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tamlins-stories-and-poems · 7 years

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Title: Parallels Word count: 4,477 Summary: Dick has noticed many parallels between himself and both Bruce and Damian. Sort of a mood piece, and a little too long for that. No real plot, just a couple of ideas that wanted to be written.

I would like to thank @fire-fira and @thrakaboom for their help with this piece! ❤️

It seemed every time Dick blinked these days there was something new that was a parallel between himself and his mentor. Or between Damian and his younger self. He thought back a decade, to the early days, when it was just him and Bruce, almost brothers, yet also a father and a son. “Please?” He begged back then, asking for a pet of his own. “No, Ace is more than enough.” Bruce had replied.

And he looked over at Damian, holding up the stray cat he’d found on patrol. “Please?” Damian asked. Dick felt his heart rend as he shook his head. “Don’t you have enough already? We’ll drop her off at a shelter on our way home. We can even donate a couple grand to it, if you want.” And Damian grumbled, just like Dick had, while Dick tried not to give in to the betrayed expression, just like Bruce had. — “Aren’t you supposed to be my dad, Bruce?” “Well, I am your guardian, yes.” “So why won’t you get me a bike?” Eight year old Dick looked longingly at a shiny red bicycle in a store window, gripping Bruce’s hand. “We’ll talk later, champ. Your adoptaversary is coming up, maybe then.” “That’s not a word, B!” And Dick had laughed, hugging the man’s arm before running ahead to look at something else.

But now Dick smiled as he saw Damian’s eyes widen hopefully, staring at a set of oil paints. Damian tried to pretend that hadn’t happened, but his gaze kept flicking back. “Grayson, I have noticed that you never gift me anything.” He said, slyly. “You want those paints? The anniversary of you arriving at the manor is coming up. We’ll talk about it.” Dick patted Dami’s shoulder affectionately, forcing himself not to turn to the window where that bike he’d so admired had once been, before he’d received it, and eventually passed it down the line all the way to Damian. It was dented, scratched, misused, beaten, and had been forgotten around the city multiple times by each new member of the household, but it always came home, and it was so full of love that Dick could swear it had its own spirit now. “I know a trick to make Bruce get you anything.” He promised. — “Batman, you’re injured, you can’t go on patrol tonight! Let Batgirl and me handle it!”

“Nightwing if you dare even think about patrolling tonight Drake and I will duck tape you to your bed until you’re better. Let the rest of us take care of this.” — “Dick, listen to me, getting sick is normal. If it means you need to take a night or two off, that’s fine. Don’t worry about it. You need the sleep anyways, you’re a growing boy.”

“Damian I don’t care how good you’re feeling, you have a fever and you’re staying home. Sleep helps you grow taller, by the way, if you make sure to get enough sleep you will be taller than Tim someday.” — “I’m sorry you have to have your birthday without your parents again, Dick. But, the League and I put together a little something for you, could you please come down with me?” And Bruce had led him down to the Batcave, then through the zeta to the watch tower were there were lots of gifts and friends waiting for him.

Years later, Dick said, “Come on Dami, I’ve got a surprise for you. I’m sorry Bruce is busy again, but with so many of us, he can’t take every birthday off. He hasn’t taken mine off since Jason joined us.” And he smiled a little, trying to hide the bitterness, as he led Damian through the zeta to the Kents’ farm, where Alfred, their siblings, the whole super family, and all of Damian’s hero friends were waiting, with presents and cake. — Eleven year old Dick swung through the trees, Bruce chasing behind him, worried that he’d fall. As if Dick didn’t pull more dangerous stunts every night.

Thirteen year old Damian balanced on a skateboard at the park, Dick hovering nervously by the edge of the ramp, terrified that the boy would break a bone. As if Damian hadn’t just taken down the Joker, solo, the night before. — Bruce lounging by his armchair, watching the fire crackle. Little ten year old Dick came happily in with a pair of mugs and a bag of cookies. Hot chocolate and snickerdoodles. Bruce took the mugs as Dick climbed into his lap and snuggled in, giggling excitedly. It was Chanukah and they’d spent the day with the Kanes, celebrating. Now it was just them and Alfred, relaxing at the Manor. The butler sat down with his own mug(and cookies), and smiled, watching his two charges drift off to sleep before he eventually did the same.

