Come Fly with Me

A Young Justice Fanfiction

Hey guys! This is my first YJ story. It was supposed to be just a cute little one shot, but it turned into this monster... please review and tell me what you think!

Also, I might be willing to do a sequel, with this told from Dick's point of view, if you guys want me too :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice.

Come Fly with Me

My name is Damian, but let's get one thing straight.

Bruce Wayne is not my father. Talia al'Ghul is not my mother.

My real mother, thinking to become rich and famous, ambushed my dad in college, got him high, and had his baby. She figured having me would force Father to marry her, and she would get to live in a mansion, drive a yacht, and all that crap. Lo and behold, one birth and and a single law suit later, Father has complete custody over me and a restraining order against her. The legal system declared him the responsible parent. Who could've guessed?

Who is this man, you may ask?

None other than Richard Grayson.

That's right, Grayson is my father. Surprised? Shocked? Confused? Curious?

Well, like I said, he didn't plan on having me, but he still has raised me to the best of his abilities. And he didn't tell me anything about my mother either. I had to hack the computer in the Batcave to find out. That being said, don't you dare say anything bad about my father. No one is allowed to insult him, except for me.

He was Nightwing. I was his Robin.

That's right. Was.

Something...happened. Pay attention, because I'm not going to say it again.
Father got...hit, with some kind of ray. And it may or may not have been partially, in some way shape or form, my fault.

Dad and I were patrolling in Bludhaven.

Huh, Dad. You know, I almost never called him that. It was always "Father." If we ever figure this out, I think that'll I'll call him "Dad" more often. I kind of miss it.

If you tell anyone I said that, I'll kill you.

Anyway, we were patrolling when an alarm went off at a jewelry store. Pretty standard in the Twin Cities of Gotham and Bludhaven. With a mischievous grin, Dad had grabbed me with one arm and launched his grappling hook with the other, swinging us down to street level. He set me down and immediately set about unlocking a side door. I folded my arms indignantly across my chest.

"Tt. I could've swung down myself, you know."

Dad's grin only grew. "I know. You can't fault me for wanting to hold my baby boy, though."

"I can, especially when it displays an emotional weakness where anyone can see! And I'm not a baby!"

Father chuckled. "Now, now, aren't you always going on about efficiency? With my holding you, we were able to get two people down with only shooting one line. That means we only have to wait for one line to retract, only had to find one anchor point-"

"Shut up."

Father only laughed as he led us into the building. Stepping lighter than should have been humanly possible, he crept forward to look at the theif. He cursed quietly under his breath.

I raised an eyebrow; Dad always watched his language around me, unless it was something really bad. And lately in Bludhaven, really bad had been...

"Cronus?" Father's nod was imperceptible to anyone who hadn't been trained to communicate with the slightest gesture.

Cronus, who fancied himself named after the Greek Titan of time, Kronos, had been under Nightwing's radar for two weeks. He had been hitting up jewelry stores and museums in search of a "perfect diamond" to complete his "Time Ray." How he had eluded capture for this long was beyond me. The man was ridiculously naive and insane.

Just as Dad was motioning me forward, we heard an exclamation. "At last, the perfect diamond!" That was followed by a click, like something being stuck into a machine. A slight buzzing sound, then delighted laughter filled the room. "It works, it works!"

If I hadn't been watching Nightwing closely, I wouldn't have noticed how his face slightly paled, how his grip on is escrima sticks grew tighter. But I was, and no one knows him better than me. He was worried.

Glancing behind at me, my father told me, "Stay put. Under no circumstances are you to get in the range of fire for that...man." The abnormal snarl on his face that accompanied that last word left me wondering just what exactly this Time Ray could do. Nightwing stayed put until I nodded my reluctant agreement.

See, that's the difference between Dad and Grandfather. Grandfather almost always puts the mission first. Dad, however, always says that "I am a father first and a vigilante second. You are always my top priority, Little D." Little D. I smile at the memory. Dad has a thing for nicknames.

I heard sounds of blasting, swearing and taunting coming around the corner.

"Come on, that the best you can do? My left pinkie toe is a better shot!"

"Stand still, you little-"

And there's the language I'm not allowed to repeat. Had this incident not happened, I'd be tempted to say it just to annoy Father, but now... I'm doing my best to do what he had told me to do.

More blasting, cussing, and taunting. I felt a small smile creep onto my face at some of Dad's insults.

"I've seen kids shoot better with Red Rider BB guns!"

"Did a blind cow teach you how to aim?"

"You're in an enclosed space and can't even hit a single target. Seriously?!"

Juvenile though they may seem, the tactic had worked well for Nightwing in the past, and I wasn't surprised he was using the distraction now.

I heard grunts and the bumps and thuds of skin-on-skin contact (or rather, Kevlar-on-skin) and knew that Nightwing had gotten close enough to Cronus to take him down. Curious, I poke my head around the corner and fight my father locked in a battle of strength with the villain. His back was towards me, but Cronus instantly saw me, an evil glint coming to light in his eyes. With a mighty shove, he wrenched one arm free of Dad's grip. In less than a second, he had twisted the Time Ray around and fired a blast off right at me.

Now, don't get me wrong, I can dodge a gun shot, especially one as obvious as the shot just fired at me. Only thing was, I was boxed in a hallway. There was no where for me to go.

Father had looked at me the second that I drew Cronus' attention. I saw his eyes go wide as the shot was fired, and time seemed to slow down. I watched as his legs tensed, his grip loosened, his face set in determination. I watched as Cronus pulled the trigger, and watched as my dad jumped between me and the ray.

I watched as my dad took a bullet for me.

The ray hit him and he instantly collapsed on the floor, his body shaking in chaotic, random seizures.

And I froze.

Cronus was cackling, and not the kind like my father did to scare criminals. It was unearthly, inhumane, and deadly.

I was frozen. And I watched.

Watched as the villain who shot my father ran.

Watched as my father seemed to shrink before my eyes.

Watched as Dad, who had never before yelled in pain in front of me, screamed and cried in agony.

Only when his shaking and shouting stopped did I find myself capable of movement. Within seconds, I was by his side. Immediately, I noticed something...different. The Kevlar costume sagged as if it was far too large. The shoulders were thinking and shaking. His face was rounder, less defined, making his mask dangle from his face, only holding on by one corner.

