A/N: And another one. This one more or less explores how Damian and Del work as siblings. If the last chapter was confusing, the first person prose were merely illustrating how Sam and Del had met. So essentially it showed how the friendship began and ended. *cough* for now.
Update: Added in a few fixes, sorry about that!
It was the soft flutter of paper that tore Del from her dreamless sleep. The bed was empty, void of Jax's presence. It left the girl squinting at the light that seemed to pour from the windows. I overslept?
Pushing herself to sit up, she followed the noise, spying a hazy shape of a boy sitting at her desk with one of her mother's letters.
"What are you doing in here? She managed, trying to ignore the urge to lay her swimming head back down on the pillow. "And why are there two of you?" She groaned, putting her palms into her eyes. "One of you is bad enough." Realizing what he was reading, she shoved the blankets back, clamoring to get out of bed.
"Put those away!" She snapped, trying to reach out to snatch the letter from him. The boy jumped back, landing on his haunches on one of her low shelves, knocking over picture frames and knickknacks in his wake.
"Pennyworth gave you chamomile tea, did he?" he asked, watching her stumble and latch onto the poster of the bed before she ended up hitting the ground.
Delilah sank to the floor, resting her head against the mattress. That explained a lot. No wonder her father was so grumpy so often. "How did you get in here?" She grumbled, forcing herself to her knees so she could begin to pick up the things he had knocked over.
"I spotted the number on the girl's hand, it way too easy. Pretty sloppy really."
"Samantha!"
Delilah pulled herself from the ground, shaking the glass out of the broken picture frame. "Her name was Samantha, now off!"
The second he hopped down, she ripped the letter from his hand. " How the fuck can you be so smug?! You saw what they did to her! She's never hurt a soul her entire life!" Del turned to toss the letter on her desk, but just as Damian thought she was on her way to being rational, she turned on her heel. "I don't understand you. I don't. Sam was nice and respectable towards you wasn't she?"
Damian said nothing.
"ANSWER ME!"
"Yes." He said shortly, watching her shoulders fall when she just sighed and shook her head.
"I don't get you. I really, really don't. Doesn't it bother you? Even a little? How can they groom you to lead humanity when you couldn't give a rat's ass if it burned? It's just a bunch bullshit."
"It is not!"
She turned to him then, the sun causing her eyes to gleam. "Right, try explaining that to Sam. What did she do to deserve this?" Delilah wanted to know, yanking a pair of pants from her closet. She didn't wait for the boy to answer her; she simply slammed the bathroom door, leaving him standing there in a sea of broken glass.
"Nothing…she did nothing."
Damian was crouched on the floor, an old childhood friend fisted in his hands. The glass was in a neat glittering pile. "You sound like Father." He accused, staring at the stuffed Batman.
"Good, at least one of us does." Del snipped back. It was all she needed to hear to know that her father had given the boy a scathing lecture. Then the kid did something she hadn't seen him do before. He sighed, setting Batman back on the shelf.
"So, do you want to tell me why the league is trying to keep tabs on me?" She asked, fishing into her desk and tossing Damian a small clear bag with the bloodied tracking device still inside. "Dick found it in my shoulder; I can only guess that they have these things inside Jason's rounds." She watched him turn the bag over in his hands, inspecting the tiny thing with his shrewd eyes. "Unless you have the balls to tell me you don't think it's related."
"He's the Red Hood." Damian said evenly.
"The Jason you knew is dead." He tossed the bag back at her, ignoring her leer. "It's one of the League's. But why they would want to track you is a mystery. You're not even that important."
Delilah dropped the bag to the floor. Dick had fried it the minute he knew what it was, but just to be sure she crushed it under her shoe, satisfied to hear it crunch. "Maybe not to you, but I know I'm one of Dad's weaknesses."
Squatting down to pick up the shattered piece she stared at him. "I'm not so naive that I don't realize what I am."
The girl rose from her crouch. "Jason tears at his rational thinking, it's emotional for him. It's going to soften him." She said, watching Damian clasp his hands behind his back. "What are they plotting, Damian?"
