A/N: It's been so long since I've written anything! I missed it so much, especially this story. I just hope I still have readers to enjoy it!

Dee POV

Mom and I moved to the East End when I was seven years old and as wide-eyed and bushy tailed as ever. We had lived in a relatively nice, quiet neighborhood before this; a place where the joggers always waved back and the locks always clicked shut at 10pm on the dot. My early childhood was full of chasing ice cream trucks and playing soccer in the mud with the neighborhood kids. I never knew a world outside of that. That little neighborhood nestled in the corner of Gotham was my world.

The East End was my wakeup call.

Gone were the days of childhood innocence and family picnics on the big hill in Gotham Park. Our move to the East End ushered in a new era of poverty and fear and staying up all night with a baseball bat to hit the rats that skittered across the apartment floor. My childhood was over.

So, I had two choices; grow up, or die.

I refuse to complain about 'having to grow up too fast', because when you actually experience it, it doesn't feel that way. It just feels like adapting to your surroundings, just as all strong animals do to survive in the wild. I was adapting in order to help myself and my perpetually weeping mother make it in this rough environment.

And when you've adapted to the East End, the gunshots become a common occurrence.

At first, they would terrify me. I would dive underneath the bed I shared with my mother, hugging my knees to my chest and shaking in terror. They never stopped after just one. When the gunshots started, they would continue in rapid succession, obviously the result of a gang fight or a drive by shooting. My mom was always too wrapped up in her own misery over having to leave my father behind, abandoning me to look to myself for comfort.

It wasn't that she was a bad mother. Not at all. She was just… preoccupied.

But just as the giraffes evolved to elongate their necks and reach their food source, I soon adjusted my senses to accommodate the sound of gunshots outside my window each night.

They became as natural as someone living in the country hearing crickets outside their window on hot summer nights. I slept soundly through them. I fellasleep to the sound of them. They became my new normal, almost like a comforting lullaby that my mother used to sing when she was still well. They reminded of where I was. I know I should have felt pretty shitty, being reminded that I was in such a hell hole, but I was with my mother. I still had my family. I had my friends. I had a sense of security I didn't have in my old home.

At this point, I didn't even flinch at gun fire anymore.

Even when it's coming from a few feet away.

So when Damian grabs my hand and yells for me to run as fast as I can, I struggle to process the panic in his voice. The fact that gunshots rang out through the cold night air is almost inconsequential to me. It takes me a few moments to grasp the reality of what's happening.

And when I do, I start sprinting.

Just because I've grown used to gunshots doesn't mean my survival instincts have waned.

My feet hit the pavement and I run faster than I have ever run before. Faster than I've run from police officers or truancy officers or any authority figures in general. I feel the burn begin in my lungs, traveling up to leave a bitter taste in my mouth. My fists clench in a –…

Damian…

His hand isn't in mine anymore.

I come to a screeching halt half-way down the road. The adrenaline surging through my veins screams at me to run. But my conscious mind is screaming at me that I can't leave Damian behind. I've seen evidence that he's more than capable of caring for himself, but the thought of throwing him to the wolves after all he's done to keep me safe is just repulsive to me. I've done more regrettable things in my life than I would like to admit. I am not letting leaving Damian to die. I don't need another regret on my hands.

Gathering up all my wavering courage, I sprint back towards the direction I came from. A deep ache starts in the pit of my stomach, climbing its way up to my chest. I can't tell if it's from the physical exertion, or the fear I feel when I see Damian battling with a man who is armed with a gun.

My survival instincts demand that I run back in the opposite direction and save my own skin. That's how I've survived thus far. Only caring about myself and my mom. The rest of the world be damned. I steer clear of trouble the best I can and take off at the first sign of confrontation. I learned a long time ago that this is often times not only the best, but the only way to survive on the mean streets of Gotham.

Screw my instincts.

I see Damian turn to face me out of the corner of my eyes, but by the time my mind has registered it, I'm already crashing right into the gunman. He falls to the gravel with an 'oof', taking me down with him. Our legs tangle up together and my head hits the concrete. Hard.