Shocked, I was looking at my pre-teen father.

Thankfully or unthankfulky, depending on your viewpoint, the transformation appeared to have knocked him unconscious. With fumbling fingers, I triggered an SOS signal that Dad had given me to call Batman if we ever ran into serious trouble. Brushing the long, dark hair out of his eyes, I gazed down at him. What had I done?

"Father?" I asked. He didn't even stir.

"Dad?" I hated that my voice cracked.

Still nothing.

Swallowing, I picked up my now much smaller father in a fireman's carry. Distantly, I could hear the faint roar of sirens. It figures that only now the incompetent baboons of the Bludhaven Police Department were showing up. Carefully, I lugged Dad out back. Wrapping an arm tightly around his frightfully thin waist, I held on tight as I grappled up to the top of the neighboring building, laying Dad carefully down on his back. Dimly, I was aware of the police arriving on the scene and voicing their confusion at the fact that no one was on the scene. At all. Normally, Nightwing and Robin managed to tie up at least one person, or stayed behind long to explain who the police are looking for.

I was only focused on Dad. I carefully lifted his head so that I could cradle it in my lap. He groaned slightly at the movement, but my shoulders sagged when he didn't wake up any further.

We stayed that way for one hour, 47 minutes and 15 seconds before I saw the Batmobile peel around the corner. I watched Batman do a quick survey of the scene before he looked up at the surrounding buildings. Knowing that he would soon find us, I looked down again at Dad. I carefully combed my fingers through his hair. He stirred slightly at the repeated touch.

I didn't stop, even as I felt Grandfather's presence land on the rooftop behind me. He made his way towards us, and I heard his breath catch as he caught sight of his adopted son. "What happened?"

"Cronus shot him with the completed Time Ray."

No more words were exchanged. I only watched as Grandfather carefully picked his son up in his arms. Together, we grappled down to the Batmobile. Carefully, I crawled into the back seat, and Batman lifted his son in next to me, again resting his head on my lap. I knew that longer explanations would wait until we arrived at the cave and Grandfather did some preliminary testing on Father.

We made it to the cave in record time. Pennyworth was waiting to see if anyone needs anything, as per usual, and I saw his face blanch as he saw Grandfather carrying Nightwing.

"Oh my, what happened, sir?" he asked. Only due to my years of training could I hear the faint concern in his voice, which I knew meant that he was supremely worried. Pennyworth always was calm. "Someone in this self-destructive family has to be," he said countless times before.

Batman just swept past to set his son gently on the examination table. "I'm still trying to figure that out, Alfred. We need to run pretty every test we can to make sure he's fine."

Pennyworth quickly leapt into motion. Grandfather had now pulled down his cowl and removed his gloves as the clear blue eyes pierced into me. "Damian. Go shower, find some of your father's old clothes and bring down." He leveled me with a look. "After that's done, we're discussing how Dick got into this situation in the first place."

I could only nod, and then I left to do as he said.

So, that brings us up to date.

My name is Damian, Damian Grayson.

And I just accidentally helped turn my father 13 years old.

I trudge off to the showers and struggle to peel my sweat-soaked uniform off. My brain seems to be caught in a haze; nothing is making sense. The steamy shower does little to help. Once the sweat and grime are gone, I step into civies and head upstairs to Dad's room. He's hardly ever there, since we have our own apartment in Bludhaven, but whenever Batman needs Nightwing or Bruce Wayne needs Richard Grayson, he stays in the same room he's had since Grandfather took him in when he was eight.

Gently, I push the door open and flip on the lights. The room is exactly the way I remember it: bed half made, dirty clothes in the hamper, a book open face down on the nightstand. Wincing, I take pity on the poor book and stick a tissue in as a bookmark. As I move to set it down, I notice a picture on the nightstand that I know wasn't there before. Gingerly, I pick up the frame and examine the memory it contains.

I remember when it was taken. Father and I had been playing a card game. If he won, he got to give me a ride on his shoulders. If I won, I got all of Pennyworth's cookies the next time he sent them over. In the back of my mind, I remember knowing that I got the better deal no matter what, but I wasn't about to let Dad know that.

Some people wonder how I ended up being so "formal" with someone like Dick Grayson for a father. They seem to forget that Batman is my grandfather, and that, for the first three or so years of my life, neither Dad nor Grandfather had any clue how to deal with a toddler. As a direct result of this, I spent many of my formative years around Pennyworth and Grandfather, neither of which particularly enjoy touching or, heaven forbid, sharing emotions.

Anyways, I lost the card game. It seems that Pennyworth snuck a picture of me, perched on Dad's shoulders. His grin was wide, his laughter evident. I can practically feel his happiness and roll my eyes fondly. Only those that know me well will see the half smile gracing my lips, both in the picture and in real life.

Suddenly, I remember why I'm up here in the first place and put the picture back where I found as quickly as I can without braking it.

Thanks to my stupidity, there might not ever be any moments like that ever again.

I sit down heavily on the bed and put my head in my hands. If anyone claims they saw my shoulders shaking, they're lying and deserve to be punished thusly.

Once I manage to pull myself together, I walk over to Father's closet, where I know he keeps boxes of his old clothes, neatly labeled with how old he was when he wore them.

I hesitate briefly. I'm not exactly sure how old Dad is now. Shrugging, I just open the box labelled "13 yrs." Grabbing a shirt, shorts, and a pair of boxers, I quickly run back downstairs, hoping against hope that Father is going to be okay. I quickly enter the cave, fly down the stairs, and immediately slow down upon seeing Dad still lying down on the table. Without a word, I hand Pennyworth the clothes and walk over towards where Grandfather is sitting at the computer. I know that he is aware of my presence, and so I only stand silently behind him, waiting for the Caped Crusader to turn around.

In a few minutes, he closes down the file he was updating (Cronus') and turns the chair around to look at me. He surveys me silently for a few minutes, chin resting in one hand, before saying, "What happened?"

