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There’s still half of a frozen pizza sitting on the counter, now mostly lukewarm, all coagulated cheese and cardboard crust. It’s a veggie lovers, and Damian knows it had been intended for this weekend, when Nightwing and Robin are too achy and exhausted from patrol to actually be bothered to cook. Grayson always thinks ahead like that, always plans for these weekends, and Damian appreciates it. It makes him feel important, reminds him that Grayson cares to plan their time together, and to take into account Damian’s dietary preferences.
But plans change, especially in their line of work, and Damian won’t fault Grayson for this. It isn’t Grayson’s fault that the Titans had called him up on Friday night, just as Damian was dropping his bags on the chair in his room. And it isn’t Grayson’s fault that Damian only gets to spend weekends with him in Bludhaven. It’s not Grayson’s fault that things like school and Batman exist.
Damian doesn’t blame Grayson for leaving, although he knows Grayson blames himself. Even if Grayson hadn’t begged him for forgiveness—forgiveness that had been granted without a second thought—he’d have seen it in the big sad eyes and felt it in the hand running through his hair and tugging him close.
“I’m so sorry, Dames,” he’d whispered.
“Go. They need you, Nightwing.”
“I’ll stay. Just say the word and I’ll stay.”
Damian had kept his mouth shut. He’d understood, really. Truly, he had.
The ache in his chest isn’t anger. He would recognize anger, knows it with so much more familiarity than he knows joy or sadness or excitement. It’s something else, something more hollow. If Grayson were here, he might be able to help Damian place it. (But he also thinks that if Grayson were here, the ache would vanish.)
Grayson had promised to be home as soon as possible, insisting that Damian could still stay for his weekend if he wanted to. They both know Robin will have no problems staying home alone, even if he’d had to swear up and down and on Batcow’s life that he wouldn’t go out and patrol Bludhaven alone. Damian acknowledges that he is maybe not quite privy to enough of Bludhaven’s criminal activity to not unintentionally mess up one of Nightwing’s longer-running cases.
“Hey,” Grayson had offered him a smile. “If we’re lucky, it’ll just be a quick trip to space, and I’ll be back to patrol Sunday night.”
“I look forward to it.”
Now, Damian sits perched on the edge of Grayson’s worn couch, his knees tucked up to rest his chin on. It’s Sunday night, and the time for Nightwing and Robin to begin suiting up has passed. Damian is still in his jeans and hoodie, the Batgirl logo on his socks the only sign of vigilante on him. The apartment is too quiet for comfort, leaving him with only the sounds of traffic outside. Damian likes silence, but he’s become accustomed to his Bludhaven home having more signs of life—Grayson whistling while he cooks or turning on the radio to do morning yoga or channel surfing crappy daytime TV while Damian works on his homework and offers the occasional scathing comment in response to whatever ridiculous thing is happening on screen.
At 7:00 in the morning, Pennyworth will be here to pick Damian up and take him to school. Damian has less than twelve hours before he has to leave. He had gotten maybe twenty minutes with his brother before he’d had to leave. Twenty minutes, when he was supposed to get a whole weekend.
Because that’s their arrangement: Damian lives with Father and Pennyworth and Titus and Alfred and Batcow on the weekdays, and on Friday after school, Pennyworth picks him up and drives him forty-five minutes to Bludhaven, to Grayson’s apartment where Damian has a room and a bed and clothes in the closet and pictures on the walls. And every weekend, Damian gets to pretend just a little bit that Grayson is still his primary guardian. That Grayson is still his Batman. That Damian is still his Robin.
And sure, he will come back next weekend, but that seems too far away. They made this arrangement for a reason. It was hurting them, killing them both to pretend like that year had never happened. Damian had tried to ignore how empty the manor’s walls had felt, tried to push past the way conversations with his father always left him feeling a bit hollow and wrong, tried to forget about Grayson and the penthouse and home. He had tried, and Grayson had tried as well, staying as far away from Gotham and Father and Damian as possible, but neither one of them had succeeded. Robin had been benched and Bludhaven had been right there and why couldn’t Damian find Grayson’s apartment in the pouring rain on a school night with no means of transportation other than seedy cabs willing to pick up kids with wads of cash?