Dick was dozing on the couch as Damian came into the room. A fire burned cheerily in the hearth as the snow fell outside. It wasn’t a holiday, and Tim was sprawled over Dick’s lap, dreaming of patrols that wouldn’t leave him chilled to the bone. Damian didn’t care much for chocolate, or so he claimed, but he hung the tea kettle by the fire. Just far enough that it wouldn’t heat up anymore, but close enough to keep it warm. He set the stack of cups on the coffee table in the middle of the circle of chairs and couches surrounding the fire. For a full moment, Damian hesitated. He didn’t want to disturb his sleeping brothers, no matter how much he pretended to hate Tim. Cass scooped him up and plopped down next to Dick. They all snuggled into each other, as Jason and Duke snuck to the other side, lifting Tim’s legs to get closer to the furnace that was their pile of siblings. And in his sleep, Dick smiled. — “Robin, no!” Bruce yanked Dick back by his cape, just in time. The bullet zipped right through where the eight year old would’ve been had he not been grabbed. “Don’t scare me like that, please. You could’ve died!”

“Robin, stop!” Dick grabbed the cape of his twelve year old brother, pulling him back just before the bullet train ran over the tracks where he would’ve been. “Don’t you dare die on me, I can’t lose another Robin!” He hissed, then his tone softened, becoming quiet, and almost sounding lost. “You scared me.” — Robin perched on Batman’s shoulder, watching the building that the drug cartel was supposed to be in. The condition for his first real long mission was that he not leave Batman’s side, until or unless he was ordered to go home. Perhaps he was taking it too literally. Perhaps not. Either way, he was sticking as close as he physically could.

Damian was a solid presence, practically glued to Dick’s hip as he fought some thugs that stood between them and information on Bruce. Dick had agreed to let Damian come out as Robin, so long as he follow all of Dick’s orders and stuck as close as he could. The man withheld a smirk, remembering his first stakeout turned battle. Perhaps this boy could be Robin after all. — “Dick, I’m letting Jason be Robin now, he needs it.” “You can’t do that! Robin is my costume, my name to give! You can’t take that from me Bruce!” “He needs this, Dick, please. He needs to be Robin, just like you did. You’re Nightwing now, surely this isn’t taking anything from you.” “Shows what you know, jerk.” He’d actually called Bruce something much worse than “jerk” that day, something that was as much insulting Thomas and Martha as it was insulting Bruce, but that was never the way he told the story.

“Dick, what do you mean you don’t want me as your Robin?” “Tim, you’re Red Robin now, and you’ve outgrown being Robin. Damian, he needs it. Like you did, like Steph did, like Jason did, like I did. Of course I still want to work with you, but think of how much Damian needs this. Besides, could you imagine you being the Robin to my Batman? That would be just weird.” Tim shook his head, angry and disbelieving, but Dick took it as agreement. “I knew I could count on you, Timmy.” Dick beamed. And Tim watched him turn and leave while betrayal seized his heart, like Dick’s had when Bruce had passed on the Robin mantle without asking. — Fifteen year old Dick had been rebellious. “You’re not my real dad” and “let me live my life, Bruce” had been phrases said multiple times a day by the boy. Bruce hadn’t had a clue what to do, and even Alfred could barely keep the rebellion in check He’d insisted that he was a grown man, that he should move out, and that after nearly seven years of being a vigilante he was prepared for anything life could throw at him. Bruce struggled to explain how Dick couldn’t know everything and tried to keep the boy from running himself into the ground to prove himself, which only made him more insistent to do so.

Fifteen year old Damian was a terror on the Wayne household. Duke had turned eighteen, and there were no new manor dwelling members of the family. Sure, there were the children of the older Batbrats, but that wasn’t the same. While Bruce cried about his Baby Boy growing up, Damian rebelled against as many authority figures as he could. “Grayson, you aren’t my father, stop trying to act like you are!” He growled whenever Dick tried to give him any advice. “Leave me alone, Grayson!” He hissed when Dick tried to hug him as a greeting. Dick may’ve had Mar'i to smack Damian whenever he did something like that, but suddenly he realized how much it must’ve hurt Bruce when he’d done that as a teen. (Bruce found apology cookies from all of his grandkids and Dick waiting for him at breakfast the next day) — “B, I’m cold.” Eight year old Dick had never experience winter in the north before, and Batman and Robin couldn’t take the holidays off. Bruce smiled apologetically, barely noticeable in the dark, and wrapped part of his cloak around Dick, who pulled it tight around his shoulders.