Clasping my hands behind my back, I swallow before telling him everything that had happened earlier in the evening. At the end of the tale, Grandfather's face has relaxed from Batman to that of Bruce Wayne. As I finish talking about bringing Father up to the building where Batman found us, I find myself being pulled into a hug. Only when Grandfather's arms are wrapped around me do I become aware that I was shaking. Uncertainly, I wrap my arms around the older man's shoulders and feel a few tears slide down my face.

"Is Father going to be alright?" I ask, hating the tremble in it.

Grandfather rubs the back of my head gently. "I don't know, Damian, I don't-"

He gets cut off by a sudden shout from the examination table. "Damian! Where's Damian?"

The voice sounds like my father's, and yet, it doesn't. It's too high pitched, with cracks at the end of sentences. Despite this, Grandfather and I instantly sprint over to where Pennyworth is trying to restrain Father, who appears to be trying to stand up. The second he see me, he calms down, and as soon as I reach his side, he pulls me into a hug. "Thank goodness, you're alright Damian, I was so- why are you so big?!"

Shaking my head, I just hug his thin frame closer, ignoring how wrong it felt for Dad to be less than a foot taller than me.

Accepting my silence, he pushes my head against his shoulder and runs his hand through my hair, instead asking his own father what happened. He frowns as he finally notices that his voice is wrong.

As Bruce explains things to Dad, I feel his grip grow even tighter. "Listen, Damian," he says, quietly but firmly. "This is in no way your fault."

I feel the tears roll down my face. If it were anyone else, I would have held them in, but, thirteen year old body or not, the man holding me is still my father, and he has seen me at my worse. I shake my head. "If I hadn't moved, like you told me to, then this wouldn't have-"

"Damian!" The sharpness in his voice shocks me and stops my tears. He pulls back from the hug and places his hands firmly on my shoulders. "Listen to me, Dami! This is not your fault. I could have subdued Cronus sooner if I wanted to, but I wanted to see what I could figure out about the Time Ray before I did so. Admittedly, you should have stayed put, but it's a parent's job to protect their children. I'd take a bullet for you any day, Little D, because I love you."

In any other family, hearing those words coming out of a teenager might have been odd, but we are the Batfamily. While we might not have had something specifically like this happen before, weird stuff happens to us everyday, and we always handle it.

Taking a deep breath, I nod my head. "I... I'm glad your alright, Dad."

A grin appears, wide and bright, as he pulls me back into a hug. For once, I don't fight against his need for physical contact. "You called me 'Dad,'" he half-whispered. "I can't remember the last time you said 'Dad' instead of 'Father!'"

I mentally reaffirm my vow to call him Dad more often.

He pulls back once again and moves as if to pull me up to sit on his lap. Had he still been in his 26 year old body, it would have been easy, but now...

He quickly realizes his mistake and just pats the table beside him instead. As soon as I hop up, he puts an arm around my shoulders. His face turns business and he turns again to Grandfather. "Bruce," he begins. "What effect did that ray have on me, exactly?"

Grandfather hands a tablet to Dad, who quickly glances through the gathered data. "Basically, my body is thirteen? That's it? My mind wasn't affected at all?"

Grandfather grabs the tablet back. "Thirteen is a rough estimate. Your biometrics match that time in the records. And the human mind is a curious thing. It can be very fragile, but also remarkably strong. And in your case-" Grandfather allows a slight smile to grace his face "It appears it's the latter."

Offering a breathy chuckle, Dad squeezes my shoulders, his grip not quite as strong as I'm used to. "So, how do we reverse the effects?"

The remains of the smile slip from Grandfather's face. "I...I'm not sure. By all means, this technology shouldn't exist on earth. Our best bet would be to retrieve the gun and reverse engineer it if necessary."

Dad takes the new revelation in, before making to stand. He forgets that he is shorter, his legs weaker, however, and his knees buckle. I leap down and manage to catch him around his waist, keeping him upright. Dad pats my head in gratitude before carefully moving out of my grip. "Well then, I guess we'll just have to hunt Cronus down."

I watch from the doorway of Grandfather's study as he and Father hash out explanations for where both Dick Grayson and Nightwing have disappeared to for however long the ray lasts. As Dad stands up, he notices me and excuses himself. Together, we walk down the hallways of the Manor.

Dad is the first one to break the silence. "Listen, Dami," he starts. "I know this is kind of weird, especially for you. I mean, not many kids can say that they've actually seen their parents in their teenaged days. Our family's always been weird th-"

"Father?"

"Hmm?"

"Get on with it." He rambles whenever he feels a little uncomfortable, and I find myself wondering where this is going.

"Er, yeah." He takes a deep breath. "I know that I don't look like a father anymore, and that I'm like, less than a foot taller than you. And I can't imagine how weird it must feel for you to call someone like that 'Dad,' and physical contact must be even worse-" He is still rambling.

"-Anyways, until we get this figured out, I'll hold back from all the touching, and if you want, you can call me Richard or Dick or G-grayson."

I raise an eyebrow. Names have a lot of meaning for Dad. There is a reason behind every little nickname and alias. For him to be offering me this...

"Dad," I say, clearly and firmly. The word stop him in his tracks. I almost wince when I realize that he expected me to take him up on his offer. "Do you still feel like my father?"

I can almost feel his surprise. "Of course I do. You'll always be my son."

I ignore the feeling that rises in my chest at his words. "Then I really don't see how you can expect me to feel any different. And if I am your son and you are my father, you deserve to carry the title of 'Dad,' physical age regardless."

He grins wide and I can tell he is consciously stopping himself from hugging me. My nose crinkles and I half-mutter, "I can tell you want to hug me, Father. Just get it over with."

Laughing, he wraps his arms around me, and, for a little while, despite the height difference, it's as if nothing ever happened.

I manage to finish out the school year in Bludhaven, and, finally, it's summer. That means more time spent searching for Cronus, who had disappeared after completing his Time Ray the night this mess started.

I pad down the steps to the Batcave and hear faint sounds of sparing from within. As the training area comes into view, I see Father and Grandfather practicing hand-to-hand combat. Dad has been trying his hardest to become adjusted to his younger body, putting himself through a training regimen that even I admit is impressive. I stand by the side of the ring and watch as they draw the match to a close. As Dad wipes the sweat out of his eyes, he finally notices me and grins. "Dami!" he calls. "Come fly with me!"

