19A/N: This one I dedicate to the original poster of this (lol I'm just gonna say that instead of the name since you love changing your username 'k): post/4912704865/florid-spazzy-chloe-im-brushing-up-on
Except that it ended up a lot different and blah but it was still LARGELY INSPIRED by it, so!
Um, after tearing myself down a lot, I think I'm finally satisfied with this fic. Well, as satisfied as I can get, anyways. Still worried about Damian's characterization, but ehh. Not sure about the ending, either. This is why I usually write happy fluff. :|
U-uh, um, enjoy?;;
Gotham City definitely couldn't be classified as a pleasant city. It was hardly appealing, with its polluted, smoggy air, frequent rainfall, and consistently slimy, sewage-smelling streets—not to mention the ridiculous crime rates. But it was still his.
Well, it wasn't exactly 'his' yet, but it would be soon enough, and that was all that mattered, really.
Despite the city's countless turn-offs—including the fact that it probably topped the "Worst Cities to Live in" list—Damian liked it, and he was always quick to call it his own. Unfortunately, Dick was always quick to remind him otherwise.
But Dick wasn't here right now, so everything was fine. Everything was better than fine.
Allowing himself a soft sigh of contentment, Damian kicked his legs back and forth, tapping his heels against the wall of the building they were dangling over. Nights like these were perfect, and Damian loved nothing more than to don his Robin costume, perch himself on the tallest building, and just look out over the city—his city.
"How did I know I'd find you up here?"
He bit back a second sigh (one of annoyance this time) at the familiar voice. So much for enjoying a peaceful night by himself. "Maybe because I'm here almost every night?" Damian offered.
"True," said Dick as he came up to stand beside him, "although I don't think you've ever bothered to tell me why."
Damian shrugged. "I'm just enjoying the view."
Admittedly, though, it wasn't much of a 'view.' Even the city lights looked dim in dreary Gotham City.
Dick settled down beside him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You know, this will be all yours to protect one day," he remarked quietly.
"Tt. I know. And I'm already protecting it now." But he knew that Dick was referring to the fact that he would be Batman one day, so he added, "I'm ready, you know."
"Hah. Not quite, squirt," said Dick, ruffling his hair playfully. "You've still got a lot to learn."
Damian hardly reacted to the contact (and the pet name). "Stop it, Grayson," he muttered, out of habit more than anything else, because Dick didn't stop and Damian didn't protest further.
After Dick (eventually) moved his hand away, they sat together for all of three minutes before Dick jumped up and announced, "Alright, time to go home." He helped Damian to his feet, much to the latter's chagrin.
"You go first," Damian told him. "I want to stay out a bit longer."
But Dick shook his head and started tugging him along. "You've been out long enough. Even Boy Wonder needs to sleep."
Damian rolled his eyes but followed him back to the manor anyways, Dick ordering him to bed as soon as they arrived.
"But not before giving your big bro a good-night hug!"
"No."
Dick hugged him anyways, and Damian humored him for about half a second before pulling away from his grasp. Dick never held him tightly anymore, always made sure Damian could free himself from his hold with ease—as if he was hoping that, one day, Damian wouldn't take advantage of that and hug him back completely by choice.
Fat chance of that happening.
"'Night," he said, stepping past him and heading towards his room.
"'Night, Damian. I'll see you in the morning."
As it happened, they did end up seeing each other in the morning, albeit far earlier than either of them had expected. It was at some early, unspecified hour of the morning that Dick came bursting into Damian's room, already outfitted in his Batman gear and calling the other's name.
"I'm up," said Damian, wide-awake in an instant. He slid off his bed and reached for his Robin suit. "What's going on?"
"Gang riots," was the terse response.
"Gang riots?" Damian echoed. Those weren't too uncommon. He wondered, then, what the problem was tonight.
"Yeah," Dick replied. "It's a mess. Apparently even the Red Hood's running around out there, or so I hear."
"Hm." As far as Damian knew, Jason Todd, more commonly known as the Red Hood, mostly spent his days running around Gotham doing his own thing. If the riots were caused by Todd, then the man certainly had some underlying motives. He threw his cape around his shoulders. "Let's go."
They went down to the Batcave and took the Batmobile out, parking it in an obscure alley.
Damian hopped out of the car, glancing around. From the sound of it, the riots were going on everywhere. "Split up, rendezvous in ten?" he suggested.
Dick nodded. "Don't go too far."
He fired his line to a nearby building, and Damian watched him swing off before turning and darting lightly in the opposite direction.
Cleaning up the mess was easy. It was just disorganized rabble, really. Damian wasn't even sure why the police hadn't been able to take care of it on their own. Not that it really mattered; taking care of Gotham was his job, after all.
Unable to spot anymore rioters, he headed for a higher vantage point, shooting his line up to a tall building top.
