Nascent

by Marshmellowtime

When it came to Robin, the word simple would never quite do justice to the life he lived and the things he did. But when it came to Damian, the cold, arrogant, but fiercely loyal boy she'd grown to know, she found she didn't care. Damian/Oc

25. Lemon

Sorry guys, I'm sure y'all wanted a fat update after that long little period, finals and holidays and just taking a breather a bit, lo siento.

These have all just been piling up because sometimes when I get stumped on the story or feel off with pacing, I open up a separate tab and write these out, some were suggestions from tumblr too, so I hope you guys enjoy!

Scenes that are just side stories from the original with be stated and AUs will be marked so there isn't any confusion. Side stories are "canon" to the story and happened, just weren't portrayed in the main line chapters.

Also, recent chapters have had Pandora and Damian as 15, 15 1/2, but dumbass me considering the future and other things, has decided to change it to 16, 16 1/2 respectively, I'll update the older chapters to show that too!

I do not own Batman.

Thanks for waiting :)

---

Nascent

Bonus Chapter:

Lemon

---

"Even the sadness from that day,

Even the pain from that day,

I loved it all, together with you."

---

Side story One – The Meeting

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Pandora: 14

Damian: 14 1/2

---

"Now that everyone has their pamphlets, don't forget to fill out the assignment forms and have them brought back in approximately three hours. That should be plenty of time to cover the historic arts hall and meet back here so we can move on to the next exhibit."

Pandora absently flapped the pamphlet against her other hand, slapping it up and down like some sleazy street marketer.

Her fellow classmates had already begun to drift into their own groups. Partners for the art museum field trip assignment were required to be done in pairs of two, three or four. Friends had been quick to snatch fellow friends, joining groups together so they could travel in packs. Their Gotham Academy uniforms stood out brightly against the cream colored and marbled walls of Metropolis City Fine Arts Museum.

Then museum seemed to be fairly busy. Families and day goers alike traveling leisurely through the gilded, arching walls, and admiring the history and the art presented before them as normal, everyday people did.

Pandora had only ever had problems finding a partner for little group projects when she was in elementary school. Given, of course, it was elementary school and the teacher should be pairing them up by silly things like numbers and colors. But a bit loud, a bit too handsy and weirdly smiling young Pandora had always had trouble getting kids to want to partner up with her.

She doubted that she'd have trouble, this late into the game. Any real trouble at least. She wasn't that awkward. Pretty sociable. Mary jabbed at her every now and then for being a little too happy to the point of artificial, but hey, she wasn't without her flaws and fake happiness and real got kinda complicated sometimes—well, regardless.

Pandora hummed a bit, pamphlet stopping with a smack against her palm.

Yes, her classmates had seemed to diverge into designated cliques and typical class status quo. Yes, to the untrained, unfamiliar eye, a bystander walking past would notice Pandora standing off to the side with a frown, realizing she seemed strangely ostracized by her fellow peers and perhaps their sluggish art history professor should do something useful about it so she didn't grow up scarred and become some small time thug or villain because of a ridiculously troubled past—

But if said bystander happened to take a second gander, they would notice, upon closer inspection – a single, lone, lean, and brooding figure just standing right by her shoulder.

To Pandora, who'd been a bit childishly excited about this field trip because—c'mon, it was a field trip!—she'd been looking forward to the group assignment forcing some people to shuffle around. Pandora had been very, very careful not to give away the small, a bit guilty, but honest hope that the professor would assign groups. Because as much as she really, really loved the guy standing right over her shoulder like a "shadow" as Mary so often snarked—Panreallywantedtoactuallytalktotheirclassmatesbecause—

"Pick your partners."

No more needed to be said. The class dispersed, carefully and purposely avoiding actively seeking Pandora's involvement. Pandora had watched in perfect, stone etched silence as her compatriot plucked the stapled assignment packet with an easy air of boredom, hardly having even left her side.

It was a new year at Gotham Academy. A semi-new group of classmates. Pandora had practically leapt from her seat when their professor had announced such a trip this early into the semester and Damian on her left by the window had looked as he always did during class as he dutifully withstood the lackluster educational system—bored. Pandora had excitedly realized this was the perfect chance to break the ice with her peers, get to know more people, chat them up aside from gym and weird moments where she butted into conversations in the hall. These people were her classmates! They had to deal with her. No one approaching because they wanted to get close to Dam here, no, they were stuck with her for the rest of the year so—

None of that had seemed to matter. Because a new year meant nothing in the eyes of her peers who saw the eternally stamped, neon sign that floated above Pandora's head. The very same sign that designated her as not Damian's per say, but more like... well...

"Property of Damian Wayne. If lost, must be returned. If inquired about by said owner, to be lead to. If found wandering about aimlessly, not to be approached without caution."

I'm just his friend, damn it. Pandora thought viciously, gripping the pamphlet so that it creased beneath her fingers. His bestest friend ever but come on! That doesn't mean I'm not approachable, right? Right!

Why, Pan, why don't you just go approach them yourself? You're not some pretty little main lead that can't be activated until spoken too, take some initiative.

Pandora had. On various accounts. The sorta problem was that the owner of her neon sign wasn't one for fraternization because, and Pandora echoed this in her mock-tone imitation of Damian's smooth, haughty tone, "Pandora, why would I ever require the presence of mindless sheep with intelligence quotas far below standard, lacking in intellectual depth and ambition—when I am perfectly satiated with you?"

It was the cruelest, sweetest backhanded compliment and Pandora had immediately caved because it was hard to say no to Damian.

Long story short—Pandora doubted any groups would be approaching Damian and her close knit two. She could definitely stage some run-ins, but people were always watching Damian 'cause he was... well, him, and Pandora couldn't disagree with that. But her beloved best friend was her partner for the rest of the field trip, just as he'd been for every other outing and project before.

Pandora looked glumly to said partner.

Damian looked painstakingly disinterested by the entire ordeal. Uniform impeccable as always with the top button undone. He'd already made his piece clear when Pandora spoke of her excitement that they could easily visit Gotham City's various art museums—and they had—or drive to Metropolis on any given day of choice and explore on their own terms.

"We don't need some ridiculous school outing," Damian said flatly, not even looking up from where he lounged on the sleek leather couch in his room, Titus resting his head at Damian's feet. "It's mundane and a waste of our time."

Pandora watched as he flipped through the assignment packet in record speed, words blurring but he took them in with ease. Damian rolled his eyes on some specific parts, flapping the packet out once before coolly tucking it under his arm. Unimpressed.

"Three hours," Damian scoffed. "I'll fill this out in three minutes. There's a bakery that seems to promise to fit within your standards of pleasure a building over. We can just head there."

Pandora imagined, somewhere vaguely, if this were a comic, it'd be the moment crocodile tears would stream down her cheeks while brooding lines waved over the top of her head and she beat her fist pitifully into the ground.

"Dam," Pandora groaned instead, hitting his shoulder with her forehead. "Why are you like this?"

Damian raised one dark brow. He effortlessly adjusted her scrunchie holding her messy brown hair together while she was within reach, "What are you talking about? Are you actually insinuating that we meander through these halls and fill out these ridiculous history questions—majority of which I already know—and waste three hours of our lives?"

"Yes," Pandora said, completely and utterly serious as she pulled away and stared Damian down. "I do."

Damian narrowed his eyes at her.

"Is this about all that field trip nonsense you keep gushing about?"

"C'mon!" Pandora threw her arms in the air. "That's what it's all about! Didn't your dad make you go to school anyway to get that regular education like the rest of us? The civilians? Live a little!"

"Pandora," Damian said, as though speaking to a poorly informed child. "This is not living."

He smirked, "We can easily do that leaving this mundane trip behind and exploring Metropolis, no?"

Pandora's resolve crumbled, just a bit. Damian's eyes glittered darkly in that knowing way of his. He'd already almost gotten her with that bakery because she had noticed it too, a cute little thing that was advertising their cake of the day, a Superman themed milk and berry—focus, Pan! But he was hitting all her sweet spots and hell it was getting harder and harder to compromise with this—mastermind because Damian always found a way to twist her demands so they suited his tastes as well—

"No," Pandora said, more for herself than anything else. Damian looked faintly amused by her miniscule defiance, perfectly content to just watch her descent. "No. No. I mean, yes, all of that sounds great. But how often do we get to go on field trips like this? I've never even been to this art museum and it's supposed to be amazing! I've only been to Metropolis once—"

"All the more reason to explore—"

"—and it'd be rude to ditch—"

"You didn't seem to mind when we left for the grand opening of that ice cream parlor."

"—and I just think this'll be fun," Pandora finished weakly. Damian sighed, unconvinced. "They have some really cool exhibits based on famous musicians and their modern arts exhibit has this cool piece by an artist who loves the piano."

Damian was watching her face carefully. He seemed to be weighing the potential happiness gained by proceeding into the exhibit and going with her whims and what he seemed certain he could ensure her if they left and she let him take the reins for the rest of their day. His own idea seemed to start winning over and Pandora tossed out one last ditch effort—petty, really petty, but Pandora was trying to be a bit more honest with herself these days.

Her petty self.

"Mary would kill to be here," Pandora mumbled, but she knew Damian could hear as she half turned her face to the historical art exhibit where their classmates had already started filing into. "We can just go then and I'll come back with her, she'd probably enjoy it more anyway..."

Damian straightened just a bit. His eyes narrowed, head tipping carefully to the side.

"She was the one who told me about the piano piece they have here," Pandora continued casually, as though she were just spouting random things like she always did. "She really wanted to see it too since it was like the best of both our worlds coming together. I promised I take a picture, but I guess we can just take one together when we come back..."

Pandora snapped her fingers. "I should invite Oz—"

Damian unfolded the packet with a resounding snap. Pandora tried very, very hard to keep the stupid smile off her face as he coolly regarded the packet once more. He held one hand out and Pandora quickly pulled her dinosaur backpack around, fishing for a pen and setting it in his palm.

Damian clicked the top. "We can meander than, as you seem so insistent on doing. I will procure what we need from this packet. Let's go."

Pandora hooked her arm through Damian's, smiling like an idiot. "C'mon, partner, I have to do some of the work too!"

"Do you know when Gustav's The Kiss was painted?"

"...that's the one with the girl, right?"

---

"This one makes me think of you."

Damian looked up from where he'd practically finished off their entire partner packet.

"To which mediocre work of art are you referring too?"

Pandora, smiling stupidly, pointed eagerly to the painting across from them. An abstract panther had been etched onto the canvas, curled over draping leaves with paws extended against a city skyscraper.

Damian regarded it for a moment, clicking his pen shut and tucking it back into his pocket.

"You realize it makes no sense, right?" Damian came to stand beside her, folding his arms behind his back and appraising the art with a critical eye. "A jungle cat in the city. The metaphor for the wild life against the metropolitan style of city life and the perhaps, wildness of those who rule it—is one that has long since been done and run."

Pandora slapped the artist card besides the painting. "Isn't it just like ya?"

Damian fixed her with a long look.

"It makes little sense."

"It's art. It doesn't need to make sense, just needs to—" Pandora made grabbing motions in the air. "Make sense to you."

Damian stared at her for a moment longer. He cocked his head to the left. "That would be similar to me saying this one over here is the embodiment of yourself."

Pandora followed his gaze.

A brightly colored canvas of very detailed cakes in pretty pastel coloring stared back at them.

Pandora tried her hardest to look offended.

"We needn't waste much time here," Damian placed one hand against her lower back, guiding Pandora to the next exhibit hall. She childishly dug her heels into the smooth wood flooring, but it didn't deter the strength in his movements the slightest. "The packet is all but complete. I figured these painted metaphors would've worn you down enough after the piano piece so we could finally partake in something much more worth our while."

"But Dam," Pandora whined, throwing an arm over his shoulders and turning over her own to stare at the pieces of art growing further away—along with their classmates. "There's still so much to see and—"

Pandora almost tripped over Damian's sudden stop. His fingers caught the collar of her uniform before she could topple, holding her in place without even looking her way. Pandora blinked, surprised by the sudden motion and awkwardly turning in his hold to figure out what had made him stop.

Shiny metal glittered back at Pandora, a familiar shape and color.

She couldn't forget something like that.

"Let's continue," Damian said as soon as he'd stopped. His hand dropped back to her lower back to push her on. "There's nothing else to see—"

"Oh, no," Pandora weaseled out of his grasp. Damian's face twisted into one of grim annoyance and Pandora fast walked to the piece that'd caught his eye. "You like this one, don't you? Let's look closer! There was no way that was enough time for you to see it—"

"I was merely wondering why it was here of all places. Some foolish tribute that isn't needed—"

"Oh," Pandora said softly, staring down at the glass boxed piece of work. "Dam... This is amazing."

