this chapter is dedicated to marinarreda, who has been an awesome reader since really early on. ur so sweet and ur comments make my day thanks for all ur support!!

also peep my apokolips baby up the top there *drools*

Rebecca's P.O.V:

I'll admit, at first I was pissed that someone had decided to rudely interrupt my hot make-out session with Hamish. That boy was really good with his tongue.

What? It was the truth.

But when I'd been ushered inside and found Sasha passed out on the floor, my frustration vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Oh, shit, not again.

"Sasha?" I practically yelled, panic rising in me. I threw myself to the floor and shook her limp body. She was out cold, but I didn't know why. I'd been too preoccupied with Hamish.

I frantically searched the horrified faces around me. "What happened?" I asked, but all eyes seemed to turn to the tall brunette boy in the kitchen, who was puking his guts out into the sink.

Oh, Conner.

So much for being her oldest friend, huh?

Sasha better pick me as her bestie after all this, I grumbled internally. Not this alcoholic psycho.

My mind raced for possible reason why she'd blacked out. Alcohol poisoning? Drug overdose? Or maybe she was just really wasted and resting. After all, her chest was still rising and it wasn't like she was dead or anything.

But something told me this was worse then that.

"Alright, what did you fuckers give her?" I snapped at the stunned crowd of teens. Everyone had mostly stopped partying now that there was a dead-looking girl lying in front of them and an ex-assassin in the kitchen who'd just tried to kill some random guy.

A girl I didn't know spoke up, "She was really drunk," while another dude anxiously ran his hands through his hair and added, "Oh, man, if the police pull up we're all fucked."

That seemed to scare everyone even more and now there were a good 60 people yelling and complaining rather loudly, which wasn't helping the situation at all.

I couldn't believe these spoiled little brats cared more about how many ounces they'd smoked than the life of an actual human being. Sasha still hadn't woken and I was starting to get a headache from the panicking kids.

"There's no way I'm going to rehab again," someone said, and another girl added, "No one call an ambulance, she's probably just wasted," which earned nods and shouts of agreeance.

I jumped to my feet and stared in disgust at the teens who'd spoken. "You did not seriously just say that."

A dark haired girl to my right sent me a bitchy glare. She looked a little older, probably like 16 or 17. "Well, some of us have been doing coke all day and don't wanna get arrested, Becca," she snapped, and it was clear that she was totally off her face. There was even a bit of white powder on her dress.

I felt anger boiling under my skin and threatening to spill from my lips. I stepped toward her and placed my hands on my hips, ready to go into red-head bitch mode if need be.

But another boy added, "Yeah, my mom can't know I did molly again! It's not our fault she blacked out."

Okay, that's it.

I was two seconds away from lunging at these stupid drug-addicted kids when I felt a pair of hands wrap around my waist and pull me back.

"Becca, calm down," Hamish's voice spoke as I struggled against him.

Although I was reluctant to, I felt my body slowly relax at his words. He had a strange affect on me like that. I'd never met anyone else who could combat my anger so easily.

"They don't even care about her," I spat, still seething with anger as I glared at the crowd.

But Hamish had spotted Sasha now and was bending down beside her. "Shit," he muttered, pushing the hair from her face. "We should call someone. She could be in danger."

The coke-addicted girl jumped forward again, her eyes wide. "Not the police! Don't you dare call the police."

"Why you fucking bi--" I growled, charging at her once again as she reared back in terror and the crowd desperately tried to pull me off of her.

"Not now, Becca," Hamish yelled.

I grudgingly let go of her hair, a hint of guilt washing over me. I felt bad whenever I made Hamish upset. It was weird, because I never usually felt bad about anything.

Lowering myself back to the ground, Hamish asked me if there was anyone close to Sasha that I could call that wouldn't alert the police. At first I wasn't sure, but then it dawned on me like the most obvious thing in the world.

Damian.

I had to admit, that boy was reliable. He answered pretty much instantly, with a hint of concern in his usually emotionless tone.

He knew something was wrong even before I told him. Like he was pyschic.