Outside the bare trees bent to the will of the wind. What would happen to the branches if they didn't bend? Surely they would break. "I don't know." He said softly. "I DON'T KNOW!" She just looked at him with those eyes. His father's eyes. They just regarded him the same way. She didn't believe a word that was coming out of him either.
"I'm just the distraction." He said quietly, turning his face to the sunlight. "I'm just her pawn."
Delilah rose from her crouch slowly, trying to shake off the chill his words had given her, but she didn't utter a sound. This was the most emotion she had ever seen come out of the kid.
"I don't know how to make him believe me." He said, slamming a fist on the shelf in front of him, making the frames rattle in place.
"Actions. Actions speak louder than words, Damian." She said sidling into the space beside him, but she didn't spare a look at him. "You have to show him that you can play by his rules."
When he gave her nothing but silence she spoke again.
"So, Jason softens him up. You're the distraction for the set up. Then what am I?"
"The final blow."
She looked at him then. "Alright, what are we going to do about it?"
The words seemed pull him into facing her. His own face pulled and twisted into that incredulous look of his. Surely he was too young to be making such wrinkles. "We?" He asked, raising his brow at her. "Did Pennyworth give you too much tea?"
"I didn't stutter did I? This is my family they're toying with."
"I don't need your help." He scoffed.
"Yes you do. You don't know Dad as well as you thought."
Damian turned away from her, leaving her just a tad curious when he crouched down and retrieved the sword she had tucked into the frame of her bed. "If I let you help me, then we have work to do."
"Just what are you saying, Ninja Boy?"
"That you're slow-it's embarrassing."
Alfred seemed a little miffed to see her up so early. "Well, good morning, Miss."
"Good morning, you sneak." Delilah said, gingerly plucking an apple out of the fruit bowl on the counter. She picked another and threw it at Damian.
"I warned you he'd do that, didn't I?"
Del pushed her father's paper down, beaming at him when he glared at her over the wrinkled folds. "You mentioned something about it." She said when he yanked his paper away from her. "Don't forget about today."
"Today?" He was folding his paper now, smoothing out the wrinkles she had made."What about it?"
"Kid's Quest. Downtown Park, the one near Wayne Enterprises? Hello? C'mon, I know you didn't forget." Of course he didn't, not when she was constantly reminding him. The girl tipped his cup forward, nearly done, but not yet.
Bruce Wayne was most definitely a philanthropist with his money. But when her own mother became the head of the PR department, she sought to change the way the community viewed Wayne Enterprises. And the best way to do that was through Wayne himself. He hated giving speeches, but according to Paige Larson, actions spoke louder than words. So if he was actively doing something with his hands right there in the community, he could more than likely get out of giving speeches and still have the same effect.
"Its good press for both Kid's Quest and Wayne Enterprises." She said, wiggling her brows when he just sort of smirked at her. Some days when this girl opened her mouth, her mother came out.
"Can't a man finish his coffee?"
"Hurry it up."
She was immediately swatted on the head with the newspaper. "Pushy isn't she?"
Alfred seemed to scoff. "She comes by it honestly, Sir."
Bruce tipped back his cup to polish it off, when his eyes fell on the boy who was standing against the doorjamb, rolling the apple in his hand.
"He's going too."
That had the pair of them staring at her wide eyed. But instead of explaining it to her father, Del turned to Damian. "You want to lead humanity, and then you need to learn to be a part of it. Sometimes you just have to jump in. Time to sink or swim."
"What? But I-"
"Chill, I'm not going to let you drown or anything, but I will crack your skull if you're anything less than nice, make no mistake of that."
"And how do we explain-"
"Big brothers Big sisters Program." She said quickly, glancing at her father. "He's going to be on his best behavior. Right, Damian?" At least…she hoped so.
The boy bit into his apple, watching Del pop her hands on her hips as she stared at him. He rolled his eyes at her. "Yes." Their father seemed less than enthused about the idea.
"We'll see about that." He said, easing himself away from the counter. "Let me change my shirt."
The second he was out of ear shot, Del fisted her hand in Damian's shirt. "Remember what I said, you have to play by his rules."