And Grayson hadn’t turned him away. In fact, he hadn’t let him leave the next day, or the day after that either. And Damian had felt relaxed, safe, happy. Welcome. He’d lurked in the hallway while Grayson finally talked to Father, but he couldn’t make out much. All he knows is that Grayson fought for him, and now he spends weekends with him. Now he gets to have Father and Grayson, the Batman and his Batman.
It’s ridiculous to act like this one weekend really means anything in the grand scheme of things, but he can’t help it. It isn’t fair. He only gets these few days, and now Grayson is up in space fighting aliens or whatever and Damian is alone on the couch watching Jeopardy by himself. It’s pathetic.
He’s pathetic. The Damian of three years ago would be disgusted with who he’s become. Damian closes his eyes as a voice that sounds too much like Grayson reminds him that it’s a strength to have allies, people you can trust. It’s still so hard to believe sometimes, and Damian’s feet twitch to run, fingers grasping for a blade that isn’t there.
Instead, he wraps the heavy blanket that Grayson keeps draped on the back of the couch around his shoulders and tips himself over to curl up against the armrest.
As he dozes off, he can almost pretend to hear Grayson muttering the answers to the far too easy game show questions. Almost.
“Dames, hey.” A soft voice breaks through his dream (full of shadows and blood and running, as most of his dreams are), a hand gently shaking his shoulder. “Wake up, bud. That can’t be comfy.”
Damian blinks his eyes open, squinting in the dim and flickering light of the TV. Grayson smiles down at him, silhouetted by some infomercial playing behind him.
Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Damian sits up, batting away Grayson’s hands when he attempts to help. “What time is it? What’s going— Grayson!”
He blinks rapidly a few times, but Grayson doesn’t disappear. He’s crouched down on the living room in front of the couch looking tired and worn. There’s smudges of dark circles under his eyes and a butterfly bandage on his forehead that Damian scowls at—as if Grayson needs more head trauma. He could probably use a shower, and a long nap.
But he’s here.
“What time is it?” Damian asks, peering around Grayson to try and see the clock on the DVD player.
“A little after three in the morning,” Grayson answers. “You must’ve fallen asleep on the couch.”
“I was… Nevermind. The mission was successful then, I presume?”
“It was. Went a little too long though, in my opinion. Sorry I missed our weekend.”
Damian shrugs like it doesn’t matter. Because it doesn’t. “It couldn’t be helped. And there will be other weekends.”
The smile Grayson gives him is tinged with sadness, so Damian lets him brush the hair back from Damian’s forehead, lets his fingers linger in the slightly tangled hair at his temple.
“Were you waiting up for me?”
“No, of course not—”
“Did you eat my pizza?”
“No,” he says, glancing at the kitchen where he’d left the remainder of the pizza. “Although, it’s possible Haley did. I… don’t think I managed to put it away.”
“I don’t think she’s quite tall enough to reach the counter.”
“She’s smart. She could figure it out.”
Grayson laughs, a bright sound. Damian smiles in return, unable to help himself.
“Alright. I’ll go check on that in a minute. After we get you to bed.”
Damian sighs, stretching his limbs and rolling his neck. It aches from sleeping in such an odd position, and his back twinges with pain like it so often does when he sleeps curled up rather than stretched out. “Alright. I suppose Pennyworth will be here to pick me up in less than four hours.” He’s perfectly functional on far less sleep, but the children at his school are annoying enough without adding in mild sleep deprivation. He ought to be well rested enough to not consider bringing out his sword next time the boy who sits behind him in math kicks his chair. Father would be rather disappointed.
