A/N: I'm sorry I'm trash and this is trash but I had to post it. Just a series of one shots and vignettes of the Demonbirbs attending GA for an undercover mission. This is meant to focus on their relationship aspect so I probably won't go full detail on the mission but yeah maybe it'll have a plot eventually but right now it's just whatever I want to write. Without further ado, here it is! Please enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I don't make money off of this ya-dee-dah just doing this for sheer fun


To her, he was Robin, Son of the Batman, the insufferable brat, and the infinite headache to the Teen Titans.

To them, he was the Prince of Gotham, son of Bruce Wayne, and overall the most popular and smartest and hottest guy in the senior class of Gotham Academy – if not all of Gotham Academy.

Most of all, to everyone – her included – he was Damian Wayne.

Her friend.

"Did you not bring an umbrella to school today?" he asked as he leaned against the locker beside her and shook the umbrella at his feet to dry it off.

Raven secretly cursed at how comfortable he looked leaning against that locker, bundled up in Gotham Academy's fall uniform and without a single drop of rain on him. With each tap-tap of the umbrella colliding against the smooth stone floor she became more and more frustrated at herself for forgetting such a simple but necessary thing.

She sighed heavily, rolling her eyes in her mind. People were already staring at her because the "great" Damian Wayne was talking to her. She didn't need people to realize she was sopping wet, too.

"Does it look like it?" she replied sarcastically as she struggled to free a soaked textbook from the depths of her messenger bag that was proving to be Narnia at the moment. Or maybe one of those hidden monsters from horror movies that snuck up on little girls and grabbed their feet and refused to let them go, dragging them to the depths of hell. She hated to admit it but the monster was winning.

Great, she was doing just utterly fantastic at making herself appear completely normal and not soaked to the bone in Gotham city's wonderful rain water. Not to mention the building was freezing and her sopping wet clothes made it all the more worse to the point where she was visibly shivering. That, plus Damian's presence next to her, plus the people that began to stare at her because of it equalled a Raven that just wanted to bury herself in her comforting sheets back in her room. Preferably with dry clothes. And perhaps a cup of chamomile tea to soothe the fraying of her nerves.

She brushed a chunk wet hair out of her face, sputtering as it got caught in her mouth.

To her further dismay, it caused a vibration to emerge from Damian's throat.

She looked daggers at him as he shrugged and ran a hand through his fortunately dry hair.

"Don't laugh at me, jerk," she spat, squeezing some water out of her skirt. "I'm like a goddamn sponge."

"Don't worry, it's cute," he chuckled.

"Sure," she mumbled, hiding a blush with a curtain of hair as she attempted once again to free her textbook.

He laughed again as her hand slipped and whacked her right in the face. This time she groaned and cursed and was about to give up until Damian quickly stepped beside her and reached into her bag.

"H-Hey!" she called.

She caught a whiff of his hair gel as he leaned over her and his body was far warmer than the clammy clothing that was clinging onto her skin like soggy glue. For a few odd moments she found herself relishing in his scent and warmness until he shoved the textbook in her face with a valiant and lopsided grin.

She frowned immediately.

"Here, take this. And while I'm at it, I'll give you some clothes to change into," she snatched the book out of his hands with a scowl as he began digging through his bag, "and I can talk to the headmaster about pardoning your attire."

With a satisfied "a-ha" Damian dislodged a black hoodie and sweatpants from his bag and held it out to her.

She eyed it as if it contained some sort of bomb or if it were a trap or if it were contaminated with some kind of disease. Of course, the expression was far too familiar to him so with furrowed eyebrows, he asked, "What? It's not poisoned or anything."

She looked from his clothes to his innocently furrowed eyebrows and back down to his clothes again, her expression still the same.

"I have P.E. clothes…," she began, "If you can get the pardon I can just change into that."

He shrugged, but his arm stayed put.

"Wouldn't you be cold?," he reasoned with a raised eyebrow. "They like to keep it cold in here, you know."

Did Damian ever offer his clothes to anyone? She wasn't sure but the intrusive thought sounded tempting and the shivers that creeped on her skin were whispering insistently in her ears to suck up her pride and just take the damn clothes.

"I'll survive."

Azar, her pride always won, didn't it?

He sighed. "I'll talk to the headmaster, but just take the hoodie, alright?" He placed the sweatpants back in his bag but plopped his sweater in her free hand. "Just in case."

She didn't have time to protest as he called that he was heading to the headmaster's office. And by the time she had recovered from realizing he just gave her his sweater to wear, he was way too far to throw it back to him or to tell him no so she held it tight to her chest as she grabbed her PE clothes and headed to the bathroom to change.