Damian tried not to shiver as they walked down the street. The weather report had predicted warmer temperatures that evening, but even after a decade, Dick still chilled easily. He didn’t say anything as he unbuttoned his great coat, and pulled Damian close to his side. A spare hat was produced from a pocket, and tucked over Damian’s ears. “I’m not cold.” Damian protested. “If you say so.” Dick shrugged, and hugged Dami closer. “I am though, and you feel nice and warm.” “Well, then, I’ll stay here to keep you warm.” Damian looked away, and Dick hid a smile. — “Dick, don’t touch that.” Bruce ordered. “You weren’t even looking at me!” Dick complained, pulling away from whatever it has been he’d been about to poke. “Secret parent power. You’ll get it someday.” Bruce said, still not looking up from his paperwork. “Meanie!” Dick stomped out.

“Damian you shouldn’t touch that.” “Grayson you didn’t even notice me coming in!” Damian looked offended, but took a step back from the generator. “How did you do that?” “Secret parent power. You might get it someday, if you land yourself another bat brat.” Dick planted a kiss on his daughter’s head. “You’re actually the one who made me learn it. I had a little bit of it from the previous Brats, but you’re the one who really made it click for me.” He looked up from his book to give Damian a quick smile. “Come on over here.” “Okay. Jerk.” — Bruce smiled as he watched nine year old Dick throw himself at the playground with reckless abandon, and in years following, he stood off to the side and watched Dick have fun coming up with new moves and training with the other young heroes of the time. From chucking. Hamster Gar, who would shift into a larger form, to being launched by Kaldur or Conner or Donna or Koriand'r so that he could throw his birdarangs from a better angle. Bruce kept smiling at those sessions even after Dick was an adult, and both of them felt he’d do it until they no longer were happening. Dick would always be his Robin.

Dick beamed proudly at Damian, as he sparred/roughhoused with Jon and Maya, and sometimes Colin. There would be more heroes their age as they grew older, but right now they made a great trinity. He might not have been wearing the cowl, but the pride in his chest was very much the pride of Batman, watching his Robin learn to work with his age mates to fight crime and villainy. Maybe he would take up Bruce’s offer to be Batman for a decade or so when the old man retired. He could split the job with Jason, if Jason came home, and then he could still be Nightwing once in a while. And Dick kept smiling as Damian pinned Jon, using Colin to do so. That was HIS Robin. — Bruce never said anything as his bedroom door creaked up, always well after midnight. He waited until Dick crawled into his bed and had hidden under his covers. “What was it this time sport?” He rumbled, scooting to the side to leave a little more room for the shivering tangle of limbs that he called Robin. “Mom and Dad again. Only this time, you were with them, and you had time to see the rope breaking. You tried to jump to the platform I was on, but they dragged you down. The splat was louder tonight.” A shudder shook the small body, and Bruce wrapped his arm tighter around the boy. “Well, I’m here, and I’m not a smear. I promise you that I’ll never leave you.” “Can you really promise that?” Dick forced himself into a kneeling position, and Bruce cracked an eye open to look at him. “Can you?” “Probably not.” Bruce admitted. “But I can do my absolute best to keep everyone as safe as possible. I’m Batman, remember? No one can keep Batman down.” Dick giggled a little, and used his whole arm to wipe away tears. “Yeah.” He agreed. “Please don’t die, Bruce.” “I’ll do my best.” Bruce promised, and Dick lay back down, wrapping himself around Bruce’s arm and pressing his back into Bruce’s side, and together, they fell asleep, comforted by the knowledge that the other was right there.

