That afternoon

"Knife," I ordered, extending my hand out and staring at Damian expectantly.

He glared at me for a long while, emerald eyes locked on mine and hands crossed over his chest. "What makes you think I carry a knife everywhere I go?"

I gave him a flat look. "Literally everything about you makes me think that. And as a matter of fact, I know you carry two knives, so quit pretending."

A couple more seconds of silent glaring. Then, with an irritated growl, he reached into his blazer and pulled out a medium-sized folding knife. He tossed it to me and I caught it with one hand.

"Nice try,"  Damian shrugged. "But I actually carry three knives."

I shook my head and sighed, turning to the Mercedes-Benz car sitting parked on the driveway before me. I flipped out the long and rather scary-looking blade of the folding knife and let it glimmer in the sunlight.

"If you really did then you wouldn't be telling me that, would you?"

I leaned down to the back tire of the vehicle and gripped the blade tightly in my hand. Damian replied, "Well, I suppose now you won't know just how many knives I carry at all."

I groaned, the temptation to stab him in the leg for his smart-ass response growing stronger by the second. But I knew if I even tried an attack on him he would have me a very painful arm-lock almost instantly.

Instead I lined up the knife with the tire of this stupidly expensive car. Damian stood behind me, watching, and I could practically hear his mind whirring with so many reasons why what I was doing was wrong.

I knew it was wrong, and I knew that he knew it was wrong, but that didn't stop me from wanting to destroy every possession of Coach Donovan's. Violently, might I add. I was angry, and I was extremely pissed off.

Slade always used to tell me that I was impulsive. He was right, I was very impulsive. I was reckless and crazy and unpredictable and I did stupid things that were fueled by my stupid emotions. The slightest inconvenience always set me off and I always ended up doing something that I regretted.

But it was only now that I realized how stupid it was for us to be here during daylight hours, not like I could go back now, though. After the whole Summer meltdown only hours before, I'd felt livid and had run out of the school the second the bell had gone. Of course Alfred had meant to pick us up at that time, but that thought hadn't even crossed my mind.

Damian had followed after me. He'd listened to my rants about how the world was fucked up and how good people like Summer were the ones who suffered because of it. Then, when I'd told him what I was going to do, he'd said that I was an idiot, and that I was going to get myself caught.

But instead of lecturing me like he always did and dragging my ass back home, he'd pulled out my phone and chucked it into the school gardens along with his own. He'd made me take off my shoes and ditch the tracking device Bruce had planted inside them.

And before I knew it we were outside Coach Donovan's house. It was a nice place, if I was being honest. Large and wealthy-looking, with a trimmed garden and fancy french windows.

A deep sense of rage was boiling in my blood and coursing through my veins. I was so, very angry. But Damian was too, it seemed, and for the son of Batman and the kid who donned the crime-stopping Robin persona, he was behaving rather... badly.

I appreciated this, in a way. I appreciated how he didn't make me feel judged or inferior for wanting to act on my anger. For seeking revenge on the man who'd made Summer's life hell. It made me realize that this was yet another reason why I liked Damian. He wasn't a goody-two-shoes. He wasn't perfect in that way, no matter how hard he tried to be. He was flawed, and knowing that made me feel better.

And so I jabbed the silver blade into the thick rubber of Coach Donovan's back tire, allowing the satisfying hiss of the air to fill my ears. He deserves this, my mind assured me. He deserves a whole lot worse than this.

"Happy now?" Damian spoke from behind me.

I could only scoff in reply. "Not nearly enough."

Hiss. Hiss. Hiss.

Three more tires down.

I stood up and stared at the deflating wheels, my fingers curling around the handle of the folding knife. It wasn't enough, I realized. Slashing his tires wasn't enough to send a message to him, to teach him a lesson.

Slade's words wouldn't stop circling through my mind: You're too impulsive, Sasha. It will get you killed one day.

But I couldn't stop myself from hauling the blade above my head with the intentions of smashing it back down into the glass window.

That was, until, a hand stopped me, fingers wrapping around my own and prying my arm down.

"Let go of me!" I snapped at Damian, struggling against his grip. It was no use; he was much too strong.

"No," he replied, the knife finally slipping from my grasp. "You want the car alarms to go off? You're going to get us caught."

I knew he was right but I didn't care. "He ruined Summer's life!" I cried back.

Damian yanked my arm, forcing me to look at him. "I know. And do you want him to ruin yours, too?"

I couldn't even think of a response.

"No..."

"Then let's go," he told me, pulling me down the driveway and onto the street. He glanced at his watch before adding, "I suspect Bruce will be here in about ten minutes. We need to discuss a cover story."

