Earthen, musty air filled my nostrils as I finally stepped into the Batcave.

Beats going through another awkward silence at Wayne Manor during my study sessions with Helena, Alfred's disapproving side-eye included.

Ignoring the Bat's nagging messages wouldn't make the gaping hole in my chest disappear either.

Maybe Batman was right. Maybe I did need more training. Maybe it was the only way to learn to harness this curse, and turn it into something more than a constant reminder of what I'd lost. The only way to make sure what happened to my parents never happened again.

Plus, staying close to him could be the only way to find the Joker. Batman was already on his case, no doubt. He had the detective skills, the tools and the intel I desperately lacked.

"Hey, you know I can see through things, right?" I said as Bruce removed the blindfold wrapped around my head.

"Suspected as much," he replied dryly. "Guess we won't be needing this after all." He added, placing the cloth on a metal trolley.

Trusting Bruce felt like a gamble, but one I had to take. He'd saved Mom after all, and put up with me during past training sessions. So, I took a deep breath and told him everything about S.T.A.R. Labs.

He had listened intently, his face a mask, except for the single twitch of his jaw. Maybe it had been a colossal mistake, I'd just handed him a potential arms race built on my back. Probably at the top of his list of concerns about me. But if the military came knocking again, I needed him on my side. I was as keen as him in keeping my skillset out of the wrong hands.

As Batman guided me through the familiar walkways, my ears perked up. A second heartbeat echoed in the vast chamber. My eyes snapped up, my heart lurching as I landed on a figure perched on the training platform… Damian Wayne?!

"What the hell is he doing here!?" I spat the words out, blood pounding in my ears. This wasn't part of the damn deal.

"He'll be training with us today." Batman deadpanned, his voice leaving no room for argument.

"You told him!" I practically yelled. "I thought we were building some trust here!"I threw back Batman's own words at him. Should've known better than to trust anyone in this damn cave.

Bruce's expression remained unreadable. "Robin has a tendency to…find his way into restricted files." A cold fist clenched around my heart. He knew. Well, that explained the constant distrust in his eyes.

"Besides," Batman went on. "With your newly revealed…talent, you two are even."

"Even?" I scoffed. "Well that's just fucking great!" Disbelief boiled into anger. "You keep records on me that anybody can just crack? Some world-class detective work!"

"First, watch your mouth, newbie." Damian chirped in his annoying alto voice, gracefully leaping down. "And for the record, it's not just anyone. I am, like, the best hacker in this country."

"I don't give two flying fucks who you think you are, Damian!" I shot back, balling my fists. He certainly wasn't humble.

Damian's smirk faltered, his eyes darting between me and Bruce. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.

Ignoring him, I continued. "That's MY fucking secret! You had no right to snoop around!"

"Enough." Bruce thundered. "What is done is done. Now both of you can benefit from training with each other."

Damian's eyes narrowed under his mask, and I shot him a death glare. At least, Bruce pitting his own son against me struck me as a huge sign of trust, albeit a misguided one. I wasn't sure what outcome he was expecting, it wouldn't be much of a fight...

"This doesn't seem like the best idea." I muttered, voicing my thoughts. "It could get... unbalanced."

"You," Bruce turned to me, "need to stop relying solely on your powers and learn some proper technique. We've seen what happened when you were captured. Raw strength isn't everything."

I gaped at him, swallowing my retort as memories of my abduction flooded back. The collar, the fight with that Bane guy. Yeah, some fighting skills would've been real handy then.

"You also need to be able to fight unpowered opponents without injuring them." Bruce added.

My eyes widened at his words. Ouch. I used to be the only one worried about causing damage. Now I was in a room full of them. Just fantastic.

"And you," Batman continued, pointing to his son, "need to be able to adapt your fighting to metahumans."

Damian tsked.

Metahumans, huh. At least my extraterrestrial origins hadn't been outed yet.

"Get changed," Bruce ordered, handing me the training gear. "Training platform in five."

Ugh, this kid wouldn't quit.

"Come on, slowpoke, who put a stick up your ass?" Damian said, flinging a leg at my face for what felt like the hundredth time. I dodged it easy. Again.

"Maybe if you aimed a little higher," I countered, "you might actually connect with something other than thin air."

Damian scowled. "You're as stiff as a statue," he huffed, pivoting on his heel and launching himself into another attack.

"Trust me…" I ducked under a spinning heel kick.

"You don't want me…" I twisted my head just in time to avoid a roundhouse punch that would've shattered a lesser man's jaw.

"To actually…" the wind of his fist ruffled my hair.

"Move…" I shot back, between more dodges. "Besides," I added with a smirk, "I don't need advice from someone wearing a leotard."

"That's clothist." he replied, shooting me a sidelong glance. "Plus, it's literally a full-body suit, you troglodyte. It's high-performance, lightweight..." he trailed off, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like caveman.

