"Remind me why I'm sitting in a smelly old Patrol car with a man who hasn't been dry since Bush was in office?" Damian groaned, breathing through his mouth hoping to avoid the stench traveling from the drunk man passed out in the back of his older brother's radio car. It wasn't working. His nostrils stung from the odor and his eyes were watering. The guy pretty much stunk up the whole car, even with the windows rolled down and the air conditioner blasting on high. How was Dick not gagging?

"Well, Damian, I thought it might be more fun to spend your birthday with your big brother, doing some police work rather than sitting at home alone doing school work," Dick said, cheerfully ignoring Damian's negativity. He knew the boy was secretly very pleased to be spending the day on Dick's beat.

"Hardly. Think again, brother." Damian kicked his feet onto the dashboard and crossed his arms to show his disapproval.

Dick rolled his eyes playfully as he made his way back to the central precinct to book their latest delinquent. Dick had seen the excitement in Damian's eyes when he had announced that Damian would be riding along with him all day. He had also noted the rapt attention which Damian focused on each scene they rolled up on. Damian could fake it all he wanted- Dick knew the real truth. Damian was loving every minute of it. Dick punched his code into the keypad, opening the garage door which led into the center of the precinct- and also to the jail.

As he slowly pulled in behind a couple of other patrol cars who were also transporting suspects, Dick snuck a glance at Damian. The boy had been genuinely surprised that Dick had remembered his birthday- and even more shocked that Dick planned to celebrate it. The thought made Dick sad. The kid had probably never had a real birthday in his life. Well, Dick thought, who better to show him what he's been missing than me?

"Alright Damian," Dick said, putting the car in park and stepping out of the patrol car. We're about to book him. Remember what for?"

"Open container in a public area and public indecency," Damian acknowledged, nose scrunching in disgust as he remembered the quite unfortunate scene they had rolled up on.

"That's right," Dick praised as he headed to the back of his squad car. He unlatched his service weapon from his belt, locking it in a small metal box which lay in the trunk of the car. "Got anything sharp on you? It can't go into the jail."

Just as Dick suspected, Damian pulled a small pocket knife from his pants pocket and chunked it into the lock box. Dick raised an eyebrow. Internally cursing, Damian reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a set of brass knuckles, adding them to the lock box.

"Geez, Dami. What do you have those for?" Dick eyed the nasty studded things as he closed the lid and headed for the back seat, where their arrestee was passed out. Damian responded at the same time Dick guessed, "Rule number one: Always be prepared."

Damian nodded sharply in agreement. He watched as his brother helped the man out of the back of the car and guided him swiftly but not unkindly to the doors of the jail. They were buzzed in by a guard and passed through two more doors before they made it to the booking room. He was made to wait behind a line while his brother and a few of the jail workers began the process of booking the soon to be inmate who- despite his drunkenness- clearly knew the routine.

The room smelled of bleach and contained very little. Against the far wall, a desk worker sat, filing paperwork behind a glass screen. She probably handled all the booking paperwork. In the far left corner another worker sat behind another glass screen, but this one had a sizable hole through which officers were sliding sealed plastic bags- the personal belongings which were taken off suspects before they were placed in cells beyond yet another door in the far right corner. In the middle of the room, a long counter stretched. It stood taller than a normal table but lower than a bar counter, comfortable enough to use as a writing surface and to provide distance between police and suspects. All the police stood with their backs to the door, on the opposite side of the counter of their suspects whom were made to empty their pockets, remove their shoelaces and strip off jackets. Guards monitored and patted them down, ensuring that they had kept nothing harmful.

Damian refocused on his older brother. Dick seemed to be trying to sooth the man he had arrested, telling him he'd probably only spend a few days in jail and that he wasn't trying to 'jam up' the still wasted man. When the man's belongings had been properly collected and his paperwork filed, Dick clapped the disheveled man on the shoulder and told him to 'hang in there'. The boys nodded to the guard and exited, walking to the back of the car to retrieve their weapons.

They pulled out of the station a few minutes later, Dick asking Damian where he'd like to stop for lunch. Damian named a local favorite of his, Niko's Greek restaurant. They made killer falafel. Soon the boys were in the patrol car- which now smelled of take out, rather than dumpster divers, much to Damian's relief- munching on their food as Dick wrote a brief report about the arrest they had just made.

The rest of the day was much of the same- Damian watched Dick give out a few speeding tickets, ban a rather disturbed woman from a sandwich place she had terrorized, and acted as back up on a few other calls which his fellow officers had requested assistance on. On the surface, Damian had first thought that much of the work was a little less than heroic- not the harrowing, gunslinging adventure he had imagined- but he supposed it wasn't all bad. Clearly, his brother did a lot to help people, even if it wasn't all bold acts of bravery, and it did ease the slight worry he felt for his brother every time he donned the vest and badge. It was enough that his big brother wore a one piece and fought crime at night- his big brother just HAD to be a cop and put himself in the line of fire at work too. What a bleeding heart.

