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Chapter Text

The head scratching sound of rain pattering against the car roof created a rhythmic backdrop, drumming softly as the sleek black vehicle glided through the foggy streets of Gotham. 

Inside, the atmosphere was as heavy and thick as the billowing coulds with an awkward silence that even the rain couldn't fill. The sun was slowly setting.

Damian sat slouched in the backseat, his arms folded tightly across his chest. His demeanor was a contrast to the heavy clouds outside; he was angry, aloof, and far from impressed. 

The city blurred by his window, was a cascade of looming buildings and flickering streetlights, but even the stormy weather of Gotham didn't mirror his inner turmoil.

"It's filthy" he muttered under his breath, glaring at the trashy city that had become his new prison. Being sent to live with his father, the notorious Bruce Wayne, felt like a punishment, one he had no say in.

He didn't want this. 

The driver stole a glance at him in the rearview mirror, slight concern etched across his features, hidden by his cap but Damian just turned his head away, staring into the rain-soaked streets. 

"Would it kill you to drive faster? I'd like to be done with this as quickly as possible."

"We'll be there soon." The driver hummed, nonchalantly.

Damian sighed dramatically, it was as if being here had reasons that he didn't want to dwell on. Was his mother sick of him?

Was it all because of her messy expensive divorce with his dad- Mr Wayne? 

Or was it the accusations of a sexually assulted affair with Mr Wilson? Could it be his grandfathers former illegal business that had surfaced his issues?

Or maybe she didn't want him around it all.

Damian adjusted the dress shirt he wore and eased. His grip on his luggage. He took a short calming breath allowing some relief to his day.

'You'll never get a second chance at good first impression' He recalled what Talia had whispered to him nights ago.

Before she sent him away, before he cursed everything out on his last night with her. The worst of it all, was that Bruce was trying, weather it be indirect calls with Talia or letters after thecase and part of Damian appreciated the effort, but mostly, it only fueled the fire of his resentment. The letters only came in just so Damian would choose him. But Damian never really had a chance.

A few long minutes trickled by before they finally pulled up to Wayne Manor- a grand, sprawling estate that looked even more imposing in the twilight.

The rain had eased to a drizzle, but the clouds hung low, shrouding the sky in darkness.The clouds were parted left, and the sun had set awhile ago. He wasn't sure how long it'd been.

-

"This where you live?" The driver said, although it sounded more like a question than a statement. 

Damian rolled his eyes, snatched his bag and stepped out of the car. The queltching sound of his boots splashing into a puddle echoing against the cracked pavement. The drizzle of the sky had soaked his shoulders and hair already. The breeze was too cold then it had ever been where he once called home.

The grand entrance of Wayne Manor loomed before him, ornate but somehow uninviting. He trudged toward the door like an unfortunate soldier marching into battle. He shoved the door open, scowl present.

'He couldn't even invite me in.' Damian thought bitterly.

As he stepped inside, the warm oldish glow of the hallway met him, in stark contrast to the chill of the rain outside. An elder man stood there, towel on hand, and a welcoming smile on his face that seemed to radiate comfort.

"Master Damian! It's splendid to see you," Alfred greeted, his British accent smooth and warm, a balm to the chilly atmosphere. "I've prepared dinner. I trust your trip was uneventful?"

"Uneventful?" Damian echoed, his tone dripping with distain. "It was a drag. Do you always greet your guests with such mundane conversations?"

Alfred's expression remained unchanged, a perfect mask of politeness as he offered a slight bow of his head. "For some, the journey can be quite an experience. I hoped that it might be a little more pleasant for you."

"I didn't ask for this," Damian shot back, his voice a sullen whisper. "I don't belong here. I was fine where I was."

He swore he wouldn't vent or expose his troubles like he couldn't carry them with his shitty sarcasm but there he goes.

Alfred continued to look at him with unwavering kindness, as if this wasn't the first time he encountered a bratty kid. "You are where you need to be, Master Damian. The others are eager to meet you, just as I am."

"Great," Damian replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "A family of strangers. Can't wait."