"Lightweight, huh?" I smirked. "How fitting." I darted forward, just enough to make him flinch, then retreated back a safe distance, chuckling. "High-tech pajamas, maybe."

"By the way," I continued, twisting my torso to avoid a punch aimed for my gut. "I am moving, aren't I? Every. Single. Time."

"Yeah, you can dodge alright," Damian huffed, wiping sweat from his brow, "but that's all you're doing!"

"Believe me, it's more for your own good than mine," I grumbled.

"I mean fight me back, Kent," Damian retorted, beckoning me closer with his fingers. "That's like the whole point of training, you overgrown oaf! If you don't learn proper movement, I'm gonna mop the floor with you."

I scoffed, sidestepping a flying knee aimed at my chest. "Right, because a pint-sized gremlin with a superiority complex is exactly what keeps me up at night."

He ignored me, launching himself into a series of acrobatic flips, landing behind me in a crouch. He whipped a leg out, aiming for a sweep at my ankles. With a sigh that was more of a growl, I jumped over the attack, landing a hair's breadth away. This kid was good, I'd give him that.

"If I actually fought back," I continued, "this would be over in two seconds. My pinky finger's probably stronger than your whole body."

Damian rose to his feet, a smirk curling his lips. "Then prove it." He challenged, stepping into a fighting stance.

"I don't wanna hurt you."

I kinda did. Part of me wanted to shut him up with a single, well-placed shove. But another, more responsible part, held me back.

"Damian is right," Batman spoke from the shadows. "Whichever device they used on you at S.T.A.R Labs, you need to be able to defend yourself without your powers. Diversify your techniques."

I knew he was right. But years of habit were hard to break. Moving with any kind of force equaled broken walls and other collateral damage. Hell, I hadn't even dared to jump since I was a kid. Not since I put a hole in the living room ceiling.

That's when Damian's fist hit me square in the face, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Motherfff— gah," he cursed, cradling his throbbing hand.

"And here I thought you cared about bad language," I said with a fake sigh. "I did try to warn you."

"Ugh, shut up!" Damian growled, shaking his hand. "Seriously, what is this guy made of? Vibranium?"

"Seems that way," I shot back.

"Break any bones?" Batman inquired.

Damian all but hissed at him in pain.

I scanned his hand. "Nope, all good," I replied on his behalf.

Damian backed away doing sophisticated flips that would make an Olympian jealous. As he landed, I felt a light touch on my forearm. A metallic object clattered to the floor with a thud. A batarang.

"Damian," Batman said sharply. "Think. You know he's bulletproof, he's wearing an armor suit. Adapt."

Damian glanced at the fallen batarang, a scowl twisting his face. With a muttered curse, he whipped his arm out again. This time, a round object hurtled towards me.

Instinct took over and my hand shot out with inhuman speed, the metal ball landing squarely in my palm.

Crap – a freaking grenade.

Smoke curled between my fingers as I closed my fist around it. A low hum vibrated through my hand, sending a fresh wave of panic – it was already armed, the countdown ticking down the precious milliseconds of my reaction.

Could I contain the blast? A quick glance at Damian, frozen in a wide-eyed stare, solidified my choice. No time for hesitation. I squeezed my fist around the grenade.

BLAM!

A blinding white light erupted from my hand, whipping raven strands across my eyes. The shockwave slammed into me, sending a jolt through my body and rippling a crater into the metal floor beneath my feet. I bit back a yelp, smoke and dust obscuring my vision until my X-ray vision kicked in, revealing the mangled remains of the grenade in my palm.

"What. The. Fuck, Wayne!?" I roared, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Damian stood frozen, a mumble escaping his lips that sounded suspiciously like "oops." I glanced at Batman, expecting some kind of reprimand. But there he sat, calm as ever, fiddling with something on his keyboard. Completely unfazed.

"Seriously?" I spat, finally regaining some composure. "You threw a freaking grenade at me?!"

"Uh, about that," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Slight miscalculation on the arming sequence."

I snorted, slowly relaxing my grip on the grenade. It clattered to the floor, a harmless, misshapen lump now. "Yeah, thanks for that, pipsqueak." I grumbled. "Almost gave me a heart attack."

"Maybe if you learned how to dodge properly when you actually have to," Damian shrugged, "you wouldn't have nearly crapped your pants."

We weren't that far apart in age, just a year or so, but his childish arrogance always managed to grate on my nerves.

"Oh, here we go," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "Because dodging a live grenade is apparently basic training in your world, right?"

He sauntered over to a weapon rack on the wall, his hand reaching for a pair of sleek Escrima sticks.

"Says the guy who just caught said grenade barehanded," Damian scoffed. "Maybe if you weren't busy daydreaming about my sis every other second, your reflexes wouldn't suck so much."

