30 Days of Demonfire

Effect

"Please?" I say, pouting a little. But I don't think the pout works on Damian as effectively as it works on my dad, because he's crossing his arms and leaning on the doorframe, looking so unimpressed with me.

"Absolutely not."

"I'll make it up to you," I try, but I already know how this is going to end.

"How on Earth would you do that? I have already said that there is nothing I need from you, Grayson."

"I don't know. I'll bake you something. You can have Alfred for a week."

"I do not want that infernal cat," he grumbles, and that's really not fair. Alfred is a sweetie.

"C'mon, Dami," I pout, looking as upset as I possibly can.

All he does is glower at me and say, "Don't call me that."

"Uncle Damian?"

He gives me the worst look he can muster and moves to close the door, but I put my foot in the way. "Get Brown to go with you, dammit," he snaps after attempting to push the door closed against my strength and failing miserably.

"She'll be there as herself," I remind him, and he sighs and grabs me by the wrist and pulls me into his apartment before the information gets any more sensitive.

"My father does not approve of you attending the service, anyway."

Tonight is the service for all the people who got hurt or died or went missing when the bridge exploded. The city extended an open invitation to the Bat-family, but Bruce doesn't like us doing publicity stunts. My dad would go with me, but if he calls off work the same time Nightwing appears in public it would be suspicious. Tim and Steph are going to be there, but in their civilian identities. I think my grandfather is planning on appearing as a bat-silhouette in the distance, but I want to actually be there as Nightstar. I feel a lot of responsibility for anybody who got hurt, and going to the ceremony as Nightstar would give me a lot of closure. I just want some moral support.

"Besides," he adds, "It is probably not wise for Nightstar and Robin to appear together at such a public event."

"Why?" I ask, confused.

"Because of the media-fabricated relationship projected onto them because of Carrie Fisher's love of vigilantes as an article of pop-culture."

I narrow my eyes at him. There was really no need to use so many terms in that sentence. "Carrie Fisher?"

"The news anchor I believe you refer to as 'the lady with the highlights and unreasonable shoes'," Damian explains with a sigh.

"Oh. Well, Damian, who really gives a crap about that?" I demand, exasperated. "It's completely ridiculous, anyway. There's no way that the two of us would ever date."

"I know that," he snaps, irritated, crossing his arms over his chest. "It is simply a bad idea to perpetuate the notion."

"I don't get why. We both know that it's stupid. It's not like that changes anything."

Damian sighs impatiently. "Whatever your feelings about the matter, it is not a good idea to attend tonight, especially if you feel that you are so emotionally affected by what's happened that you cannot go without support."

What an asshole. "You know what, never mind," I say, and I turn away from him and head toward his door.

"Wait," he says, and the last time this happened it was because my hair was on fire and I didn't realize so I turn and huff at him, crossing my arms and leaning on the door moodily.