Within the darkest bowels of Hell, a mighty roar sounded- a howl of primordial fury, perforating dimensions of existence so that even the angels glanced down, bewildered.

"STOLEN?" Trigon seethed.

He stood at the centre of carnage.

A faint scratching and pitiful groaning met his vengeful ears. Futilely clawing and the ground, reduced to a mewling, disfigured mass, what had once been a demon heaved with last, laboured breath. The others had been incinerated: the ones that had foolishly stood close enough to the demon lord when the news had been delivered. Trigon turned four, ugly, yellow eyes on the bleeding lump of flesh. It whimpered again, and Trigon's temper showed itself to be unquenched.

The former-demon, heaped on the floor, was consumed by hungry fire.

Satiated, somewhat, the demon lord stepped over the fire and summoned the nearest living demon of his council. Jared, son of Trigon, spirit of Wrath, squelched over blood and sulphur and sinew, to kneel at the feet of his father. His knees sank in to mulch. Mulch that had been demonic noblesse moments before.

"Your sister," Trigon's quiet was deadlier than his bellowing fury, "was yours to retrieve. Your responsibility." He leaned down and Jared's breath caught in his chest. "So whose head do you think I should have removed?"

Peeking above a boulder of debris (a chunk of the floor thrown up in Trigon's rage), the demon Jesse, Envy, intervened.

He slinked around the corner of the rock and hissed, "That isn't all that was stolen, father."

Hell stood still. Trigon's silence demanded the demon continue.

"The contracts...of the Demon's Head-"

The body of the great demon was engulfed in flame. At his feet, Wrath, a creature of hellfire, recoiled at the heat. Trigon swiped at him, but Jared fled. He scampered behind the ranks of demons, pursued by the voice of his father, dragging his brother Jesse with him.

"RETRIEVE THEM!"

Through the open doors of Trigon's throne room barrelled two of the great demon lord's sons. Jesse hissed, shoving his brother's grasp off. Beneath a sky of perpetual twilight, they ran through Hell's desolate planes until the fear of Trigon had cooled in their veins.

Panting, the spirit of Wrath leaned against a mound of brimstone, "We need...a...plan..."

Jesse snarled, "We need to get her," and folded his arms, "that traitor is no doubt responsible for the theft."

"I'll summon the others." Jared said. "She won't get away this time."

***

It was strange, Damian thought, how home could be found in so many different places. In fact, home could be caught in the wind; an unplaceable familiar scent snatched up by a wayward gust. Home was that chesty warmth, that profound longing.

The wooden panelling. That's what tripped Damian up. Like a freight train of bottled sentiment, home rammed in to the man.

He missed the old wood in the manor, lining the walls, tiled over the floors. The House of Mystery was no Wayne Manor. Live magic coursed through it like hot blood. To walk within the hallowed body of Magic was exhilarating. Damian longed for the serene solitude of the manor- always too much space, even when full of people; haunted by the ghost of an orphan boy who took up a mantle of justice.

"Troubled thoughts?" Came a voice that shattered his reverie.

He looked up and smiled. It didn't make him look any less sad. Damian budged a few inches across and invited Raven to sit besides him on the bed. Pulling back the hood of her purple cloak, the woman sat next to him. She tapped her boots on the floor; a small tremor ran through the room from the floorboards.

Raven leaned her forearms on her knees and sighed,  "This house, it's...something."

Damian snorted, "Eloquent put, thank you for the engaging conversation Raven."

She glanced at him and rolled her eyes, "You know what I mean...it's heavy, oppressive. My magic feels alive, ready to jump out at any second, in here. It's maddening."

Crossing his legs, Damian shuffled to sit comfortably on the bed. He craned his neck at the towering ceiling. It's paintwork was cracking, fading, but the pattern was clear. Last night, he hadn't been able to discern the jagged images but now...

"Why sunflowers?" He pondered, a dent growing between his eyebrows.

Raven turned to him in confusion. The man pointed up.

"Look- sunflowers."

She followed his instructions.

"Huh...sunflowers..." Raven's eyes ran over the pale yellow petals, some of them torn apart by cracks. "We could ask Orchid."

Damian watched the demoness, her eyes roaming thoughtfully across the network of old flowers sprawling across the ceiling.
Her combined aching neck and desire to continue studying the sunflowers prompted the woman to lie back, staring up at the ceiling with her hands clasped over her chest. It was a puzzle worth solving.

Following her example, Damian lay back, thumbs twiddling absently as he watched the painted flowers. They seemed almost to sway and swirl, the longer he stared up at them. Too much blood flow to the brain, he rationalised- or perhaps an effect of the contrasting colours. Equally as possible, he recognised, was that, being in a house of magic, the painted sunflowers were too infused with magic.

The world was silent, to them, for a few minutes, but for the sound of light breaths. Damian turned his head to look at Raven. She had closed her eyes. Serenity seemed to cover her like a soothing blanket. He thought that she might have been sleeping.

"Meditation is good for the soul." She said, eyes still shut.

Damian looked back up at the ceiling.

"I have heard that." He paused. "Mediation is good for the body. It improves concentration. Self-control."