The first time Dick heard his door open in the middle of the night, it had been Jason, when Bruce was away on a business trip. For Jason, Dick had sat up, invited him over, promised that he didn’t hate him for being Robin, and talked him through the nightmare, then sent him back to his room. Jason only came to him once. Tim made his way to Dick’s room on his first night after moving in. He’d stayed the night before, but this was different, and he’d just seen his parents’ corpses. Dick let him stay, still feeling guilty about shooing Jason out. Tim only went to Bruce when Dick was away. Cass didn’t speak about her nightmares, she didn’t know the words. Heck, she didn’t even open the door. Tim had also had a nightmare that night, and Dick was talking him through how to remember that it wasn’t real, when Cass was hugging his side. After another half hour of calming down, and a group trip down to the kitchen for some nightmare-be-gone tea (chamomile and rose hips) that Alfred always left prepared, Dick carried them back to his room and tucked them in to his bed, before crashing in the beanbag chair nearby. He bought himself a bigger bed after that. Damian had refused to admit that he had nightmares. Dick only found out about them one night when he was leading the visiting Steph to the kitchen and heard his sobs. He picked the youngest member of the household up and carried him down. He pretended not to see the tears and insisted that he just wanted company to help Steph past her nightmare. “You can help us get Steph past her Nightmare, can’t you, Damian?” For a week after that, Damian slept curled into his eldest brother’s arms. Various other members of the Batclan joined them, even including Babs one night, but Damian would not be budged, and refused to talk about it. After that week, he still showed up most nights. Sometimes crying, sometimes not, and if he was crying, Dick would rock him to sleep before lying back down himself. When Dick moved to Blüdhaven, the others still came to him, and the occasional guest asked why Dick had such a large bed. And Dick would fall asleep, remembering the days he’d gone crying to Bruce after a bad dream, and smiled at the fact that he was now the one giving that kind of comfort to the others. — “Whoa! We have a pool! Since when?” Dick beamed back at Babs and Bruce, standing on the back porch and bouncing on his toes excitedly. “Longer that I’ve lived here.” Bruce chuckled. “I know we’ve been busy fighting crime, and celebrating birthdays, but surely you can’t have missed the pool this long. You’ve been here nearly six months!"t "If I saw it, I was too tired to realize what it was!” Dick turned and ran towards the pool. “Don’t run by the pool!” Bruce boomed, and Dick froze up, shivering in shock. “Oh, champ, I’m sorry…” Bruce walked over, “It’s just that the tiles are really smooth, and they probably haven’t dried from yesterday’s rain, so you could get hurt if you- please don’t cry.” “Batman and Robin, everybody.” Babs murmured, rolling her eyes a little. “Dick, come on, we can still go swimming.” “You just can’t run by the pool.” Bruce insisted, his hands rested gently on the boy’s shoulders as he was crouched in front of him. “You could fall, and hit your head on the edge.” “I don’t fall.” Dick whispered. “I know you don’t fall when you’re doing acrobatics, but you always have a firm grasp on whatever surface you’re jumping off of there.” Bruce said. “Here, feel the tiles.” Gently he took one of Dick’s hands and touched it to the smooth, wet stone. Slick enough that even with sandpaper like feet, Dick would’ve lost his footing. “See?” “I guess it’s a good thing you made me stop, then.” Dick forced a watery smile. “Can we play in the pool now?” “Sure. Want me to get the waterguns?” Bruce smiled back. “No guns, Bruce.” Both of his sidekicks reminded him, and everyone laughed.

“I bet I can beat you to the pool, Grayson.” Damian said, on one of the rare days they were taking off while Bruce was gone. He took off at a sprint, and horrors flashed through Dick’s mind. “Don’t run by the pool, Dami!” His voice came out as more of a shriek than anything else, and Damian skidded to a halt, confused and trying to hide the hurt that came from his Batman shouting at him. “Please don’t run by the pool.” Dick begged. “You know what water does to tile?” “It makes it into a good trap.” Damian stated, then paused, as Dick kneeled in front of him, placing his hands on Damian’s shoulders. “The pool is surrounded by tile.” “Yes,” Dick nodded. “The tile is quite likely to be wet.” “Very much so.” “Even with my skill, the lack of traction could cause me to slip and be injured.” Dick sighed in relief, glad Damian had more sense than he had years ago. “Exactly. Now, what do you say we walk to the pool. I could ask Alfred to grab us the waterguns?” “I thought this was a ‘no gun’ family, Grayson.” And Dick threw back his head and laughed, remembering his first day at the family pool. Damian just blinked in confusion at that. — “Hey, Wally?” Robin was sitting on a roof in central city, the Batplane behind him. “Yeah, Robin, 'sup?” Wally grinned at him, cheerily. “You feeling okay?” “I guess.” Robin shrugged. “Doesn’t it bother you that you don’t know my real name?” He looked over at his slightly older companion, who was leaning on the ledge that the younger sidekick was sitting on. “I mean, sometimes, but bro, don’t worry about it, Batman wants too keep your secret identities secret.” Wally babbled out quickly, trying to convince his friend that he didn’t need to feel guilty. “But, you’re my best friend, Wally, you should know who I really am!” Robin insisted. “Rob, don’t worry about it!” Insisted the young speedster. “It’s fine, I promise! You don’t have to tell me.” Robin turned around, bringing his feet back to the top of the roof. “But it’s not fair!” He argued. “I know who you are, and we save each other’s lives on a biweekly basis!” “Robin, we’re superheroes, it’s fine!” Wally insisted. “No, you’re a superhero, I’m just some kid in a cape and a mask who does flips really well!” Robin argued, throwing his hands up in the air. “Please, Wally?” “I mean, I can’t stop you if you want to tell me your name. But you’re going to get in trouble if you do, Rob.” Wally shook his head. “Maybe just get away edge of the roof first.” “Okay.” Robin hopped away from the ledge around the roof, and walked into the shadow of the Batplane. “My real name is Richard Grayson, but everyone’s always called me-” “Please say Richie.” Wally interrupted. A smirk slid across Robin’s face, as he pulled of his mask. “Nah. I’m Dick.” Wally groaned. And Bruce was understandably annoyed at the unasked use of the Batplane to break a major household rule, which led to a week of no deserts for Robin. (Don’t listen to him, Alfred snuck Dick desert)

