"I'm sorry, but I can't. I just have so much to do, they booked everything for me that week. I'm sorry." His eyes dropped to the reciever, as if to look at her and read her expression. I closed my eyes, swaying on my feet, as she apologized again. I told her, "It's okay, Mother, it really is. You can come out whenever time allows."

A few minutes later she hung up, and he turned around to me. "Sorry, Damian."

There would be time to feel sorry for myself later. I shrugged it off, turning back and walking into my room off the kitchen. I pulled out my book, and I've been writing since. I know I shouldn't be upset, but she did promise she would come and visit soon, and she still hasn't. From what I heard Father murmur to Alfred when I had closed my door, he misses her, too. He said he still loved her, just as much as he did when-

"Hello? Hey, where are you guys?" A voice echoes through the open doorway. I look over the back of the couch next to me. My brother stands there, messy black hair ruffled in the wind. Above him are two staircases, both leading up to the same hall, where several doors stand, some open and some closed. Early evening light comes through huge windows, mid-summer light making yellow and orange blanket everything this late in the day.

He walks through the door, his best friends behind him. A teen with lavender hair would be my sister Raven-ugh, I can't believe I am related to her. She's mean to me, teasing me at every opportunity. A cybernetic jock is Cyborg, or Victor, he goes by both names. A green-skinned boy is Beast Boy, his eyes glowing like the green grasses of his homeland in India. The girl with pink locks coming through the door last is Koriand'r, or Starfire, my brother's girlfriend. "Nightbrain! In here."

He follows my voice into the room on the right, a couch marking the doorway. I look up at him from it. Another sits against the wall and a huge television is mounted onto the wall across from it. My brown hair hangs down slightly onto my forehead, and I brush it away, looking up at my brother with green eyes. The black haired teen, undeterred, says to me, "Hey, pipsqueak. Where is everyone?"

You did not! Take that back, insufferable little- I glare up at Dick Grayson. He might be leader of a worldwide superhero team, but he has no respect. He should. "Grayson, Grayson, Grayson. I wish you would learn."

I'm sitting with my legs bent, lying down on my back. A journal-type book is against my legs, so it's a bit difficult to get up and not lose my place. Nothing the son of Talia Al Ghul and Bruce Wayne can't handle, though. In one fluid movement, I'm over the back of the couch. I throw a few punches at Grayson, and I get a few in return. "I've said it before, I'm gonna say it again-I was trained by Batman. He beat Ra's Al Ghul up every time they clashed, and that, Damian, is who trained you."

"I learn from history, I don't repeat it." I fire back, picking my book up without breaking eye contact with my oldest brother. How can he be so fearless? I was trained to kill first, ask questions later, so why am I the one that's afraid of-

I carry my book and lead the group. I walk down a hall, and all is still and quiet. It's eerie, in a way. "They're in the kitchen. Father is making the good barbeque food everyone likes and Barbara is making fruit salad. We will be eating it for days."

"What makes you say that?" Grayson questions. I look up at him. "Maybe it's the fact she's using three watermelons as part of it. Maybe it's the fact she wanted to use that silver bowl-you know, the one we filled with eight gallons of chocolate syrup that one time?-to put it all in? I don't know, why don't you ask her?"

When we arrive in the kitchen, I stand in the doorway as everyone walks past me. Barbara is reaching for something in a cupboard, stretching for it as far as she can. Nightwing, unnoticed, reaches up and hands it to her. She smiles at him, they embrace as a hello-he hasn't been around in weeks-and he helps her and TD, or Tim Drake, prep the food. His friends help out, too, setting the table on the back patio and such.

I sit against the wall, pulling my book out and writing down all I see now. I listen to everyone talking, Barbara bragging on herself and TD proving she exaggerates. Raven, at one point, says to Nightwing, "This is so smooth. Why can't we work like this back at the tower?"

He shrugs, and I look up. Because you feel you only need a leader on missions. If you let him be in charge while you're at your house, things would be different.

Father comes through the back door a while later, pulling something out of the fridge and motioning to me so I will follow. I set my book down on the counter and walk outside, blinking when the sunlight hits my eyes.

A beautiful spread is laid out on the table, B's salad and Father's barbequed chicken making wonderful scents that meet my nose as I step outside. The others follow me a few minutes later, and we dig in.