"Very well, then. Dinner awaits," Alfred said gracefully, choosing to ignore that as he began guiding Damian through the lavish halls adorned with family portraits and sophisticated decor.

As they walked, Damian's eyes flitted over the walls, absorbing every detail. The grandeur helped him temporarily forget his grumpiness, but only just.

The manor felt both alien and oddly interesting, yet he refused to let it show. He stood by the tall window, while the sun was setting it stillcasted a yellow glow with long shadows across the sprawling estate.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a girl looking at him. When he turned around she was gone.

Oh?

Damian sniffed, dismissing her prescense. He moved on, looking around. He pushed a few dooes open, peeking inside.

Bedrooms, they seemed to belong to people judging by the mess. When Damian closedthe dooe he turned around and yelped.

Alfred stood before him. "I hope you've made yourself familiar, Master Damian." He kindly smiled.

"Must you do that?!" Damian brushed non existing dust off his shoulder.

"Apologies, I did not mean to startle you." It was clear Alfreds smile held edge.

"You didn't-" 

"Your father wishes to see you upstairs before dinner. It would be nice for him to get to know you." 

Damian scowled. So now he wanted to see him?

"I'm not interested in playing house. Where is he?"

"He will be along shortly. Perhaps you might want to meet your brothers while you wait?" Alfred sugested.

"Brothers?" Damian raised an eyebrow, eyes wide. His curiosity piqued, despite his best efforts to adpear disinterested.

"Indeed. Master Dick is currently working but should be home soon. Master Tim is upstairs, studying. He'll be happy to see you."

With a reluctant nod from Damian, Alfred disappeared into the halls.

Damian stepped into the grand cavern of the manor. The polished floors glistened, and the old -but spotless- paintings of Wayne family ancestors glared down at him like silent judges.

Everything felt surreal. Silence hung heavily in the air.

Before he could gather his thoughts, a voice broke through the stillness. "Do you need directions?"

Damian turned sharply to face a tall, athletic figure. He was sure that was the 'Dick Grayson' Alfred mentioned, because this man was clad in a police uniform, work.

Dick smiled warmly despite the tension in the air. "I'm Dick. You must be Damian."

"Whatever." Damian's abrasive response came out almost instinctively, fierce with a raised voice. "I did not ask for a welcome committee."

Dick's grin faltered only for a moment, then returned with renewed vigor. "I get that. Transitions can be tough. How about a tour of the place? Since you mentioned you weren't interested in playing house, I'll show you what makes it feel more like a home."

"Playing house-" Damians eye widened only to narrow. How long had he listened?

"I don't need your pity, Grayson," Damian shot back, but he could feel intrigue creeping in, the way Dick carried himself with an ease that he didn't quite understand.

"Just a tour. No pity. On this tour, you'll learn fun facts about the finest pizza spots in Gotham and where to hide from Dad's lectures." Before Damian could retort or comment on the word 'dad', Dick turned and headed down one of the long corridors.

"Why should I care about pizza?" Damian muttered, though he found himself reluctantly following.

As they wandered through the sprawling mansion, Tim made his entrance, sporting earbuds and a stack of textbooks, his eyes lighting up upon spotting Dick and Damian. "Is this....?" He questioned.

Damian glared almost immediately. "Yep, Damian Wayne." Dick beamed.

"We can always use another Wayne around here." Tim extended his hand with a reassuring smile. "And if you ever need help with y'know, navigating the halls..."

"I won't need help." Damian sharply cut him off. He slowly took in Tim's youthful appearance and the faint remnants of teenage awkwardness. 

"Fiesty?" Tim laughed, giving Damian an appraising look. "Well that's fine."

"Really?" Damian stepped closer, his competitive spirit ignited. "That's it? Fine?"

Why did everybody take his seriousness to nonchalance!?

"Peachy." Tim shrugged, a keen smirk on his face.

Damiams gaze darkened. There was something about this guy he didn't like. It made his blood boil.

"Tim, let's not," Dick interjected, raising a hand. "How about we save the glaring and smart remarks for later? Alfred wouldn't be very happy if you two went at it before dinner."