It had been Colin he revealed himself to first, of course. Colin, who he spent so much time with. Colin who was the only of his best friends who hadn’t been told by a mentor or figured it out on his own. Maya was a worthy detective in her own right: smart, sharp, and unyielding. Jon had been told before they even met. But Colin, Colin was the first person with whom he willingly shared. “Wilkes, I am about to share with you some vital information, information that, if you are not careful, could end with you causing my death.” Damian stated. They were in one of the Bats many Gotham safehouses, Colin wasn’t wise as to its true nature, and simply thought it was where Robin and Nightwing lived. Speaking of; Nightwing was in the kitchen, attempting to make something resembling food and prepared to run damage control if things got out of hand. “Oookay…” Colin fidgeted nervously on the couch, and glanced over to where Jon and Maya were napping after the day’s particularly intense mission. “Any reason you’re doing this when they may or may not be able to hear us? But, uh, I promise to be extra careful with whatever you’re about to tell me.” “Good.” Damian nodded, a little sharply. Part of him felt like backing out, like letting one of the others tell Colin if he ever got kidnapped as a civilian, like not showing such a strong degree of trust to a friend who had clearly earned it. “First off, Nightwing and I do not actually live here, this is merely one of our safe-houses.” “What?!” Colin yelped in shock, “If you guys are loaded enough to have more than one safe house, which is kind of what you just implied, then how come you’re fighting petty criminals with brute force?!” “We fight 'em by giving them jobs, too! Well, Batman does, he’s the one with the money. We still all live in his house.” Nightwing called, from the kitchenette. “Nightwing, let me do this, please.” Robin glowered, and his mentor beamed sunnily before making a noise and trying to stop the pizza water from boiling over. “Okay, so you guys are loaded, what next? Are you famous as civilians too?” Colin asked, looking a little stunned. “Somewhat.” Robin agreed. “My name is Damian Wayne.” There was silence. Well, other than Nightwing muttering angrily about his complete inability to cook for himself. “…what.” Colin finally said. “I just told you-” Damian tried. “I know what you just told me, but what I can’t figure out is what kind of dream I’m having. Did I go to some weird alternate reality, did I end up back in the lab-or did I ever even escape it- and somehow get some sort of really weird hallucination, or did you just lose your mind?” Damian frowned, “Wilkes, I assure you-” “You expect me to believe that you’re really Damian Wayne, son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, and you’re going out every night to fight the Rogues gallery with a street kid?” Colin demanded, getting up and poking Damian in the chest. “That someone with as much money as that would willingly go out and get shot at on a regular basis?” “No.” Damian replied, and pushed Colin back to the couch. “I’m stating that this is a fact and letting you do what you want with said information, asking that you please not spread it.” “So the 'Butts Match’ guy was right?” Colin asked. “Tim’s greatest diversion, if you ask me.” Nightwing called, before fire erupted from inside the pasta pot. “Dang it! Dami!” “On it, Grayson.” Damian had the fire out and stove off instantly. “Next time we are without Todd or Pennyworth, I will do the cooking.” Nightwing slumped in defeat, but nodded. “Wilkes, if you’ll wake Ducart and Kent, we can go back to the manor and get a proper dinner, since this stove is currently unusable thanks to this idiot.” Damian elbowed Nightwing in the stomach. “Alright, assuming this is true, sure, let’s go to Wayne Manor for dinner!” Colin threw his hands up. “That sounds like a great plan!” “Wonderful!” Nightwing beamed, pretending to not pick up on the dripping sarcasm. “I’ll call Alfred!” — Yes, there were many parallels, Dick mused, and while maybe not all of them were good, he wasn’t sure that mattered. Not as he drifted to sleep in a sibling pile in his apartment in Blüdhaven, surrounded by people who loved him and the type of family he would once have never believed he could possible gain. Someone grunted as someone else accidentally kicked them, and all seemed well with the world.

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