Now I was confused. "But I thought you got rid of all the tracking devices..."

He stared at me like I was brain dead. "You realize this is Batman we're talking about, right?"

Wait...

"Are you telling me there's a bug inside me?"

Damian's reply dripped with sarcasm; "Are you telling me that you didn't realize that the second you discovered who Bruce Wayne really was?"

Okay, that was a fair point.

"Well, you know I was drugged up all week. I wasn't in the right head-space for that kind of thinking."

He continued to drag me down the street and toward a strip of cute little coffee shops. "Clearly," he muttered, and I felt my heart stop for a second.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snapped, digging my heels into the tarmac of the road and narrowing my eyes at him.

We halted, but he wouldn't look me in the eye. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that my psychotic father is going to be here soon, and he won't be happy that we ditched Pennyworth."

I just scoffed. "Psychotic? That's rich coming from you."

This time his gaze met mine, emerald eyes narrowing into a glare. "Just shut up, Sasha."

I was seconds away from responding with a sarcastic comeback when a sleek sports car pulled up only a couple feet ahead.

The window rolled down to reveal the one and only Bruce Wayne, a pissed-off expression on his stunningly attractive face and a stone-cold look in his eyes. The whole situation was giving me déjà-vu. I couldn't sworn this exact scenario had played out before.

Back when I'd had that meltdown after the Flynn incident...

"Well, look who it is," his voice was dark and emotionless, and I suddenly saw the striking resemblance it had to Batman's own terrifying tone. "Get in, both of you. Now."

Damian just rolled his eyes. "Father, we were just hungry. Sasha wanted to eat at that cafe across the street."

Bruce nodded slowly, his face remaining blank. "Right, so that's why you ditched your phones at school, removed the trackers in your shoes and are currently holding a military-grade folding knife outside the home of the man who assaulted one of your close friends."

Fuck, he truly is the Batman.

Panicking and unsure how to respond, I said the next best thing I could think of: "Well, isn't it kind of, uh, creepy that you have that many tracking devices on us, anyway?"

Oh my god why did I just do that?

Damian squeezed his eyes shut as Bruce's glare only deepened.

"I said get in the goddamn car."

——————————-

That night

9:48 pm

I watched from my bedroom window as the Batmobile sped down the long and winding road that lead from Wayne Manor to Gotham City. I knew that Bruce had left without Damian. I knew that he had essentially suspended his son from venturing out as Robin.

But I also knew that Damian was the most stubborn person I'd ever met in my entire life, and that was saying something from a girl who'd grown up in an entire facility of assassins. If I was being honest, he probably had Oppositional Defiant Disorder, considering that whenever someone told him not to do something, he always went ahead and did it, and usually in a dramatic manor.

So I headed downstairs into the main kitchen and found Alfred cleaning dishes. I wished him goodnight and asked him where the other boys were. He told me that Dick was out with his girlfriend, Kori, and that Jason was in the city helping Bruce. Tim was down in the "Batcave" working on god knows what and Damian was beating the hell out of a sparring dummy in the dojo.

It seemed that everyone was busy doing something, which meant they wouldn't notice the absence of either of us. I pretended to head up to bed and instead sneaked into the gym, finding Damian in the dojo doing exactly what Alfred had said.

"I'm coming with you," I simply told him as he turned towards me, sweat trickling down his neck.

"No, you're not."

I rolled my eyes in response. "Yes, I am. I'm sick of sitting in this house while the rest of you go out and do important shit. I'm basically healed, anyway. I can help you."

Damian sauntered past me to the benches, picking up his water bottle and taking a swig. He dropped the bottle shortly after and said, "I don't need help, Sasha. You'll just slow me down."

Stupid damn ego.

"Fine then, I'll just follow you around while you go beat up bad guys. Better?"

When he wouldn't reply, I slumped my shoulders and let out a sigh. "Please, Damian. I can't stay here anymore. Do you know what it feels like to be a prisoner in your own home? It's like Midnight all over again."

That seemed to strike a nerve in him. He ran a hand through his messy hair, his emerald eyes drifting to mine.

"Fine. But don't get in my way."

I rolled my eyes at his response, but was grateful anyway. With a mock-salute I replied, "Yessir."

He just smirked, selecting one of the many katanas from the shelves and examining the blade in his hand. He seemed satisfied with that one and went to leave. Before he did he turned back to me, giving my body a quick scan.

"You can't wear that."

I glanced down at my pink pyjama set and smiled. "Yeah, no shit, sherlock."

But then I realized that I didn't exactly have my old assassin gear to wear, and the rest of the clothes in my closet weren't really made for patrols, or chasing after bad guys while swinging from a grapple gun.