Dad had been an acrobat before his family was killed and Bruce took him in. He still loves to soar, be it by trapeze or by grappling hook. He had made sure to instill that love in me. I am carrying on the family tradition; Dad's even taught me the quadruple flip that the Graysons were famous for. And, though I've never told Dad this, it's a way for me to come to know my biological grandparents.

As soon so he has recovered, Father grabs my arm and drags me over on the trapeze. Laughing, he climbs up one side, and I have a hard time hiding my smile. Ever since his body shrunk down, we've had to make some adjustments to the way we fly, but up in the air, Dad flies like nothing matters.

And maybe, just for those few moments with nothing connecting you to the ground, nothing does.

I can tell that Dad is itching to get out and search for Cronus himself. I see it in the way he paces the cave, the way he becomes increasingly aggressive in sparing. It all comes to a head one night as Bruce prepares to leave for patrol.

"Bruce, I need to get out there! You know I can help!"

"Dick, Nightwing can't go out there looking like a pre-teen! And considering the title of Robin is taken-"

I take a deep breath and decide that now is the time to step in. "It isn't."

They both stop and look at me. "Damian?" Dad says. I can tell he is confused.

I swallow and keep my expression neutral. "It would be more efficient for Father to take on the role. His experience and intelligence would prove extremely useful in a case such as this. There really is no reason that he shouldn't be Robin."

Dad walks up to me and places a heavy hand on my shoulder. He is aware of how much the title means to me, to be able to carry out the legacy that my father began, with the name his parents gave him. His face is serious. It feels a bit odd to see such an expression on a teenager. "Damian, are you sure about this?"

I nod, keeping my face expressionless. Without breaking eye contact, Dad calls out to his adopted father. "Bruce, tomorrow night, Robin will accompany Batman. Tonight, however, is reserved for father-son bonding."

He then grins cheekily and tosses a wave over his shoulder before wrapping his arm around my shoulders. As we walk back up into the Manor, I ask, "What exactly are we going to be 'bonding' over, Father?"

He pokes my cheek. "Your Grandfather's gone now, it's okay to smile."

I allow a smirk to rise. "Still, what're are we going to be doing, Dad?"

His grin widens, if possible, as I call him that. "Well, kiddo, you and I are going to be making some minor modifications to my old Robin suit."

My own smirk grows. "No more scaly green panties, then?"

He laughs. "No more scaly green panties."

The next night, Robin makes his appearance and word spreads quickly. Dad and I laugh (yes, I am capable of laughter) at the reports of terrifying cackling being heard near the roughest parts of Gotham.

In July, Dad meets up with the other sidekicks of the Leaguers. I wait up for them to come back.

And wait.

And wait.

When Dad and Grandfather finally return, I expect Dad to rant about how childish, how immature, how young the other sidekicks were, and instead...

"Dami, you should have seen the way we worked together! KF may be a little girl crazy, and Superboy might not talk a lot, but it's almost like we were meant to be a team-"

I grit my teeth as he continues to regale me with tales of his exploits at Cadmus and feel my possessive streak rise. If those imbeciles take my father away from me, nothing will be able to save them from my wrath.

Days pass, and I feel like I'm slowly losing my father. Every conversation is about what happened with the team; every spare moment he has, he's at the mountain.

I'm training down in the cave. My Katana glints as it hacks into the training dummy. I pull all of my frustration into one blow and hack the dummy in half.

"Wow, kiddo, what's that dummy ever done to you?"

I whirl around and find my father's throat at the end of my blade. Carefully to conceal my anger, I sheath the sword and nod a stiff greeting. "Father."

His eyebrows raise. Right now, I find myself despising that thirteen year old body, find myself hating the teenager that has apparently over taken my father, who has stolen his face, taken his words. My nose scrunches up as he asks, "Damian? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I grind out, moving to leave.

As I pass him, he grabs my arm. "Spar with me." Somehow, enough of my father still leaks through for me to know that it was not a request, and I hate that.

Glaring at Robin (I refuse to call him Father right now), I unbuckle my sword and accept the bo staff he offers me. Silently, we move into position, and wait. Sneering, I decide to make the first move, and then we are sparring, locked together in a deadly, precise dance.

Robin's eyes narrow at my ferocity. After exchanging blows for a few minutes, he asks again, "Damian, what's wrong?"

Continuing my attacks, I snarl. "Nothing!"

He pushes me back and forces me into defensive movements. "Damn it, Damian! I can tell you're mad at me, but I can't do a thing about until you tell me what's WRONG!"

Somehow, we are still sparring, but his outburst sets me on one of my own. "What's wrong?! WHAT'S WRONG! You're asking me what's wrong? Why don't you just ask your precious team what's wrong, since that's all you seem to care about!"

I see the shock unfold on his face, promptly followed by confusion, realization, and finally, guilt. The myriad of emotions causes him to drop his guard for half a second, and I strike on instinct.

WHAP!

My staff connects with his side, and I freeze in shock as the air is knocked out of him. I'm almost never able to land a blow on my father, and the hit serves to further emphasize the ridiculous nature of our current situation.

I'm sparring with my twenty-six year old father, who happens to look like he's thirteen, upset over the fact that he is spending too much time away from me, and I just landed a blow on the incredible acrobat. Even for the Batfamily, this is weird.

Once I overcome my shock, I drop my staff and run over to Father (my anger has abetted, somewhat), who folded in half at my blow. "Dad! Are you..."

He offers me a sad smile. It looks so out of place on his face, teenager or otherwise, that I slow my approach.

"I'm fine, Damian. Belive me, I've had worse." Standing upright, that sad smile still on his face, he gently takes my hand and leads me over to the wall. He sinks to the floor and motions for me to do the same. Slowly, I do the same. Staring straight ahead, I can feel his gaze on the side of my face. "Damian," he begins. I can tell that he is searching for the right words, but he can't seem to find them. Instead, he sighs and knocks his head back against the wall. "Why didn't you tell me you felt this way?"

I stare resolutely ahead.

Dad pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arm around them. His unusual display of vulnerability makes me uncomfortable. "Dami..." He drops his head between his knees.