They wrapped up the day at Dick's precinct- the East Precinct of Bludhaven. Damian waited in the conference room while Dick changed out of his work uniform. A few of Grayson's fellow officers nodded at Damian or pointed in his direction while in conversation with each other. Damian wondered if all the adoptive children of Bruce Wayne had had to suffer the same annoying popularity. Damian was sure that there were much more serious journalistic inquiries to be made in the world than a supposed playboy billionaire and his penchant for adopting charity cases. Dick reentered the room and lead the way back to his motorcycle which was parked in a private lot reserved for police officers.

Damian threw his leg over the seat and buckled on a helmet at Dick's insistence but refused the older man's teasing offer to let Damian wrap his arms around Dick's waist. As the two wove through the streets of Bludhaven, Damian kept a keen, wandering eye on the city. After three months here, he was actually starting to appreciate the city. They flew past restaurants that he enjoyed, stores that he frequented with Dick. They passed schools that Damian had considered enrolling in and parks that Dick and his girlfriend Starfire (under heavy disguise) often spent time in. The city was nothing like Gotham. Rather than a cramped, high rise metropolis (not capital M, mind you- he would never be caught dead defending the home of Clark and Jon Kent) Bludhaven was a spread out industrial city on the coast.

Soon Dick was pulling into the parking space allotted for him by the apartment complex. He was smiling brightly, his eyes twinkling. Although this irritatingly optimistic expression wasn't uncommon on Dick, Damian wondered if it wasn't just slightly more emphatic than usual.

Dick called the elevator down, stepping in when the doors opened. "What do you want for dinner?" Dick asked, passing a keycard through a card reader which granted him permission to their loft.

"Why do I have to make all the food choices today?" Damian grunted, unused to such attention. No one had ever gone out of their way to spend a whole day with him on his birthday. If he spent that much time with one of his parents, it was in training.

"I'm trying to be nice, Damian. It's your birthday. A special day just for you. You get to eat whatever you want."

"Because it's my birthday."

"That's right."

"That's ridiculous."

Dick scrunched his nose in amusement, tilting his head to the side a bit. "Maybe it is. But you know that's never stopped me before."

"Believe me, I know, Grayson. Ridiculous is practically your middle name, if not you job description." Damian taunted, smiling and raising an eyebrow in challenge. Dick simply snorted and ruffled Damian's hair. Dick eyed the elevator. They were almost to the loft and Dick couldn't wait. He had arranged a birthday party the likes of which Damian had never seen. He wanted it to be perfect- Barbara had helped him plan it, so he had high hopes. It was Damian's first 'holiday' at Dick's and he wanted to make it memorable. Despite the fact that Damian was actually a highly intelligent, former assassin turned vigilante, Dick wanted to prove to Damian that life was about more than fighting crime. More than that, he wanted to try to show Damian that being a child wasn't a bad thing- that in fact it was one of the most important things.

The elevator announced their arrival on the proper floor with pleasant hum. The doors opened and the smell of greasy food and sugar wafted toward them along with the pleasant warble of music from Dick's stereo system. Damian's eyes were wide, his muscles tensed before his brain fully took in the sight of the streamers, balloons and the large hand painted sign which read "HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRAT BOY." Apparently Dick read the sign at the same time Damian did because he muttered, "Seriously, Timmy? I gave you one job. Bat Boy. I said Bat boy."

"Oh, is that what you said? My bad." Tim apologized with a grin, his eyes glittering with mischief.

Damian snarled and launched himself at the older boy. "Drake I will kill you!" Dick, having predicted such a reaction, wrapped his fingers around Damian's ankle as he arched toward the third Robin (now Red Robin). Dick pulled Damian back toward the ground and handed him off to Barbara who had previously been stacking pizzas on the counter. Babs steered Damian away but he watched with great satisfaction as Dick chewed out Tim.

Damian gave the large living room-kitchen a sweep with his eyes. Pizzas, chips, sodas and other snacks filled all available counter space in the kitchen. On the small dining room table a cardboard box sat near a stack of plates- a cake, Damian guessed. As his gaze roved the living room he saw that Barbara and Tim were not the only guests- Jason Todd sat in Dick's Lazy Boy, his feet irreverently planted on the arm of the couch. With a jolt, Damian saw his own father, Bruce Wayne, standing at the far end of the living room. He was in quiet conversation with Alfred, Bruce's long time butler and friend, repressing a small smile as he watched his eldest son berate his third- Tim Drake- for purposely botching the birthday sign.