Damian smacked her hand away. "His rules, not yours."
"Whose rules do you think I follow? This is your chance, don't blow it."
Standing there in front of the grounds all Del could see was her. There were still flashes of a life she could barely recall still residing here. Long before wood on the jungle gym began to split, she could still see her mother standing there, waiting for her on the other end, or waiting to catch her at the bottom of the slide that was so covered by tags it no longer reflected the sunlight.
"Hey."
Delilah blinked, realizing her father was waving his hand in front of her face. The girl automatically shook her head, trying to shake the memories off.
"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"
"No…sorry."
"Can you help Mrs. Darrel register new volunteers? Damian and I are going to help Trevor start to take some of this down. The new equipment should be arriving by noon."
"Yeah, no problem."
She moved to turn toward the sign in table when her father stopped her. "No picking up any you shouldn't, clear?"
"Yes, Sir."
Del stood there in the wet grass, catching Damian's eye when he looked back. "Don't blow it." She mouthed, turning toward the table where a round older woman sat. The second the woman saw her, she beamed.
"There's she is. I was wondering when my help would show." She said, bending back to look at the girl. There was a small line of people. Delilah immediately grabbed an extra clipboard. "Sorry, I overslept."
There was a cool soft hand on her forehead the second her words left her mouth. "Well, you're not warm. Had to check."
Delilah bit down a laugh as she changed out the forms to a fresh page, she didn't even cast an eye at the next person in line when their shadow washed over her. "Name?"
"Timothy Drake."
The pen rolled from her hand, down the clipboard and into the grass. She went to pick it up the same time he bent down to retrieve it for her. Their heads met with a smack on the up rise.
"Geez, you two haven't even left the volunteer table and you need hardhats." The old woman beside her commented, watching the teens sheepishly grab their heads.
"Tim."
The boy held out her pen. "Delilah."
"Uh, thanks." She grumbled out, taking the pen from him, trying to ignore the ache in her temple. "What are you doing here?"
"Isn't that kind of obvious?"
"Oh, Jesus, Delilah, put the boy to work before you run him off." With that Mrs. Darrel rescued the clipboard from her, leaving her to put her hands on her hips and stare at the woman. "Honey, can you use power tools?"
Tim smirked at first. "Yes, Ma'am."
"Got any weight restrictions? Any health problems that keep you from doing certain tasks?"
He shook his head, letting the old woman scribble her way down the page. "Praise Jesus, Halleluiah. Hand him a hat, Girl, and tell him where to find Trevor. He'll set you up."
Delilah rolled her eyes, reaching into a box of white hardhats. "I've never ran anyone off I'll have you know." She said cheekily, more to the woman than to Tim.
"No. She just scares them off."
"I'm far from scared." Tim jested, taking the hardhat before Del smacked him with it.
"Why don't you introduce him to Trevor?" When Delilah hesitated the woman picked up the girl's work belt and hat. "I can handle this without you." She said with a wink.
"Mrs. Darrel, one might assume that you're doing this on purpose." Delilah whispered.
But the old girl's ruby painted lips just smiled, lifting the laugh lines around her mouth. "One might be right, now go."
Tim said kept quiet, his shadow stretching out walking in pace with hers while the long wet grass clung to their shoes. Tim gripped the back of his neck. "Dad mentioned they were going to be here today…so…"
"It's cool. We could definitely use the help." She said quickly, opting to stretching her hands up and stare at the clouds rather than having to look at him. As the white tops of the hardhats came into view, Delilah all but skipped. Her father and Mr. Darrel were taking down one beam of the jungle gym, while Damian and his grandson were struggling to carry their rotting beam to the trash pile. It didn't help that Christian Darrel was nearly two feet taller than the boy. To his credit, Tim jumped right in, lifting the beam level with Christian. Damian was full on glowering.
"And she brings help." Trevor panted.
"He brought himself. Don't look at me." Delilah said, giving a whistle to the trio. All three popped their heads up. "Tim, Trevor Darrel. Mr. Darrel, this is Timothy Drake."