Dread lurched in my stomach. My head snapped towards Batman so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. A flicker of concern crossed his features for a brief moment. This was exactly what I'd feared.

I glared back at Damian, my voice dropping an octave. "Leave her out," I growled, emphasizing each word.

"Just sayin'," he shrugged again, "all that power doesn't seem to translate to actual skill." He lunged forward, the sticks whistling through the air.

One second I was standing there, the next I was a blur, dodging the blow with ease. My voice, laced with a dangerous edge. "Keep pushing me, and see how much skill it takes to put you flat on your back."

A tense silence followed, broken only by the ragged breaths escaping my clenched jaw.

"Whoa, slow down there, Flash," Damian smirked. "Looks like you're about to blow a fuse again. Maybe with that well-documented temper of yours, you should invest in some anger management classes."

"You wouldn't know a damn thing about temper!" I roared, my vision blurring at the edges. The familiar heat prickled at the back of my eyes. "You grew up in a mansion with a team of bodyguards at your beck and call!"

He knew. He fucking knew. Exactly how much had Damian read in my records? What kind of notes did Batman even keep on me?

"Maybe if you spent less time brooding and more time training, you wouldn't be such a liability out there," he countered.

A cold fury washed over me. "Shut up, Damian," I warned, my voice hissing rasp.

"Oh, touched a nerve, did I?" He sneered.

That was it. A primal urge roared in my gut, every terrifying part of my me itching to flatten this arrogant little punk and knock him into next week. Heat flooded my vision, and for a moment, everything went red. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe. No, no, no! Panic flared in my chest. As if I needed one more fucking card on the table.

Taking advantage of my momentary lapse, Damian launched himself onto my back, his legs wrapping around my neck in a stupid attempt at a chokehold.

The crimson receded, replaced by a dull throb behind my eyelids. I snapped my eyes open, the world coming back into focus.

Through the haze of anger, a single thought flickered: control. Control the heat threatening to incinerate the training room, control the strength threatening to crush the fool clinging to my back.

I reached behind me and peeled Damian off like a pesky barnacle. I clamped both hands around his upper arms, ignoring the surprised yelp that escaped his lips. I lifted him off the ground, his feet dangling a few inches above the floor. With a gentle but firm grip, I held him at arm's length, his struggles barely registering against my grip. He kicked his legs uselessly, his face contorting into a mask of outrage. I kept him there for a beat before pinning him down to the mat with deliberate movements. The cocky smirk was gone, replaced by a strangled gasp.

My voice was a low growl when I spoke. "You done?"

"You... you're cheating!" he sputtered.

"You think launching a surprise attack after needling me about my temper is fair?"

"Alright, alright, I get it," he mumbled, finally breaking eye contact.

"Get what?" I kept him pinned, but I forced my hands to relax slightly.

"You're strong. Big deal."

"Maybe you could try not being such a pain in the ass," I countered, the anger slowly receding, "and you wouldn't have found out."

I held him for another beat, letting the message sink in.

"What was that… red light… in your eyes?" he spat out, a flicker of curiosity warring with his usual arrogance.

Fuck. A knot of worry tightened in my throat. Had Bruce seen it?

"Nothing." I grunted, my voice tight. I loosened my grip and released him, rising to my feet. No way was I letting him in, or anyone else for that matter. Not yet. Maybe never.

He leaped to his feet, putting as much space between us as possible.

"Enough, you two," Bruce rumbled, coming closer to us.

"This little… exercise demonstrated the importance of strategy, Damian." he added.

Damian scoffed, a sound that hovered somewhere between a "tt" and a sneer. "Obviously," he muttered, crossing his arms and glaring at the floor.

"Clark," Batman continued, turning to me, "containment is a good start, but there's more to mastering your power in close quarters."

Frustration bubbled up in my chest. "It's not that easy," I blurted, running a hand through my hair. "This… this thing, it's not like a light switch… I can't just turn it off!"

Bruce's eyes softened slightly with understanding. "Maybe. But it can be honed," he said. "Think of it like this: a sculptor doesn't use the same force to chip away at a mountain as they do to detail a delicate piece."

"Don't you think I know that?" I shot back, feeling the heat rise in my chest. "That's exactly why I need to overthink every damn move I make!"

"Exactly. You need to learn finesse, control. A tap where a punch is needed, a nudge instead of a shove. It takes practice, but it's achievable." He gestured towards a nearby table. "Weighted gloves. Put them on. We'll start slow."

I sighed, the frustration a dull ache in my gut. Slipping on the gloves felt like a joke. With my strength, a few extra pounds were like feathers. The unfamiliar weight felt oppressive, hindering any semblance of finesse.