I pull my knees up to my chest as well. I don't exactly like discussing my feelings, but I'm literate enough in them to know that this heart-to-heart has been a long time coming. "Dad," I start. "I know that you really like these people, and I know how important this hero business is for you..." I hesitate, and decide that it doesn't matter if I sound like a kid. I just want my dad back. "But lately, you haven't been there at all. It's been months since we've flown together, Dad. I've spent more time around Grandfather than you, and he doesn't even know what to do with me!"

Dad doesn't say anything for a while. As the silence continues, I swallow and pick up where I left of, despising the cracks in my voice. "I just want to have my dad back. I know I'm not a normal kid. My personality is a bit intense, and I know that you probably get annoyed by me a lot, and I understand that you probably have more fun with other people and that you like to let loose in a way that you can't around me, but-"

"Damian John Grayson!" My father's stern voice interrupts my rambling. Rough hands grab my shoulders and wrench me around to face their owner. Despite the firm expression on his face, I am surprised to see tears flowing down his face. Tears that I am even more surprised to find mirrored on my own. "Don't you ever say anything like that again!"

He shakes my shoulders slightly, and I can feel his desperation. "Damian, you're right, you aren't like normal kids, but you know what? Normal is boring! You might not be the perfect son, but you are perfect for me! Don't you dare think that I would rather be anywhere but by your side!"

The tears stream freely down both of our faces now, but Dad doesn't let up on his grip on my shoulders. If anything, the grip tightens. "The reason I leave is so that I can keep people safe, so that people will never have to live without love similar to the kind I feel for you! I'm out there so much because I'm trying to fix this whole mess, so that we can go back to having some semblance of a strong family, so that I can be the father that you deserve!"

I give in to my own desires and yank my father into a hug. "But you already are! You're a great dad! I just need to have my father around. I couldn't care less right now what body you're in, I just want to talk to the one man who actually seems to like me, for reasons beyond my comprehension!"

Dad sobs as he wraps his arms tightly around me. I hug his thin frame, not caring anymore how broad it is, how muscled, how tall. The man inside it is still my father, and right now, I need one of Dad's hugs. I can feel shaking, but I'm not sure if it's my father, me, or both. "Damian," he whispers. "Damian, you listen to me, you listen to me closely. I love you. No matter what you do, where you go, who you see, how you feel, nothing can ever change that. I love you, you hear me! You are an amazing boy, who is incredibly smart, funny, and talented, and I am lucky to have a kid like you for my son. I don't care what anyone else says! So you're not perfect! News flash! No one is! Heaven knows I've made some mistakes, done things I'm not proud of, and yet there are still people who miraculously love me!"

He looks me dead in the eyes. "Damian, it's a father's job to love their children." Pulling me close against his chest, he murmurs. "And I love you more than life itself. Don't ever think otherwise. Please. Don't ever think that I don't want to be around you."

I squeeze him so hard that I think it must be painful. If it is, however, Dad doesn't say anything and holds me just as tightly. After both our tears have slowed he pulls back and gives me a shaky smile, cupping my face in one hand and planting the other on my shoulder. The touch is something that he hasn't done since he was turned younger, and I lean into it gratefully. His clear blue eyes look down into my own. "How about we see if Alfred can whip up some hot chocolate and we plug in a Disney movie? It's been a while since we've had a movie night together."

I smile back as we begin to walk up into the Manor. "Tt. Really, Father, a Disney movie? A bit juvenile, don't you think?"

He chuckles and rubs my head. "Yes, really. Sometimes I think that we can all use a little Disney magic now and again."

And if I quickly plug in "Hercules" while he goes to find Pennyworth, he doesn't acknowledge it save with a small smile.

That evening, I walk down the stairs, trying to find Dad. I'm embarrassed to think that I want him to tuck me in, and am trying to think of a plausible excuse when I hear voices coming out of Grandfather's study. My curiosity gets the best of me, and I stop to listen at the cracked door.

"-do you do it, Bruce? How can you take care of a child and protect him, but still raise him to be confident in himself?" My father's voice sounds lost.

"What brought this on, Dick? You've never come to me with questions like this before." Grandfather's voice is carefully controlled.

Someone collapses into a chair. "Damian and I had a little talk today. Apparently, I've been spending so much time with the team that..." I hear him sigh. "He's been feeling neglected, Bruce. I've spent so much time trying to fix this-" I can picture him gesturing to himself, "-that I've made it worse!"

"Now, Dick, I'm sure that-"

"No, don't you dare tell me that this is a misunderstanding! You weren't there, Bruce! You want to know what he said to me? He said, 'I just want to have my dad back,' he said that he could understand that I didn't want to hang around him, that he knew he was weird. Bruce..." His voice cracks and I bite my lip. "Bruce, my heart broke, hearing him say that. I made my own kid a pariah! I'm a total failure as a father!"

Grandfather is quiet, letting Dad get the negativity out of his system.

"I can't even take care of him by myself anymore. For as long as he can remember, it's just been the two of us, and now, stuck in this stupid, weak, tiny body, I feel like I'm failing him."

I hear Dad start to sob for the second time today, and swallow down a lump in my throat.

"Bruce, no father wants their kid to see them when they are like this. Every dad wants their child to think them invulnerable, their own personal superhero, but now... I'm useless."

"Dick..." I hear Grandfather's chair scrape back, followed by a sharp thud. I raise an eyebrow. Did he really just...?

"Ow! Bruce, what the hell?"

I guess he did.

I can practically see Grandfather standing firm, feet apart, hands on his hips. "Listen hear, son," he says. "I may not have always been a good father, but if there's one thing you and your brothers have taught me, it's that wallowing in self-pity is going to do absolutely nothing. Your son just gave you some honest feedback, so what are you going to do?"

Dad mumbles something.

"I'm sorry, what was that? What are you going to do, Dick?"

I raise my eyebrows at the slight sass; I always wondered where Dad got that from.

Dad speaks again, this time sure of himself. "I'm going to spend some quality time with my son."

I can picture Grandfather's approving smile. "Good. And Dick, do you know what it means, that he came to you?"

Dad doesn't speak, but I imagine his questioning expression. Grandfather continues, "It means that he loves you. Damian is a unique kid. He doesn't just sit around and talk like that with anyone."

"Thanks, Bruce."

"One more thing."

I wonder what Grandfather is going to say.