"You don't, by any chance, have something for me to wear then...?"

--------------------------

"I am darkness. I am the night," I spoke in a deep voice, dramatically portraying the brooding boy beside me as he shook his head and probably regretted ever talking to me in the first place.

I was wearing Damian's old assassin robes, minus all the armor plates and extra layers with the League's emblem embroidered throughout them. The fabric was black and a little loose on my body but that made it easier to move in. And on a side note, it smelt like Damian, which made my heart flutter even thinking about it.

"That's not what I sound like," Damian muttered, leaping over a gap between two buildings, then grabbing me when I did the same and nearly fell.

Yeah, I was a little rusty. So what?

I shrugged his hands off me and tried to act nonchalant. "No, you're right. You sound more like this..." I moved to the edge of the roof and peered down at the streets below, my face twisting into an exaggerated scowl as I spoke in a disgusted voice, "This city reeks of societal dysfunction and false hope."

I snickered at my own words, noting the dissatisfied look that Damian was giving me. "What, you know it's true!" I laughed, heading back toward him. He just shoved my shoulder playfully, though really nothing was ever playful with Damian and I nearly toppled to the floor from the force of it.

We made our way through the rooftops, eventually coming to a stop on the roof of Wayne Tower. Below me, Gotham city sparkled with lights of every color. The scenery was truly beautiful, like a dark canvas dotted with glowing paint, portraying the beauty of the city skyline.

"This is what you guys get to see every night, huh?" I breathed, wind whipping my hair around me as I stood on the ledge of the building.

Damian was a couple feet to my left wearing his Robin uniform, his dark hood casting a shadow over his face. "Pretty much."

I couldn't help myself from saying, "It's amazing," even though I'd seen it a couple times before. The view always managed to take my breath away.

Damian just shrugged, tugging down his hood and revealing a fine set of features lit up by the luminescent Wayne sign casting down on us. His eyes were covered by the green domino mask perched on his nose, and his chest lined with the red armor-like material of his uniform, defining his muscles even more.

"It's no masterpiece," he replied blankly, drawing a flat look from me at his lack of enthusiasm.

With an eye roll he added, "But I guess it's alright."

I spotted the amusement park down below, carnival lights flickering with great amounts of color. "No way," I exclaimed, extending my finger toward it and jumping excitedly. I snapped my head in Damian's direction, my eyes wide with eagerness. "Can we go? Please?"

Damian looked irritated, but I could see the slight look of intrigue that washed over his face. After what felt like an eternity of arguing and negotiating, he finally said, "Five minutes," and I nearly fell off the side of the building in celebration.

"Thank you, thank you! It'll be fun, I promise!"

A couple minutes later I was prancing down the pier as carnival rides, food stalls and games surrounded me. Damian watched from above so that he wouldn't be bombarded by fans in his Robin suit, which was fair enough. I on the other hand was making my way toward the nearest stall, where a group of children were aiming a fake gun at a row of balloons, attempting to shoot the right ones in order to win a prize.

They kept missing by a mile, but it was fun to watch them laugh and enjoy themselves anyway. It made the urge to give it a go even stronger, so when they were done I placed a couple coins on the counter and asked the man if I could try.

"Sure thing, sweetie," he smiled, and I noticed that the line behind me was growing longer. "Shoot 5 of the same color balloons in a row and you get a small toy. 10 gives you a larger one and 15 wins you the grand prize," he gestured to the huge hanging teddy bear that was probably taller than me.

I picked up the gun and aimed it at the wall of balloons. There was a mixed assortment of reds, greens, yellows, blues and pinks. The task seemed fairly easy, as the targets weren't even that small and the range was pretty close. The man started the 30 second timer and I held the gun at eye level, fixing my stance to what I'd been taught by my father.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.

Five red balloons in about two seconds. The small crowd behind me gasped, and a number of them moved to my side to get a better view.

I squeezed the trigger again and watched more balloons pop. If was too easy, I didn't understand how this was deemed a "rigged" game like Damian had told me earlier. About five more seconds passed and I'd already reached 15 balloons, the crowd cheering alongside me with awe and excitement, random kids I'd never seen before patting me on the back as the large teddy bear was handed my way.

I met Damian in the far corner of the pier where there were no lights and he was mostly shadowed by darkness.

"You've got to be kidding me," he said when he saw me hauling the stuffed object his way, my body erupting with uncontrollable laughter as I nearly toppled to the floor from the weight.

"I earned this fair and square! You should've seen the looks on everyone's faces," I told him, my face hurting from smiling so much. "That was the most fun I've had in a while."

He just shook his head, arms remaining crossed over his chest as he tried to hide the smirk on his lips. "You're ridiculous."

