Every Robin Must Learn To Fly

For the most part, Dick was successful in ignoring his younger brother’s angry mutterings, focusing instead on getting the last of his things packed. Damian had been in a touchy mood lately — more so than usual — and it was sometimes best to leave him be.

It wasn’t until a few of his clothes had ended up “accidentally” pushed off the bed that Dick gave up trying the patient route. Honestly, sometimes dealing with Damian was like trying to raise an unruly cat.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, or are you only here to throw my stuff around some more?”

“Nothing is bothering me,” came the expected response. But it was lacking that usual haughty tone — a clear sign something was wrong.

Pushing his duffel bag aside, Dick plopped down on the edge of the bed and dragged Damian closer. After a token protest, the boy settled down so they could talk.

He let out a petulant sigh. “I fail to understand your reasoning for this change. Everything was arranged nicely.”

Dick let out a sigh of his own. “We’ve been over this, Damian. I’m going back to my solo act as Nightwing; you’re going to keep being Robin, but for Bruce from now on. I never wanted to be Batman in the first place. Now seems as good a time as any to hand the reigns back over to the boss.”

“Whether you wanted it or not, you were highly effective in the role,” Damian said. Taking a small breath, he added, “You proved my preconceptions about you wrong, Richard. You make quite an adequate Batman.”

“Thank you,” Dick said sincerely. Considering the source, he understood exactly how high a compliment that was. “And you proved my thoughts about you completely right. You’re an awesome Robin.”

The lack of any preening at the praise raised a red flag for Dick. Maybe he’d accidentally hit on the root of the problem?

Gaze stubbornly locked on a spot on the carpet, Damian said, “I fail to see how Father will be any better at teaching than you were.”

Okay, he’d definitely found the problem.

“This isn’t because you did anything wrong,” Dick reassured him. “It’s just that…”

Something tightened in Dick’s chest as he tried to come up with the best way to put the situation into words. It was amazing how easily his brain failed him when his heart wasn’t in it. Despite debating this decision with himself every night for the past week, he still didn’t have a decent argument in support of this change.

How could he tell Damian that he had to leave because his presence in the boy’s life was interfering with him bonding with his actual father? Dick had filled a very necessary role in Damian’s life for a while now, but that role belonged by birthright to someone else. And, the longer Dick stuck around, the harder he knew it would be to eventually give up that right.

“You were always supposed to be out there with Bruce,” he pointed out. “Things just didn’t work out that way at first.”

“Because he found Drake a more suitable sidekick for his crusade,” Damian shot back, the snide tone not quite covering the hurt. (Dick couldn’t blame him; Bruce’s initial handling of Damian certainly hadn’t been ideal.) “It seems he wasn’t the only one not satisfied with my skills in that area.”

“Hey. You were never my sidekick, Damian. We were a team. And we always will be, no matter what. But your place right now is with your dad. You two have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

He hadn’t been sure what response could have eased the ache in his chest, but the silence that settled between them was even worse.

What could he say to make this easier? How could anything make this easier?

When he’d first moved Damian and himself into the apartment, it was out of a sense of responsibility — with Bruce gone, who else was going to look after the little terror? They had barely known each other back then, and Damian had gone the extra mile to be as disagreeable and uncooperative as possible.

Dick’s one goal at that time had been keeping his new ward alive and safe. He hadn’t really had any plans on forming a familial relationship with the boy whose idea of a relaxing weekend was beating up drug dealers. He certainly never could’ve imagined that saying goodbye to that same brat a year later would be far more painful than anything Arkham’s finest had ever done to him.

“Dami,” he said quietly. “I want you to know… I chose to give you my old Robin identity because I trusted you to live up to what it’s supposed to represent. You’re an amazing Robin; I know you always will be. But, more importantly, you’re my little brother. Nothing’s ever gonna change that.”

Damian’s mouth opened and shut a few times, seemingly caught between wanting to snap back with something snarky, or wanting to break down sobbing. Instead, he launched forward, both small arms wrapping around his big brother in a bone-crushing hug.

Hugs from Damian were a rare treasure and Dick knew better than to waste them. He pulled his brother close and squeezed back as if he’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tight. Maybe that sentiment was a little closer to the reality than what he’d intended, because Dick suddenly found his own eyes growing moist.

“Nightwing doesn’t have to be solo, does he?” the small voice drifted up, somewhat muffled by Dick’s sweatshirt. “I could still be your partner. Even if you aren’t Batman, I could still be your Robin.”

Quickly blinking away the unshed tears, Dick released Damian and sat back. “C’mon,” he said, tone forceably light, “It’s not as if we won’t still get to go on patrols together whenever I’m in the neighborhood.”

Damian huffed out something resembling a laugh, forcing his own emotions carefully behind the mask again. “Of course. You’ll need me to tag along simply to keep you out of trouble. It’s truly impressive you’ve made it this long without someone babysitting you.”

Dick laughed, relieved to have some of the tension broken. “What happened to the whole thing where I was actually an awesome Batman?”

“I’m positive I never used the word ‘awesome’.”

“I dunno. That’s what it sounded like to me.”

Damian rolled his eyes, pushing Dick away. “You are an idiot.”

Smiling a little easier this time, Dick stood up and grabbed his bag, shoving the last of his clothes into it. Everything else was already waiting in the car, so there wasn’t much point in postponing the inevitable. Well, there was, but he’d rather not think too hard on it. At least not until he was safely at his new apartment with a can of beer. Or a tub of ice cream. Either sounded good at this point.

“Goodbye, Dami,” he said, headed toward the door. “Don’t forget to feed your pets and listen to Alfred. And—”

“I know. Don’t take my sword out on patrol.”

Dick smiled fondly. “Yeah, I guess you’ve got that rule memorized by now.”

“You may have mentioned it a few thousand times during the early days of our partnership.”

One foot hovering over the doorway, Dick glanced back over his shoulder again. He might have made it the rest of the way outside with his soul still intact, if Damian hadn’t been discreetly trying to brush away a tear. Why did the sight of the obnoxious brat holding back tears make Dick want to hurl himself off a building?

It wasn’t until he was safely in his car heading across Gotham river that Dick finally let himself admit the truth. He might not be Damian’s biological father, but he’d done more to raise the boy than either of his actual parents ever had.

And leaving behind his little brother, his crime-fighting partner, his Robin… it hurt far worse than any torture the Joker could have devised.

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