He rose steadily higher, higher, higher. It was when he had just barely reached the roof that it happened. 'It' being an eruption of pain in his hand that came without warning or preamble. 'It' being his grappling hook flying from his hand and sliding across the flat rooftop, well out of reach. 'It' being Damian just barely managing to catch the edge of the roof with his uninjured hand before he fell.
"Shit," he whispered, his feet scrabbling uselessly at the wall, unable to find any purchase. His mind had already registered what had happened, and he knew he'd been careless, getting shot like that, but it wasn't as if he had been expecting there to be any snipers. Wasn't this supposed to be some lowly gang riot?
"Robin!" Dick called to him; Damian looked around and saw his mentor on the ground below. "Robin, hang on! I'm coming!" He started running towards him but was intercepted by some of the rioters.
"Worry about yourself, idiot!" Damian shouted back at him. "I'm fine!"
"Just—just don't let go! I'll come get you, I promise!"
"Yeah, yeah...not stupid," Damian huffed. He didn't need any reassurances, anyways. He knew Dick would reach him, so he just concentrated on maintaining his hold on the roof. He brought his injured hand up, ignoring the pain; he figured he'd feel a lot safer clinging to the roof with both hands rather than one. All he could do now was wait, and Damian felt a prickle of irritation at seeing Dick fighting alone.
Luckily, it didn't take Dick long to dispatch the remaining rioters, and Damian watched him out of the corner of his eye as he made his way up to him. He was already mentally preparing his defenses and comebacks for any teasing he might get for being useless as he waited for Dick to reach him.
He never did.
About three-fourths of the way up and—snap!
The line broke.
"BATMAN!" Damian yelled, stretching out a helpless hand as his mentor plummeted downwards.
A surge of adrenaline gave Damian the energy he needed to hoist himself up to the roof. He scrambled for his grappling hook, holding it clumsily in his non-dominant hand, and flew down from the building.
"Batman!" he cried, trying to fight off the panic rising in his chest. "Batman!"
He dropped the last few feet, landing awkwardly on one foot and probably spraining something, but he neither noticed nor cared, rushing over to his mentor's side, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him.
"Batman! Get up, dammit, you useless...Grayson...!"
He didn't move, didn't stir, but Damian refused to be convinced until slowly, shakily, he pulled Dick's cowl back. He nearly blanched at the sight, despite having seen far worse throughout his life.
Blood. There was so much blood, and Damian knew with sick certainty that his skull must have cracked. Dick's eyes were still open wide, glazed over and unresponsive.
"No—Grayson—you can't—"
He couldn't be dead. He couldn't, because he had promised to come for him, and Dick could be annoying and stupid and unfair and a whole lot of other things, but no matter what, he always kept his promises. Always.
"No. No, you were right. I was wrong," said Damian, voice growing desperate. "I'm not ready to be Batman, not yet. So don't leave me, please."
Why? He'd wanted to be Batman all his life. It was the only thing that had ever mattered to him, and yet—and yet—
"I don't want to be Batman if it means you're dead," he whispered bitterly, fingers curling weakly over his—his mentor's, his partner's, his brother's, his father's, his friend's—lifeless chest.
His fingers trailed down the still arm until it reached the large, still slightly warm hand, and he took it in his own. The hand that would never ruffle his hair again, never hold him again. Damian never realized just how much he would miss it until now. He held Dick's body close to his own now, wondering why he never gave the man a single goddamn hug while he was still alive.
He would have stayed there all night if he could, but common sense took over soon enough and, with a shuddering sigh, Damian stood and carried Dick to the Batmobile, where he laid him across the back seats. Gently, he closed his friend's eyes for the last time and covered him up with his cape.
"Grayson," he said, staring at him sadly, "I don't know if you can forgive me—but what am I saying; of course you'll forgive me. You're too fucking nice for own goddamn good. Just..." His hands clenched into fists. "Even if you forgive me, I won't. Okay? I won't forget this—you."
With that, he pressed a button on one of the Batsuit gloves, stepping back as the Batmobile roared to life and started propelling back to the Batcave on autopilot. Only after it had rolled out of sight did Damian draw his hood up over his head and walk away, head low.
Saving him. Dick had died trying to save him. Nothing would ever change that fact. He wouldn't forget. He'd carry the burden for the rest of his life, Damian would make certain of it.
Less than a month later, the headlines of New York City newspapers all read
NEW NIGHTWING IN NEW YORK CITY?
followed by a hazy shot of a teenager dressed in a decidedly black and blue costume.
-fin?-
EDIT: BY THE WAY, whether Dick's line genuinely broke or someone tampered with it/somehow cut it is up to the reader's interpretation. But keep in mind this was originally based off of a The Lion King crossover post.