I held the bears paws out with my own arms and moved toward him. "No, you're ridiculous!" I spoke in a high-pitched tone, wrapping its paws around him as he groaned and tried to shove me away. I burst out laughing again, feeling giddy from head to toe.

This is what real fun feels like, isn't it?

I could get used to this.

"How are you going to get this home?" Damian questioned, tearing the bear from my arms in order to get me to stop. "It's completely impractical."

"I don't know, does it matter?" I just shrugged, giggles still escaping my lips. "He's cute. I'm thinking of calling him... Harold. Or... Death-Reaper. Or like, Harold the Death Reaper. What do you think?"

Damian let out a quiet snicker, then shoved the bear back into my hands. "Do I have to answer?"

He began to walk past me and I stumbled to keep up with him. "Yes, you do. This is very important."

He shook his head again, sending me a sideways glance. I pouted and gave him my best puppy-dog eyes. I was determined to make Damian Wayne have a little bit of fun.

"The last one sounds fitting," he eventually sighed.

I beamed back at him in delight. "Yeah, I was gonna go with that one, too."

One point to me for getting the demon to smile.

"We should come here sometime during the day. You know, get the full experience and all. Eat the food, go on the rides," I nodded to the huge Ferris Wheel perched by the edge of the pier, Damian's gaze following my own.

He looked fairly uninterested. "I don't see the point in wasting money on childish activities such as these."

I nudged Harold the Death Reaper's paw into Damian's side. "I don't think you'd be wasting anything. What's the point of being a billionaire if you can't even enjoy your own wealth? You'd be putting all that money of Bruce's to use."

He glanced at the Ferris Wheel again, an indescribable look on his face. I watched as the huge white carriages moved higher and higher into the sky, towering over everyone at the carnival. It seemed like such a pointless thing to do, to pay money to get lifted into the sky and just sit there, staring at the view.

But I wanted to do it so badly, for reasons I didn't even know.

"Bruce took me here on one of my first missions as Robin," Damian spoke quietly, eyes never leaving the Ferris wheel. "He said his own father used to take him to the carnival. Said that it was one of his best memories."

I was a little surprised to hear Damian speak so softly about Bruce. Whenever he usually talked about him, his words were harsh and anger-filled. There seemed to be a lot of tension between the two, which I knew had gotten better over time but still proved to be a work in progress.

Of course they had their differences, Bruce sticking to his values of never killing -- a rule I deducted most likely came from the murder of his own parents -- and Damian being raised by a deranged cult of assassins who believed in violence and murder as the answer to all problems.

Damian constantly defied his father, constantly lost his temper and got himself in troublesome situations. And Bruce constantly got mad at him, trying his best to discipline and punish him whenever he acted out, but to only set Damian off even more.

It seemed that they were in an endless loop of hurting each other, neither one of them being a big enough person to back down. They were both equally stubborn and equally persistent. It was no wonder they fought so much.

Suddenly, Damian looked away, jaw clenching as he stormed past me. "Let's go. We've been here long enough."

I peered longingly at the large ride one more time. Maybe another day, then, I told myself, and headed after the boy wonder as he shot his grapple hook into the sky and disappeared into the shadows of the night.

Suddenly, the sound of helicopter blades whirred above me as news stations made their way across the city, police sirens ringing from below. Only moments later, a loud explosion jolted me from my thoughts, the civilians around me screaming and crying out in alarm. I spun around to the direction of the noise and spotted a cloud of smoke drifting from between the buildings on the north side of Gotham.

"The Joker just blew up part of Town Hall!" Someone screeched, holding up their phone and displaying a live broadcasting coming from the helicopter's position above the city.

I turned back around and searched for Damian, making eye-contact with him from where stood on top of the Carnival Row sign at the entrance. He sent me a look that said 'stay out of the way,' before leaping off the ledge and slinging himself toward the explosion.

Goddamnit, I cursed, squeezing Harold's fur in frustration. Why does he get to be part of the action and I don't?

I decided right then and there that I wasn't going to stand back and watch as yet another one of gotham's criminal scum endangered the lives of innocent people. I propped Harold in the branches of a nearby tree, hoping that he would stay safe in there. Sure, he was only a stuffed toy, but I felt some sense of attachment to him because he was my first ever carnival prize.

I searched my surroundings for a transportation device, my eyes landing on a sleek-looking motorbike with Harley Davidson branded across it's side. It reminded me of my old days with Slade, speeding through the streets at night, a mixture of wind and adrenaline rushing through my body.

As I seated myself on the leather cushioning, the satisfying growl of the engine reverberated through my bones and sent my nerves into overdrive.

Oh, fuck yeah.

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