Author's Note: Here's another little Dick and Dami brotherly fluff piece. The picture that was the inspiration for this story can be seen on my blog, which is accessible via my fanfiction profile. Happy reading!

"Go away!" Damian shouted as his door was nudged open. Pulling the pad of paper he'd been laboring over for the last three hours to his chest, he glared towards whoever had dared to intrude on his personal space.

"Is that any way to say good morning to someone on their birthday?" Dick queried, sticking his head into the room and mock-pouting.

"Yes," he retorted. "And stop making that hideous face before I puke." I hate it when I make you look sad, even when I know you're being overdramatic just to get to me.

"But Dami…it's my birthday." The man's woeful expression deepened as a trace of actual hurt came into his voice.

Ah, shit. That was the problem; it was Grayson's birthday, and he had nothing for him. Alfred and Bruce had both offered to pick up anything he wanted to give his eldest brother as a present, but he'd been unable to think of something that felt right. Down to the wire, he'd stayed up long after patrol last night, brainstorming and beating himself up for not just buying a gadget or gift card like everyone else had. The idea that he had woken up with was far from perfect, but it would have to do. "I know it's your stupid birthday," he growled. "Why do you think I want you to leave me alone?!"

He knew immediately that he'd given away too much. Dick's gaze flickered down to the array of pens, pencils, and paints scattered across the bed, then rose back to his face. "…Are you drawing me a picture for my birthday!?"

"Ugh, no," he denied with a scoff. You're not supposed to guess it! It ruins it if you guess it… "A drawing is a retarded present."

"I don't think so. I like your drawings."

Damian knew it wasn't a lie. After all, it was Grayson who had first spied the sketches he passed hour upon tedious hour of class filling his notebooks with, and it was Grayson who had bought him most of the supplies he'd called into action this morning. Maybe, he reflected, that was why he was sitting here doing exactly what he'd just been accused of. But that's pointless now, too, he griped, because he had to go and fucking guess it. "Whatever," he muttered. "You're wrong."

Dick sighed. "Okay, little brother. I'll leave you alone. But," he smiled softly, "I'm really looking forward to seeing my present from you."

With that the man retreated, closing the door behind himself as he went. When he was sure that he wouldn't come bursting back in, Damian turned his sketch pad over and surveyed it. "…Garbage," his lip curled. "Total garbage." He'd started off okay – the elephant that was the centerpiece of his work was well-enough executed, at least – but the peaceful grazing scene he'd intended to draw had morphed into a rampage of fire and blood at some point in the proceedings. I can't give him this, he slumped, defeated. It's a bastardization of something he loves. What kind of a present is that? Grimacing, he recalled his words of a moment before. A retarded one, that's what kind.

Ripping the offending sheet free, he stared at it a second longer. Then it disappeared into his fist, becoming a crumpled ball that he sent sailing towards the wastebasket. The projectile defied him, bouncing off the rim and landing on the rug. "Stupid paper," he muttered. "Stupid birthdays. Stupid Gr-" He couldn't finish the thought. "...Stupid everything."

Rolling off of the bed, he stomped to his window and threw up the sash. Bruce would yell at him if he caught him on top of the house again, and Alfred would lecture him for going outside without a jacket, but he didn't care. All that mattered was that he'd failed to come up with a decent offering for Grayson's birthday. For that, he determined as he hoisted himself up and began to climb, he deserved to shiver alone on the roof.

"Daaami..."

"Go away," he called back to the disembodied voice. Wrapping his arms tighter around his knees, he tried to keep his teeth from chattering.

"Not this time, little brother." A second later Dick appeared at the edge of the roof. "There you are," he grinned.

"Go. Away."

"Can't two people enjoy the same view for a minute? Remember, this was my hangout long before you came along." The man plopped down next to him and held out a coat. "That's how I know to always wear sleeves when you come out in March. That way you only get in trouble for one thing instead of two."

"I'm not cold."

"Then put it on so I don't feel like a pussy for bundling up, huh?"

Huffing in irritation, Damian shrugged the jacket on. His fingers were too numb to allow him to zip it, so instead he crossed his arms to hold it closed. "...What do you want? Aren't there, like, a hundred thousand people calling to talk to you today?"

"My phone's been ringing, yeah. But they can wait long enough for me to say thank you."

"I didn't do anything." I didn't do anything, he repeated silently, because I suck at the things that matter to you.

"Sure you did! You drew me that great picture!"

An arm landed across his shoulders. He tried to throw it off, but it was stubborn and he was cold. "I told you I didn't draw you a fucking picture."

"Oh? So you've taken up elephants as a subject just for fun, then?"

...Shit. He should have put the damn thing in the can before he came outside. He should have cleaned up his supplies, gotten rid of the evidence.

He should have done lots of things differently, but he hadn't, and now here he was.

"...Dami?"

"I perverted it," he whispered. "I made it evil."

"No you didn't. You made it like you."

"As I said."

"Stop it," came an order. "You didn't make it evil, you made it like you. Hardcore," Dick squeezed him, "and fierce. A force to be reckoned with. In other words...wicked awesome."

Damian had to concentrate hard to make his lip stop trembling. He liked those adjectives, especially when they were being applied to him, but there was still doubt in the back of his mind. "You...you don't hate it?"

"Are you kidding? It's going on my bedroom wall as soon as I can get it flattened out and framed." They sat for a moment in silence. "Anyway...I know you want to be left alone, but I wanted to say thanks for giving me such a fantastic present. I bet it'll be the best one I get today. I know it will be the most original."

Dick pulled away as if to go, then paused. "You know how Alfred will give you just about any food you ask for on your birthday?" he mentioned casually.

"...Yeah? What about it?"

"Well, I was thinking I might go see about some hot cocoa. I could ask him for two," he hinted, "and he probably won't even ask any questions. Not today, at least."

Damian blinked at him. "...Were you going to request whipped cream on top?"

"Do you think I should?"

"..Yes."

"Then whipped cream on top it is. Come on; you can help me pick out an epic frame online."

"Yeah, okay. But..." He trailed off. There was something he needed to say, but it threw out determined little hands to keep itself stuck in his throat.

"What's up, little brother?"

"I just...um..." Knitting his eyebrows, he forced the sentiment out. "...Happy birthday, Dick."

The smile those three words drew was so bright that it hurt to look at it. "Thanks, Dami," Dick said, pulling him to his feet and wrapping him in a hug. "I can already tell that it's going to be a good one."