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Damian lays back against the wooden headboard of his massive bed, arms cushioning the back of his head. He stared straight ahead, not looking at anything in particular, just resting. Thinking. Thinking about his new partnership with his father, thinking about what lies ahead for him, and even thinking about the absence of his old mentor Dick Grayson. He wouldn't admit it to anyone but he really thinks of him as his older brother and he truly cherishes the time they'd spent together.
Dick and Bruce were definitely different. After a few nights on patrol, he'd found that he actually missed the quirky quips that slipped out from his mentor occasionally. He missed the simple reassurance, and he missed the subtle warmth that could be found woven within his strong voice that never really left.
The boy closes his aqua blue eyes and sighs, the frown on his lips deepening ever so slightly. Then comes a knock at the door. His eyes snap open once again and he shifts his sharp gaze to the door without even moving a centimeter.
"Who is it?" he asks, slightly annoyed.
"It's Alfred, young sir."
He scoffs.
"What do you want, Pennyworth?"
Alfred cracks open the door enough for the dark-haired boy to see his face and the package that he's carrying in his white-gloved hand.
"This came in the mail for you today. I believe it's from Master Dick."
Damian's eyes widen a bit, his posture straightening in the smallest way possible in both anticipation and surprise. He swallows.
"I'll leave it here so you can look at it when you're ready then."
The knowing butler places the wrapped package down in front of the door then turns and leaves down the lighted hallway. As soon as he's gone Damian climbs off his bed and makes his way over to entryway, bending over and picking the parcel up off the carpet. He walks back to his bed and plops down on it, the covers and mattress dipping under his added weight. It's obvious who it's from. There had been no need for Alfred to have to "think" about it. The name cleanly printed for the return address is in fact "Dick Grayson."
"-Tt- What could he have possibly sent me?"
He rips the brown wrapping off with unbridled impatience, the sound slicing through the quietness of his room. He cuts through the tape binding the flaps of the medium-sized cardboard box easily with his fingers, prying them open, and stares down at what's inside. There's an envelope. A bright red envelope with his name scribed in cursive lying on top of something soft surrounded by tissue paper. He picks it up, a dark eyebrow rising, flipping it over and slipping a tanned finger under the opening. He draws out the paper inside, unfolding it and reading the hand-written words with interest.
"Dear Dami,
How've you been? Is everything going good with Bruce? I hope so. I'm already busy over here on my side with my own share of bad guys. Gives me mixed feelings. Anyway, I found something the other day that I thought you'd like and could remind you of me. I still think about you every day and wish you the best. Take care. Love you.
-Your doting brother and mentor, Dick Grayson."
Damian blinks down at the letter and frowns even more, but not in disappointment; more like embarrassment.
"Idiot."
He sets the heartfelt letter and envelope down beside him on the covers and turns his attention to the actual gift. He snatches out the tissue paper, it crinkling with every single touch, until he finally reveals the object of his questions.
It's a pillow.
A good-sized pillow as dark as the night with the sillouette of a bird printed in a blue as deep as the color of Dick's old Nightwing uniform. It's warm to the touch and holds a familiar scent that Damian doesn't want to admit he likes. He stares at the head cushion with something that he just can't place. Confusion? Disbelief? Fondness? Whatever the reason he keeps doing it for several minutes, body refusing to do anything else. When he's done he picks the item up gingerly in his hands, bringing it slowly to his chest, falling onto his back, and closing his eyes with an agitated yet light-hearted sigh.
"Imbecile."
Several hours later Alfred returns with his dinner, peeking through the tiny opening provided by the unclosed door to see if he is in the mood for a meal. He finds that Damian is on his side now, fast asleep, arms and legs curled around his present, one word slipping between his lips in a whisper:
"Grayson."
Dick and Bruce were definitely different. After a few nights on patrol, he'd found that he actually missed the quirky quips that slipped out from his mentor occasionally. He missed the simple reassurance, and he missed the subtle warmth that could be found woven within his strong voice that never really left.
The boy closes his aqua blue eyes and sighs, the frown on his lips deepening ever so slightly. Then comes a knock at the door. His eyes snap open once again and he shifts his sharp gaze to the door without even moving a centimeter.
"Who is it?" he asks, slightly annoyed.
"It's Alfred, young sir."
He scoffs.
"What do you want, Pennyworth?"
Alfred cracks open the door enough for the dark-haired boy to see his face and the package that he's carrying in his white-gloved hand.
"This came in the mail for you today. I believe it's from Master Dick."
Damian's eyes widen a bit, his posture straightening in the smallest way possible in both anticipation and surprise. He swallows.
"I'll leave it here so you can look at it when you're ready then."
The knowing butler places the wrapped package down in front of the door then turns and leaves down the lighted hallway. As soon as he's gone Damian climbs off his bed and makes his way over to entryway, bending over and picking the parcel up off the carpet. He walks back to his bed and plops down on it, the covers and mattress dipping under his added weight. It's obvious who it's from. There had been no need for Alfred to have to "think" about it. The name cleanly printed for the return address is in fact "Dick Grayson."
"-Tt- What could he have possibly sent me?"
He rips the brown wrapping off with unbridled impatience, the sound slicing through the quietness of his room. He cuts through the tape binding the flaps of the medium-sized cardboard box easily with his fingers, prying them open, and stares down at what's inside. There's an envelope. A bright red envelope with his name scribed in cursive lying on top of something soft surrounded by tissue paper. He picks it up, a dark eyebrow rising, flipping it over and slipping a tanned finger under the opening. He draws out the paper inside, unfolding it and reading the hand-written words with interest.
"Dear Dami,
How've you been? Is everything going good with Bruce? I hope so. I'm already busy over here on my side with my own share of bad guys. Gives me mixed feelings. Anyway, I found something the other day that I thought you'd like and could remind you of me. I still think about you every day and wish you the best. Take care. Love you.
-Your doting brother and mentor, Dick Grayson."
Damian blinks down at the letter and frowns even more, but not in disappointment; more like embarrassment.
"Idiot."
He sets the heartfelt letter and envelope down beside him on the covers and turns his attention to the actual gift. He snatches out the tissue paper, it crinkling with every single touch, until he finally reveals the object of his questions.
It's a pillow.
A good-sized pillow as dark as the night with the sillouette of a bird printed in a blue as deep as the color of Dick's old Nightwing uniform. It's warm to the touch and holds a familiar scent that Damian doesn't want to admit he likes. He stares at the head cushion with something that he just can't place. Confusion? Disbelief? Fondness? Whatever the reason he keeps doing it for several minutes, body refusing to do anything else. When he's done he picks the item up gingerly in his hands, bringing it slowly to his chest, falling onto his back, and closing his eyes with an agitated yet light-hearted sigh.
"Imbecile."
Several hours later Alfred returns with his dinner, peeking through the tiny opening provided by the unclosed door to see if he is in the mood for a meal. He finds that Damian is on his side now, fast asleep, arms and legs curled around his present, one word slipping between his lips in a whisper:
"Grayson."
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^_^ Hehe! I love big brother Grayson!