"Dinner!" Alfred's voice appeared unexpectedly behind them, a hint of concern on his expression. 

Damian shrieked shortly, Dick stiffled as much as asmile while Tim let out a series of laughs.

"My apologies, Master Damian, you do scare easily! I might suggest a friendly game of chess instead before dinner. I must remind you, Tim has the upper hand there."

"Chess?" Damian's tone shifted, intrigued now. "Can you even play?"

"More than you'd think," Tim replied, glimmering with confidence. "How about we set a time to play? I promise not to go easy on you."

Damian considered the idea, before nodding.

When he turned around Alfred had disappeaded. "What..?"

Dick put a hand on his shoulder. "Alfie does that sometimes. You'll get used to it."

Damian slowly nodded. 

"Oh! I should probably show you to your room!" Dick then took Damians hand with quite speed and speed walked up the stairs.

"Here you are!" Dick held his hands out, gesturing to the room.

"Bed's already made, and room cleaned. Courtesy of the one and only." 

"The servant."

"What?" Dicks brows furrowed. "Alfred's more then just a servant. He's family."

"Your family." Damian set his luggage on the floor with a heavy thud.

"Us, our family. Y'know, Me, Tim, Cass, Duke, Steph, Jason-" Dick listed on his fingers.

"Todd." Damian gave a small nod. The only name he could recognize. The only person who could probably get everything that happened.

"You know him?" Dick questioned, leaning against the doorframe.

Damian gave a nod.

Dick squinted his eyes. "Okay, not much of a talker. Well, I'll see you at dinner." 

Damian was left on his own for the first time in a week. He closed the door and breathed, he breathed out a breath he didn't realize he had held.

He sat against the door, knees to his chest, just breathing for the first time in awhile.

It's felt like he was suffocating all this time, weight on his shoulders that had no reason to exist.

Tears began to prickle at the corner of his eyes.

But why?

He hasn't known the answer to anything since the divorce case. Hadn't known life was more then 'peachy' since his own twin had to punch it into his face. Often, he really wonders what his brother felt after that night.

Chapter Text

He sat on the stairs, kicking his feet up again, shoelaces untied as the sun shone through the window. He heard the heavy footsteps of Slade- Dad, coming down the stairs. 

Slade walked past him, papers in hand, for what he expected Slade to keep walking, the man suddently stopped infront of him

He stood up, his expression neutral. "You're going to school by March break." 

"What-?" He choked out, only for Slade to turn and disappeared into his study- or better fitting 'den'- leaving his son staring at the empty space where he had stood.

The silence was oppressive, he sat on the stairs, his hands gripping the edges as he looked down at the floor. 

'School, huh?' He thought, dreading the enitre thought of it. Sure it had been a dreadful experiance existing in a house with a lot of lore, but surely nothing could suck as badly as school.

Little did he know he'd be proven terribly wrong.

He heaved a sigh, kicking his foot out, glaring at the wooden floor tiles. Everything about this house was foreign to him. The creaking steps he sits on, the smells of the kitchen, the layout of the rooms- it was all so unlike the large, ethnic estate he had grown up in with his mother.

Talia...

Some nights, when sleep would take longer to creep up on him, he'd lay awake listening to house noises wondering what was he doing here, or why did Slade have to be like this? 

Maybe he could've been mentally prepared if this was said weeks ago. March is so close...

Deep down, he knew he'd always done just fine without school. Being homeschooled by whatever tutors Talia brought in to teach him and D̶a̶m̶i̶a̶n̶.

.......

The thought sent a shiver down his spine as he realized that this was Gotham, the only high school known is Gotham High.

'Isn't that where the 'brat' would be going?' He shook his head at the terrifying thought he brought to himself. 

He was already struggling to keep up with the simple routines of living in this house.

School -school with a certain someone- would be a nightmare. More strangers, rules, homework... He didn't even know what to wear. 

He didn't really have clothes either. Blankly staring at the floor, his mind racing with the endless possibilities of what could go wrong. 

He should have asked more questions. He should have interrogated more or stopped his father on his way out- But Slade had just stood there, telling him what to do with a tone that brooked no argument. 