Damian glanced over his shoulder at Barbara Gordon- the Batgirl. "Hey, kid."

"Barbara. Am I to assume you and Grayson had something to do with this?" Damian gestured to the room.

"You can, if you like." Babs nodded, snatching a slice of pizza from the nearest box.

Damian scanned the room one last time before picking up a paper plate and selecting a slice for himself. "I suppose even though I think this is childish I should thank you, then. Dick says it's the thought that counts."

"No problem, Brat Boy," Barbara laughed slightly, patting his shoulder as she moved to greet Dick. "And Happy Birthday."

Damian was aware of Dick and Babs embracing laughingly as he made his way to where Alfred and Bruce still stood. Upon seeing Damian, Alfred nodded to Bruce and headed for Jason, but not before stooping to Damian's eye level. "Master Damian. Good to see you again."

"And you, Pennyworth." Damian said softly. Besides most of his pets which still resided at Wayne Manor, Damian missed Alfred the most. Quiet and constant, the old man had been something of a comfort to Damian, though he'd never said so out loud.

The butler straightened again, clasping his hands behind his back. "I wish you a very happy birthday, Master Damian."

"Thank you," Damian responded before the older man took his leave. Damian stood there for a second, and stared at his father who, in return was studying Damian.

Dick had spent the past few minutes milling around his apartment, studying the decorations and the food. Barbara had done a fantastic job setting everything up. And aside from the banner, everything had come out perfect. Honestly, he should have expected as much from Tim. Damian and he had a long standing rivalry that Dick was never able to wrap his head around. Dick had been most surprised to see Jason. He and Jason had never been the best of friends (not for lack of trying) and Dick had been unsure that Jason would even open the email that he had sent about the party. It occurred to Dick that Jason might not have, and that his presence might have been the work of Barbara or Tim. Perhaps even Alfred or Bruce. Speaking of Bruce, Dick glanced up. Damian had made his way to Bruce and the two were talking. Dick prayed that Bruce would keep the peace and give Damian one day. Just one. Was that too much to ask?

Damian, meanwhile, stepped up to his father. "Damian"

"Father." Damian tread lightly. Conversations with his father were known to get nasty quickly, and he frankly wasn't in the mood for a nasty exchange. His day had been pleasant- fun even- and Damian was loathe to ruin it. He rarely enjoyed himself as much as he had today.

"How was your ride along?" Bruce asked, eyes darting up to Dick momentarily before returning to his youngest and only blood son.

Damian was taken off guard. For some reason, he hadn't considered that his father had known about it. If anything, Damian thought that Dick had kept it a secret, though on second thought he wasn't sure why he had first arrived upon this conclusion. "It was not entirely eventful."

Bruce chuckled a little at that, somewhat amused and somewhat relieved. "You didn't think I knew about it? I am your legal guardian, Damian. I had to sign the consent form."

Damian blinked. "You did?" His father nodded. "Well...Thanks. It was educational at the very least."

"I'm glad." Bruce said. And for once, he really did sound glad, as if he was genuinely pleased that Damian had enjoyed himself. "I got you something." Bruce interrupted Damian's thoughts, pulling a long, thin box from his suit pocket and handing it to Damian.

The box was pitch black and tied with a thin black ribbon. Nothing fancy, just a simple bow one would tie on their shoe laces. Damian pulled the ribbon free, gently lifting the lid. His father rarely gave gifts and Damian was excited to see what this one might be. Resting in the box was a batarang- an old one by the looks of it. The wings of the bat were curved and somewhat elegant compared to the current (and more effective, Damian suspected) batarangs which were all sharp, clean lines. This one was made of a different material as well, one which clearly hadn't stood the test of time, judging by the chip on one of the wings. Damian looked up to his father for explanation. Surely his father hadn't given him some defective old weapon when Damian had a whole rack of more durable, reliable ones in his room.

"That is the first batarang I ever made." Bruce said, picking it up gently, dragging his finger along the honed edge of the blade. "It doesn't look like much now, I know. But back then, this seemed perfect. The ultimate crime fighting weapon. The more recent design is much better of course, easier to throw, better control and all but… I kept this one. It's seen a lot of battles. Kind of like us, I suppose."

Damian took the battle beaten blade from his father, index finger catching on the nick in the blade. Evidently this blade meant more than his father was saying. Damian pocketed the blade. "Thank you, father. It seems to have served you well in battle."

"It did. Hopefully it hasn't outlived it's usefulness." Bruce looked up to see Dick swatting at Jason's legs which were still planted on the armrest of Dick's brand new couch. "I better go say hi to Dick and, uh, put a stop to that," Bruce said before jogging off in the direction of the bickering boys.