Luckily for us, Wayne Manor was only a couple miles from Conner's house. Hamish and I moved Sasha onto the sofa while a couple kids cleared a space for us to lie her down. Some girl even went so far as to prop a pillow under her head. It was good that some people cared, out of all the stupid rich kids here.

Damian showed up about fifteen minutes later. It was dark by now, and the party had somewhat resumed with the knowledge that help was on the way.

"Out of my way," came the familiar harsh tone of Damian Wayne. He didn't even have to shove past all the drunk teens, they somehow just knew to make a path for him.

Wow, I wish I was that respected.

He made eye-contact with me first, before I lead him to Sasha's unconcious body. "I don't know what happened. I didn't seen her for a couple hours, then the next thing I knew everyone was panicking about the passed-out girl on the floor," I told him.

I was trying to keep my cool but it was hard. I felt guilty, like this was my fault. I should've stuck with her so this wouldn't have happened. Who knew what kind of drugs or alcohol she'd consumed?

I really, really hoped she was okay.

The way Damian looked at Sasha when he saw her made my heart clench. It was obvious to me that something was going on between them. Damian was known for being rough and dark and cold-hearted, but seeing him right then and there was like the complete opposite.

He was in love with her. I swear to god, he was in love with her.

What I would give to have a guy look at me like that...

"She'll be safe with me," he told me, his face turning emotionless once again. It was weird how he could flick it on and off like a switch. I didn't understand how he did that.

But as he picked her up into his arms and carried her with surprising ease, the coke-addicted girl lifted her head from where she was snorting another line.

"Oh, look, the freakshow slut gets saved once again," she slurred bitterly.

That was a mistake.

Damian's eyes narrowed into the scariest glare I'd ever seen in my entire fifteen years of existence. "Say that again and I'll rip your tongue from your throat," he seethed, then made his way out the front door.

Annddd, he's back.

That shut her up for good.

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

Sasha's P.O.V:

I don't remember when I woke up, but it was really late at night, so I knew a good couple of hours had passed since my panic attack.

My head hurt like a bitch. I groaned as I rolled over, unsure of where I was or what day it was. Was I even still at Conner's? Or Rebecca's? I had planned to go to hers afterwards, so maybe she'd taken me there?

But when I awoke in a bed I couldn't recognize, my years of assassin training kicked in and I jolted upright into a seated position.

It was too dark to tell, but my eyes adjusted soon enough and I recognized the layout of the room. It was similar to my own, with the huge french windows and the little balcony accompanying it. There was an en-suite to the left and a walk in wardrobe to the right.

Then a dark figure emerged from the bathroom. I reared back and my mind conjured up several escape plans and attacks for me to use if need be.

But the person noticed my obvious startlement, and suddenly the lights flicked on to reveal a very attractive, very fresh looking Damian Wayne standing casually by the control panel. (A/N wayne manor is so rich that they dont have light switches, they have control panels where u can literally select like different colored lights and fancy shit like that)

"It's just me," he spoke evenly, clearly sensing my distress.

My entire body relaxed with relief. Oh, thank god.

"Damian..." I began, scrambling to my feet in an attempt to run to him. I just wanted to hold him, to bury my face in his chest and pretend like everything was fine.

However when I stood, my body swayed, and I ended up tumbling to the floor. At least, I would've, if Damian hadn't appeared beside me in a heartbeat to catch me.

I swear to God, he was like my crutch. Both physically and emotionally, that is. He was always there for me, always breaking me out of sticky situations, always comforting me when I needed it.

He did so much for me. I owed him, big time.

Damian brought me back to my feet and held me until I could stand on my own. His warm touch lingered on my skin and I breathed in his scent. I noticed that he smelt like he'd just stepped out of the shower, which judging by his damp hair made sense.

But what happened next confused me. Once he'd seen that I could stand on my own, he let go and stepped away. He wouldn't look me in the eyes as he headed to the other side of the room, sliding open the french windows and moving out onto the balcony.

What was that all about?

My head still spun and my bones still ached, but I knew something was wrong with him. He was mad at me, or upset at something, wasn't he?

I stumbled after him until I reached the balcony. I saw him sitting down on the expensive mahogany chairs, sharpening his favorite katana with a smaller blade.