Mr. Darrel only nodded toward him as he and her father heaved the beam into the mounting pile of rubble.
"Sweetheart, can you handle a pair of bolt cutters?"
Delilah nearly choked. "Can I handle a pair of bolt cutters? Oh, ye of little faith."
"Good. Then you can start taking the swings on the old set down. They're so rusted, they're beyond saving."
Delilah froze, eyeing the tired arch of swings.
"Saving the structure?" she heard her father ask.
"Oh yeah, it's got good bones, just needs to be cleaned up."
Delilah only took a breath, picked up the bolt cutters from the tool pile and started wandering her way toward the swings.
"Del, use a ladder like a normal person!" But the girl already had the bolt cutters hanging off her tool belt and was halfway up the pole before her father's words ever reached her. Much to his chagrin the girl only flashed him a smile as she straddled the top of the swing set. "Too late. Maybe next time."
"Sometimes I think that girl is part spider monkey." Mr. Darrel grumbled, rubbing his stubby gray beard.
Bruce crossed his arms infront of his chest. "She's something alright." He said, with a shake of his head. "Damian, give her a hand." Damn if the boy didn't do the same damn thing.
"This is ridiculous." Damian hissed, cutting the bolts from one side as she worked from the other. "What's the point of this?"
Del watched the top of a bolt roll to the sand below, letting chain sag into a pool of rusty links. "Yeah well, so is your face." When he reared his head up at her with that exasperated look, she shook her head. "To give back to the community." She told him, as she clipped the second bolt. That's when the girl noticed a small thing in a blue and purple tutu looking up at them.
"Back up, Sissy, I don't want you to get hurt, okay?" The little blonde thing only nodded, and backed up to the edge of the sand pit.
"Sissy? Who is she, and why has she been following me?" Damian wanted to know. If she didn't know any better she'd say he sounded annoyed.
"Annabelle Collins. Everyone just calls her Sissy." She nodded toward a brown haired boy that seemed a year or two younger than Damian himself. The boy was sanding on the metal seats of the seesaw. "She hangs out at Page for Parents while her brother has his piano lessons."
The man beside him seemed to look up at them. "She's not bothering you guys is she?"
"Yes-"
Delilah immediately smacked her brother on the back of the head. "She's fine, Mr. Collins." She chirped.
The man tilted his head, but nodded before crouching back down to his work.
"Be nice." She hissed, reminding herself to cut the next bolt.
"I don't do nice."
"Clearly." Delilah muttered, letting the soft giggles drag her eyes to the ground. "Don't mind him, Sissy, he's a crab."
The child merely gave them a wide gap-toothed smile.
"Why are you following me around?" Damian growled, his green eyes lowering to slits when the child just shrugged.
"She's not going to tell you. She hardly says boo to a goose. She hasn't spoken above a whisper since her mom died last year. Who knows," Delilah said with a shrug, "Maybe she likes you. Can't imagine why, you're not that likeable."
"I don't want to be liked, I rather be feared."
"Yeah, yeah." She murmured, cutting the last bolt in half. She could only smile to herself when Damian simply did a backflip off of the pole and snatched up the swing that Sissy was trying to drag off to the rubble piles.
"Stop following me." He snipped at her, but she just kept skipping just behind him.
"What's so funny?"
Del swung her legs over and dropped herself to the ground beside their father. "Watching my little minion get crushed on by a four year old in a tutu."
"So, he's your minion now? Why are you two so chummy all of a sudden?"
"Chummy? Don't kid yourself; we're just tolerating each other. I've killed him hundreds of times in my head."
Bruce Wayne was not amused; therefore, Batman was definitely not amused.
"Don't look at me like that. It's not like I'm going to act any of it out. It's just wishful thinking." She couldn't help but duck when his hand connected with the back of her head.
"I see where it starts." Damian noted, as he wandered back for the next swing.
Delilah just shrugged. "He does it to me, I do it to you, it's a vicious cycle."
"Actually, it started with Alfred." Bruce amended, picking up a couple of the swings.
