Grayson fell asleep on the couch that night.
Damian stood over him and watched his sleeping face for a moment. It was clear by his spastic expressions that he was having a nightmare. Damian silently removed the shoes from Grayson’s feet and pulled the afghan that draped the back of the sofa over his tense body.
"Bruce," Grayson cried out, eyes still closed in fitful slumber.
Damian lowered his voice to the deepest octave he could reach, mimicking his father’s deep tone. “It’s okay, Dick. I’m here.” He touched his small hand to Grayson’s forehead as he spoke. Grayson relaxed under the blanket, muscles loosening and the fear on his face dissolving at once.
It was the only time Damian had ever called him by his first name. Whether or not Grayson remembered the next day, neither he nor Damian acknowledged it aloud.