His brows were furrowed and his eyes narrowed, seeming intensely focused on the task at hand. The sound of metal scraping and tiny sparks flying filled the air around me.

And then it suddenly hit me. Damian Wayne was giving me the silent treatment.

Oh, fuck, I've really screwed up now.

Anxiety rushed through me at the thought. I took one nervous step onto the balcony, wringing my hands together and subconsciously biting my lip.

I was honestly scared of what was going to happen. Usually, Damian being mad at me wasn't a big deal, because we had dumb fights all the time.

But today was different. I was feeling so incredibly vulnerable, my mind not fully processing the events that had taken place just earlier at the party. I just wanted to hug Damian so badly and cry my heart out until all the bad stuff left my body.

But it looked like that wasn't going to happen any time soon as Damian scraped his sword against the blade once more, his jaw clenched and his knuckles white.

Shit, he's mad-mad, isn't he?

I managed to slide into the chair beside his. I stared at my feet, the tension between us seeming so thick I could cut it with a knife.

We were dead silent for about a 30 seconds before I gently asked, "Are you okay?"

More silence followed, and for a while I wasn't sure if he would even answer me at all.

"Yes," Damian eventually replied, but the slightly more aggressive scrape of his sword suggested otherwise.

I knew he was lying, and that made me feel even worse. I'd definitely done something wrong now, though I wasn't quite sure what. I mean, last I checked, I had just passed out at a party after experiencing a severe panic attack.

I fiddled with the hem of my dress and ignored the cold winds sending goosebumps down my arms. "Are you... are you mad at me?" I added quietly, grimacing at the response of what might follow.

More intense scraping. But then, a short pause, and his head titled slightly in my direction.

"No."

It wasn't very convincing.

He continued to sharpen his sword again, essentially telling me that that was all he had to say. But I wasn't about to back off with the questions. I was fucking Sasha Wilson, and he of all people knew that I was annoying as hell.

I took a deep breath. "I don't really remember much about what happened, but I'm sorry. I'm just really sorry."

Please don't yell at me.

Damian suddenly came to an abrupt halt, both blades clattering as he dropped them onto the floor. He leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees, and he brought his head to his hands, clutching at his hair.

"Just stop, Sasha."

I closed my eyes out of guilt. What the fuck have I done...

But Damian wasn't finished yet. "You went to a party, and you blacked out. Again," he began, his voice cold and detached in an incredibly scary way.

"You lost control and drank too much. Again. I had to run in there and save your dumb ass. Again. And for what? For you to just do it all again the next time someone invites you out?"

I didn't realize how much his words would hurt, but suddenly they were cutting into my skin like knives. He was right. He was so fucking right. I was such an idiot.

I clutched at my arms and tried to bite back tears. "Damian, I'm so sorry—."

But he interrupted me, his voice a frustrated growl. "What's the point of apologizing if you're not going to learn from your mistakes?"

He had an excellent point. A point I knew I should've listened to, but I never fucking did.

Why do I do this to myself? Why am I such a screw up?

I had to force myself to look away so that he couldn't see the tears in my eyes. It made sense why he was mad, it made so much sense.

But at the same time I was upset. That flashback... that weird dream I'd had only hours before was playing on repeat in my head. It was like someone was twisting a hot knife into my brain. Thinking about it made me physically want to throw up.

"I know I fucked up again. But this was... this was different..." I whispered, too afraid to speak any louder and risk him hearing my voice break.

Damian just shook his head, his gaze directed at the balcony railings in front of us. "Don't," he simply said, and I noticed how his left leg bounced anxiously. It was one of his telling signs when his anger was really bad and he was trying to stop an outburst. "Don't give me an excuse."

I turned to him, my eyes wide with desperation. "No, you don't understand, this isn't an excuse..."

Suddenly he stood up, moving toward the railings and clutching them with tight knuckles. "Sasha, you were meant to be at Rebecca's tonight. I had to sneak you into my room so Bruce wouldn't find you. You're lucky he's still on patrol right now," he told me through grit teeth.

The moonlight shone down on him as he turned to me, those emerald eyes narrowed into a glare. "One day, Sasha, no one is going to be there to help you. No one is going to risk everything to bail you out of shitty situations like I do."