But then, Bruce activated something on his wristwatch. A low hum resonated from the gloves, and suddenly, the world felt… heavier. It wasn't crushing, but a constant pressure that mimicked Earth's gravity… multiplied by a hundred. My jaw clenched. This was different. I tried moving my arms. It took a deliberate effort, a controlled push against an invisible force. It was the closest I'd ever come to feeling… normal.

"Alright, Damian," Bruce said, turning to Robin. "Clark is a powerhouse, that much is clear. But even the strongest oak can be brought down by a persistent wind. Your agility and tactical thinking are your strengths. Use them. Observe his movements, anticipate his reactions. Don't try to overpower him, outmaneuver him."

Damian straightened. "Got it," he said with a glacial tone.

The training resumed, this time with a new focus. Damian moved like a whirlwind of coordinated strikes and fluid movements. It was like a dance where I didn't know the steps.

"Alright, Clark," Bruce said, his voice calm. "Basic block. Here." He positioned my arm in front of me, my hand open in a warding position. "Imagine this isn't just blocking a punch, but deflecting the force behind it. Use your momentum, not just your strength."

It felt awkward. But as I practiced, the weight of the gloves started to work for me, helping me to focus on technique rather than raw power. I started mirroring Damian's movements, mirroring the way he shifted his weight, the way he twisted his body. Slowly, the awkwardness gave way to a rudimentary sense of control.

I lumbered after Damian, carefully controlling the force of my movements with each clumsy swing.

"You fight like a bull in a china shop," Damian taunted, landing another hit that connected with a thud on my shoulder.

"And you fight like a gnat," I bit back. "Look, this bull's trying to be gentle, alright? And I'm trying to move slowly to give you a fighting chance."

I lunged, the extra weight making my movement sluggish. Still, I managed to grab his ankle mid-kick. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Hey!" he yelped as I yanked him off balance. The air whooshed out of his lungs in a surprised oof as he landed unceremoniously on the mat, the smugness momentarily wiped clean from his face.

"See? Fragile china. Besides," I flexed a hand, "gotta be careful not to turn you into red paste with every counter, even wearing these oven mitts."

Damian just muttered a disgruntled "Tt."

The training session ended with both of us slumped against the Batcomputer. The cave reeked of burnt metal, courtesy of Damian's overenthusiastic training methods.

I watched him sink to the floor a few paces away, panting. Sweat streamed down his face, matting his dark hair. Unlike me, he looked genuinely winded. My weird physiology meant fatigue wasn't a language my body spoke. A flicker of satisfaction battled with a grudging admiration in my gut.

Here he was, a human kid with zero special powers, yet he'd managed to hold his own against me. The weighted gloves had forced me to rely more on technique, a foreign language Damian spoke fluently. He flitted around my clumsy attempts at defense, a whirlwind of kicks and strikes that I barely grasped. Somehow, I managed to block a few without turning the Batcave into a demolition zone. Or worse, Damian into a human pancake permanently imprinted on the floor. Small victories, I mused, but victories nonetheless.

Reaching for a water bottle, I paused mid-motion as a shadow fell across my hand. Damian, still sprawled on the floor, held out his own bottle. The defiance in his eyes had softened, replaced by a hesitant offer. I took the bottle with a surprised nod.

Maybe these training sessions wouldn't always be a dick-measuring contest, but a chance to push each other's boundaries. He might not need my raw strength, and I might not be a master of martial arts, but maybe, someday, we could actually learn from each other instead of trying to knock each other out.

A subtle shift in the air sent a jolt through my senses. The telltale rapid thump-thump of a heart rate approaching fast. Alfred must be checking if we needed any refreshments. My head whipped towards the entrance and I froze.

My muscles coiled with a dread so primal it felt like a physical blow, my blood turning to ice. There, framed in the doorway, stood Helena. My Helena. The woman who filled lecture halls with her infectious laughter. The one whose cheeky smiles made my insides twist with a delicious tangle of nervousness and desire. And who had no idea about my freakish side and the fact I even knew about this Batcave at all.

She was clad in her vigilante gear, a stark contrast to the playful civilian clothes I was used to seeing. The dark purple fabric hugged her athletic frame like a second skin, emblazoned with a silver crossbow across her chest. A domino mask masked her upper face, obscuring the familiar warmth but leaving the sharpness of her sapphire eyes fully exposed.

"Hey Dad, who's tha–" Her voice cut off abruptly as her gaze collided with mine. The playful lilt in her voice, died a violent death on her lips mid-sentence as a flicker of recognition crossed her face. I forgot how to breathe. A prickle snaked down my spine, sharper than any Batarang.

Three semesters of carefully constructed walls, of burying the truth so deep I almost believed it myself, crumbled in the face of her shocked gaze. The air crackled with a silent betrayal, before the first word was even spoken. My throat constricted, the weight of the secret I'd kept for so long threatening to crush me.

"Clark?" she breathed, the word barely a whisper, yet it echoed through the Batcave like a thunderclap.