– – –

As she stepped out of the bathroom stall in just the bland blue t-shirt and black shorts which were admittedly way too short for school, she began to feel the residue of the wet clothes on her skin. It was as if a film of the rainwater was sticking on her, making her perpetually cold and clammy and she shivered at the uncomfortable sensation.

She sighed, shifting Damian's sweater in both her hands.

To wear it, or not?

It was incredibly soft and black with some print in Gotham Academy's colors, and as she held it in front of her to further inspect it, found that it was actually his senior class sweatshirt. It also promised to be cozy and comfy and to wipe away the sensation of rainwater on her skin. She felt a tug in her heart at the thought of not getting one herself (maybe if she had, she wouldn't be in this predicament), but she was able to brush it away as she finally decided to pull it over her head.

She couldn't get away from the facts: she was cold and Damian had offered it to her, anyways.

She laughed at herself in the mirror as a familiar, hooded visage with dark, mysterious eyes came into view. Even in civvy clothes, hooded Rachel looked uncannily like hooded Raven. If anyone had seen her like this, she swore they would be able to guess the similarities. But she was alone, and she was able to relish in the quietude without anyone teasing her about a sweater that wasn't hers or finding out about her true identity. Her hands toyed with the edge of the sweater; it was far too big on her. It nearly looked like a dress, and her shorts were barely poking out. But it was comfortable, she couldn't deny it. The sweater smelled like...him. Like his hair gel from earlier and it was warm like earlier, too.

What the hell are you thinking, Raven?

She shook her head, pulled the hood down, and tugged at her shorts, feeling her face grow hot as she rushed out of the bathroom. Before she could feel the embarrassment of her awkward attire, she heard two familiar voices ripping her away from her thoughts.

"Nice booty shorts, Wayne!," an obnoxious and loud voice called. She knew that voice, it was one of Damian's friends –

"Oof!"

She was met with a strong clap to her back and she spun around fast, a bubble of anger and confusion threatening to burst in her throat and she was about to retort until the familiar boy spoke first.

"Oh crap sorry, you're not Damian," he apologized innocently, scrunching his freckled face, and the bubble dissipated at his genuine expression.

Her eyebrows knit. "No, I'm not…"

His lips peeled back to reveal a mischievous smile as he leaned back and shrugged.

"You might want to get used to this whole misunderstanding as long as you're wearing that," he pointed out, motioning to the sweater. As he did so, the bell screamed, signaling classes had begun.

"Sorry, Rae, gotta go!"

With a casual salute, he ran off across the hall leaving her stunned and confused.

"What?" she mouthed, as she slowly made her way to her first class. Hopefully Damian's pardon also allowed her some time to be a little late.

What did he mean 'get used to this whole misunderstanding?'. It was just a black sweater. Almost every senior in Gotham Academy had one - except her. It wasn't as if people knew it was…

"Azar, oh no," she whispered in horror as distant memories began to unravel in her mind. Why had she just remembered now? Why didn't she remember before she put the sweater on? Or just turned it once around in her hands? If she had remembered, this whole misunderstanding wouldn't have happened. If she had remembered she wouldn't be roaming around in Damian's sweater which…

She turned to a nearby trophy case which was conveniently polished enough to the point where she could watch herself as her fingers traced the edge of a "E" on the back of the sweater.

...happened to have "Wayne" on the back of it.

She felt her face grow hot and her knees buckle, but being that his friend Grant had first period with him and was probably already blabbering to Damian about this incident and she didn't want to seem like she didn't want to wear it (because to be completely honest with herself, she did) if he happened to see that she had taken it off, plus the fact that she was cold and the sweater was so warm and smelled so nice, she decided to drag her blushing face, soaked messenger bag, and this goddamn sweater with "Wayne" plastered on the back of it in bright white, capital letters right to her first period class.

She hesitated at the door, her heart beating fast but she didn't know why. After all it was just a sweater. And they were friends. It wasn't unusual. People did it all the time.

...Right?

She sighed and shook her head, grasping the door knob.

"Here goes."

She didn't want to admit it to herself, but her mouth was curved into a small smile as she opened the door and walked in.

"Miss Roth," the teacher announced, "have a seat."

She nodded as she watched people murmur around her and as she sat down, her seat conveniently all the way at the back of the class, she found herself smiling. This time, she had to admit it to herself: she was enjoying this.

But boy was she up for one exhilarating ride.


A/N: SHARING SWEATERS IS THE EPITOME OF MY HIGH SCHOOL EXPERIENCE OKAY AND I HAD TO WRITE IT NO MATTER HOW CLICHE IT WAS. I hope you enjoyed it though!