“Right,” Grayson pauses, clearly thinking. Damian waits for him to speak again. “Hey, Dames, you’re like the smartest kid in the world right?”
Damian narrows his eyes, suspicious, even as pride makes his chest swell. “I would say so, would you not?”
“I definitely agree. And you’re probably acing all your classes, right?”
“Don’t act like you don’t have access to my grades online.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t checked them in a while. I’ve been a little busy. I went to space, you know?”
“I assure you that none of my grades have changed since you left the planet. I currently have all A’s. My classes are terribly easy.”
“Good, good. So, you would say that it’s probably fine for you to miss a day or two?”
Damian squints at him again. Who is this man and what has he done with the Grayson who would always insist that Damian go to school despite it being too easy and the people being so insufferable? Where is the man who insists that Damian socialize and practice his people skills and act like a child?
“Is this some sort of test?”
“No.” Grayson reaches out, feeling Damian’s forehead with the back of his hand. Damian is too bewildered to shove him off, but Grayson doesn’t linger long. He jerks his own hand back, wincing overdramatically and acting as though he’s been burnt. “Woah, kiddo, I think you’re coming down with a fever. Better keep you home from school for a couple days, just to be safe.”
“Grayson, what is wrong with you?” Damian gets to his feet, glaring down at his still kneeling brother. “Have you been compromised? Do you have a concussion? Pennyworth is going to kill you, and then I am going to—”
“Kiddo, Dames, hey.” Grayson holds his hands out placatingly, still looking amused. Why didn’t he just take Damian with him? Clearly something has happened. “Calm down. I’m sorry, it’s three a.m. I didn’t mean to confuse you. I should’ve just said what I was thinking.”
“Which is?” Damian demands, arms folded.
“How would you feel about playing hooky for a couple days, and staying here to make up for our missing weekend?”
“Oh.” The tension floods out of Damian’s body all at once, arms falling limp to his sides. “But Father—”
“I’ll talk to Bruce. He’ll understand, Damian. Sometimes we need a little time off. It’s okay.”
“You have work—”
“You can come with me! The kids would love to meet you. I talk about you all the time.”
“You do?” Damian cannot imagine his name ever coming up in conversation with Grayson’s gymnastics students, but perhaps this is just one more way in which Grayson continues to confuse him.
“Sure do. And you know gymnastics. You can help me demonstrate. I might need you anyway, dislocated my shoulder yesterday.”
“Again?” Damian scowls.
This time Grayson does have the decency to look sheepish. “Yeah, I know. Trust me, I can feel it.”
“Well, then it sounds like you need me. How else will your students learn? And as your sometimes partner, I cannot allow you to work with your bad shoulder, or else you could seriously injure yourself even further, or impede your recovery time. This city needs Nightwing.”
“Exactly. So you’ll stay?”
Truthfully, Damian sometimes wonders why he ever leaves. He knows, logically, but every time he gets in the car with Pennyworth and makes the drive back to Gotham, he can’t help but ache. And he can’t help but formulate half-hearted arguments he’d make to Father to just let him stay permanently. He’ll never say them, but sometimes he wishes.
Sometimes the weekend isn’t enough—and now Grayson is offering him two extra days. He would be a fool not to accept.
“Of course I will.”
Grayson beams, and Damian finds himself being tugged against a strong chest, Grayson’s good arm wrapping around him and holding him close. Damian lets himself go easily, all but collapsing onto his brother. He twists his cheek to rest on Grayson’s shoulder, suddenly aware of the fact that it is three in the morning and he had still been sleeping just moments ago.
“Thanks, Dames. I really missed you, and I’m sorry again. I wish I had been here.”
“Nonsense,” Damian yawns. “Not your fault.” He thinks he feels Grayson stand, keeping Damian tucked close. Damian doesn’t worry about it, trusts Grayson to get him where he needs to be. He does, however, wrinkle his nose. “Maybe take a shower though.”
Grayson laughs, and Damian feels warm. He was right, the ache is gone now.