"Damian, you can come in now."

Crap.

The next morning after breakfast, Dad says, "Dami, come fly with me."

I have a hard time hiding my excitement as I grab his hand and drag him to the trapeze. Once again, we are soaring through the air.

Blissful, matching smiles line our faces.

High above the earth, it once again feels as if nothing else matters.

A few weeks later, I'm sitting at the desk in my room, reading Great Expectations. I'm waiting up for Dad, who is at some training simulation with the team.

True to his word, Dad has been spending more time with me lately, talking about whatever either of us feel like. It's been amazing, but I insisted that he spend today with the team. After all, what he is doing with them is important as well.

Pip has just fought the "pale, young gentleman" in the garden when I glance at the clock and realize that Father was due back two hours ago. Raising an eyebrow, I head down to the cave and try to contact either Batman or Robin.

I frown when neither of them answer their comm. No training simulation should be taking this long. My gut is telling me that something is wrong. Deciding to trust my instincts, I rush to put on my Robin costume, taking a split second to relish in how good it feels to be back in uniform. Then, shaking my head, I zeta over to Mount Justice.

Recognized: Reserve, R-04.

The computer announces my arrival, and I instantly know that something is wrong. No place that serves as a headquarters for six teenaged superheroes (well, five and one 26/13 year old) should ever be this quiet. I take in the scene before me.

Six teens are laid out on examination tables around the room, some stirring, while others are deathly still. Batman is moving among them, checking for heart rate, breathing, and who knows what else. Martian Manhunter seems to be meditating in the middle of the room. Batman glances at me, but doesn't spare me anymore time then necessary. He meets me at Dad's side.

"What's wrong?" I ask immediately. I can tell that Batman is a bit frazzled from what's happened. He doesn't even lecture me on coming to the mountain.

"A complication in the simulation."

I snarl. "Complication?"

Our conversation is interrupted as Dad gives a sudden shout and starts thrashing around on the table at the same time that Kid Flash does. We restrain him, and soon, both heroes fall deathly still, like Aqualad, Artemis, and Superboy before them. I look at Grandfather to find that he has paled behind the cowl. My eyes harden. "What kind of complication?!"

"We have lost control of the simulation. Miss Martian compromised the procedure with emotional distress." His voice is lethaly monotonous.

I pale. I know that this was a train-to-fail simulation. "Does that mean...?" I can't finish my question.

Batman nods. "Robin just 'died' in the simulation."

I see red. "So what, they think they die and fall into a coma? Can you wake him up?" Unconsciously, I grip Dad's hand.

Batman turns to go check on the other teens. "We're working on it." He doesn't offer another word.

I'm not sure how long I stand by Dad's side. All I know is that I am terrified that I am going to lose him. Scowling, I think that we have been in a situation like this far too often lately. All I can do is grip his hand and run my hand through his hair in a gesture that I know calms him down. Looking down on him, I am struck by how frail his younger body looks. So thin...

Suddenly, all six teens gasp and sit up, wild looks in their eyes. Some call out names, and my father is among them as he yells out, "Damian! Dami!"

I see a few teammates turn to him, startled that he actually said someone's name, but I couldn't care less. My father must have thought he lost everyone, but still my name is the first one he calls. I try to ignore how much that means to me and tug on his hand, drawing his attention.

With a startled yell, he throws his arms around me. It appears that he is at least somewhat aware that other people are in the room, and so speaks in whispers. The only one who could possibly hear, the Kryptonian, is the only one who wouldn't care.

"Damian, I thought I lost you!" I'm surprised to find his shoulders shaking in silent sobs.

Keeping my voice down, I reassure him. "It's okay, Dad. I'm right here, I'm fine. I'm fine, Dad."

He clutches me tighter at the sound of my voice. I know he is holding me to make sure that I'm real; the same thing has happened after many a long night dealing with Scarecrow's fear toxin.

Finally, Father gains enough control over himself to notice that we are drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the room. He hesitates at their questioning glances before spouting out, "He's family." Releasing me and grabbing my hand, he looks at Batman. "We're going home."

I resist the urge to smirk in amusement at the Team's surprised looks at his assertive tone. It seems that Father is doing an excellent acting job around them. He quickly leads me trough the zeta tube to the cave.

As soon as we are through, he rips off his mask and then gently peals of my own. Had he still been in his older body, he would have gotten down on one knee, but as it is, he settles for setting his hands on my shoulders. He surveys me, before pulling me back tightly into a hug without saying a word. I rub his back, muttering comforting phrases in Romani, using his mother tongue to cement this reality in his mind.

After a while, I pull back. "Dad," I say. "Come fly with me." He chuckles and grasps my hand tightly as I lead him through the cave.

As we head to the trapeze, I know that I need to get my father into the air. I need him to feel the air rushing around his body, to feel the freedom from gravity and from worry.

I need to remind him that in the air, nothing matters besides our little family.

As time moves on, I can see that Dad is becoming increasingly depressed with our lack of progress on the Cronus front. He becomes increasingly frustrated with the team, especially when it is revealed that Aqualad kept a potential mole hidden. He frequently rants about teenaged stupidity and how he wishes that he could just talk to them like his mental age instead of his physical one.

One day, I'm sitting on his bed, doodling vaguely on my sketch pad, when all of the sudden he flops down next to me and drapes himself over my back.

I sigh and put down my pencil. "Father, is there any particular reason you are laying on me?"

"Nope."

Shaking my head, I pick up my pencil and return to my sketch when he suddenly says, "I sure hope we figure this out before my hormones kick in and make me girl crazy again."

My pencil freezes. "Come again?"

He rolls over and buries his face in my back. His voice is muffled. "If I remember correctly, I became girl crazy sometime between ages 14 and 15."

I shudder internally. We definitely need to figure this out before that happens.

Christmas is... odd, to say the least. On Christmas Eve, Dad sits us all down, including Pennyworth, in the media room and insists on watching "It's a Wonderful Life." It's become s tradition in the family, one that Father started when he was Robin.

Well, when he was Robin the first time.

After the movie is done, Grandfather and Alfred head to bed, while Dad and I begin our own family tradition. Normally, he would carry me to bed, but due to...extenuating circumstances this year, he settles for holding my hand as he pulls me to his room. We change into matching plaid pajama pants (don't ask how that tradition started) and then crawl into bed.

