "He didn't."
"No," said Dick. "He never would have abandoned any of his children. I was wrong to say he would have. He never abandoned me."
"Ah," said Damian. There was a small, thoughtful silence. "So you were as much an annoying brat as I am?"
"Like hell," Dick said instantly, and was rewarded with a slight, dry chuckle. "It's late, but let's go on patrol for a couple of hours anyway," he said before the brief moment of connection passed.
Damian jumped up from the bed. "Race you to the Batmobile, old man," he said, and was out the door and sliding down the banister.
Dick shook his head. "That's Batman to you," he called after the disappearing figure.
Then he slid down the banister as well, just to show how it was done.