He felt a slight tap on his shoulder. 

He looked up, Wilson.

Isn't he a Wilson now too? 

He hasn't bothered to remember her name. Rosetta? Ruby?

"Wow, didn't know you were a deep thinker." She smiled a bit, taking a seat on the step next to him. She had a strawberry popscile in her hand in the middle of spring, the weather was still cold.

Red. Ruby.

Rose. She had the name of a Rose bush.

"What do you want?" He glanced at her face, then above. Same familiar white hair he sported himself. 

"How've you been?" Rose stretched out her legs onto the stairs beneath her. Scratches, scars, things he'd been too accustomed to then to ask. 

He'd really have to ask sometime.

"Fine. What's it to you-"

"No no no, I mean emotionally, believe it or not." She cut him off, sparing him a glance with a finger raised.

 "It can't have been easy. Living in a new place, with new people, a new name..." She trailed off. He was staring right at the front door a feet feet before them.

"But you seem to handle it well."

"It's not that hard." He murmured, bending to tie his laces haphazardly.

"Do you like it?"

"What?"

 "Your name. Roman." Rose leaned in.

"No." Roman shook his head. He sat back up. "Not at all."

"So, what would ya like me to call you?" 

Roman thought for awhile. His gaze piercing the floor. "I don't know."

"Rowan?" Rose asked, which she shouldn't have. That was his old name. The one it was changed from, although Talia chose it from birth, he never felt right with it. 

These names felt fake to him.

"Urghh. No." He shook his head vehemently. Rose laughed.

-

March 10th dawned over the bustling city, a chilly gust blowing in from the north, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming crocuses and the promise of warmer days to come swept through the open car window. He shivered.

Oh, how much he missed the summer.

The sky was a pale grey, a gentle mist swirling above the trees like a veil of secrecy. He gripped his bag, now could he already feel like suffocating and he hadn't even stepped out of the car?

With a small jolt, the car stopped.

"Ground rules. You cause the most trouble ever, and disappoint the old man. Make us proud." The guy with brown hair, who Rose had called Grant. 

"Is that the only reason you offered to drive me?" Roman sincerely asked. "To disappoint dad?"

"Exactly" Grant snapped his fingers. A voice suddently shouted

"And, bonus points if you set a fire alarm off!" 

He S C R E A M E D.

Not only did he not notice Rose was in the backseat, but also the fact that Joey was beside her.

"When- Why?!" He squeaked out.

They simply laughed.

"I wouldn't suggest the fire alarm trick...But get into a fight. And don't win. He hates that." Joey suggested, running hand through his gorgeous blond locks.

Roman loved how his voice sounded. A soft contrast compared to the shrieks of the devil. When he wasn't mute, he was a jem.

"Pftttt!" Grant loudly snorted, taking a long sip of his Mc Donalds Coke- 

That was his supposed breakfast substitute. 

"Honestly, he never cared when I did that. Win or lose." Grant shook the large drink, ice shaking around.

Roman was 90% sure they both came for the free Mc Donalds breakfast and he was 100% right.

"Yeah, cause he knew his son was a pussy, who was gonna lose anyway." Rose shrugged.

"You're the real pussy. What kind of bitch looses to a retard? You were in like, fuckin' junior year. She was a damn freshmen." Grant remarked vigourously.

"Fuck you." Rose flipped him off. "For your information, she was not a normal freshmen!"

"Excuses, Excuses. Can it, dumbass." 

"Kill yourself!" Rose shouted.

"You do it first!" Grant shouted even louder

"How about you both do it?" Joey interjected with fustration. "And how about you don't swear infront of the kid..?" Joey had indirectly suggested for them to put aside their heated tempers.

"Tch." Grant shook his head. 

"Alright, see you later." He gestured for Roman to push the door. 

"See you!" Rose waved.

He looked outside the window.

The students of Gotham High bustled about, chatting about their spring break as they made their way to their early first-period class. The air was electric with excitement and nerves so unusual for Gotham. The students this year seem eager.