I curl into his side, making my customary remark about being cold, and Dad just chuckles and shakes his head. We pile on enough blankets to have a comfortable weight surrounding us, and then Dad pulls out a worn, hardback picture book. He begins reading me "The Night Before Christmas," making sure to use the silliest voices he can in an effort to make me giggle. Once the story is done, he puts down the book and turns out the lights. We talk for a little bit in Romani, and he tells me stories that his parents told him when he was little. The gentle rolls and twists lull me to sleep, and we fall asleep together.

In the morning, he wakes me up by bouncing on our bed, and we race down the stairs together. Christmas is the one day that I allow myself to act my age, so I'm not afraid to laugh when Father makes to slide down the baniste, becomes distracted, and falls on his butt at the bottom. I'm snickering up till the point where he grabs me in a headlock and gives me a noogie with an evil cackle.

"Master Dick! Master Damian! Please refrain from rough housing in the Manor."

"Sorry, Alfred!"

"Fine, Pennyworth."

We race together into the kitchen, where we find Bruce sitting at the counter sipping on his coffee. He smiles at us. "Morning Dami, son."

"Hi, Bruce!"

"Good morning, Grandfather. "

We gobble down the cinnamon rolls that Pennyworth has set out for us as fast as we can. I take a second to revel in the last, brilliant bite, before Dad and I make eye contact. Sharing a nod, he grabs Pennyworth's hand and I grab Grandfather's, and we drag them towards the den, where the Christmas tree was set up, brilliantly decorated with an oddly assortment of high end decorations and homemade ornaments accumulated over here years.

There was a bit of confusion after Dad and I sat Grandfather and Pennyworth down on the couch. Normally, at this point, I would sit on his lap right next to the tree, but I'm a little big this year, or, rather, he's a little small. In the end, we settle for sitting right next to one another and wrap up in the same giant quilt.

As Dad checks to make sure that everyone is settled in, I pull yet another tradition out of my pocket.

Ever since the first Christmas that Grandfather took my dad in, Father has given him a handmade ornament in thanks. Somehow, Dad managed to make Uncle Jason do it, and Uncle Tim just smiled and continued the tradition, if you take Father's word for it. I always make two, one for Grandfather and one for Dad.

Once Dad is satisfied that everyone is set, he pulls three badly wrapped packages from someone on his person (I don't know where, nor do I want to). Grinning, he hands them over to his adopted father, saying as he does so, "Jay's with the Outlaws and Timmy's with the Titans, but they wanted me to pass these along to you."

Grandfather chuckles as he tears into Uncle Jay's. "And how many times did you have to call Jay to get him to make me an ornament?"

The smile that appears on Dad's face makes him look every inch the thirteen year old his body is. "Just once. Starfire picked up the phone and thought it was the best thing ever. While I was still talking to her, she was prattling on about getting glitter and glue and glitter glue."

Grandfather laughs heartily at that, and the laughter only deepens when he sees the ornament. Curious, I strain my neck to catch a glimpse, and start to snicker when I do.

A second later, a very sparkly, green and red rendition of Red Hood's helmet is placed in the tree.

Next is Drake's. Grandfather unwraps it with a smile to see a plain red ornament with what appears to be a black zigzag around it. Looking closer, however, I see that the zigzag is comprised of miniscule black bats. I raise an eyebrow. I was not aware that Drake possessed the capability for such subtleties.

The ornament is placed right next to Todd's.

Dad's is next. I'm always surprised by what he comes up with. As Grandfather opens it, I hear his breath catch. "Dick..."

Father grins proudly. Scrunching my eyebrows together, I twist out of Father's grasp and climb up onto the couch next to Grandfather, looking at the ornament.

Pasted around an opaque white sphere, pictures of people that we've lost grin up at us. I see Grandfather's parents, Dad's parents, and other people that I can only assume are linked to Uncle Jay and Uncle Tim.

"You haven't seen the best part, yet," Father tells us. Gently, he takes the orb and places it on the tree, making sure to place one of the lit lights within it. A warm back glow leaks through the opaque glass, and the faces seem to come alive with the light.

"So," Dad turns around and grins at his father. "Do you like it?"

Wordlessly, Grandfather stands up and wraps his arms around Dad. "Thank you, son," he whispers.

Dad hugs him back, his smile gentle. "Of course, Dad."

Even I had to smile at the rarely used honorific.

They hug for a little while longer, just long enough to make me uncomfortable, before Grandfather turns back to me and sits back down, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "And what do you have for me, chum?"

Mumbling unintelligibly under my breath, I hand him the first of the two packages in my hands. He ruffles my hair with one hand before moving to unwrap his gift. His smile is soft as he lays the ornament out on his hand. "Thank you, Dami."

I can feel Dad twisting around to look at the ornament, but I just look down at the hands clasped in my lap.

It's a simple gift. Pennyworth took a picture of Dad, Drake, Todd and I together the last time all of us were actually all at the Manor at the same time. I had jumped on Uncle Jay's back and covered his eyes with my hands, while Jay's arms were splayed out in front of him so that he didn't hit anything. Dad was trying half-heartedly to pull me off, but he was too busy laughing, and, at the edge of the frame, you could see Tim getting ready to hop up on Father's back himself. I had been forced to make a popsicle stick frame at school, and so had decorated it with whatever random stickers the school had provided, resulting in an odd combination of smiley faces, animals, and superhero logos. I smirk as I remember making sure to place Superman's logo on it.

Grandfather kisses the top of my head as he stands up and places the ornament on the tree himself. "Perfect," he declares with a smile.

With a flop, Dad plops himself down on the couch beside me. He doesn't even bother trying to hide his anticipating grin. "So then, Little D..." He roughly pulls me to him, my shoulder being solidly forced into his armpit. "What did you make me this year?"

Smirking, I remove his arm from my shoulders and reply, "You know, I'm not sure you'll like it, anymore. I may just have to keep it..."

Dad pouts. "Come on, kiddo. Just pass it over."

Suddenly, I feel rather shy about my gift. I put a lot of time and effort into it. What if Father doesn't like it?