Damian appeared by her shoulder, silent as he observed. He hadn't left her behind.

The metal hadn't been changed from its original shape. The only sign of wear and tear the slight bent to the edge where it must've pierced brick or armor. The familiar curve into the shape of a bat had been untouched, the only thing tampered with its flat surface.

Thin lines had been carved into the batarang. They etched left and right, curving in just the right places, catching on others. An entire city had been created within the surface of the batarang, brilliant and glistening against the soft light they had shining through thin slits to replicate city lights against the skyline.

Something about the specific billboards and buildings screamed familiarity to Pandora, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it. She bent closer to the exhibit, wishing she could trace each design with her finger and feel each groove and dip as though it were the buildings and concrete roads she walked on.

"It's beautiful," Pandora said.

"It's Gotham."

Pandora looked to her friend.

Damian's eyes were a little soft, far away. His eyes followed every line, as though committing it to memory. "That's off Fifth and Haven. Before you hit the line to the north side harbor."

You always watch from the rooftops, so of course you'd know. Pandora let out a little sigh of fondness, linking her arm through Damian's and slipping her hand into his uniform pocket. Damian merely stood beside her, gazing at the piece.

"I take back what I said," Pandora glanced to him with a small grin. "This is the one, huh?"

Damian finally turned his eyes to her, threateningly close. "You think so?"

"A whole city inside that one symbol," Pandora shrugged, moving his arm with the movement. "Gotham's yours as much as it is ours. The regular people, I mean. The civilians, you know?"

Damian glanced back to the piece. "My father might disagree."

"Your pops thinks no one needs to know whose behind that mask because any Gotham civilian could be the kind of person who'd want to risk their lives to save this city," Pandora corrected. "But no matter what you guys say, I'm here standing next to you and looking at this pretty thing because of you."

Pandora pointed to the batarang and then tapped his chest, right above his heart. "Gotham's here because you guys are. The city exists thanks to you."

Damian was silent for a moment, not meeting her gaze. His arm smoothly and roughly slung over her shoulders, tucking her a little closer and Pandora nearly knocked her chin on his elbow.

"Bakery." Damian said.

Pandora eyed the piece a little longer before she laughed, tugging at his sleeve. "Bakery—"

The entire left wing of the modern art exhibit came crumbling down in a chaotic collision of thick, heavy slabs of ice and cinderblock. Dust flooded the room, screams ripped into the air and Pandora felt the entire flooring shuddering beneath her weight. Cracks and fissures raced up along the wall and people were suddenly racing through the dust clouds, sprinting for the nearest exit as they shrieked and shouted.

Damian's arms were tight around her in an instant, legs hoisting her up and backing them onto the most stable slab of flooring. Pandora took in the destruction with wide eyes, disbelief coloring her face as she squinted at the sky and—

"Killer Frost is hitting downtown!" a man shouted. "She got some kind of tanker behind her—it's about to tear up city hall!"

"Did she have to destroy the art too?" Pandora mumbled, eyeing the broken wing with regret. Damian scoffed above her, already turning her around and unzipping her backpack. "Just once I thought we could get away from all the crime stuff since we were, you know, leaving Gotham but nooo."

Damian pulled the spare mask and equipment he kept in her backpack. His eyes scanned the room, flooded with people scrambling to escape and he tucked it carefully into the inside pocket of his uniform. "She shouldn't be too difficult to at least halt on my own. I don't have the right equipment to build a mechanism to stop her blasts, but I'll improvise."

Pandora bit her lip. Damian raised a brow. "Speak your mind."

"I was kinda just... hoping, you know..." Pandora trailed off before she blurted out weakly, "you could take a break if no one came in five seconds since you're not in Gotham?"

Pandora answered before he could, "No. Never mind. I take it back. Super stupid to say. Really dumb and kinda mean too, huh? Selfish—go do your stuff. I'll make sure people get out from the chaos over there and help people evacuate—"

Damian's hands curled into the back of her head, pressing her forehead briefly to his. His eyes glittered with a hint of mirth. "The sentiments are appreciated, Pandora. You leave the rescue to those better suited for it."

Pandora opened her mouth to protest and Damian shoved her in the direction of the safe exit. "Evacuate. Now."

Pandora grumbled under her breath, eyes darting to the edge where ice had creeped into the left wing. She scanned for people and Damian tossed her his blazer, loosening his tie and shredding any chance of identification with Gotham Academy. He slipped his mask on and pulled up his sleeve, revealing his adjusted wrist band and firing off a harpoon to hook him to the nearest rooftop. "Now. I'm watching."

Pandora rolled her eyes, running for the exit where people were being ushered as quickly as possible. Damian took off with a zip behind her. She counted to ten and then doubled back, sprinting to the fallen slabs of wall and glass, broken pieces of brightly colored works scattered all across the ground.

"Hello? Is anyone stuck?" Pandora shouted, cupping her hands over her mouth. "Does anyone need help? Hello!"

"Here!" a woman screamed. "My leg is stuck—please, oh, please—"

Pandora scrambled, leaping gingerly over a fallen showcase and skidding to a halt. A heavy beam had slumped onto a marbled pillar, the blazing canvas ripped in two and a hand reached out from a thick crevice. Pandora swallowed, wrapping Damian's blazer around her waist and bending to her knees. "I'm right here! I don't think I can lift the pillar off—is it broken?"

"N-No!" the woman rushed back, crawling forward and bit and she winced. "Pinned but not broken—oh god, you're just a kid!"

I'm not going to take offense to that because it's kinda true. Pandora eyed the pillar, glancing to the edge where the rest of the second store had been crumbled away from ice and frost. Pandora tested her weight on the ledge. I think I can roll it to the side with a push from this angle. "Listen, ma'am, I didn't see any security on this side. Everyone is evacuating and there were only a handful of people in here anyway—so just trust me, okay?"

Her face contorted into one of absolute fear. Pandora decided not to mention that a huge wall of ice had frozen the other half of the museum and they needed to move before something else decided to break. "I don't look real reliable, but I'm not going to let you die. You have really pretty eyes!"

The woman turned pale.

Pandora clambered onto the top of the mass. She gingerly picked her way around the rubble, wincing when she heard shouting and one maniacal laugh. Pandora whistled through her teeth, settling her palms flat against the pillar and she gave it a hard shove.

The ground groaned beneath them.

The woman let out a shriek of terror. "It's moving!"

Good. Pandora turned her back to the pillar, huffing as she began to push back—hard. Her feet caught on stone and she used it as a pushing block. Don't let those self-defense lessons go to waste. You can do this. You lift those flour sacks all the time—

The pillar began to roll backwards. Pandora's eyes went wide and the woman let out a startled cry, fingers peeking out as she pulled herself forward. "I-It's working! I'm almost out—"

"Hurry," Pandora groaned, legs trembling as she urged whatever little upper body strength she had backwards. Come on, Pan. One more life he doesn't have to worry about—

The woman let out a shout, blonde hair bobbing into view. "I-I'm out! I'm out! Come on, sweetie, let's get out of here!"

Pandora held back jumping in victory. She quickly scrambled off the ledge, jumping down to stand beside the woman. A few scrapes and scratches lined her knees and legs, but a quick glance to her hands only showed them to be dirty. There, that wasn't so bad, right? Basic help in the middle of a crisis. Now I'll go.

The ground beneath Pandora's feet, held together by a slab of ice, crumbled.

Pandora watched the entire world lurch before her eyes.

Oh, you've got to be kidding me—

"Kid!" the woman screamed, reaching for her hand, but the ground had already given way and Pandora was falling far too fast and everything was blurring right before her eyes.

Pandora remembered, vaguely, having a conversation with Damian about screaming victims and what he thought about it. She remembered, weirdly in the midst of the sudden turmoil and understanding that ah, I'm falling, aren't I? Dam's gonna kill me if the ground doesn't first—that Pandora hated screaming for help.

She kinda understood why people did it now.

Damian had to be a block away. The town hall was in that direction. He'd be busy fighting Killer Frost and there was no liable way—

The wind ripped tears from Pandora's eyes, fingers grabbing at nothing before something sharp cut her forearm and she cried as loud as she possibly could—I'm falling. I'm falling. I'm falling.

"ROBIN—"

Pandora felt the air rush straight from her lungs. A heavy force slammed into her from below, quickly propelling her upwards into the air. Not falling. Not falling. Not falling. Now I'm—rising? Oh, God—this is really how people get to Heaven isn't it—

A weight hooked beneath her legs, catching her back firmly as wind whipped wildly around her. The air thinned for a split second before she began to fall back again—softer, at a much milder and comforting pace—like when Dam lets me ride on his back when he swings from the rooftop to—what the heck is happening right now? Pandora gingerly pried her eyes open, tears falling from where the wind had pulled them from her eyes. She blinked once, twice, nothing but a vast, cascading expanse of impossible blue and—

A teen who couldn't possibly be any older than herself.

"You're in Metropolis, you know," the mysterious flying male said cheerily. Pandora gaped at him, a familiar crimson cape fluttering behind his shoulders and curving over into the wind. "You've gotta say the right name."

Wind pushed Pandora's hair into her mouth. She spat it out. He smiled, bright, all pearly whites and teeth and wow, you definitely do things differently than Dam, don't you? A few lines crinkled round his eyes. Wavy black hair, thick and unruly but smoothed over instead of Damian's clean look—like he'd just finished tumbling around with his dog.

He leaned in closer, as though sharing a secret, "It's Superboy, by the way."

Pandora's eyes bulged at the brightly colored symbol emblazoned on his chest.

"I get that a lot," he said, looking a bit pleased by her star struck reaction. "Sorry for the scare! Rushed over as soon as I could. Po—er, Superman's a bit preoccupied right now, so I flew in. Should be getting some help in a second, but I'll hold her off. Yikes! I need to set you down somewhere safe—ouch, that cut looks nasty, you alright?"

Pandora fumbled for her arm. She blinked at the thin rivulets of blood streaking and staining her rolled up white sleeves. Aw, man, I just washed these... She checked Damian's blazer for blood, letting out a sigh of relief. "N-No! No, I'm okay. I'll find some bandages in a bit. It's not too deep, um, wow, thanks for saving me, uh, Superboy."

Play it cool, Pan. Play it cool. Pandora tried not to look suspicious in his arms, fingering the metal object she'd snatched that had cut her arm. Don't act like this is a little bit normal because it's not. It's totally not. Play it freaking cool—

"You've got super pretty eyes!" Pandora blurted.

Twinkling sky, sky blue brightened. Superboy's lips turned up so wide at the corners, it was strangely refreshing to see someone so honest. "Thanks! We're like buddies in that sense, huh?"

Pandora nodded mutely.

A loud explosion rocketed from the city center.

"Ah, that's my cue. Here, let me set you down—"

Pandora's head jerked to the side at a familiar whistle. Superboy's grip on her shifted in a split second, holding her with one arm while the other snatched the projectile from the air. He blinked at the thin piece of metal between his fingertips, looking up with a happy grin. "Hey! What are you doing all the way out here—"

"If you so much as singe a single hair on her head," Damian hissed, perched against the sun's shadow along a broken rooftop. Pandora scanned him for injuries, relieved to find none but some dirt and grime and a bit of frost on his sleeve. "I will end you, can you get that through your thick, half-human brain?"

"Aw, come on, I thought we were past the name calling," Superboy frowned, looking a touch genuinely offended. Pandora's jaw went slack. "I've gotten real good at that whole powers thing, you know. You should watch yourself, Boy Wonder."

"Original," Damian sneered. Pandora could feel his eyes behind his mask on her. "Are you harmed in any way, shape or form?"

Pandora dutifully tucked her cut arm into the fold of the other, offering him a thumbs up. "Right and peachy!"

Damian tugged his grappling hook free with a resounding snap. "There's blood on your hands."

Pandora experimentally turned her hand to face her. Crimson from her cut gazed back. She felt strangely betrayed by her own body.

"She was helping a civilian escape," Superboy said, quick to her defense and rescue but unknowingly sealing her fate. Pandora tried to look smaller in his arms. "What you did was real brave, by the way. Saw it before I could zip in."

Damian cocked his head at her, arms crossed over his chest. "Really?"

Pandora placed one hand so it covered the side of her face, effectively hiding her from Damian's line of sight. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Superboy looked playfully confused. "You two know each other?" He glanced down. "Oh! School buddies! Hey, I didn't know you were in town! Why didn't you say something? We could've met up for ice cream."

Pandora dropped her hand to flash Damian an incredulous look. Damian fixed her one that lacked all amusement. "I would not invite this animal murdering heathen to any of our outings."