Roman stepped out the car and onto the school grounds, his eyes narrowing against the bright sunlight. He took a few steps, looking out of place, his light hair rumpled and his eyes clouding over with unease. He was a complete weirdo. 

He had never attended a school before. Slade had hoped for a fresh start, to pretend Talia didn't exist, to pretend him and Damian hadn't had that big argument leading to almost killing eachother over accusations- and a make believe family threaded by lies Talia had weilded under Grandfathers guidance.

Roman was skeptical of everything more recently.

"Love you!" He whipped his head around to glare at the idiot who shouted that in public but the car was already driving off.

'Tch'

His gaze fell over two girls enthusiastically chatting about their phone brands. 

"What am I doing here?" he muttered to himself, his eyes sweeping over the neatly manicured lawns and the rows of imposing stone buildings. Gotham schools had been funded by the high classes.

Rich assholes like Bruce Wayne who think money can cover up anything. He wouldn't doubt Damian's ability to turn out shitty like that. A mommy's boy, a brat who does whatever he wants whenever he wants.

Roman clenched his teeth and made his way to the main entrance, he caught sight of a sea of uniforms – crisp, blue blazers and white shirts, khaki pants and neat ties. 

His lip curled in distaste, the uniform a stark reminder of everything he was trying to escape.

Law and Order. 

'Have you had a sexually assulted affair with either of these men?'

'Ms Al Ghul, your case is particulary difficult.'

'Mr Wilson, had you known Ms Talia was pregnant?'

'Mr Wayne will get custody over Damian Al Ghul, and Mr Wilson will also get custody over Rowan Al Ghul.'

'Talia, for your mental sake, we are revoking your privillage of caring for these two.'

'Mr Wayne, had you known Ms Talia was pregnant with twins?'

'Court is adjourned!'

The gavel was slammed to the desk. Deafening silent was brought on afterwards. Slade ran a hand through Romans hair. His head still hurt.

Now his stomach began to hurt.

Just as he was about to push open the door, a bright smile caught his eye. A girl with curly brown hair and bright hazel eyes was waving at him from across the courtyard.

Roman's gaze lingered for a moment, surprised by the warm smile before he turned away, his shoulders hunching slightly as he disappeared into the crowd.

Inside the school, the halls were bustling with students, some from senior year, and other squeaky voiced freshmen.

This was a breeding ground for bacteria. Roman looked down at his assigned paper. Room 413.

He navigated his way there after accidently walking into the ladies room.

'I'm not a pervert.' He had to clearly remind himself, because that was not remotely his fault. The spelling was '4 Ladi3s.' Did an old person write that? It was labeled a sorry attempt at relating to modrn slang.

This time, he pushed the right door open. His classroom teacher, Mrs. Moreau, was kindly conversing with what her students did during the break.

She beamed at him, gesturing for him to stand infront of the class beside her. So msny faces were staring into his soul that he might just melt from shame.

"Here we have a new student! Roman Wilson! Where are you from again?" 

He looked down for a second. "Uhh, West Asia." He murmured because that seemed like the best answer.

"Roman, Welcome to Gotham High. Please take a seat next to.... Elijah."

Roman's eyes flickered towards the back of the room, his gaze locking onto the boy with curly black hair, who was watching him with an encouraging smile.

He took a seat unwillingly as Mrs. Moreau started the lesson. 

Chapter Text

Whoever said Bruce Wayne was a straight forward man had simply never met Bruce Wayne. 

Damian had spent three hours hearing the sentimental bullshit, and how he needs Damian to feel welcome, and to definately confide in him, while in the dimly lit freezing office.

"You, will be attending Gotham High." Bruce simply clapped him on his back nearing the end of their conversation.

Damians eyes widened comically. "What!?'

"It'd be good for you. To socialize, and you'd be meeting new people." Bruce offered. "Gotham High is a great school."

Gotham High was not a great school.

"Yes, it is. I can assure you that." Bruce responded, watching Damians horror once he realized he said that outloud.

"I doubt that. I could teach the teachers! I've learnt these subjects before!"

"That's nice, Damian, but you're going." Bruce finalized.

Damian groaned, not only did he have a headache, but now he had his 17th reason.