Shaking the doubts from my head, I place the package in his hand, refusing to meet his eyes. I hear the crinkling of paper as he unwrap it. He catches his breath and I feel him freeze. "Wow..."

I blush at his reaction and glance over at the fingers brushing along the ornament. Made of white, unglazed ceramic, I was able to draw my design straight onto it. The sketch that I was working on for a while translated rather well onto the sphere, I thought. Flying around the sphere, four detailed, full color Robin's were gracefully captured, chasing one another around endlessly. Crawling over so that I'm right up next to Dad, I point at each of the birds. "They're all different, just like Robin, see? That one has a white streak, he's Uncle Jay. And that one there, that's Uncle Tim. You can tell because the lighter feathers on his back form Drake's logo. And those two, those are you and me, Dad. See the smaller one looks just like the bigger one, the only difference is..."

I trail off my explanation when I realize that Father hasn't reacted at all. He's just sitting there, staring at the ornament and the phrase written on the bottom, in elegant calligraphy.

Come fly with me

I'm shocked to see tears forming in his eyes. Carefully setting the ornament aside, he pulls me into his arms, and I somehow find myself wrapped up completely by my father, despite how small he is currently. He buries his face in my neck, and it takes a little while for me to overcome my surprise and embrace him back.

Confused, I'm not quite sure what to do. I pat his back awkwardly. "Um, Dad? Does this mean that you like it?"

He pulls back, hands resting on my shoulder. "I love it, Damian. Just like I love you."

I don't bother to try to keep the pleased blush and smile off my face.

New Years is a disaster. I can feel in my gut that something is wrong, but both Grandfather and Father have left me completely out of the loop. It's after midnight when they finally return home. The zeta tube calls out their designations, and I spin my chair around from the computer, where I've been doing research on possible sightings of Cronus. I am completely blindsided, therefore, when my father races past me, straight into the bathroom.

I glance at Grandfather, who gives me a look that says, don't ask me, as he removes the cowl. Shrugging, I follow my father into the bathroom, only to find him furiously gurgling mouth wash. "Dad? Are you okay?"

Spitting out his mouthwash, he starts to furiously brush his teeth and makes a vague negative sound. I raise an eyebrow. "What happened?"

He tries to answer around his toothbrush, but then shakes his head and spits it out. "She kissed me!"

Uh, what? "Come again?"

"Zatanna kissed me! I'm like, ten years older than her and she kissed me!"

I can handle many things. Talking about my father's love life and who kisses who is not one of them.

I shift my weight. "Well, she doesn't know that, right?"

He shakes his head. "No, no! I'm sure in her mind, she did nothing wrong."

I'm completely lost now. "So then, why are you freaking out?"

He throws his hands in the air. "It's the principal of the thing!"

I decide that now is a good time to change the topic. "So, what else happened?"

"Oh, Vandal Savage took control of most of the league, and-"

"WHAT?"

It's mid-January when we finally recieve a reliable tip regarding Cronus. I'm down in the cave, watching Grandfather and Dad prepare. As Batman moves to zeta to the cave, Dad comes up to me, mask dangling from his fingers, leaving his clear blue eyes visible.

I feel worry creep through me. If the past couple of months have taught me anything, it's that Cronus is not to be underestimated.

Dad brings me into his arms, hugging me tightly. I hug him back just as firmly.

"Don't worry, kiddo," he whispers. "By this time tomorrow, you'll have your father back."

I squeeze him harder. "I never lost him in the first place."

I can feel Dad's smile. "Take care, okay, Little D?" He pulls back and places his mask over his face. As he makes to follow Batman, he adds, "Love you!"

As he moves to enter the tube, I whisper back, "Love you too, Dad."

Once again, I am forced to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

I poor over cold case files from the GCPD and the BPD, jotting down notes and making connections as I go. Time passes slowly, and occasionally Pennyworth passes through, bringing me food and drinks as he thinks I need them.

And I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And...

A touch on my knee jolts me awake, and I frown when I realize that I fell asleep. That is, until I notice who is kneeling down in front of me. "Dad?"

My dad is there, in all his 26 year old glory. His Nightwing suit fits just as it should, his face is shaped and familiar, and his cerulean eyes glitter at me with pride and victory. He opens his arms wide for me. "It's me, Dami."

"Dad!" I throw myself into his arms, and then he's laughing and swinging me around, and I'm laughing with him, and all I know is that this is Dad.

He holds me close, my feet dangling off the ground. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he puts an arm around me, balancing me in his hip, holding me like I haven't grown at all since he first held me when I was born. My arms wrap around his neck, and I allow my grin to show full-force. "What did the team say? I bet those idiots were surprised."

He's so happy, he doesn't even bother to reprimand me. He just laughs. "I thought KF was going to pass out. And Zatanna looked like she was going to throw up!"

I smirk. "Serves her right." I nuzzle my head into his neck. "I'm glad that everything turned out okay."

Dad, sensing my change in mood, grabs my chin with one hand and makes me look him in the eye. "Damian, you aren't still feeling guilty about this, are you? I told you, this was not your fault. And even if it were, like you said, it all turned out okay."

I nod, and he sets me on my feet. Not wanting to let him leave yet, the instant my feet touch the ground, I wrap my arms around him again, needing the reassurance that he really is here, that he really is back to normal.

He runs his fingers through my hair, and it just feels right. "Damian."

I shake my head, not wanting to let go.

"Damian, look at me." Gently, he disentangles his legs from my arms and gets down on one knee, lowering himself down in order to look me in the eye. Familiar heavy hands are placed on my shoulders. "Dami, look at me. I'm fine. I'm right here."

I nod.

"Kiddo, even if I could change what had happened, I wouldn't. You know why? Because it brought us closer. Sure, it was weird and odd and uncomfortable at times, but our relationship is better than ever, and I wouldn't change that for the world."

He moves one hand up to cradle my face. His thumb wipes away tears I didn't know I was crying. "I'm here, Little D. I'm alright, and I love you."

I place one hand over his and nod. "Love you too, Dad."

He grins. "Good, then there's only one thing left to do."

He stands and holds his hand out to me. "Come fly with me?"

And for once, high up with the air, with nothing connecting me to the earth, with my dad and freedom and love keeping me saying high, I know that nothing else matters.