Pandora whipped her head up to look at Superboy in horror. "Did he just say animal murdering—"

"Accidents happen," Superboy mumbled, looking extremely uncomfortable. "By the way, you are in my town. Why don't you just relax and let the real pros handle this—"

Damian sneered, "You dare utter such words? Did you forget what happened the last time we clashed, murderer?"

Superboy pretended to look thoughtful. "I'm pretty sure I gave you one nasty—"

"How do you two know each other?" Pandora exclaimed, shooting Damian a suspicious look.

"Business." Damian said coldly.

"We're friends!" Superboy said cheerfully.

"Hey, I'm his friend, wait—" Pandora squinted, staring at Superboy in disbelief. "You two are...friends?"

"We're not."

"Of course we are! Alfred even calls us the Super Sons!"

Pandora shot Damian a look of hurt and disbelief, "I didn't know that! That's such a cool name too—what the heck, Robin?"

Damian scowled. He grappled to the rooftop beside them, landing lightly on his feet. "It's nothing you need concern yourself with because he spouts nonsense—"

"But I say nonsensical stuff all the time too!"

"It's different with you."

"That's a little mean," Superboy said. "Well, here, let me just set you down first."

Pandora soon found herself—thankfully—grounded against the stable footing of the rooftop. A sigh of relief escape her, knobby knees threatening to give way had Superboy not steadied her back. She was about to thank him properly, but a swift hand jerked her roughly to a familiar side and then Damian's hands were prodding and poking, moving deftly and with ease to assess her injuries.

"It's just the cut!" Pandora squeaked, pushing at his hands and Damian firmly grabbed her wrist, pulling it gingerly towards him. "See? No harm no foul. Don't you have a city to save—"

"That's his job," Damian said meaningfully, shooting a curious looking Superboy a scathing look. "Since he came late, he should finish the job for his city—"

"It's okay," Superboy squinted at the sky and then grinned. A resounding boom echoed throughout the entire city, explosions rocketing into the sky and then a heavy beam of red hot light shot through the clouds, piercing the ice caps appearing along the streets. "Dad's here."

Damian didn't respond, rolling his eyes beneath his mask. He ripped off his sleeve, quickly brushing aside debris from her arm and then binding it up with perfect and familiar movements. "We'll get that checked in a second."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Pandora tugged at the corner of his shirt, "Thanks."

"You should toss that thing," Superboy said suddenly, pointing to her hand. "That's what cut you, isn't it?"

Damian's eyes dropped down and he stiffened. Pandora grinned, thumb running along the grooves and edges and she held up the marked batarang. "...souvenir?"

Damian flicked her forehead. Pandora pouted, rubbing the now sore spot and taking a step away from Damian. "You know, I should be mad at you for keeping such a cool secret from me. I didn't know you and Superboy were friends—you almost never get along with anyone who isn't a Bat!"

"We aren't," Damian said flatly. Superboy continued to smile behind her. "And you didn't evacuate when I told you too."

Pandora grimaced. "...call it even then?"

Damian didn't look convinced.

Superboy laughed behind them, "You're funny. I like her! She seems really nice—Superboy, by the way. Just for proper intro's sake—"

"Pandora!" Pandora said quickly, whipping around on her heel. Damian scowled, eyes narrowed into slits. "Pandora Jayes. Thanks for saving me—it's really nice to meet you! Thanks for all your hard work and everything too, I never thought I'd get to actually meet someone like you in person—thanks for being friends with Robin too! I know he can be a little—"

Damian jerked her back to his side with one firm tug on her shirt. "Cease this idle chatter. If we're no longer needed, the professor must be losing his mind right about now—"

"You have to go already?" Superboy protested. "I know the city was in danger just now, but there's still so much to see!"

Pandora dug her heels into the ground, throwing all her weight back against Damian. His scowl deepened considerably. "Don't even—"

"That sounds like a great idea!" Pandora blurted. "You know, he was just talking about how we need to live our lives more and stuff and explore Metropolis since we almost never come—why don't we chat more over cakes or ice cream once, you know," Pandora gestured to the mess a block away from them. "Everything settles?"

"We will not—"

"That sounds awesome!" Superboy clasped her hands in his, beaming brighter than she imagined. "I think we're gonna be great friends—"

"Hands," Pandora whimpered. "Hands, hands, please don't break my hands—"

"Yikes! Sorry, sorry, I got a little excited—"

"Stand still, murderer. I will cut you where you stand."

---

Side Story Two – Warm Hands

---

Pandora: 16

Damian: 16 1/2

Jason: 24

---

"She's pretty."

Jason looked up from the rim of his beer.

Roy had his head turned beside him, one hand loosely gripping his own mug. Jason turned to follow his friend's stare and it easily picked out the one he'd been ogling. Her body was lean, filled out in all the right places. Dark, mocha colored skin and hair falling past her shoulders in waves. Roy was a man of simple pleasures, so it made sense.

"Nice body," Jason agreed. Roy hummed, pleased by the obvious deduction.

Jason's eyes swept past her, scanning the crowd with an air of lax indifference until he paused briefly.

Soft brown hair was swept back into a thick, messy braid. It curved along slim shoulders. Her body was curvy, but not heavily so, dressed in a tight sweater turtleneck and laughing softly as she whispered something to one of her friends. Jason tipped his head to the side, watching for a moment until she finally turned, soft green eyes skimming over the crowd and settling briefly on him before they danced away.

"That one?" Roy jostled his shoulder to look and Jason shoved him aside with his elbow. "A little tamer than what you normally run for, isn't it? Actually, your type is always changing so I don't even know anymore. Nice eyes though."

Jason grinned, devilish. "Think you can even make it out of here with some company?"

Roy almost spilled his beer onto him. "Babe, if I can't make it outta here with some company tonight it's gonna be you riding home with me."

Jason contemplated how much a scene it would make to chuck his beer at his friend. He'd probably catch it from his reflexes anyway, so he was better off waiting for some lame ass drug bust where he could kick his dumbass friend into the harbor.

Jason downed the rest of his beer and stood, swiping his palms against his jeans and slicking his hair back over his head. He hadn't caught a break in weeks. Roy had suggested letting off some steam. He might've not come with the intention to leave with any company at the start, but what was the harm in one good tousle? He'd been pretty good for a while now, it couldn't hurt.

Jason stalked across the bar, easy gait, grin lazy. Her eyes instantly locked onto him and she offered a shy little smile, fluttering long lashes and turning to face him.

"Hey," she murmured. "That little tuft just a look or you older than you look, hun?"

He leaned his arm onto the table. Roy whistled behind him. Her fingers tip toed across and then settled on his wrist. Her hand was a little cold.

"How old is being dead and coming back to life?" he questioned playfully.

She laughed.

---

There was no real cycle.

Never was. Never could be. Save. Kick ass. Shoot a few heads, cut a limb or two off, get his ass almost handed to him before he pulled through like he always did. Fuck shit up. Make shit harder for people. Fuck around. Sleep. Eat. Some fun—was it even fun? A mission or two. Sleep. Keep the plant alive. Tell Dickie-bird to fuck off. Send Alfred a postcard. Kill some asshole.

Repeat.

---

Jason didn't give a shit about what anyone else had to say. He loved his bed more than he loved his damn hands. And he needed those hands. Shooting people in the head was hard without proper hands.

It was the one and only thing he'd allowed himself to take as a gift. A housewarming present sent to his apartment even though he'd never dropped the address and without any proper tag except for a neat, elegantly scrawled Master Jason on the tag. He'd thought about burning it, just to be that guy, but dragged it inside instead and had never regretted the decision.

People could say all they wanted about their nice, memory foam mattress and whatever fancy feather shit they were stuffing under their heads. Jason loved this fucking mattress. Old blood stains hidden beneath the crumpled sheets, a spilled coffee mark, and a burn where a cigarette had bled through—all of it. This mattress was his life because no matter what shitty shit he dealt with in this fucked up world, he had this mattress.

No matter how many beds his knees touched. How many bodies giggled beneath him or pressed kisses to his collarbone, their cold hands and damn beds were nothing compared to this goddess beneath him.

Jason groaned in pleasure, contemplating the effort he'd have to exert in picking up the knife beneath his mattress and cutting the blind so the sun would stop shining in his damn face. Then you have to fix the blind.

Jason tossed the knife anyway.

He tried not to think about the when. Preferred to think about the now.

Shaded blinds collapsed onto the thin light streaming into his room. Shadows fell over his face and Jason sighed through his nose, pushing his head into the pillow. He ran one hand through his hair, still a little damp—when'd he even take a shower after everything? A low chill ghosted against his bare back and he settled for the fact that at least his feet were covered by the blanket he'd kicked off, hanging from his sweats.

Jason's entire body coiled, tight like a wire. His fingers curled around the handgun behind his headboard.

A jingle of keys. The door to his apartment was pushed open with a soft click. Jason's eyes slid open and he waited, staring into the darkness with one hand on the gun.

"It's still alive!"

Jason dropped his grip on the gun, letting it sink back into the fold of his mattress. His eyes fluttered shut and he rolled over onto his stomach, pressing his face into his pillow.

He heard her soft footsteps along the creaking floorboards. He wondered sometimes if Baby Bat had taught to walk that soft or if it was some force of habit. Wasn't an easy thing to pull off for others. Something was settled down onto his counter, hopefully food, by the low rumble in his gut. He could hear her walking around his apartment, shifting things, moving them around. He would've come sauntering out to get her to quit her meddling, but the power of his mattress was a little stronger than usual today.

The door to his room creaked open. Jason said nothing. He could sense her waiting by the door, maybe surveying the current state of his room—he was pretty sure there was nothing too awful on his floors cause he generally liked to keep his room of all places fairly decent, if not for some weapons and bloodied clothes lying around, his mask on the dresser. She seemed to deem something right, because she walked into his room, steps a little heavier than usual and bent down to pick something off the floor. His jacket by the rustle. She put it up somewhere and then she was close to his side by his bed.

"If it stays alive till spring," Pandora said happily. "I think it might just bloom in this dingy little place."

Jason grunted in response.

She seemed to be hesitating by his side. Contemplating what he didn't know, tried not to make an effort to care. His head sank into the pillow and he sensed movement from her side. Should he give her a scare and knock her back onto the floor? Nah. Judging by the weight, she was carrying something.

Jason tipped his head, just a little so he could sniff the air.

"You weren't here last week," Pandora said, setting a bag that rustled down onto his nightstand. "Don't know how you're feeling or what you're in the mood for, but congee never hurt anyone."

Jason grunted. Pandora laughed, a light, loose little thing. There was a shift in the room and she walked away from him for a second. He heard her fumbling with his blinds before she made a noise of realization.

Warmth touched his back. Jason half turned his head, squinting one eye to see sunlight streaming softly into his room. She'd wound the blind's string around the knife.

Jason shoved his head deeper into the pillow, heaving out a low, muffled sigh.

The warmth felt a little nice on the chill where his blanket was absent.

His hand snatched up, seizing her wrist on instinct. Her fingers twitched in his grasp, pulse racing beneath his fingertips from the surprise of having him grab her. Jason turned his head so he could face her on the side, watching with half lidded, silent eyes.

"Sorry," Pandora's face lacked fear, but he wondered if the memory of the night he'd almost bashed her head into his coffee table and ended her little life then and there still remained. "I was going to pull the blanket up, I should've said something."

Jason watched her face for a moment longer before he snorted, rolling over onto his other side so his back faced her.

"Quit while you're ahead, sweetheart," Jason said finally, voice thick with sleep, a little rasp to it. "Lucky I didn't put that knife in your hand for putting those blinds up."

He could imagine her smiling behind him. "Anywhere else is fine, just not the hands."

He felt her fingertips against his shoulder, just for a second as she pulled the blanket up, knuckles rasping against his skin.

Her hands were warm.

---

No cycle. No rhyme or reason. He did what he liked. He did what he wanted. He had died and crawled back to life kicking and screaming. It didn't matter. He'd live how he wanted too. Nothing more, nothing less.

Kill. Save. Hurt. Destroy. Ruin. Sleep. Eat. Sleep. Feel the sun.

Repeat.

---

"You look so haunted," she said musingly, eyes soft an earnest beside him. "Like you've been through so much."

Jason smiled around his cigarette, tugging his lighter out from his pocket. "Yeah?"

Roy tried to play it cool at his side, sipping casually at his beer while trying not to blow his cover. The pretty brunette at his side with big doe eyes and a soft smile nodded, touching his arm. "Who hurt you?"

Her fingers were cold.

Jason couldn't help the hearty laugh at that. She looked a little excited. His lips curled into a dangerous grin.

"Who said I haven't been doing the hurting?"