"I could see that." Delilah said with a nod, grabbing the last two on the ground.
"I can't. You mean you actually let that servant-"
"He's not a servant."
Damian rolled his eyes at the pair of them.
"I open my mouth and my father comes out. What the hell?"
"I told you as much! You don't listen very well, do you?" Damian said snidely, but the two behind him were already laughing. "And…neither does he… Why am I not surprised?"
By the time the sun had climbed to the center of the sky, it had burned the dew from the grass. Damian could feel it warming his back as he swiped his choice of sandwich from the concession line they had started. He was reduced to this? Standing in line with these people?! How humiliating.
"So… how well do you know Delilah?"
His eyes flicked to the tall dark haired boy next to him. Oh, that guy. "And why is that any concern of yours?" Damian hissed, snagging a water bottle from the cooler as he made his way down the line.
"Sorry I asked."
It was around that time that a boy further in line spoke up. "Tim, right? What do you want to know?"
"I was just going to grab her lunch for her -"
"Chicken Salad sandwich, cracked pepper chips, and water. She's a creature of habit."
"Thanks."
Damian peered over his shoulder at the brown haired boy. "It's going to take a lot more than this to get on her good side." The kid told him, grabbing a bag of chips before working his way to a picnic table where Mr. Collins was sitting.
Damian only glared at him. What gave him the right to know his sister so well when he hardly knew her himself? And he was her brother, even if it was only by half.
Damian plopped himself under a tree, curiously watching the black haired boy approach Delilah.
"Are you imagining the swings?" He asked, lowering himself next to her under the shadow of the empty swing set. He set the extra food in her lap.
Her blue eyes seemed to be focused on the white puffs of clouds that skimmed above their heads. "Imagining the way they were, I guess." She said, looking down at the paper plate. "Thanks."
"No problem, had to enlist some help though, I can't say I've ever seen you eat." He said, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Except at that lunch, but you only took three bites."
"Three? You were counting?" She asked, giving him a sidelong glance when she pulled the top layer of bread off her sandwich, and then opened her chips.
"Not really. I just have a really good memory." He said watching her shake the chips onto her sandwich and then put the bread back in place.
"I used to think I had a good memory." She said quietly. "My mom used to take me here on her lunch breaks." She added, forcing herself to take a bite of her food. "Now…all I can remember is bits and pieces."
Tim glanced up at the building in front of them, knowing it was Wayne Enterprises that cast the largest shadow down on them. "So you were in the Wayne tower all that time?"
"There's a child development center on the second floor. So yeah, there were days that I was in the same building with both my parents. I just…I just didn't know it."
"Makes you wonder how well he can see the park from his office, doesn't it?"
She seemed to pause at that. "I never…I never thought of that, but he can see it pretty well actually."
Tim shrugged when she went still. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything-"
"No, no. it's fine. It's not the first time something like that came up."
He raised an eyebrow at her, but when she didn't reply, he let the silence build between them, filling with the sound of soft conversation with the stir of the city on a lunch break.
"I do that too." Tim said suddenly, forcing her to look at him. "Think I'm forgetting my mother. And just when I start to think I've forgotten her completely, something always seems to pop up just in the nick of time to remind me."
"And it's the smallest detail." Delilah supplied, watching his lips kind of upturn when he nodded. Delilah Wayne met Timothy Drake long ago. Not in the crowded halls of Gotham Prep, but in the crowded rows of the cemetery.
He seemed to open his mouth to say something, but stopped when a tiny girl in a tutu came bolting forward. Delilah had just popped the end of her sandwich in her mouth with the girl plopped down beside her, beckoning the girl to tilt her head to the child's folded hands as she whispered in her ear.
"Oh, great." The girl groaned, rising to her feet. She was dusting off the sand when Tim made himself stand up.
"What's up?"
"Just a bunch of buffoons with cameras." She grumbled before turning to the child. "Can you go tell my Dad? He's over there chatting with the Darrels." When the girl nodded, Del gave her a light push. "Run, Rabbit, run."
"And just what are you going to do?"
"Negotiations."
"Oh, we're in trouble."
