A/N: Hello! Hope your day is going well. :)

This is another result of my awkward habit of getting fic inspiration for fandoms I don't know very well. Hopefully the characters are themselves, and I didn't butcher anything too badly. If I did, please let me know, and I'll do my best to fix it. And even if I didn't, then I'd still love a review to hear what your think of it. :)

Be the reason someone smiles today! :D

Dick woke in darkness, abruptly wide awake.

After a quick, calculating look and listen about him to be sure nothing dangerous had woken him, he glanced at the clock. He groaned quietly, letting his head thwack back into his pillow. His latest undercover mission had been on the other side of the world, and he'd only returned days before. It had been hard on everyone, even more than usual, because things had gone wrong, very quickly. He had been cut off from his communication, and even his back up communication had fallen through. For a month, he had been entirely on his own. Dick had triumphed in the end, gotten the information the League needed, but he'd come home with new, painful scars, and a bullet graze on one shoulder. It had been hard to say whether Bruce or Damian had kicked up more of a fuss about that.

The thought made Dick smile, and he resolved to try to get back to sleep. Honestly, it was almost amusing, he thought, as he attempted to drift back off, how both of them were such mother hens when they tried to be so stoic...

Dick shifted, rolling towards the middle of the huge bed, relishing the sheer size of it. He'd been sleeping on a bunk that was more of a bench for a month. It was nice to return to his own things.

That was the moment Dick's arm nudged something soft and warm, and his eyes shot open. Suddenly wide awake again, Dick sat up and looked properly at the bundle of blankets beside him, tensed for action. He softened almost immediately, though, smiling at the tousled head that peeked out of the blanket that usually sat at the foot of his bed, in readiness for cooler weather. It was Damian, curled up like a cat as near to Dick as he could be without being accused of cuddling.

It was, in a word, adorable.

Dick lay down, shifting closer to his younger brother, until Damian was curled against his left side. The boy had been avoiding Dick since he'd come home, almost as if he was afraid that if he focused on him too hard, he might vanish again, like a phantom caught in peripheral vision. Dick had tried not to mind, but he'd missed Damian while he'd been gone. It had hurt that everyone else had visited Dick at length after he returned, while the only times he had seen Damian were when he'd first come in, practically collapsing into the Manor, and accidently around the house.

He was here now, though, and Dick had to wonder what internal struggle had been resolved. Was it, indeed, a matter of hardly believing what he was seeing was true? A question of pride? Heaven knew he'd inherited more than enough of that from Bruce and his original upbringing. It was probably something Dick wouldn't even think to consider, though, and he closed his eyes, suddenly sleepy again. He gently tightened his arm around Damian, holding him a little closer.

It finally felt like he was home.