AN:

This is technically a sequel to "Meet the Boyfriend" but you don't need to read that first to understand this. Also, unlike the other one, this fic doesn't have any pairings, and focuses mainly on Dick and Damian.

Hope you enjoy it!

...

The moment Damian saw the child, he knew that something was very wrong. It mirrored a scenario he had experienced a few times already, and each time had left him wanting to pull his own hair out. He wanted to believe so badly that his father wasn't stupid enough to do this again.

"What is that?" Damian asked flatly.

"Master Damian," Alfred said, walking past, "in this house we refer to other human beings as 'who' not 'what.'"

Damian twitched, but nodded his head. His eyes, however, remained firmly planted on the child in front of him. "Father — "

"This is Dick," Bruce said, and what the hell sort of name was that? "He's my new — "

"Don't say it. Do not say — "

" — ward."

"Father why?!"

Dick (a nickname, it had to be a nickname, and if Damian was more invested, he would have demanded to know the child's full name. He would not be address anyone by that unfortunate name, but he doubted he'd have to actually speak to the boy anytime soon) shifted slightly, and ducked his head.

Bruce ignored Damian, and continued speaking. "Dick will be staying with us from now on. Damian, I want you to make him feel welcome."

Dick smiled shyly. "Hi."

Damian stared at those wide blue eyes, and was instantly assaulted with memories of the past. Bad memories. Memories of similar blue-eyed children (except for Cassandra — and she was the most tolerable of them all, so maybe there was a reason why she'd broken the pattern) who'd soon become the banes of his existence.

No he was not doing this again.

"Damian," Bruce prompted, and Damian turned around and walked out of the room.

It was high time he thought about moving out.

...

It started with Timothy Drake, or 'Tim' as he preferred to be called. Damian called him Drake. Tim hated it, but Damian honestly didn't give a damn (that was actually a pretty good summary of their relationship).

When Tim had first arrived he'd been excited and enthusiastic. Then the boy had shown his true colours, just as Damian had expected, and had turned into a rude little snot (in reality, Tim had eventually decided that befriending Damian was a waste of time because Damian was moody, unkind, and a bit of a snob. Damian, of course, had never figured this out).

Then there had been Stephanie, who, for some reason, his father had never actually adopted. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she still had a mother, but Damian decided it had more to do with the world being on his side for once. After all, Tim had started off with parents. Then they had died, and Bruce had officially adopted him, and Damian had been legally bound to the idiot.

Stephanie was bright and bubbly. Or at least that's what she thought — Damian thought 'mind-numbingly annoying' was a better description.

Then Cassandra had come. Cassandra was tolerable. Damian would never admit to actually liking her but — well, if he liked anyone in this miserable family (other than his father, of course), Cassandra would come fairly close.

Barbara had come next and again, thank God she had a living parent. That meant that adoption wasn't an option, and Damian could keep what little sanity he had left for just a bit longer.

Then there was Jason. The youngest in the family, up until Dick, of course, and as awful as the rest of them.

Damian despised all of them, and that hadn't faded over the years. So the thought of having to put up with another 'younger sibling' — because that's what happened all the time; first came the 'ward' stage, and then the inevitable adoption process, which officially tied Damian to these idiots for life.

Damian honestly didn't know what he'd done to deserve this.

...

Damian knew it was coming, because that's what always happened. He gave up the Robin mantle, and then Tim arrived, and took over. Then Tim died (and came back, and Damian would never admit to being just a bit happy about that), and eventually Jason came and took up the mantle.

So when Bruce announced that "Dick will be the next Robin," he was not even surprised. Angry, yes. Frustrated, yes. Ready to bang his head repeatedly on the wall, yes. But surprised? Not even close.

He did however attempt to protest this decision. It might be futile, but Damian had never been the type to let such things determine his actions.

"Father — no," he said.

Bruce sighed. "Damian — "

"I said no. This has gone on far enough. Don't you know that whenever you make someone Robin, bad things happen?"

Maybe the last one was a bit harsh, but Damian was willing to do anything to stop this before it went too far.

(Of course, any hope of reversing this was gone the moment Dick had walked through the door, but — well. Damian wasn't giving up just yet).

"Nothing happened to you," Bruce said, sounding slightly exasperated. "Nothing happened to Jason."

"Yes but Drake died." He turned to Dick, who was watching the proceedings with wide eyes. "Drake died. Viciously. Painfully. You do not want to be Robin. I will drive you to the orphanage if you like."

Dick averted his gaze.

