"This is the dance, Damian," Dick says-would-say, standing straight and yet easy, dressed in something ridiculous, no doubt. Damian's never understood why Dick amasses clothing of such evident garishness and cheapness, much less why Dick wears such things out in public (Grayson, you're so weird!).

Legging tights, in...peacock blue, Damian decides. With small workout shorts covered in green polkadots, with a cut-in-half yellow t-shirt that had a smiley face on it. Yes. Utterly ridiculous.

Biting back a smirk, Damian copies Dick's pose, drawing himself up. Not with so much grace, but he manages the attentiveness. "This is how you hold your dancing partner," Dick says-would-say, adding with a flake of mischief, "girl or boy," just to see Damian scowl.

"Dancing with Billy was only for when there were no suitable female partners at hand!" Damian snaps, and Dick's laughter flutters around him. "You already know how to dance," Dick says-would-say, teasingly, demonstrating where to hold one's hands. "I think you-"

"It is important to constantly refine one's knowledge, Father says," Damian cuts him off brusquely, but Dick will not be dissuaded.

"I think you only-"

"Really, Grayson, I don't think that dance instruction requires so much talking! I am quite capable of learning from demonstration alone." Damian hears a desperate note creep into his own voice and hates it, especially when Dick says-would-say:

"-only asked me to teach you so you could spend time with me."

"No!" Damian drops his arms, so carefully bowed around his phantom female partner, and stomps, all of the childish feelings he loathes so deeply engulfing him. "No! I don't care if you never spend time with me again! I don't!" He looks away from Dick's placid, faraway expression as he shrieks, "I'm glad you're never here anymore!"

His voice, harsh and high, echoes through the cave. He is alone. He has, always, been alone.