I felt like the most horrible person in the world. Damian was being so brutally honest, really piling on the guilt to my already unstable mind. But he was right in every way.

I hadn't meant for any of this to happen. I really hadn't. The panic attack just came onto me so quickly, digging it's claws into my head and pulling me into an abyss of black.

The last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of Damian, but I couldn't stop myself from collapsing my head into my hands and letting the tears steam down my face.

Everything hurt. Everything hurt so badly, for reasons I didn't know. I just wanted it to go away but it wouldn't.

My shoulders shook and my breathing was ragged and sharp. I was pretty certain I was hyperventilating again, because now Damian was staring at me, a rare look of concern in his eyes.

He stepped toward me, crouching to his knees so that his face was level with mine. "Sasha?"

I couldn't control my sobs. It was bad, it was real bad. This was unlike anything I'd ever felt before.

"I just want it to stop," I cried, refusing to move my hands from my face and let him see my gross tears. "It... it hurts so much, Damian."

He clearly had no idea what I was talking about, but his hands moved to my shoulders and he tried to stop them from trembling so much.

"What's wrong? What happened?" His voice had an edge of anger to it, like he thought someone might have hurt me.

But this pain was all internal. This pain stemmed from my mind, from the horrible memories that rested in the deepest parts of my brain.

"When I blacked out, I... I saw something. Slade was there. I was in Russia again, and I had seen her and she was safe, but he wanted to know..." I mumbled incoherently, shaking my head furiously. "He wanted to know where she was and I shouldn't have told him but I did and now she's... now she's dead. She's dead because of me."

My cries were heavier now. I knew I sounded like a crazy person, but I had to let out it all out to someone. He had to know what had happened to cause my black out.

I eventually calmed a little, and looked at him through my shaking hands. He seemed confused, but also a little thoughtful, like he somewhat understood what was happening to me.

"PTSD," he spoke quietly, a knowing look in his eyes. He turned his head to the side and let out a low hum. "You had a flashback."

That made a lot of sense. But it still didn't take away the pain.

"Everything was just so loud and my head was fuzzy from the alcohol and I think was high, too, and I was just trying to calm myself but I couldn't breathe..." I whispered, finally removing my hands from my face.

I rubbed at my wet cheeks and pushed hair from my eyes. I looked at Damian, and I knew he was probably staring at how ugly I was right then.

But instead he let go of me and stood up, extending a hand my way. I took it hesitantly and he lifted me to my feet.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he spoke gently. His eyes then drifted to my dress and my hair, and he pulled a piece of confetti out of my braid, which was embarrassing. "You need to rest."

I allowed him to pull me inside and lead my still shaking body to the bathroom. He handed me a towel and some random clothes, which internally made me smile because I loved wearing his clothes.

But I didn't tell him that, because that was creepy as hell.

As I showered, I found myself staring at the warm water dripping down my body, my mind deep in thought. All I could focus on was the boy waiting outside for me in the bedroom.

I didn't deserve Damian. He was always so good to me, even when I was a complete and total bitch. I wanted him to know how grateful I was, but at the same time I had no idea how to do that. I was terrible with words.

When I emerged from the en-suite dressed in his soft, baggy clothes, I found Damian sitting against his bedhead, a birdarang in hand. He was tweaking at it with a little screwdriver, looking very cute and concentrated.

I slid into the other side of the bed quietly. I didn't want to disturb him, he always seemed so peaceful when he was fiddling around with his gadgets.

An involuntary smile crept onto my lips at the sight of him. He blended into the shadows so well, and it was almost like he wasn't even there, yet he was at the same time, like a comforting reassurance in your gut.

He noticed me watching and asked, "Do you want me to stop?"

But I shook my head quickly and snuggled further into the blankets. "No, don't. It's... nice knowing that you're there."

He's my dark, brooding little angel, I thought to myself, thinking back to that old line.

And I don't deserve him in the slightest.

wow i updated like twice in a row lmao. anyways i tried to write a cute chapter but idk if it worked. tell me what u think of their relationship but keep in mind that it's still developing. more of sasha's history is coming <3