Stars swim across my vision. My head pounds. The world seems to slow down for a few seconds and all I can think is,

'This is it. I knocked my lights out. I'm going to go blind.'

Hands grasp me by the front of the shirt and haul me up so fast that I feel as if my head is going to explode. It hurts too much to even fight back.

"Get behind me," Damian hisses in my ear. Relief floods my body when my vision clears. The fog begins to lift, despite the pounding in my head persisting. Damian pushes me back gently and begins to get into a fighting stance. His face is hard, but the gunman's face is harder. His gaze flickers from Damian down to me, and his expression instantly changes. It goes from pure hatred to something far more sinister. A slow burning grin spreads across his face, and I can see all his yellow teeth.

"You're not leaving with the girl," Damian growls lowly. "I suggest turning and walking away now while you still have feeling in both your legs."

The man's dark, beady eyes never leave me. I resist the urge to look away, despite the discomfort his gaze causes me. I don't want him to think I'm afraid. Even though I am. So much.

"What are you gonna do to stop me, Wayne?" he asked mockingly. "You're just a pretty boy with a few lucky moves."

Damian smirks, and I resist the urge to smack him. His arrogance is going to get him killed one day, and I just hope I won't be around to witness it.

"If you really believe that, then come at me," Damian challenges. "I should be easy to take down."

My breath catches in my throat when I see the smile on the gunman's face widen, his eyes twinkling with excitement. If this weren't a life or death situation, I'd be screaming a slew of obscenities at Damian. Right now, I'm too preoccupied with formulating some sort of escape plan.

The man lunges at Damian with alarming speed, and I let out a small scream before jumping back. I can only watch in horror, frozen in my spot, as Damian wrestles him to the ground and the two grapple for the gun. My legs tingle the way they do when I'm preparing to sprint. A cagey, anxious feeling fills me, settling like a heavy weight in my chest. My body and mind are demanding that I run, and now.

Save yourself, Dee. Save yourself. Damian can get out of this without you. Run and live another day.

And I do run.

Right into the fight.

I lunge right between Damian and the man, who has his gun pointed at Damian's stomach. My every motion is done without thought. My sympathetic nervous system is kicking in, demanding I choose either fight or flight. And like usual, my idiotic body decided on fight. I reach out and make a grab for the gun. Damian grabs me around the hips, trying to pull me back, while the man and I both grapple for control.

My fingers wrap around and cool barrel of the gun and frantically pull it towards me. If I can just get the man's grip to loosen, I can take his gun from him. For a split second, I think I'm succeeding.

Until I hear the gun go off.

Damian's shouts echo in my ear, but they sound so far away. Some sort of morbid curiosity makes my eyes drift down to my stomach. I see the blood spreading across my shirt, I register the fact that I've been hit, but I don't feel the pain. I can't feel the pain. A voice in the back of my mind tells me that the pain message stopped at my spinal cord because my brain decided it was too much to deal with, but that little voice is pushed aside to make way for the sounds of flesh being hit. My peripheral vision catches sight of the gunman falling to the gravel.

"Dee? Dee?!"

My body goes cold.

And I know how cliché that phrase is, but that's the only way to describe what I'm feeling – I can feel myself going cold. It's like my body temperature dropped at least 10 degrees in the span of a few minutes.

My eyelids feel heavy, and I can't stop them from fluttering closed.

"Dee Dee?"

I looked down at Gracie as she clung to my side. Her tone was lazy, languid, and her eyes were partially closed with grogginess. This was normally around the time she woke up from her afternoon nap. I pet down her wild mop of curly blonde hair as best as I could and gathered her closer to me. There wasn't much room, squished together against the foot of the bed.

"Yes, Gracie Girl?" I asked in a soft voice, tickling her stomach. She giggled and tried to wiggle away, but I hauled her back onto my lap, wrapping my arms around her and hugging her tightly. Her giggles soon died down and she rested her head on my shoulder.

"Why is Momma so sad?"