"Hush up and watch."
She left Tim standing there, aware that Damian had rose to his feet. "Just stay there." She mouthed to him, urging him to sit back down with the flat of her hand. When the girl spotted the bunch with cameras she met them on the sidewalk, trying to ignore the click of the cameras or how bystanders would stop and stare at the charade.
"Are you here to take pictures or is someone actually trying to write something? Show of hands."
When a few hands slowly popped up, she beckoned them forward with the crook of her finger.
"Who for and what about?"
"Gotham Gazette, Miss Wayne. We were told that you and your father were here, and thought it would make for an interesting story."
The girl seemed to tilt her head. "There is an interesting story here, but it's not about us. We're just volunteering; it's not the first time we've done this sort of thing. You know that. But maybe you would rather talk to Darrels, the creators of Quest Kids? They can fill you in better than we can anyway."
She watched the reporter and his fellow photographer trade looks with one another, when the photographer just shrugged the reporter nodded.
"That would be nice."
"I thought I taught you to play nicely." The sound of her father's voice made the group chuckle.
"I am. I promise. These gentlemen would like to talk to Mr. and Mrs.'s Darrel."
"I'm sure they would be glad to, they're right over there." Her father said, gesturing to the elderly couple as the journalists crept by him.
When Wayne's eyes landed on the next young man. He immediately went about digging a letter out of his pocket. "I'm a- I'm from Gotham Teen Magazine." He stammered, showing Mr. Wayne the letter first. "We've tried contacting Miss Wayne on many occasions, about doing an exposé. Everyone knows her name." he said with a shrug. "But nothing more, aside from the times we've seen her in the paper of course. We know she does quite a bit of volunteering so we were hoping…"
"Let me see if I can get her to agree. As you can tell, she's kind of prickly."
"Prickly? Who are you calling prickly?" Del said loudly as her father turned her away.
"Several attempts to contact you, huh?"
"Yeah. In the trash bin they went." Delilah said through her teeth. "Don't even try to tell me you don't do the same thing."
"But wouldn't it be good press?"
The girl found her mouth hanging open. "You've been waiting to do this to me, haven't you? Just lying in wait."
He simpered. "That's beside the point. If you can take control on how the media will spin your story, don't pass it up, because if you leave it to the tabloids…like Gotham Noir…"
"Okay! Okay!" she screeched, spinning away from him. She looked at the reporter and sighed. "alright."
When the reporter produced a recorder, she found herself inwardly groaning. "Anything you don't wish to discuss?" he asked.
"My mother's death." The words left her quickly. "Uh, look, I know you want to interview me, and that's fine. But I really would like to get back to work. Any chance that thing can still record from your pocket?"
He seemed a little surprised. "Yeah."
"Good. Do you know how to use a paintbrush?"
His eyebrows went up.
"I'm not working while you're standing around. We're too short handed for those shenanigans."
His lips cracked into a nervous smile. "You got it."
"So what's your first question?"
"What do you think your flaws are?"
Damian looked up at the sound of his sister's laugh.
"That's kind of obvious isn't it?" she asked.
"I can be pushy, impatient and-"
"Hard headed."
"Gee, Dad, I wonder where I get that?"
"Might want to add sarcastic to that list too." Her father said peering over his shoulder.
Delilah lifted her arms only to let them fall with a slap. "Again, one of the many traits that happened to his before they became mine." The girl said, jerking her thumb toward her father as he walked ahead of them.
The reporter seemed to be laughing. "You and your father must be a lot alike."
The girl actually stopped as if she were thinking about it. "I guess in a lot of ways, we are." She said stopping to pick up the paint and paint brushes. "We'll be painting on the little playhouses." She said eyeing Damian as he squashed his thumb with the hammer while Sissy peeked at him from inside.
"Damian, what are you doing?"
The boy stared at her dubiously. "Must I state the obvious?"
"Squashing your thumbs?" she asked, taking the hammer from him. "Here." She ripped his crooked nails out with the claw, trying to ignore the man behind her. Using a straight edge the girl made a line with a pencil all the way down the seam. Grabbing a nail from the box at his feet she tapped it, certain it was set straight, she smacked the sucker in. "Don't leave your thumbs at the base; just make sure it's set first."