Soon enough the family was standing around the too small dining room table as Dick lead a rambunctious and seriously pitchy version of the Happy Birthday song. Damian knew the bad singing on Dick's part was on purpose but he smiled anyway. He blew out the candles at Bab's insistence, even going so far as to make a wish, despite his better judgement. Just one perfect day. Just one.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur, as the family laughed and played silly games and ate cake. Random conversation floated about the room as the many bat children caught up with one another and with their mentors, Bruce and Alfred. In between conversation with Alfred about his pets- Titus and Goliath- Damian heard Dick nag only half jokingly, "How many times do we have to say it, Jason. No guns at the dinner table." While he was conferring with Barbara about the latest crime-analysis software being introduced to the Gotham Police Department, he heard Jason croon, "Aw, come on, Dickie. Handcuffs are half the fun of it!"

The room grew quiet when the sharp trill of Dick's work phone pierced the quiet conversations. Dick's shoulders sagged in anticipation of bad news as he put the phone to his ear. "Officer Grayson," He answered, eyes locking with Damian for a few seconds. "Alright. Yeah, I'll be right there. 20 Minutes tops. Yeah, I have to change. Alright." All eyes in the room asked what Dick was clearly hesitant to tell. "There's been an explosion downtown. The courthouse. Not sure of the cause yet, but… Well, they want all hands on deck, the area is already being swept and evacuated, so uh… Not much for Nightwing and Flamebird to do." All of this was said as he avoided eye contact and sped about the apartment, grabbing his bag, checking his firearm and throwing on his kevlar vest.

He was about to step onto the elevator when he stopped and jogged back to Damian. He placed his hand on the back of Damian's neck and stooped until he was eye to eye with the young boy, barely 13. "Sorry to leave, but duty calls. You can unwrap my present later, when I'm back, if you want." Dick muttered restlessly. Damian understood what he was trying to do. He was trying to reassure Damian and himself that he would be back, making a promise that he intended to keep. He was promising to come back knowing he couldn't guarantee a thing.

Damian squeezed his brother's wrist once. "I will open it when you get back."

"Okay, I gotta go, Kiddo." Dick squeezed the back of Damian's neck once more before snatching up his duty bag and dodging well wishes and pleas of 'be safe' from Barbara, Alfred and Tim on his way to the elevator.

The room was silent for a long time after that, every member consumed in their own personal world of worry. Finally, Jason broke the spell. "I'll turn on the news, I guess. Maybe we can see what's happening." Alfred nodded and sat on the edge of the couch, nearest to the Lazy Boy Jason was still sitting in, albeit upright and very stiffly now.

Barbara muttered her agreement as she went in search of her laptop. "Yeah, maybe I can find something." She sat at the dining room table and booted up her laptop. Tim and Bruce joined her, crowding around her computer and murmuring suggestions for places to start her information search. Damian didn't want to sit on the couch or crowd around a stupid computer screen while his brother was running headlong into possible danger. He wanted to be there with him, running alongside him, watching his back. Unfortunately with the watchful eye of the entire bat-family, his chances of truly escaping to do such was unlikely.

"I'm going to go onto the balcony, see if I can see anything with the binoculars." Damian announced. Bruce and Barbara both looked up.

"I have no delusions of leaving, father." Damian grated before lowering his gaze adding more quietly, "I just need to be doing something." His father nodded and turned back to the screen, hand planted on the table beside Bab's laptop. Damian grabbed at the binoculars and made toward the blinds which covered the floor to ceiling glass wall and door which lead onto the balcony.

He had barely slid the door shut and raised the lenses to his eyes when his suspicions were confirmed: wishing on candles was utter bull shit. His perfect day fell down around him at the sight of his mother landing, cat-like on the balcony, hair fluttering slightly in the breeze.

A/N: Hey guys! Just as a reminder this is a sequel to my previous story, Nightwing and Flamebird so if you haven't checked that out yet, please do. If you have, then welcome to my new story!

I do apologize for making that scene where they book the drunk into jail really long. I wanted it to be accurate and before I knew it, I was putting too much detail. Oh well. Also, in case you were wondering- the guy was charged with "open container"- You know, having an open container of alcohol on public property. It's illegal in most places, in the states. And public indecency… well I'm sure you can guess what that meant.

I'll be posting weekly updates, and it's already written so you don't have to worry about me crapping you on you guys.

Anyway this chapter was basically plotless fluff. I'm a sucker for plotless fluff. Don't worry though. Stuff's going to hit the fan soon enough. Thanks for reading! Please Review!