She hummed, "Very true."

A smile spread across her lips, "You know, I can feel our auras now- especially yours."

"Oh?"

"Feels just like an ocean. Emotion is that deep. Sometimes you're stirring with immense, tempestuous waves, but now," she sat up and crossed her legs, observing the man with her empathic sight, "you're still. Calm waters."

Raven smiled, her eyes roaming his features as if she was searching for something. He didn't quite know what. Damian sat up, leaning on his forearm. He frowned, the brightness that had lit with her moments before seemed to have dimmed. Damian reached forward and tucked a dark strand of hair behind Raven's ear.

"What's wrong?"

She grasped his hand, holding it as if it were something of tremendous value.

In the pause while she collected her thoughts, Damian's breath lodged in his chest.

"In the back of my mind," she began, "I have so many worries, and I don't think I can overcome them."

Damian sat up fully, "Worries like what?"

"My father is trying to pull me back to hell. Any moment, my brothers could enter the planet and cause carnage in search of me. We have Lucifer's stupid job to do- and even the destruction of the contracts might not be enough to stop my father's forces from passing in to the Earth. I mean, when did a demon lord ever require legal precedent to act?" She bit the inside of her lip, agitated. "And what Lucifer had said- the reason that he got the contracts from Trigon's realm rather than us. A conference of great demons? What's that about? Unification of the demonic forces could overthrow-"

"Okay- okay! I'm going to stop you there." Damian held his hands up.

Raven looked at him imploringly, "But seriously-"

"You're a single person, Raven." He reasoned. "And you're shouldering the responsibility of basically the entire fate of the demonic race? That's not rational. You aren't to blame for the actions of your father-"

"I know but-"

Damian cut her off, "No. No ifs, no buts, you are not to blame. You cannot and will not hold yourself accountable for the consequences of his choices." He held her hands in his. "And one of the main reasons for that is because you have such a large support network that you won't be allowed to take sole responsibility. I won't allow it. Zatanna won't allow it. Constantine. Klarion. Lucifer, apparently. Even Shiva and my father are working on this. I hate to admit it, but working within a team is much more effective than attempting to resolve an issue alone."

Raven sighed, "I know, you're right. But my existence has caused such pain."

"You mean the people of Azarath?" Damian asked, his voice soft.

Her eyes were downcast.

"All of them dead, because of me. My birth, my naïveté. I hear them still, crying out, asking me why. And I feel it all."

Raven's throat stung; her eyelashes glistened with tears.

Words caught in Damian's chest. He struggled to push them out through a constructed throat.

"Their blood," he said, "is on your father's hands. Not your. You have to understand that. And you were a child," he implored her, "surely you must see that."

Raven tutted, a cynical, broken laugh of sorts, "Do you honestly believe that?" Water trickled down her cheeks. "Tell me Damian, is that how you feel? Because I know how guilt sits in a heart and shaped a soul."

The man was silent, pensive, wracked by thoughts, ghost screams, of a past life.

Raven leant her forehead against his.

"I'm sorry," she said, "it's just hard. I know you know it's hard. But I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do."

The image of a young boy, clad in the Robin uniform, before the imposing figure of Batman, came to mind. He had gone too far, like so many other times, and the Dark Knight looked over him, disappointed, conflicted, but most of all, understanding.

You are more than the product of your training, Damian. He had said. What you have to be is more. More than what they'd intended for you. More than all the things that you have done. What you do now, when you have control over yourself, your actions, defines your fate.

I need you to believe that you are better than that.

Damian sighed, defeated.

He closed his eyes and leant in to her, "I don't know Raven. Really, I don't...but maybe that's the point. I think it's supposed to hurt, and hurt, and hurt, until we realise that just hurting isn't enough. We can't change what has already happened-"

"I can't forget." Raven whispered.

Damian pulled her hands up to his lips and held them there.

"Don't forget." He said. "But blood spilt can't be regained. I think we have to take all the hurt and do something good with it. I've tried to do that. It seems to be working." He looked up at her, "Raven I have so much blood to my name. So many lives. And they're with me always. I know you can feel it around me. And the only thing that makes it okay is that I try to be better."

The demoness frowned, "That is what that costume- that name- means to you..."

"Robin." the man smiled sadly, "It's my fight. For for justice, for goodness. Whatever that means."

A stillness overcame Raven, growing from deep within until it reached the tips of her fingers. It was purpose. Resolve.

She squeezed Damian's hands, "So that is what we do. We who have suffered, and caused suffering. We fight. For justice. For goodness."

She was so beautiful in her pain, he thought. And how blessed was he to see it, the streaks of emotion striking her features like lightening.

Damian pressed a kiss to her cheek, "For goodness." And his heart warmed immeasurably.

"Whatever that means." She added, with a lopsided smile.

"Whatever that means." He repeated.

A.N:

Hi guys! How have you been?

I'm sorry it's been this long. I feel dreadful about the inconsistency. I promise, this story is not being abandoned!!! I'm dealing with a lot of stress rn but I promise, this book will be seen through!!!! Please stay tuned. Thank you all for sticking with this book <3 mwah

-Bats