A/N: Hey guys! I'm sorry it's taken me a while to update. School is coming to a close, so I'm a bit loaded with end of the year work. But I've been working on this chapter for a while and I think it's one of my best, so I hope you like it!

On a side note, I've been thinking of renaming this story, and I've come up with two possible titles, both song titles that I feel fit the story:

Don't Fear The Reaper

The Kids Aren't Alright

It's just a thought.

Anyways, on with the story!

Dee's POV

Assassins.

I've just encountered assassins.

Actual, real life assassins in black bodysuits and ski masks. The type you see in the old action movies.

These are officially the strangest few weeks of my life. Nothing will ever compare to this crap storm of complete madness.

First I met a serial killer in the middle of his latest murder, then I was ripped away from my home and my mother and basically everything else I've ever known, then the Bruce Wayne and his demon spawn – I'm sorry, I mean son – took me in, and now his home is being overrun by assassins?

I miss my old, boring life where nothing even vaguely interesting happened unless it was in the book I was reading.

"Stay behind me," Damian mutters in my ear as he turns around to face the masked men in front of us. I'm not sure what prompts me to obey; following his command of standing behind him like a coward in the face of danger goes against everything I believe in. Yet I can't force my legs to move. Maybe it's the fact that I've never faced anything so intimidating before. Maybe it's the fact that I'm still reeling from how skilled of a fighter Damian is.

Or maybe it's because I have this sinking feeling that these men are here for me.

Whatever it is, my feet stay firmly planted to the ground, as if they're super-glued to the hardwood flooring. I don't move, I don't breathe, I don't even dare blink out of fear that I'll miss something. No matter how loud my inner voice screams and shouts and curses, I can't go forward and help Damian. But from what I saw earlier, he doesn't need my help. I would probably only hinder him rather than help him. Some shabby self-defense skills learned on the streets don't compare to his graceful martial arts prowess.

'Self-defense classes' my ass. That kind of skill is something I see in those old karate movies Mom rents from that shady video store down the block sometimes.

Er, rented sometimes, I mean...

It feels so wrong to refer to her in the past tense as if she's dead, but that's the only appropriate way to refer to her now. She's in prison at the moment; I doubt she'll get to enjoy renting a cheesy old Bruce Lee flick again for a very long time…

But I digress.

Damian bumps me further behind him with his shoulder and I stumble backwards like I weigh nothing at all. I have to place my hand against the wall behind me to keep myself from falling flat on my ass. A blush tints my cheeks as I straighten myself out against the wall.

I'm better than this. I know I am. I should be helping him. Why am I frozen in fear?

Damian approaches the small group of masked intruders nonchalantly with his chin turned up, as if this is a situation he encounters every other week. His amount of poise and finesse makes me think he does.

With how secretive he is, I really wouldn't be surprised.

"You won't fare much better than your friend," he warns the three men advancing towards him. "If you have even a small amount of common sense in those thick heads of yours, then you'll turn back now. But if you don't, I can promise you I will show no mercy."

The sullen, quiet boy who went out of his way to avoid me is gone, replaced by a fierce, dangerous warrior who is hell bent on protecting me.

Or maybe he's just looking out for himself.

Either way, I can hardly believe what I'm seeing.

The bulkiest man in the small group begins walking forward slowly, with purpose and a certain level of arrogance behind his steps. He stares Damian down with narrowed eyes, a look which Damian returns with just as much – if not more – venom in his stare. As the exchange occurs, I finally feel life finally return to my body. My feet shuffle forward to stand by Damian's side. He doesn't even notice. He's too busy trying to intimidate a man much larger than himself.

"Just make it easier on yourself and hand over the girl," he demands, his eyes skirting over towards me. So they are here for me. It causes a ripple of fear to run down my spine, but I refuse to let it show. I shuffle a little closer to Damian, who just now notices I've disobeyed his orders to stay behind him. He turns his head slightly in my direction with a glare. I glare back. If he thinks I'm going to follow his instructions blindly, then he knows even less about me than I thought.

It should be obvious to him by now that I'm not exactly the best at following instructions.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Damian growls in response, his arm sweeping out in front of me in a protective gesture. Though I'm flattered he's thinking of me – like he has much of a choice in the matter – I'm annoyed that he seems to think I can't protect myself. In my life, I'm always the protector, not the protect-ee. Having the role reversed on me is… uncomfortable, to say the least.

I'm so used to depending on myself to watch my own back. Having someone else do that for me just doesn't feel right.

"Don't make me use force, rich boy," the leader growls, all hints of mock politeness fading from his tone. Damian just smirks; an arrogant, maddening smirk that I want to smack off his face.

"Go ahead. I dare you."

Is he crazy?! It's the two of us against 3 men who look like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime compared to the lean man sprawled across the floor. The last thing we should be doing is pissing this dude off. If I've learned anything from living in the East End for over 10 years, it's that the only way to survive in this world is to keep your mouth firmly shut and avoid confrontation at all costs unless you're sure you can win.

It's not exactly a rule I'm all that good at following, but a broken rib and a few black eyes have taught me how far I can push my limits before it backfires on me. And this? This will definitely backfire on me.

A sick smirk stretches across the leader's face as he takes another step forward, getting right in Damian's space. But Damian, the brave little idiot, doesn't back down an inch. I shrink almost imperceptibly in my spot, prepared for a big blow out fight.

But the distant sound of the front door slamming shut from downstairs seems to snap us all out of the trance we're stuck in.