---

"It's this really huge thing!" Pandora said eagerly, practically bouncing up on his couch that dumb way she always did when she started to get into telling him about things. He was tempted to shove her off just to throw her off her pacing, but he'd humor her this once. "Everyone in the department works really hard to come up with a piece they want to play and perform. They advertise it as a little formal but—"

"Not my scene," Jason said breezily, biting down onto a fluffy croissant. Look at him, eating a fucking croissant. Alfred would laugh in absolute pleasure over his little fancy tea cup. It's got ham and bacon in this shit so who gives a fuck.

Pandora's lips pulled into that weird little grimace she did when she was thinking. She was always so damn open with her emotions, too easy to read. Only once or twice he hadn't a clue what was going on in that head of hers. Probably rainbows and music and flour or whatever else she was made of.

His eyes dipped to where the scar peeked out from her shoulder. The tentative care she took around boiling kettles and pretty flower vases. The kind of care people didn't do because they liked something or thought it was precious.

Maybe some other stuff too, then. After the rainbows and shit.

"Don't come for the whole thing," Pandora still put the flyer on his coffee table. For good measure she folded a second one she brought and tucked it into his jacket slung over the couch. "Just my performance. You'll finally get to hear me play live."

Jason grinned, dangerous, "Sure it'd be worth my while when I could be busting some guy's skull open?"

"The event's catered by a crazy good Italian place," Pandora said in all seriousness. "Pink sauce is the real thing. Don't miss out on it."

Jason merely shoved the rest of the croissant into his mouth. He didn't have an answer. Probably wouldn't show, but he knew that she knew to expect that by now.

So just stop already.

His eyes dropped to where her fingers were curled around the bottle of tea she'd brought along. A bit of water dribbled down the side, promising it was a chilled drink. He wondered if her hands had gotten cold from holding it. If they'd stay cold.

Pandora turned to look over the top of his couch. "The plant's looking good."

"I call it Fucker," Jason said without remorse. "Try it—nice to say hey, Fucker's still alive. Got a ring to it."

She'd probably swat at his arm. Stick her tongue out at him. Some childish shit like that.

Pandora laughed, a full, ringing thing. He liked to think it hurt his ears a bit from how loud it was.

"It's clever," she said finally. Her eyes were bright and she grinned over her fingertips, turning to address the plant—"I'm glad you're alive, buddy."

You're learning. Jason didn't say a single thing and plucked her tea out of her hands, twisting the cap and swallowing. He knew what would come next. Getting people to play into his plan motion by motion was easy.

Pandora clapped her wet hands over his cheeks in retaliation. He didn't even flinch.

Her hands were wet. Wet and warm.

Jason swallowed.

---

It spun like some unhinged wheel. Splintered, made up of a bunch of shitty pieces and still holding together just because it fucking could, couldn't it? Even when everyone else told the shitty wheel to just drop dead.

Live his fucking life. Eat. Sleep. Kill. Break some hearts. Tell Drake he's still a little shit. Stop stalking him. Ruin some wannabe boss's life. Sleep. Eat. Feel the sun on his skin. Feel a little more alive.

Repeat.

---

"You have such beautiful eyes, you know that? Like aquamarines."

Jason's head rolled from the lounge chair in the back of the club to the girl who'd settled onto the couch beside him. Wide rimmed glasses around soft brown eyes. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun. Her attempt at fitting the scene was a tight sweater and a skirt that looked to wholesome to belong at a place like this.

"Yeah?" Jason questioned for fuck's sake. He could hear Roy shout something from the dance floor. He was really enjoying himself, wasn't he? Jason wondered if he'd hit a rough patch with that one assassin. Well, relationship wasn't that healthy anyway.

The pretty woman nodded, offering him a shy, small smile. "You look like you could fit right in here, but you don't really like it, huh? I'm the same. My friends convinced me to go but..."

She waved a hand, curling one finger through mottled brown locks. Jason watched the strand curl around her slender finger and then fall to curve around her cheek.

"No," Jason said.

She nodded. Her smile was small, eyes turning to him before she turned her whole body. "It'll sound dumb, but they wanted me to just... experience life a little, you know? Try new things... Get some experience I guess."

She laughed, "I never thought that was me, but maybe we can change, right?"

Jason offered her a loose, crooked grin. "Sure, doll."

Her smile widened. Her fingers reached out and Jason let her touch his cheek, her thumb brushing just beneath his eye.

"I wish I could paint them," she said softly, voice low and hopeful.

Jason kept his grin curled on his lips.

Her hand was cold.

---

"The color?"

Jason grunted, taking a long sip of the heated drink in his hands. The hot chocolate wafted up to meet him, a little on the sweeter side, but he indulged every now and then because why the hell not? "Won't ask again, sweetheart."

Pandora frowned. Her brows knitted in thought and her feet skimmed over the lowest bar on the stool chair. She got a little taller, he guessed. "I dunno if you just needed a little ego boost but..."

Pandora cleared her throat, straightening as though about to give a lecture. Jason figured she probably wouldn't crack her skull if he pushed her off the chair right now.

"A very mixed shade, of what many would say is simply aquamarine." Pandora said dutifully. "A pleasant blend of pretty greens and shifting blues, some might even say teal, to an extent."

Jason swished the liquid in his cup, staring dully outside the café window. Cars zipped past, people walked up and down the street.

"I think they're like sea glass though," Pandora said wonderingly.

Jason turned his eyes sideways to stare at her.

Pandora smiled at nothing. Always smiling at nothing like some kind of idiot. Her fingers drew circles along the glass, leaving a little smudge. "Like someone took some of the sea and blew it like glass—I think that fits, right?"

Jason took a long sip of his hot chocolate.

"Cheesiest shit I've heard all day."

Her hand swatted at his, nearly jostling his cup out of his grip. "You asked!"

Her hands were really warm this time.

"You all have such nice eyes," Pandora said with a wistful sigh. "Dam's are beautiful too..."

Jason smiled over the rim of his cup, the lingering warmth on the back of his hand.

---

Keep going. Trudge through the muck. Kill. Fuck things up. Sleep. Eat. Humor. Listen to that song. Water the plant. Send Alfred a postcard. Sleep.

Repeat.

---

"You know, I think you're starting to finally get a type."

Jason looked up from where he'd been fiddling with Roy's side mirror for no reason. He'd been wondering how easily he could snap it off with one hand, but Roy would probably send an arrow flying straight for his fucking back next time they went on a mission. Roy looked stupidly thoughtful.

"Yeah?" Jason egged. "And what type is that?"

Roy rubbed his chin, kicking his feet onto the dash. The two of them sat outside a club, booming and coming to life. A bar was placed strategically right across.

"You're usually all over the place," Roy said easily. "But you know, lately, you've been going for a more... I dunno, wholesome approach? Pretty clothed, brunettes, cute little smiles, girls who look like they'd never set foot in a place like this unless one of their friend's dragged them."

Jason barked out a rough laugh. Roy made a face but he waved a hand, "No, keep going. I wanna hear this."

"Well, I was thinking, yeah?"

"Cause you never do."

"Shut the fuck up. I was thinking, well, maybe you're going for those kinda... edgy girls? Ones who are like that, all sweet and kinda humble, real nice girls to take home—"

Jason snorted, nearly choking on another fit. Roy shoved his arm. "Pennyworth would be upset with you."

"Shut up, keeping going. See this through."

"But anyway, they act like that and really let loose once you show 'em you're interested. Cause they all seemed like that once you even gave them the time of day," Roy leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "But you haven't even slept with the last few, have you?"

Jason shrugged, a breezy smile on his lips. "Don't head home with every willing body, you know. That's just dangerous, isn't it?"

"Oh, I'm sure," Roy rolled his eyes. He sat there for a moment, looking thoughtful before he shook his head. "I'll figure it out. Don't you worry your ugly little head."

"Hey," Jason opened one hand. "Give me your hand."

Roy made a face.

Jason made a grabbing motion. Roy scowled and dropped his hand into his. "I swear to god if you're going to pull that knife shit again—"

A little warm. Mostly clammy. Jason gripped his friend's hand and then dropped it.

"Your hands are sweaty. That's gross man."

Roy shoved his shoulder and Jason laughed, throaty and rough. His friend shook his head, scowling over his own grin and he started his car. "Let's just go catch a movie, you piece of shit. I don't even wanna know what's going on in that fucked up head of yours."

Jason adjusted the seat so he could lean all the way back, tossing his hands behind his head as Roy's car came to life. He pulled the hood of the red convertible down and Jason shut his eyes to the night time breeze.

---

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

---

Fucking hell.

She was sitting by the island outside the kitchen when he shoved his front door open. Her eyes went round, doe-eyed and searching, quick, a bit sharper than they used to be—did you learn that from little Baby Bats too or are you just growing? Did I do that to you? Pandora's face twisted into something he didn't really feel like looking at as he roughly kicked his door closed.

Jason ignored the blood still dripping from some of the bandaged wounds. He'd done enough of a patch job. He just needed to fucking sit because fuck he was tired. So tired. He slumped down against his door, sliding his back down and then stretching his feet out in front of him. His head lolled back, knocking against the door.

Jason heaved out one long, staggering breath.

Everything hurt.

He stilled smelled like blood. Most of it wasn't his. Most. He could still smell gun smoke and powder too. The dockyards. All kinds of shit he hated.

Pandora knelt by his side, silent. His eyes were shut and he didn't even fight her as a warm, wet towel dabbed softly at his face, swiping at dirt and blood and grime and the night he lived. She pulled back after that, probably making sure he wasn't going to bleed to death before deciding anything else.

"Fucker still alive?" Jason rasped out.

He could almost feel her smile, small. "Still kicking."

Jason knocked his head back against the door. He huffed out another grunt, eyes still shut the entire time. His lids felt so heavy he didn't even know if he could pry them open with a crowbar at this point.

Pandora stood up from his side, beginning to walk away.

"Don't get the blanket," Jason said when he heard her footsteps heading toward his room. "Don't want blood on it. I'm fine."'

She stayed rooted to her spot before her feet turned toward the couch. He could afford a little blood on the cushion. That was fine. The familiar weight of a blanket settled over him and he scowled.

"It's mine," Pandora said, tucking it around his legs and Jason didn't even bother to imagine shoving her back. "I'll wash it."

Jason inhaled and exhaled.

"It's red anyway," she finished lamely.

Jason stretched out one hand. The less bloody one. It shoved her cheek in his reach but then his fingers dug into her scalp a little harder than he probably should've. He gave her head a rough shake, rattling around her brains so maybe she'd get a little more sense before ruffling her hair and then his hand dropped to his lap.

Repeat.

"Can I reach for your head?" Pandora questioned softly.

Jason didn't respond. She'd figure it out herself. He felt small, warm, real warm fingers touch his cheek bones, press with a little force into his temples and his tired, heavy body let her guide his head down. His cheek touched soft fabric and he inhaled the smell of his musky cologne and his pillow, nestling deeper into it and sighing like a low rasp.

"You sick of this yet?" Jason said.

He opened his eyes, half lidded and watching.

Pandora glanced down at him. Her hair was pulled up into one of those messy buns, strands sticking out every which way and curving around her chin. It was darker than the tan of her skin, enough to stand out a little.

"You're forgetting who my best friend is," Pandora reminded with a warm smile. He could see the memory of him in her eyes.

Warm. Real warm. Always warm.

"You've always got warm hands," Jason said, more of a slur. His eyes fluttered shut briefly and then he pried them open once more, watching her.

Pandora laughed, light. It was warm too. "I try to take some pride in them, you know. They're my magic makers." She wriggled her fingers and grinned. "They get clammier than you think."

Jason snorted. Pandora hummed, looking a little thoughtful. "Doesn't mean I've got a warm heart though like they say, does it? Dam says that a lot too, though."

Jason shut his eyes.

He could imagine.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

"What song are you going to play?" Jason said instead. He didn't really care, really. It didn't matter what it was.

Pandora hummed, the hint of a tune above him. "You just gotta find out, don't you?"

Jason's lips curled into a crooked grin.

"You're growing some balls these days, sweetheart."

Pandora laughed again. She grabbed the towel at her side and wiped at something on his forehead, her felt her warm fingers touch his skin.

"Someone needs to stand up for Buddy."

Jason hummed out something, low, loose.

"It's Fucker."

Pandora said something in response, but he couldn't really hear it anymore, his mind sinking too far into the black.

He could still feel the warmth on his skin.

---

Keep chasing that warmth.

Repeat.

---

Pacific Rim AU

---

"You can't do this alone, Dami."

"You need to find a new partner."