I tensed up. It was a question I was never prepared to answer, no matter how many times she asked it. I wanted to keep her innocence intact as much as I could, even if I knew the East End would destroy it soon enough. She deserved a few good years, like the ones I got before we moved into this run down, one-bedroom apartment. She deserved a better life.

As I opened my mouth to give her some sort of excuse, the sounds of Mom retching in the bathroom next to us became audible. I pull Gracie closer to me, as if I could press her close enough to my chest so she could only hear my heart and not the gasps of breath our mother took in between heaves.

"I've told you before, Gracie Girl, it's the baby in her belly making her act all weird," I explained. Of course I left out the fact that our new sibling's father had split on her and taken his drug supply with him. I left out the fact that we barely had enough money to support our little family of three as is. I left out all the reasons why I knew Mom was crying hysterically over a toilet bowl.

This was my cross to bear, not my baby sister's.

At the mention of her soon to be baby sibling, Gracie's eyes brightened. All previous worries were instantly forgotten. It was amazing to me how quickly Gracie could jump emotions. One second she could be crying, the next she would be smiling and giggling. It was unpredictable, and sometimes inconvenient, but it was what made her wonderful.

"Do ya think the baby's gonna be a boy or a girl?" she asked, bouncing excitedly on my lap. I giggled at her enthusiasm and obliviousness to how bad this pregnancy was for all of us. But I couldn't help it; her excitement was infectious.

"I'm hoping for a baby brother. What about you?"

Gracie wrinkled her nose.

"Boys are icky," she replied with a shudder.

I chuckled and gave her a squeeze. I wished I could be as excited about this baby as she was, but I already saw it as a liability.

I wasn't ready to raise another sibling.

As soon as my eyes flutter open, a harsh light makes them squeeze shut again. The light is so strong it seems to burn through my eyelids. My head is pounding. My body aches. My thoughts are weighed down by a heavy fog I can't seem to clear.

"… shouldn't… brought her here…"

I can register a voice, but it sounds foggy somehow. Like someone is speaking to me underwater. I strain my ears to hear it more clearly. Even such a simple task saps what little energy I have left.

"… dying… no choice…"

I lift my body up slightly with the intention of getting off this flat surface I'm laying on and getting onto my feet, but an intense pain grows in my stomach and shoots up my spine, causing me to plummet back down. A groan escapes my lips and my eyes shoot open.

I see the light.

For a split second, I wonder if this is the 'light at the end of the tunnel' people talk about. But then I reason with myself that it can't be. I'm not dead. If I was dead, I wouldn't be seeing the light of Heaven. I would be seeing the fires of Hell.

No, I must still be alive.

I gather up all my remaining strength and tilt my head to the side so I can examine my surroundings.

I'm in a cave.

But I'm not just among a collection of stalactites. The cave has obviously been furnished and in use. A computer set up larger than my room back home sits on the far end nearly out of my sight. Several glass display cases are spread out a bit farther away from that. Cars and bikes galore are neatly lined up on platforms, like they're ready to be driven out at a moment's notice.

Finally, my eyes flit over to something I recognize – or rather, someone.

Damian.

Relief hits me like a freight train, and it's only then I realize how scared I really was. There's something comforting about Damian's presence. I know I'll be okay. A small, exhausted smile makes its way to my lips.

Then I see the large shadow towering over him.

My eyes slowly travel up the padded armor, the long flowing cape, the pointed cowl.

I've spent years trying to avoid seeing the Bat emblem up close and personal.

Now here he is, right in front of me.

"Damian…?" I croak out. A paralyzing fear of the unknown envelopes me. Damian can only give me a bashful look. It's so unlike him, it's almost like looking at someone else entirely. I don't know how he's not as freaked out at seeing Batman as I am. I don't know how he and Batman are standing side by side like old friends. I don't know why he took me here instead of a hospital.

But I do.

I just don't want to face it.

"You're… Robin?"

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and some glimpses into Dee's past. Yes, she has finally found out the big secret!

As always, reviews, follows, and favorites are welcome and I hope to see you again next time! :)