"It's very nice," Damian added quickly. "My friend Colin used to live there, and he had a…fairly pleasant experience. The nuns are tolerable. There are too many children there, I suppose, but you seem the type to enjoy their inane company — "

"Damian." Bruce shot him a warning glare. "I will be supervising him the whole time. He will not be patrolling alone, and he knows that if he steps out of line, or does not follow orders, he will not b allowed to patrol any longer. I am not taking this lightly."

"…We have many terrifying villains in Gotham. Killer Croc. Scarecrow. The Joker. Have you heard of the Joker? You won't like him. He, however, might like you. And then he will kill you."

Dick's mouth was hanging open.

Bruce's glare deepened. "Damian, I swear — " He stopped and shook his head, looking a mixture of exasperated and frustrated. He turned to Dick, and said, in a softer voice, "Dick, you know you don't have to do this if you don't want to, right? If you don't feel like you're ready — "

"You sound so much like Batman when you're angry," Dick said with awe in his voice.

"What?" Damian snapped. "Did you not hear a word of what I just said?!"

(He pretended he wasn't slightly pleased by that Batman comment, because showing the child gratitude was not going to scare him away).

...

"So you were the first Robin?"

Damian shifted against his bed, and raised his book higher. "Yes," he said shortly, turning the page. Perhaps if he kept his answers short, the unwanted child would leave his room, and he would finally have some peace and quiet.

"But — why?"

"Why what?"

"You wear so much black. Why'd you pick such bright colours?"

Damian closed his eyes, and willed himself to remain calm. He'd learnt that, by this stage, Dick wasn't going anywhere. It was fruitless to hope for an alternative. It was better if he simply found a way to live with it, while still keeping his sanity.

"They were the only colours that we had in kevlar, and I wanted to patrol as soon as possible."

"Wow," Dick breathed. "…Wait, why did Bruce have those colours."

Damian blinked. "I…don't know."

...

"Will you help train me?"

Damian glared at Dick, who was staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes. "Father is in charge of your training," he snapped. "Go away."

Jason had already told Dick that Damian didn't help anyone. He'd overheard the two the other day. Unlike Damian, Jason had latched onto the idea of being a big brother with a terrifying enthusiasm. If Damian actually cared for Dick — which he did not — he might have been worried.

Clearly Dick hadn't taken this advice to heart.

"But I want to learn more about how Robin fights."

"I have not been Robin in a very long time. Go away."

"No," Dick said, pouting.

Damian's eyes narrowed. "What?"

Dick crossed his arms in front of him. "You're so mopey. I'm not going away until you help me!"

"Fine," Damian said, rolling his eyes. "You'll be here a very long time then."

...

"Would you stop doing cartwheels on my bookshelf?!"

"Train me!"

"FATHER! GET THIS CHILD OUT OF MY ROOM, NOW!"

...

Eventually Damian gave in and trained Dick. Oh well. Damian was sure he'd eventually become like the others, and learn to leave him the hell alone.

That didn't happen.

Dick continued to follow him around like a lost puppy, and Damian wasn't sure when the time came that he didn't find it quite as annoying.

He amounted it to basic psychology. He'd been in close proximity to Dick for so long that he'd simply grown accustomed to the boy's presence. That was all. It wasn't as if he liked him.

On Dick's first night as Robin, Damian slipped into his Nightwing gear, and decided to patrol with his father. He hadn't done that in a long time — Gotham was a big city, and Damian chose to patrol on his own.

When Bruce glanced at him inquisitively (and with more than a little amusement, Damian noted, inwardly scowling), Damian said, "I have things I need to do. It has nothing to do with Richard."

...

"Can we get ice cream?" Dick asked eagerly.

"We do not get ice-cream while we are patrolling," Damian said, glaring.

"But we finished patrolling." Dick latched onto his arm, and Damian let out a frustrated sigh.

"No."

Dick stared at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

Damian's jaw clenched. God dammit. "Alright, fine then."

Dick let out an excited cheer, and Damian wondered why it was so damn hard to say no to the boy. Surely there had to be an actual reason.

When they told his father about their upcoming detour, the man did not look happy about it. It made Damian feel just a bit better. Maybe he was being overly spiteful, but Bruce had brought this on himself.

...

Damian eventually decided that maybe Dick wasn't as bad as the others.

But that still didn't mean he liked him. He tolerated the boy. That was all.

"Dammit Richard, get off the chandelier before you break your neck!"

(Maybe, deep down, he liked the boy, just a little bit. But Damian would deal with that thought later. Much later).