Damian Wayne, one of the highest ranking and youngest Jaeger pilots of his generation, standing tall and proud at seventeen, did not fight through sloughs of kaiju, hacking limbs apart, ripping heads off, and sitting through dull mission debriefings and golden gilded awards ceremonies—for this.

Damian carefully pinched the bridge of his nose, smoothing his fingers over the crease between his brows.

The hammering whup whup whup of the helicopter blades above him filled the silence. Damian's lips were pressed into a perfectly cold line, refusing to acknowledge the words spoken over the radio frequency. Some low ranking ranger was seated beside him, sweating bullets and keeping a lookout on the vast, rippling expanse of ocean that marked the edge of Gotham's coastline and where the beginning the city's Shatterdome began.

Low ranking fool can't even tell what to spot most likely. Damian doubted the ranger wanted any piece of this conversation happening in this aircraft and neither did he. Alfred looked unaffected by his expression, watching him calmly from across the seats.

"We'll be landing in two," the pilot said.

Damian straightened in his seat, fixing Alfred with a long, cool stare.

"Marshall Wayne made it clear," Alfred continued simply. "You cannot pilot a jaegar alone, no matter how eager to try you may be. The strain is simply too much. You've be out of commission long enough and they need you now more than ever."

"You don't have to regurgitate what father has already made clear," Damian said sharply. He held no ill will toward Alfred, would prefer not to. The older man was well of his stance on the matter and the state of his feelings. Repeating the cold hard facts was simply what he had to do as his secretary. "I understand the stakes. If this damned program can't afford to hold the frontlines for a measly few weeks," Damian stressed this, hands clenching tighter with each other. "Then perhaps it's the others who are sorely lacking."

"You are one of the best pilots out there," the helicopter pilot said suddenly, pitching in. "Never seen anyone fight in one of them like you do. Did. It's like watching poetry on the battlefield."

He had little time for poetry. This was war.

"I'm sorry for your loss," the pilot added. Damian shut his eyes for only a second. A flash of bright, dazzling blue. The single, calm utterance of his name. The creaking, ripping sound of metal crushed against metal and one lone smile in the carnage. "You two are heroes."

Alfred kept silent, thankfully. Damian shut his eyes, letting the sounds around him fill his mind in the quiet, chaos of it all. He could feel the helicopter lowering itself beneath him. Could hear the sound of metal on metal, of work being done and calls being shouted out across launching and working bays. People. Oil. Familiar sounds and smells.

"If it makes you feel any better," the pilot continued happily, not reading an ounce of the mood. "The new recruits from this year's program are supposed to be pretty promising. You haven't tried every facility yet, right? There's gotta be someone here worth your while."

"Hopefully," Alfred said absently. "We have tried every other dome. This is the last one."

Damian clicked his tongue. His eyes slid open and he turned his gaze sideways as people began to shout. Workers noticed the emblem along the side of the chopper and straightened to attention, running around like mindless idiots to assemble preparations for his arrival.

Useless.

"You're not a killer, you know."

Damian pulled the zipper along the collar of his uniform tighter up to his neck with a little more force than necessary. Shiny, golden badges were pinned to his chest, nothing but fancy little inscriptions and praise for things he just simply needed to do.

"You can be whatever you want to be out there."

It doesn't matter what I want, Grayson. Damian felt the shutters slide down along his eyes and his heart grow quiet, everything cold and still. It only matters what I will be.

An officer saluted him, clacking his heels together.

"Try," Alfred said, "to be nice this time, Young Master."

Damian merely tugged the decorative military cap down onto his head, pulling the heavy coat over his shoulders.

---

"Pan, you don't even know what's happening right now, do you?"

Pandora Jayes stopped, looking up with wide eyes currently hidden behind the smeared lenses of the goggles strapped tight to her head. Currently elbows deep into pitch black oil used to grease the current housing of their jaegers along with one very famous guest—the infamous Robin Mark One, currently out of commission tentatively but housed here for an undefined period of time—Pandora glanced to her arms, nearly stuck from all the thick goo and then back to her fellow rangers.

"It's Mexican in the mess hall today?"

Mary slapped a hand to her forehead. Oz chuckled softly beside her, both of them dressed in their nicer uniforms—nicer uniforms? Pandora squinted behind her goggles, a bit of hair sticking to her cheek where she'd tried to wipe it off and only smeared more oil on.

"Oh, no," Pandora said.

Mary made a motion for her to continue.

"It's another of those assemblies, isn't it? Who the hell do they think we are, you know? Yeah, we're kind a military power, but there's no need for show and tell like all those other countries—"

Mary slapped the back of Pandora's head, knocking her goggles out of place while Oz spoke up, "We have important guests coming to visit today. We're all scheduled to meet in the main debriefing room in about twenty minutes."

Pandora stared for several seconds at her fellow rangers. Her eyes then strayed to the military issued clock hiding behind the workshop close to the main deck where the jaegers were stored—she originally was trying to sneak closer looks at the Robin, but she was chased out like usual and told to do something better with her time practicing jaeger maintenance. Pandora squinted at the numbers behind steel bars and then made a soft noise of distress.

"That's soon."

"Yeah," Mary reiterated. "Very soon. I don't give two shits about this whole thing either, but we need to get going or it's another demerit and last I checked, didn't you have two?"

Pandora sighed fondly, "Worth it to see that concert, right Oz?"

He hummed sympathetically. Mary made a noise of frustration and slapped Pandora's goggles back onto her head. "Come on. We can talk to the head sergeant again about your transfer into the jaeger engineering core with me later. Right now we just need to get all this pomp and circumstance out of the way and have those top branch guys beat it."

Mary sneered at the thought, "Making us drop everything just to greet them so they can take their fancy pick... What are we, livestock?"

"Kinda," Pandora admitted, moving to stand and pausing. Her brows rose up to her hairline and Oz rubbed the back of his neck.

"Regardless of motions for transfer or not, you're still a pilot," he said softly. "And hey, all your test scores for the simulations say your drift rates and skill level are perfect to begin piloting. You just really need to give it a real shot, you know?"

Pandora rocked back on her heels, testing her weight against the barrel. "Simulations and the real thing are just... kinda different is all."

"You'd be better off in the engineering bay anyway," Mary said. "She already agonized about this a week ago, Mozart."

"Well," Oz protested. "I'll always be willing to drift with you, Pan. So count on that at least, okay?"

Pandora hummed back appreciatively. Mary rolled her eyes, make smooching faces at Oz while he secretly flipped her off behind Pandora's back. Mary turned back to their shared friend, "Alright, you plan on taking a shower in that thing or what?"

"Well," Pandora said carefully. "As interesting as that sounds, and I heard the oil we've been using for the jaegers is great for hair, by the way, I think I might be stuck."

Pandora tugged back on her arms experimentally.

"Just a little stuck."

Oz turned to Mary.

"And you wanted her in the engineering bay."

---

"I think I'm going to vomit."

Mary recoiled in disgust. Pandora winced, offering the ranger who'd spoken up a sympathetic and awkward pat on the back. "When this is over you should ask the mess hall for some ginger. Add that to hot water and it'll fix you right up."

"Ginger doesn't fix everything," Oz reminded kindly. "I'm sure it's just nerves."

Newly unstuck and freshened up Pandora—"Just shoot me with the hose!" "Oh my God, Pan, do you know how strong these things are?"—had managed to change into the officiated uniforms, sleeves pulled down to her wrists to hide the faint black markings still stuck on her tanned skin all the way to her elbows from the oil and grease. Her still damp hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, uneven ends sticking out and clinging to the sides of her face. She shuffled in between Mary and the other ranger, Oz right behind them as they all milled in their organized, uniformed lines. One massive platform was laid out before them, close enough for the front row to have a direct, arms-reach.

"You're late again, Jayes," another ranger remarked. Pandora offered him a goofy smile. "You don't even understand how big today is, do you?"

"Good luck trying to explain that to her," Mary scoffed. "You're better off telling her we have a pianist coming for talent show night."

"I think that's a great idea," Pandora muttered.

The ranger beside her groaned nervously, clutching her head in her hands. "This is the biggest chance for any of us. How often does a spot to be pilot of the Robin come up? Never! It's one of the greatest jaegers made, overseen entirely by Marshall Wayne himself and former and currently piloted by his adopted sons... This is any sane ranger's dream. Officer Wayne hasn't found a new pilot in any of the other bases so they've finally come here!"

"They're saying he has to pick someone this time," the ranger ahead of them added. "His drop count and kaiju kills are off the charts—he's been piloting for years now. Started the moment he could fit behind the helm. They need him back on the field as soon as possible and you can't pilot a jaeger with just one."

"He's so hot," the sickly ranger groaned.

Mary made a noise of disgust.

"He's definitely done a lot for our cause," Oz admitted. "He's got the skills and the means to do it... so I wonder why it's been so hard for him to find a partner?"

"Maybe because he's such an asshole?" a ranger snickered to the side.

"Shut up, you could never be half the pilot he is!" A girl hissed back. "He's mourning. Fleet Admiral Grayson was a legend and they were really close!"

"My buddy from Star City's dome said he's about as cold as you can get," a ranger whispered. "He broke a ranger's arm during a sparring session to test for drift compatibility. Broke someone's back too and nearly sliced a guy's fingers off! Who does that?"

"I heard he put someone into a coma when they tried to drift," someone else murmured. "I can't imagine what goes on in that guy's head..."

"He's Marshall Wayne's legitimate son," a ranger said. "But they say his mom was one of the highest trained assassins working for that group that wanted the kaiju faction to—"

"I've heard enough," Mary snapped. "Who cares? Let's just get this guy in and out. Let him pick his lucky little prize pony and we'll all pray for them, celebrate, whatever the hell they want."

"We shouldn't base too much off rumors either," Oz added. "At the end of the day... this guy's a hero, isn't he?"

"And it'd be anyone's greatest chance to be able to pilot with him," the girl added harshly. "This is the chance of a lifetime!"

"You're weirdly quiet," Mary said, turning to look at Pandora beside her. "Don't tell me all this has got you—"

"I think I left the heater on in our bunk," Pandora whispered. "Aw, man, I'm gonna get it this time..."

"Cadets! Attention!"

All heads turned toward the commanding officer's spit flying command. The rangers at the front winced from the onslaught, straightening to attention as the head officer shot them all critical stink eyes. Pandora absently fiddled with the cuff of her uniform sleeve, pulling it and smoothing it out.

The head officer scowled, "Today marks the beginning of something good happening to this god forsaken shit hole, got that? One of you lucky bastards is going to have the chance to pilot the Robin, and I know none of you idiots aren't going to miss a chance like this. So look alive. You're the face of this dome and if I so much as hear a single thing about anyone—"

He jerked his thumb roughly under his chin.

"It's never just the kaiju you have to worry about," Oz murmured.

The head officer snarled something out and they all straightened to attention. Pandora hummed lightly under her breath, fingers drumming against the side of her leg. The piano in the mess hall needs tuning. Maybe I can get out of this early and fix it before—

"Ready!" the head officer bellowed. "And salute!"

Pandora brought her hand to her head. Mary scoffed beside her and Oz looked curious as the heavy doors swung open with a groan. Pandora scuffed the metal flooring with the tip of her boot, smearing a bit of oil with it. Heavy, even footsteps echoed loudly against the podium. People began to whisper around her, an entire crowd shifting with movement as they all clacked their heels in unison.

Pandora cocked her head, listening.

Click. Click. Stop. Click. Click. Stop.

The heavy, even steps set a tempo.

They walked with a gait. Smooth, heavy but soundless all at once. A series of contradictions to sounds that left her puzzled for a moment. The light swish of a heavy coat. The even pacing of their steps and something light in the release—

"He's handsome as the devil," Mary said finally. "But he's all things devil too, isn't he?"

Pandora's eyes drifted upwards.

Ebony locks peeking out, slicked back and wild at the ends. A heavy looking, fancy coat that hung over his shoulders and hidden beneath the low shadow of a finely issued, high ranking military cap—

Hard chips, like cut emeralds.

"His eyes are beautiful," Pandora said softly.

---

"Everything conducted within this training room will be done under Officer Wayne's jurisdiction, understand?"

Damian had shed the stifling military cap, leaving it behind with Alfred when the head officer with a tendency to spit had led him and the fresh rangers off to the sparring room. His sleek, decorated coat still hung easily over his shoulders, sweeping across the ground as he disinterestedly observed the training deck. Used staffs tucked off to the side, wooden swords, a club or two and basic training facilities. The works.

Uniform.

He pulled his katana out from his side, setting it down on the table behind him. The wooden sword would be enough for this group by the looks of it.