"A nail gun would be easier." He grumbled.
"A ten year old with a nail gun, no, I think we're good." Del tried not to cringe when she thought of what Damian could do with just a nail gun. Yeah, she would rather see a nice feature in the paper. Not a headliner about a mass murder.
She stopped to crouch at the opening of the playhouse. "Sissy, why don't you come out of there? This one isn't finished yet. You can help Damian."
"And how is she going to do that?" Damian wanted to know, banging in yet another nail.
Delilah picked up the box of nails and handed it to the girl. "You can hand him nails, think you can do that?"
Damian stared at her. "You're doing this to torture me."
"Yes. No. Maybe?" The girl called, flagging her father in Damian's direction.
"Sometimes I think you two speak in code." The writer commented, watching how her father picked up on her cues.
Del shrugged. Getting her father and Damian to work together on something was a little harder than she had actually anticipated. Noticing that Tim was up on the scaffolding painting the higher points she only gave the boy a wave.
"Oh, so this is how you negotiate?"
"What's your next question?" she asked, sending a glare in Tim's direction, before she squatted down to pop the paint cans open with a screw driver.
"What do you think your best qualities are?"
"I uh, can we pass on that one for now?"
"Don't like answering questions about yourself, do you?"
"Not really." The girl answered, dipping her brush into the silvery paint.
"Would you mind if I asked around about that one?" He asked, filling in the spaces of the board with paint as she cut the edges in neatly with her brush.
"Sure."
"How about something easy? Like, what's your favorite food type?"
"Chinese. I'm a sucker for pot stickers. But I'll eat just about anything, especially if bacon is involved." Delilah said, across the way, watching her father and brother working in tandem. As much as she hated to say it, they did that rather well…when Damian wasn't trying to stab things to death.
Sissy had moved off to a tree, seemingly happy to entertain herself under the heavy branches. However, it was the distinct sound of crackling wood that had the girl dropping the paintbrush.
"Sissy! MOVE!" The second Del's voice broke the calm, there were heads popping up everywhere. The heavy branch came down just as a flash of black jacket grabbed the uncertain child.
Delilah beat the chorus of shoes hitting pavement by a matter of seconds. Sissy Collins was staring up from the flat of her back, her blue eyes big and wild. The only thing that had kept the heavy branch from falling on top of her was Damian.
"Are you guys okay?!"
"Get this thing off me." Damian demanded. He was quick but apparently not quick enough, it had caught him on the leg. Del quickly scooped up the girl, moving out of the way when Tim, Mr. Collins and her father moved to lift the heavy branch.
"Is she alright?" Mrs. Darrel wanted to know.
"She looks okay, just a few scratches." Delilah said, turning the girl's hands over.
"That was a perfectly healthy tree. I don't understand."
That's when the girl cupped her hands gently around Delilah's ear.
Someone was in the tree.
Del pressed a finger to her lips, watching her father bend down and inspect Damian's foot. He was straight faced through the entire thing, but when her father touched a particular spot, she could see the boy biting on his own cheek. "I'm fine." He said, yanking his foot away and hoping up.
She let the girl down, setting her eyes on the break of the tree branch. It was clean halfway through, almost as if someone had cut it so its own weight would force it to break.
"What?"
Delilah looked away, curious to see Annabelle Collins tugging on the bottom of Damian's jacket. When she didn't answer aloud, and continued to tug, the boy rolled his dark green eyes and forced himself to crouch. There was something wrong with the foot; she could see it in his face when he forced himself to stand on it. But when the little girl whispered in his ear and ran away, his face went blank.
"What'd she say to you?" Delilah asked as the group started to disperse, watching him kick the loose twigs that had come down in the fall. Perhaps the little psycho was more human than she thought.
"Thank you." He shrugged. "As if I care."
"Yes you do...we both know that could have killed her." She said softly.
"And just what did she say to you?"
"That someone was in the tree."