Mr. Wayne is home.

The assassin finally gives ground, backing up in horror. I'm not sure what it is about the presence about another person in the house scares them so much. Maybe they don't want many witnesses while trying to dispose of just one. Ha, ironic, isn't it?

Whatever their reasoning is, when their leader gives a little wave of the hand, they all run back to the window like a fire has just been lit underneath their asses.

Oh no, I am not letting them get away just so they can report back to their boss and try again. I was dragged to Wayne Manor thinking I'd be safe from a serial killer's retribution, and I'll be damned this little visit changes anything.

In a blurry flash, I charge forward and grab the expensive looking vase on the hallway's end table, almost toppling over from the sheer weight of the massive thing. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, blocking out everything else except myself and my target. I barely even hear Damian's voice from behind me, demanding I stop. It's blocked out by the sound of blood pumping through my veins. I watch in what seems to be slow motion as the vase flies out of my grasp, hurdling forward until it makes contact with one of the assailants' heads. I gasp as it shatters loudly and falls to the ground, taking its victim along with it.

The only thing I can do is stare wide-eyed at the unconscious man crumpled into a heap on the ground as his friends readily jump back out the window, leaving him behind. I'm frozen in my spot, stricken by the thought that I may have accidentally killed the guy. Oh god, I hope that's not the case…

I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of, but I don't want homicide to be added to the already long list.

"Are you insane?" Damian growls from my side. I turn my head towards him slightly, opening my mouth to give him some sort of explanation, but I'm unable to form words. My head is spinning. My mouth goes dry. I can hear my rapid heartbeat in my ears. Damian doesn't wait for me to articulate an answer. Instead, he grabs me by the upper arm. Hard. This is enough to jolt me out of the shock induced stupor I was in earlier. I tense up and glare at the hand gripping my arm.

I hate being touched. Especially without my permission.

"I told you to stay back!" he hisses. "You could have gotten yourself killed, you fool!" I violently jerk my arm away from his tight grasp, ignoring the slight throbbing sensation. Experience tells me that a small bruise will blossom on my sensitive skin soon enough. However, I squash the urge to rub at my arm. Instead, I push Damian back by his chest, just as hard as he grabbed me. I won't let anyone think I don't give as good as I get. I ain't no sissy.

"You think I don't know that?" I growl. Damian gapes at me, or maybe just at the fact that I actually had the guts to push him. Either way, I don't give him any room to respond.

"You think I wasn't scared out of my wits?" I ask, shivering ever so slightly from the waning adrenaline rush. "Well, you're wrong. I was about ready to piss my pants. Hell, I still feel about ready to piss my pants! But at least I stopped one of them from escaping. You were about ready to watch them jump out the window and just let them come back later to finish the job. So don't you dare get on my case for 'almost getting myself killed'. Are you forgetting that you were so ready to jump right into the fray and practically invite those guys to beat you to a bloody pulp! From where I'm standing, it looks like we're both idiots, huh, rich boy?"

I exhale shakily after my long-winded speech, feeling weak in the knees at this point as the adrenaline drains from my system completely. Damian is still staring. His icy blue eyes seem to bore right in me like cobalt daggers, piercing through my hazel-green irises. I can see every wrinkle around his eyes, the angry tightening of the muscles in his jaw, the deep furrow of his brows; we are way too close for comfort.

Heavy footsteps bounding upstairs at neck-break speed seem to snap us both out of our weird, impromptu staring contest. Thank the lord.

Or rather, thank Mr. Wayne.

The muscles in his body are tense underneath his expensive Italian suit. I can tell he's ready for an attack. The guard dog gene must be dominant in this family. Either that or they just enjoy getting an opportunity to beat the ever loving crap out of people. I'm really hoping it's the first option.

"What happened here?" Mr. Wayne asks gruffly, his eyes darting around back and forth at the two unconscious men sprawled out across the floor. The passive, almost unimpressed expression painted on his proud features causes me to blink at him and gape in surprise. I feel like I'm just reading him incorrectly. Yeah, that's it. It must be. Because if I'm not just imagining things, that means he's totally out of his goddamn mind.

Does that run in this family as well?

"Assassins," Damian blurts out, stepping out in front of me like a shield. It only proves to annoy me. The assassins are gone, I don't need a knight in shining armor to ride in on his noble stead and save me from the terrible dragon.

If you ask myopinion, I never needed that

"A group of them. The rest fled when they heard you return. We were able to incapacitate a few of the weaker ones." He shakes his head a bit, snorting. "Though they were all very unimpressive."

That's bold talk for a boy who was getting on my case about 'almost getting myself killed' not 5 minutes ago.

Mr. Wayne nods absentmindedly, glancing back down at the unconscious men.

"Alfred?" he calls from over his shoulder.

"Yes, sir?" the kindly British butler responds from downstairs.

Mr. Wayne stares back down at the unconscious men, and then slowly glances up to look right at me. I shrink back underneath his gaze in spite of my already wounded pride. His cloudy blue eyes are just… piercing. Harsh. Like they've seen Hell without even flinching.

I have a feeling there's a lot about both Wayne boys that I have yet to learn.

"Call Commissioner Gordon," he calls down to Alfred, still glancing in my direction.

"We have a few… unwanted guests."

A/N: You have no idea the amount of joy I've been taking in planning this story out. I can't wait to get to some of my favorite parts!

I hope you enjoyed, and please, feel free to leave a review. I seriously THRIVE on reviews.