He'd dully assessed them all the moment they'd filed into the room. No one of any sharp or particular interest had caught his eye except for a rather lean and fierce looking girl, but the roguish way her eyes trailed up and down his body said enough. There'd been another two he'd noticed to the back who promised the chance for a good spar—but a pleasant battle and finding someone drift compatible were two entirely different things.

Damian scowled.

This is a waste of my time.

But Alfred was waiting outside and if he didn't at least take a few minutes in here, he'd have hell to pay for it later.

"You listen to him and whatever he says," the head officer continued fiercely, clearly eager to strut his positon and show Damian what he was capable of with his older age and leadership. "Officer Wayne, the rest is up to you. Use them however you like."

Damian surveyed the gathered crowd of faces once more. Most were fairly youthful. Only a handful promised to be older than he was. None, unsurprisingly, promised much else.

Damian clasped his hands behind his back.

"You all are aware of why I am here today," Damian quipped. They straightened to attention, watching his every move, keeping eyes lowered, legs trembling, and knees knobby. Damian didn't hold back and rolled his eyes, stalking over to the array of sparring weapons.

"I'll make this simple enough for even the slowest of you to understand," Damian drew forth a wooden blade, testing its weight and turning with ease on his heel. His back foot came round and clicked ahead of his first, stopping evenly into a stance.

"You will come at me in whatever order you'd like," Damian said evenly. "However many you like, if you so see it fit to show me such. I will stand right here."

He stood, tall, regal—piercing as he held the sword in his left and narrowed his eyes.

"Begin."

Their hesitance was to be expected. The crowd of gathered rangers shifted uneasily, eyes darting to each other. Damian didn't find the urge to repeat himself and kept his eyes trained solely on the spot of the training mat before him. His pulse was low and even in his ears. A simple, steady beat.

Let's just get this over with.

A young man snapped forward on his right. Damian side stepped, dodging his blow and slamming the sword into his back. He fell face forward with a groan and Damian stepped over him, coat flaring out.

Damian brought his sword up once more.

Two rangers ran for him this time with war cries. They picked up their staffs and swung. Damian ducked his head and spun on his heel, blocking both their strikes with one swing and then walking quickly forward. They stumbled beneath the force of his power and then Damian shoved—hard. They toppled down onto the ground.

It all goes past in a monochrome blur. There was no sparkle and glint. No fire and shine. Damian moved like water, fluid, unyielding. Blow after blow rains down, various battle cries, enraged screeches as man and woman alike come after him. He dodged ever strike and retaliated in kind, never missing a beat, never skipping a step—practiced and practiced and routine.

He felt dull.

Damian rolled his eyes as a young man tried to sweep his feet out from under him. He stepped out of range and leapt upwards, coat flapping and his feet came down with a resounding snap onto the other's wooden sword. Damian used the edge of his own to knock him back and off to the side.

No. A beautiful girl, lean and muscular surged past him, trying to get in close and swipe at his face. No. A heavy set man with bulging muscles and a clear temperament in his movements. No. Damian's feet glided across the mat, never faltering. None of you fit.

"There's a trick to these kinds of things," a staff tossed his way, caught with ease while brilliant blue sparkled. "It's not about having a good fight. That's always a plus. It's the movements. Predicting. Feeling. You know it's right when we're like mirrors. You know what I'm going to do and I know what to do to follow that. It's a cycle, we keep coming back and clashing and understanding."

Damian watched a massive club come swinging down and he slammed the hilt of his wooden sword hard into the man's wrist. He crumpled to the floor with a wheezing whine.

"You are suggesting you and I get along?"

"I know we do."

Damian looked up with half lidded eyes.

He'd almost cleared the entire room.

The rest huddled to the back, seemingly content to watch for as long as able. Several didn't seem too keen on joining the collective groans and crouched figures behind him. Damian didn't even spare a single glance over his shoulder, turning the wooden sword in his hand and letting out one long, suffering sigh.

Another ranger shuffled onto the mat, hardly picking up his feet.

Damian felt his patience wearing thin.

"Step off."

The ranger stopped, looking up from his wooden staff in shock. Damian didn't even spare him a glance, running one finger along the top of the sword in his hand. "I will not repeat myself."

"You didn't even give me a chance!" he quickly protested, cheeks turning pink. "I haven't even—"

"Your form is sloppy," Damian said coldly. He nodded to the huddled mess of fallen rangers left behind in his wake. "You drag your feet. Your shoulders are hunched. I'm not going to waste my time with someone who can't even hold his own weight."

His cheeks turned a bright, flustered red. A few people behind him snickered, some shaking their heads sympathetically. The gazes of his recruits told Damian enough—the ranger must be known for his sloppy work and poor temperament. They'd get nowhere in the field, let alone be even a single percent drift compatible. He wouldn't waste his time on this blundering fool of a teenager.

"You think you're the shit, don't you?" the ranger spat. Damian met his heated stare coolly. "You think you're all that because you're some guy's son—who the hell are you to treat us all like trash? We're all equals here! You go around strutting your stuff, flashing those pretty medals because you killed a few kaiju?"

"Hey, drop it," someone said quickly. "Come on, back off."

"If we got the chance to have half the amount of drops as you, I bet we'd all be strutting those pretty little pieces of plastic," the ranger swept on heatedly. His eyes were bloodshot, lips curled back like a snarl.

Damian didn't have an ounce of patience for idiots like him.

"There seems to be a perfectly fine reason," Damian said. "Why you haven't gotten the chance to deploy then, isn't there?"

He could see the moment rage overtook him.

Something dark bubbled up in Damian's chest. It sank claws deep into his heart and urged him on.

"Then stand," Damian raised his sword. "Show me."

The ranger's eyes sharpened. He scrabbled for his staff and lumbered to his feet.

He didn't make it.

Damian's sword came down upon him. Quick. Silent. Merciless. It slammed into his arm and knocked him sideways. A deafening crack was heard across the entire training room and the ranger howled, grabbing the staff and spitting as he jerked his head up to glare at Damian.

"Then stand," Damian repeated. "I'll make you my partner."

The staff came down on the side of his leg in a desperate attempt at catching him off guard. It was a low strike, the dirty kind that came from someone already downed. Damian's sole caught it and shoved it backwards, nearly bending the man's wrist back completely. His eyes filled with spiteful rage and Damian let the dark feeling in his chest thrive for a moment. Who was he to stand around and let this idiot spit insults at him? He wasn't Grayson. He wasn't the charismatic man with a million smiles—

He had no time for this farce.

The ranger lunged, trying to tackle Damian off his feet with sheer surprise and weight. Damian brought his sword down across the back of his neck. Hard. He crumpled to the floor with a wailing cry and grabbed for his now swelling neck, hacking.

"Fucking bastard," the ranger wheezed.

Damian rolled his eyes. He was done with this. He'd done his time. Alfred could say nothing about his attempt—

"You had the nerve to attack a higher ranking officer with ill intent," Damian said coldly. "I'll commend you on that."

"You're nothing but that bitch of a traitor's son."

Damian's shaded world of gray cracked.

Red bled into his vision.

"That's enough!" a young man shot onto the mat. Damian gripped his sword hard enough to splinter the wood, eyes cutting into the two men now before him like daggers. "You lost fair and square, stop being such a sore loser you asshole."

The brown haired teen's eyes were apologetic, a thin lining of wariness and fear shadowing the soft glow. No, not you either. "I'm sorry, sir. He let himself get carried away. I know this looks badly upon our group but not all of us are—"

"You've all made your case perfectly clear," Damian said flatly. "The results speak for themselves. This was a waste of my time."

The ranger on the floor fumed. The brown haired cadet who'd stepped in bowed his head, "I understand. Forgive us, sir—"

Damian saw the ranger's hand creeping along the floor out of the corner of his eye. Still at it. If he struck now, the newcomer would end up receiving a hefty edge of the ranger's blow in an attempt to dodge his own. Damian could strike low, slamming hard into the ranger's jugular to get him out of the game, but the newcomer would still suffer poor results.

Damian gripped his sword, twisting it once in his grip and tensing.

"—he doesn't know what he's saying and he's just spitting insults—"

The hand lunged. Damian struck down.

Clack!

The resounding echo of wood on wood filled the training room.

For a brief, fluttering moment, something stirred in the back of Damian's mind.

The edge of his wooden blade had been blocked. Cleanly. The end of the wooden staff propped up to just narrowly collide with his strike. Damian briefly flexed his wrist, testing the force behind the staff and it held steady—good, just like that. His eyes flickered, emeralds sharpening at the sudden rush flooding his veins and his eyes followed to the edge of the staff.

The brown haired cadet looked pale. His eyes were darting back and forth nervously, the idiot of a fool on the ground looking dazed and stunned from having the two blows slam beside his head.

Damian didn't care for them, his eyes found the owner at the end of the staff.

Her hair was a mottled sort of brown. Dark but varying a bit in shades, lighter as though beginning to be bleached by the sun. Her skin was the kind of tan that promised work and labor. Sleeves rolled up to her elbows and revealing strange black ink stains across her skin. Damian could see the rise and fall of her chest, the heavy little skip that must be echoing in her pulse by the way she kept shifting. The newcomer had slammed her foot onto the end of the staff, causing it to rise up just in time to block his strike.

Cut emerald clashed with pale, dazzling blue.

Damian felt something sharp twist on the left side of his chest.

"Sorry," she blurted. Damian kept his eyes locked on hers, but her gaze quickly dropped to their feet. "E-Excuse me, um, sir, but that was going to..."

She grimaced. Her free hand rubbed the back of her neck and Damian's eyes kept boring holes into the front of her face, urging her to raise them back up to meet his. "...I think you...made your point."

She ducked her head and not-so subtlety whispered to her fellow soldier, "Oz, get that idiot outta here, my foot's cramping."

Damian flexed his wrist, testing her hold. Her face twisted, the only sign that she'd noticed, but her foot held steady on the other end of the staff. Damian felt a little bit of weight being pressed in return on his end, hesitant but insistent. You don't plan on letting me strike.

A flicker.

"I mean, what he said was really out of line," she continued, babbling, really. "Super. Absolutely. We all really appreciate all the time you've put into keeping us safe and making sure dummies like us," she kicked the heels of the foolish ranger and made eyes with the one named Oz. "You seem like the kinda guy that could understand we're not all like him though."

Her eyes rose, meeting his. A stupid smile stretched on her lips, kind and easy. "Right?"

Damian drew his sword back, a snake recoiling. Her foot instantly dropped off the wooden staff. Relief flooded her face—so earnest, you should hide yourself—and those pale blues briefly flickered up to him before skittering away once more. Something stirred, low and curling in his gut. Damian kept his grip loose on his hilt while she half turned her back to him, saying something to the soldier he surmised was a friend of some sorts for her to stake herself on the line for him.

Or perhaps you merely don't care. Damian mused curiously. About the consequences.

"State your name, ranger."

Her back stiffened. He could see the panic flood her face, eyes darting wildly around the room as though to look for an escape route. Amusing. Damian waited, head cocked slightly to the side to get a better view of the face she'd turned away from him. Those pale blue irises still refused to hold his gaze.

Her friend shot her an equally startled gaze. He saw a brief flicker of determination, the young man seemingly ready to sweep in on her behalf as he hauled the dazed idiot at his feet to the side. A touch admirable but wholly unnecessary.

A few of her fellow recruits snickered. Is this usual for you? Her head lifted, chin cocking slightly. Damian drummed quick fingers against the hilt, a steady tempo before he cut it clean.

"Jayes," she said finally, eyes rising to meet his own. "Pandora Jayes, uh, sir."

Pale, swirling blue. He could see a hint of darker shades in them. Different from Grayson's.

"Ranger Jayes," he said firmly, not intending to threaten her off but meaning fully well to show her he didn't intend on expecting any other reply but yes, sir. "Pick your weapon."

Someone sucked in a sharp breath. The boy from before looked ready to protest. Pandora's face simply twisted, childishly put off. She glanced over her shoulder, staring. The few behind her stepped back, shaking their heads.

Pandora turned back to him, pointing to her dumb face.

"Me?" she repeated, looking as though he'd suddenly started speaking a foreign language. "Weapon... you wanna fight me?"

Damian calmly raised his sword. His eyes never left hers, holding them so she wouldn't turn away again.

The flicker in his gut quieted, waiting. He felt claws flexing in his chest, felt like a dark jungle cat perched atop an overhanging branch. Felt his tail lash in impatience, waiting though, waiting still.

Pandora looked dumbfounded. Her fingers came around and pinched the thin skin of her wrist. She winced, looking at her own hands as though they'd betrayed her before glancing hesitantly back to him.

"I won't," Damian said coolly. "Repeat myself."

Come on.

She gnawed her bottom lip between her teeth. Something flashed across her face and then she hit the end of the staff, jerking it up into her waiting hand. Pandora tested the weight against her palms before she carefully raised it up, mimicking his stance. Her foot glided out across the mat and Damian shifted. Pandora turned, keeping herself centered and eyes trained uncertainly on his face, watching. Reading.

No, Damian briefly tapped the side of his sword to her staff, signaling his intent to start. He hadn't bothered to do the same to all the idiots before her. You're not reading, you're listening, aren't you?

Pandora awkwardly tapped her staff back against his sword. He saw her throat bob with a gulp. A bead of sweat trickled down her brow and she still didn't look above finding an exit the moment it presented itself to her.

Her eyes hadn't left his.

The flicker of warmth in his gut breathed, inhaling deeply, thickly. Greedy.

Damian tucked one hand tight against his lower back and struck. Pandora's eyes went bulgingly wide but her staff parried. Wood clapped against each other. He flexed his wrist, her hold gave way and he stepped forward, pressing her. Pandora's hand slid down to the base of the staff and shoved it upwards, sliding his sword down and her hand snatched the top of the wooden blade. You'd cut your hand like that, fool. But she shoved his blade low and Damian quickly followed, jerking his head to the side when her staff came down sharply from the higher angle.

You'll follow. Pandora used the chance to take a step back instead. Damian clicked his tongue, narrowing his eyes and watching every shift of her muscles, every twitch of her fingers. Her eyes stayed steady on his face.

Damian's feet carried him swiftly closer. His sword slammed down into her side. Pandora's arm shot up in a jerky move to block and he turned with the motion, pressing harder into her. Her staff came up to slam into his shoulder. Damian used his free hand, grabbing the post and Pandora suddenly lunged forward.

He felt the familiar weight of his coat over his shoulders shift. His eyes brightened, lips curling faintly at the edges. Pandora's fingers had snagged his coat, loose over his arms and tugged it up into the air. She disappeared from his sight but Damian shoved his sword forward, catching the heavy fabric with ease and tossing it to the side.

Pandora's foot came flying for his face.

Damian's hand came up and he shoved it the rest of the way, the tip of her boot nearly catching his cheek. Her balance trembled and he kept his grip firm on her ankle, watching her face and she bit her lower lip, brows narrowed in concentration and then she twisted. Pandora used him as an anchor, bracing back on her hands and launching herself away from him.

Damian followed.

His sword came down, slamming into the rough mat below. Pandora rolled out of the way, pushing herself up and lashing out once more with a guarded kick. Her staff followed as she twisted on one hand, pushing up and Damian barely had a chance to guard his side, feeling a heavy weight to that strike.

Now follow. Pandora surged forward. Damian felt his blood come to life beneath his veins. Felt something loud pound in his head. His eyes sharpened. Left block. High kick. A—an uppercut? He tipped his head back, Pandora's fist flying by his chin and his eyes swiveled down, catching sight of her flushed face, brows still furrowed in almost childish concentration. Uncharacteristic of you. You'll pull back. Pandora's feet danced away from him and Damian followed with quick, even steps. I'll lash out.

Pandora's eyes went round and she narrowly ducked his strike. He saw her face contort into a grimace where the end of the wood caught her wrist. Damian pushed forward. Will you run or confront?

Pandora's staff came up, guarding his next strike with a resounding clack. He tested her hold once more, watching the throb of her wrist. Pandora grit her teeth and held steady though, those strikingly pale blue eyes lost in concentration—

What are you listening for? Damian raised his sword once more, grunting in surprise when her arms came round and she shoved him back a step, palms flat against his abdomen. You want me to back off?

Damian snatched her left wrist, fingers curling tenderly around the swollen edge and he pulled. Hard enough to force her to follow but loose enough not to inflame the bruise. Pandora's eyes hardened and she came back with newfound force behind the staff, aiming a swipe at his side. That's it.

Damian breathed, watching as Pandora exhaled in tandem. The young ranger's eyes flashed and she was now following his move step for step, lacking a little force, missing a finesse to her form, but Damian—

Come on.

Something felt light in his chest. Familiar. New. Approachable. Pandora Jayes' eyes were like chipped pieces of glass, not quite frosty, tempting to pick up and hold between his fingertips. His sword felt like an extension to his limb, wooden fingers constantly grabbing onto her own as she parried and blocked. Pulling back on her strikes. You don't want to hurt? This is war.

Almost there.

Damian's blade slid smoothly along her staff, bringing him closer. Pandora's body tensed for a second, legs poised to jerk her back. Damian hooked an ankle behind her own and her face hardened, understanding brief in her eyes and Damian felt an almost rumbling sensation in the back of mind, a pleasant, curling buzz lined thick with adrenaline and a rush he'd almost forgotten about after all this time—

He and this ranger were—

"Pan!"

The sudden shout caught his partner off guard. Pandora's eyes flickered, awakening from a trance. Her eyes tore from his form, jerking to the side and Damian barely caught himself before his sword slammed into her side, poised and ready where he knew her staff would've come up to parry and she would've followed with a punch—

Damian felt screeching tires in his mind, felt something shatter and splinter and felt a very, very familiar feeling. A quick flare of irritation and annoyance. His eyes hardened, cold and ruthless as he exhaled an irritated sigh. His turned to find the source of the interruption.

A girl with an electric blue streak in her blonde hair. Her face was twisted into something that radiated unease, eyes darting furiously to him before settling uncertainly on his partner—Pandora. Damian breathed, inhaling and exhaling before he slowly straightened to his full height. His slicked a hand over his hair, feeling sweat trickle down the side of his neck, felt the cool air of the training room touch the heated curl of his skin.

Damian's eyes flickered to Pandora.

Her shoulders rose and fell with the quick way she was trying to catch her breath. A bit of choppy hair clung to her cheeks, but her eyes were bright, shining as she seemed to try and reorganize and orient herself. Her skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, showing how much of a toll he'd taken out on her. We can work on that. Her grip on the staff loosened and her eyes darted to him, hesitant before she offered him a shaky, silly little smile. Sheepish.

"I, uh," Pandora scrambled for words, eyes pinned to the floor. They darted to the girl who'd called her name—a kitchen tool—and Oz and then back to him. "I hope you're...satisfied?"

She smiled, all teeth and complete uncertainty. Playfully bright despite the heave to her shoulders.

"I wasn't the only one who felt that." Damian said without mercy.

Something flickered across her face, gone before he could grasp it. The one from before—Oz, shot him a wary look. The girl who'd spoken up turned to him sharply.

"I think you've made your point clear sir," she said loudly, stepping onto the mat. Damian tipped his chin upwards. She didn't look the least bit deterred. "None of us seem to fit your criteria. We hope you find what you're looking for somewhere else."

Damian watched her coolly.

"I don't believe I dismissed you yet, cadet."

Her eyes flashed. Oz stiffened, uncertain. Pandora's face looked pinched into something constipated.

"We're half an hour past the designated meeting time, sir." She said firmly. "We would love to give you a full blown tour and all, but this Shatterdome won't run itself. We—"

Her hand snatched Pandora's wrist. Pandora winced, quickly trying to play it off with a weak little whistle. Damian didn't look impressed. The intruder shot her an apologetic glance and loosened her grip. "We, in the engineering bay, you see, have a lot to do with tuning up those jaegers guys like you so kindly fight in for us."

Damian turned his gaze to Pandora. She was sweating bullets, eyes staring firmly at something in the corner of the room.

"You're not a ranger?" he asked quietly, prodding.

There was a turmoil happening between these three he didn't quite care for. All Damian Wayne wanted to know was who this foolish girl thought she was and when and where he could get his partner fitted as soon as possible to breach the next step.

Pandora looked guilty. The intruder looked expectant, and Oz looked as though he wished he'd never stepped in the first time and caused this whole mess.

"I am," Pandora said finally. Her friend flinched. Pandora touched her wrist softly, meeting the intruder's eyes before she turned back to Damian. "I am, sir. Um, sorry again for causing such a...ruckus, but there are things we need to take care of if you don't mind...dismissing us?"

Her lips turned up into a hopeful smile, eyes bright.

Damian would feed her an inch then.

"Dismissed," he said curtly. The room scattered, rangers piling out the doors. The three before him stood there for a moment longer before the intruder tugged Pandora's wrist a little more firmly.

"Come on, Pan," she said soothingly. "We should go get this checked out."

Half-baked taunts. Damian bent down to pick up coat, but a smaller hand had already reached for it, hoisting the heavy material up and out to him. His eyes traveled upwards, expectant. Pandora's face looked flighty, but he had to commend her for the sunshiny look that stayed in her eyes.

"Good fight!" she chirped. "Great moves, ah, well, that's to be expected, huh? It really shows then, I guess! All your hard work, I mean."

She held the coat out to him, arm trembling with the effort to hold it with one hand. "Nice coat."

Damian purposely grabbed the spot where their fingers would meet. He felt warmth at his fingertips and to his amusement and expectance, she quickly jerked her hand back. Pandora shoved it into the pocket of her jacket, tucking it deep. Her eyes darted around the room, refusing to meet his eyes once more. Stop that.

"Good bye," she said awkwardly. "And, um, have a nice day!"

Her friend tugged her away from him. Pandora offered a stupid smile and nearly skittered out the door, Oz in tow and flashing him one long, lingering look before the trio dispersed.

Damian stood there, alone and silent in the leftover training room. His fingers smoothed over the creases in his coat, folding along the edges and fingering a single pin thoughtfully.

The door swung open behind him.

"You seemed to take your time this round," Alfred said. "Shall I be expecting results to report to Marshall Bruce?"

"Not tonight," Damian said flatly. "Tomorrow I want Robin readied to be active for duty."

Alfred raised a brow, "Might I ask why or shall I merely presume?"

Damian rolled his eyes, tossing his coat with ease onto his shoulders. He picked up the fallen staff, gripping it in one hand with the wooden sword as the two pushed tightly together.

"For a drift compatibility test."

---

"They're not going to feed me without dinner, are they? I know I made a mess of myself out there, but it's Mexican tonight and I love Mexican 'cause they make the tortas like my mom—"

"If that asshole doesn't put up a fuss then you should be fine." Mary said flatly. Pandora let out an agonized sigh of relief. "Who the hell did that guy think he was? Sure, he's won some fancy awards. Sure, he's had the most drops for anyone his age ever and his kill count is crazy—but have we ever thought about what that kill count says about him? He broke Ted's arm—"

"Ted was an asshole," Oz said.

"I know. But he didn't need to break his arm! A psycho!"

Pandora sighed, as though a bit wistful. "He did have such pretty eyes though."

"He's also saved a lot of people with those drops and medals," Oz said, ever the voice of reason. Mary fumed, understanding but still unhappy and Pandora patted her back soothingly. "I didn't like the way he fought with you either and I almost wanted to jump right in the middle of it, but thanks back there for stopping him. I'm sure he wouldn't have hit me—"

"He would've," Mary spat.

"He would've," Pandora said slowly, after some thought. "I think that's why I did it—glad he didn't get pissed at least. He was going to block Ted's blow but you would've been hit with a nasty one."

"He didn't need to single you out and pick on you either," Mary said. "He didn't give you a break, did he? Look at your wrist!"

Pandora looked sadly to her now swollen and wrapped wrist.

"That was my bad though," Pandora sighed, regretful. "I should've went in for a punch... I think I could've got one on him then. Thanks for ending it when ya did, Mary."

Mary scowled. She turned her head, tightening her ponytail and Pandora shot her a curious look. Oz was watching each step he took in thought. The three of them walked in silence for a minute longer.

"The way you guys fought," Mary started and then stopped.

"He fights with a sort of rhythm," Pandora continued, eyes flashing in memory. She curled her fingers and flexed them. "This tempo. It's like a weird mix between the waltz and a tango. Curt but...saucy? I dunno."

Pandora blinked, looking to the two beside her who'd been watching her in silence. Pandora felt a bit judged. "What?"

"It's just that," Mary said glumly.

Oz didn't look better off, but his eyes were honest as he touched Pandora's wrist.

"It was like you two were dancing."

---

Damian Wayne didn't believe in good fortune.

He'd merely asked for the quietest training room. The least used one where not a soul would think to bother him for an early morning regime during his stay at the Shatterdome. The soldiers had been quick to promise that they'd ensure it was fitted and equipped and he'd be left to his own devices.

"Poor kid. So young and seen so much, just make his life easy."

"He watched him die right in front of his eyes."

"He's lucky he didn't die too."

"He's lucky—"

He couldn't remember the last time he'd listened to music.

Such a strange thing to think, really. An idea he never would've imagined however long ago. Memory begged to differ that Grayson often put on some god awful song or tune to lighten the mood sometimes during workouts, but it wasn't quite like this.

There was a piano in the mix. Heavy, not quite leading the piece but not accompanying it either. It worked in tandem with the sound of the smooth violin, aching and raw and flooding the room with its sound. It was a fast tempo. Quick, not hurried. Purposeful.

She moved seamlessly to the sound.

Damian watched from the end of the room. Her feet carried across the mat, light, not quite elegant. But they were quick enough. That'll do. Her movements with the staff were smooth. They lacked heavier force but she could make up for that with a clean blow or two. I can teach you. Her hair fanned out and swished. It slapped her cheek once or twice but she braved it still. You're not unaccustomed to pain.

He stared for a moment longer at the thick cloth tied around her eyes. It was a peculiar way to train, not quite inefficient, but strange still. If it helped enhance the sound of the music and improved her style, he wouldn't jest.

Damian clicked the top of his coat. The heavy fabric draped over a chair against the wall. His short sleeved turtleneck hugged his skin tight, pulling over muscles and clinging from the run he'd finished before arriving here. He set his katana down beside his coat, watching her move to the beat of the music, every key and string and then he stepped forward.

---

"You should have every right to be whatever you want to be."

Pandora thrusted the staff forward. She followed.

"I love it right here. But you? People like you were never meant to stay on the ground."

She felt something smooth glide along her staff. It felt like a bird had landed on the other end, holding, waiting for her next move. Pandora almost smiled, twisting her staff in her hands and then she stepped forward.

The music filled her ears. Her muscles relaxed and tensed all at once. Invisible hands guiding each thrust and parry. Pandora's feet moved, choosing the path while the second pair followed close behind, right at her hip and moving.

A weight tapped her staff and she lowered it. Pandora slowly twisted her body and lifted her foot for a kick.

It pressed against air and pushed down, she slid forward.

"I want to make you proud."

---

His fingers glided across the smooth wood. He could feel the thrum of her pulse just inches away from his fingertips. The music flooded his ears and the person before him flooded his senses.

Damian turned with her, guiding the next launch. He pressed his palm flat to the staff and she backed away a step. Now you'll come at me again.

He could feel every inch of her movements.

He hadn't felt this alive in ages.

---

Pandora could hear the music begin to wind down, her mind slowly coming to a halt.

She felt a weight against her staff and froze.

That wasn't the weight of a bird.

The training room was haunted.

---

Damian hadn't known when the song was reaching its end, but he also hadn't expected the rapid swing of heavy wood into his gut.

He barely managed to withhold a wheezing exhale. His hand instantly shot up, catching the wood and nearly snapping it against his knee on instinct but withheld. He'd been so wound up in the wind down of their movements, the sudden attack had caught him completely off guard. Damian looked to Pandora in disgruntled disbelief, her fingers fumbling with the blindfold before she tugged it down, bright blue eyes wide with fear—

"I knew this place was haunted oh my—oh." Pandora stared at him with round eyes. Damian gazed back, eyes slightly narrowed.

He watched the moment understanding finally seemed to dawn on her, no matter how long it took. Her eyes flickered and her jaw went slack before she snapped it shut. Pandora gingerly weaseled the staff from his grip, dropping it to the floor and then kicking it behind her.

She offered him a stupid smile. "Uh, hiya! I wasn't really expecting company—that was a little weird, huh? Sorry about that, I didn't even realize there was someone else and when I finally felt someone, I thought it was a ghost and swung—"

"You realize," Damian said slowly, as though speaking to a child. And he might've been. "That if I had been some sort of apparition, such an attack would have no use, right?"

Pandora clamped her mouth shut, staring at the floor. An awkward, jostling laugh left her lips.

"Wow, this is, uh... This is a little awkward."

Pandora rubbed the back of her neck. Damian watched her, still coiled. "You... You always just... pop into random training sessions?"

"No," Damian said flatly. "So count yourself something worth consideration over."

Pandora hummed, nodding absently. Damian was a thousand percent certain his words had flown over her head and she'd just decided instead to come to her own conclusion. "Gotcha. Okay. Well, uh, good morning! Still morning—yeah, still morning. Hope our base has been treating you well, um, sir. If there's nothing else you need from me, I'll skedaddle and get out of your hair sir—"

"Damian."

Pandora's mouth clamped shut once more. She stared at Damian with round eyes.

"Wayne," he added. "Damian Wayne. You needn't call me sir." High ranking or not, it'll get annoying when we pilot together.

Pandora's lips moved as though testing out his name on her lips. She made a curious face, tipping her head to the side so her ponytail fell over her shoulder. Pandora rubbed her chin, thoughtful before she snapped her fingers. "Can I call you Dam then?"

Damian stared.

"Wayne it is then! 's a little funny since it's your pop's name too, right? Well, it just shows you're family after all." Pandora babbled on. She stooped down to pick up the staff she'd kicked away, hefting it into her hands and drumming her fingers along the length of it. "You fight really good."

"Well."

"That too. You move like a cat—a jungle cat I mean. A big one. Like a panther or something. It's a little intimidating. But cool. Very cool. Just shows how hard you work—"

"You always train with music?"

Pandora stopped her rambling, eyes dropping to the boom box off to the corner. It sat, silent and waiting for its next use. Her smile turned soft. "Yeah. I try, at least. It helps me—I think. Or, well, I hope it helps. Just puts me at ease, I guess. I always tell my partner that if he just gives me his favorite song, we sync up real easy—"

"You have a partner?" Damian cut in, choosing to ignore how sharp his tone sounded.

Pandora didn't miss a beat, completely at ease at this point. She flopped down onto the training mat, kicking her legs out and leaning onto her palms. He wasn't sure whether to be intrigued or appalled by her ease. "Oz. The guy you almost—the nice guy! He's great. Loves music too. I mean, we've never piloted an actual jaeger together, but if he or I ever got picked, we said we'd pick the other."

Damian took this information with a grain of salt. "And the girl?"

Pandora made a face before she blinked, "Mary? She's a real star in the engineering bay. I was thinking of transferring, you see. That's why she said that yesterday—she's really nice. Might've not seemed like it, but she probably thought you were gonna kill me or something. I thought that too at first until—"

"Your wrist?"

"It's fine. Much better after some ice. Just need to make sure I don't do anything too funny to it."

Damian nodded, something like approval. Pandora opened her mouth to continue before she stopped, lips wriggling strangely before she pressed her fingers to her mouth and glanced at Damian.

"You usually do this, don't you?" he said finally.

"Talk a lot?"

"Spew nonsense."

Pandora grimaced, propping her good hand against her chin. Her lips turned into a pout. "I'd like to think more along the lines of...open. You feel? It's like, ah, well, what's there to lose when we have monsters rising up from the ocean to come destroy us whenever they feel like it so why should I shut any doors?"

Pandora turned to him. "Is it annoying?"

No. Damian thought absently. It was pleasant, in a deranged sort of way. Not to be saluted, mocked, scathed or eyed. It was nice, in many ways, not to be told apologies that didn't matter and handed sympathies that threatened to slip down his throat for an action no one could take true blame for.

Except me.

A part of him wondered if she even knew of his history. Doubtful, to an extent. But the recent events that robbed him of his previous partner had flashed through the world like a knife wound to the chest. Impossible to ignore and painful in every other way.

Pale blue eyes watched him, content.

His chest twisted, just a bit.

"Since you haven't yelled at me or gotten me in trouble, I guess not," Pandora decided finally, turning her gaze forward. She rubbed her knee. "I... I guess I should thank you, to be honest. I was on the fence about this whole program and thought about deserting, but that little spar really helped me remember why I even signed up in the first place."

Pandora sighed, looking a little fond. She absently reached over and patted his leg. Damian raised one careful brow. "There's actually some really nice people here, you know. Picky or not, I'm sure you can find someone. I can even introduce you to a few."

Damian considered the following approach carefully, picking up his discarded katana from the chair. He grabbed his coat as well. "I've already found one."

Pandora's eyes lit up. Excitement and curiosity flashed across her face like a beacon. Damian tipped his head in her direction, "You ought to be more guarded with your emotions."

"Who is it?" Pandora asked eagerly. "I mean, if you don't mind me asking, of course. I understand if it's confidential or something. You seemed so standoffish to everyone yesterday, we all figured you were gonna just leave here upset and moody."

Pandora grimaced. "...not, um, not moody but—"

"I don't know much about her," Damian said simply, smoothing out his coat. He tucked his katana against his side through its holster. "I suppose such information can be arranged, to a basic extent. Miniscule items like that have never been of much importance in my search. Reasonable standings, adequate skills in combat—the higher the more preferable, but I'll do with what I must, and the grandest of all—drift compatibility."

"It's not super hard, you know," Pandora said. "It's like a whoosh or something, isn't it? Just gotta click well enough with them. No chasing any RABIT's and you should be golden! It'd help if you didn't hate them too."

Pandora looked thoughtful, brows scrunched together. "Was it Lea? She's strong. Real fast too."

The girl with straying eyes and wandering hands. "No. The moment we clashed, I became certain our compatibility rates would be more than satisfactory. My instincts have never failed me on this."

Pandora tried her hardest not to look so intrigued. It wasn't everyday after all one of the best jaeger pilots shared information on the entire process of picking their partner to fight alongside. They became two halves of a whole. It was an artwork. A collaboration of melodies.

Damian turned, stalking toward her in even, clipped steps.

Pandora's fingers tapped the floor to his tempo. "Hmm, you speak awful highly of them already. That's nice though! See? Everyone say's you're all mean, but I bet you're a lot nicer than you look. You're just... cold, is all."

Damian stopped before her. Pandora was smiling at the ground, fingers continuing where his feet had stopped. "You said earlier, you thought I was going to harm you."

"Kill, but yeah."

Damian's fingers tightened on his coat.

"What made you realize I wasn't?"

Pandora's fingers stopped. She looked thoughtful for a moment before glancing back up to him with an easy, light smile.

"You're not a killer."

The coat in Damian's hands fluttered in the air. The heavy, thick fabric settled over Pandora's shoulders. Confusion colored her eyes and she grasped at the collar, turning it toward her where a bright pin blazed back and then she turned her gaze back up to him, startled and childishly confused.

Damian's eyes watched her at half mast, languid, but they glinted against the blaring lights of the training room.

"Ranger Jayes," Damian said coolly, "I do believe you've just received a promotion."

---

I KNOW IT'S NOT A PROPER UPDATE BUT I STILL HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED IT AND HAD FUN READING IT AH. I HAD A LOT OF FUN WRITING IT A REAL UPDATE WILL BE OUT AGAIN TOO ADFKSFERF

I wanted to put a Ghost!Pandora AU in here too but I'll do that for you guys another day. A soulmates one and omegaverse too. The Ghost one and soulmate one just end up being a little sad and I didn't feel like being super sad this chapter HAHAHA. Ended up that way anyway after writing Jason's bit but writing him is honestly so much fun and I get really sucked up because he's such a great character and argh, I want him to be happy someday too y'know.

:')

Thank you so much for your patience and for waiting though you guys. I know it ended up taking longer than expected. I'm trying to get started on the next chapter too, but I guess I ended up using this break to actually just take a break with all this stuff happening. There were a lot of things I needed to get in order and finalize and I'm transferring this semester too so gotta make sure I'm on my shit!

BUT I HOPE YOU GUYS HAD AMAZING HOLIDAYS AND GOT SPEND TIME WITH LOVED ONES AND FRIENDS AND LIVED IT UP THESE PAST FEW WEEKS I MISS YOU LOVELY AND AMAZING PEOPLE. I sneak my phone under the table and smile like such an idiot no matter where I am when I see your messages and your hopes for updates and just kind words or really cool ideas or thoughts and debunkings and argh, the fact that you guys take the time to ask about these things or send ideas and share them with me and MAKE AMAZING FANART THAT IS ON MY TUMBLR YOU SHOULD CHECK IT OUT AT ALKHALE OKAY. Can't thank you guys enough and for your patience with me and my sporadic updates and my shitload of interests and stories and word counts, lmao. Love u all so much, ugh.

I'm really happy I finally got to write Roy. It's technically in-story canon, but he'll show up properly too because he's such a derp, I love him. Superboy too. He's so fun next to Damian, I want to expand more on their relationship if I can. The Batman verse just has so many amazing characters, it's crazy to try and touch on them all properly without straying or stretching the story too long. Nascent's headed toward some bigger changing points before we coast into an end, but thanks for sticking around and I hope you'll continue to see it through to the end and I can deliver something we'll all be happy and proud of!

Adjwaklsfr thank u hoes so much I luv u, ah.

THANKS FOR READING, I LOVE YOU ALL!

Marshmellow-

-OUT!