"Oh! And I have this...friend. I believe his son attends Gotham High." Bruce held a finger to his chin, blue eyes narrowed in thought.

"Is this planning a playdate?" Damian scoffed.

"You'll get along great. Jonathan Kent." Bruce nodded, seemingly pleased with his idea regarding Damians every word.

"Kent?"

-

"My dad said the loose apple skins are, the warmer the summer ahead!" Jon blabbed about anything and everything. "Oh- I didn't tell you my name!! I'm-"

"Jon. Jonathan Kent." Damian scowled, hands in his pocket walking on the sidewalk.

"Yeah! How'd you know?" Jon tilted his head a bit.

Damian looked off into on coming traffic. He could get hit by a car right here and his fate would be sealed- No, he knows he'd go to hell though...

"A guess."

"You're a very good guesser."

-

By the third week, Damian had gotten used to his new unfortunate life. 

The routine was unfavourable but things happen. He looked up at the sky, of courss it was another overcast morning in Gotham City as Jon Kent stepped out of his father's car. He could feel the familiar tension in the air, the kind that came with attending Gotham High—an institution known for its not-so-friendly social hierarchy. 

Before he met Kent, he thought he was a farm boy. A farm boy who never seemed to shut up based off every source.

Timothy Drake was never a good source.

Jon proved to be an asset as an accomplise. He was social, and provided Damian with information about the whole school.

Damian watched as Jon adjusted his backpack and made his way towards the entrance, greeted by the sight of students milling about, gossiping, and trying to avoid Mr. White's latest rant about the importance of punctuality.

He spotted Damian standing at the entrance, his arms crossed and his signature scowl firmly in place. 

"You're late," Damian snapped, his eyes narrowing as he assessed Jon's wrinkled uniform attire- a stark contrast to Damian's meticulous uniform.

"Five minutes, Damian. That's not too bad!" Jon replied, narrowed eyes before deciding it was best to keep his distance, knowing full well that when Damian was in a mood, it was best to tread lightly.

The two boys entered the bustling halls together. Jon tried to make small talk, friendship bracelt of a butterfly swinging on his wrist. "Did you get that biology assignment done? I heard Ms. Janice is gonna be super strict with grades this year."

"I don't need the council of a farm boy who thinks he can charm his way through life," Damian shot back, his tone dripping with disdain. "I've been taught this simple stuff by the time I was 5."

Jon sighed. It was moments like these that reminded him how difficult Damian way. 

While he always tried to find common ground, like homework, Damian preferred the other grounds where he could brood alone. 

The first bell rang, and the two scattered to their respective classes, Jon to English, where his affinity for literature made time fly, and Damian to his history class, which he only begrudgingly attended. 

As the clock ticked one, Jon couldn't shake the feeling that Damian needed some cheering up; after all, being angry and stuck up was no way to spend the day.

At lunchtime, Jon found his chance. He approached Damian, who was seated at a table with a few other students, watching them with detached interest.

 "Hey, I was thinking we could do something fun after school. Like, grab a burger or something. You know, relax a little? I mean....you haven't been at Gotham for even a month yet."

Damian scoffed, "Fun? This place is a cesspool. Nothing is fun about this city."

"Well, it's not all that bad! They have a great café down the street-" Jon began, only to be interrupted by Damian's cold glare.

"They don't understand my world, Kent. These kids are weak, obsessed with drama and superficialities. I have no time for their meaningless banter."

"My world..?" Jon frowned. He couldn't always decipher what Damian meant.

Jon still pressed on. 

"Maybe that's exactly why you need to join the world a little bit. Even Mr Wayne himself has moments of normalcy. You can't just live your life sketching and brooding."

"Sketching is life," Damian said firmly. But as he glanced at the boisterous crowd playing a game of soccer in the yard outside, something flickered in his eyes, determination.

"You're saying this because you believe I'm not capable of joining groups or making friends. Is that what you think of me!?" Damian interrogated.

Jon took a seat across from him, quick to disfuse the bomb. "No! Course not! You know, I'm not saying you have to make friends. But how about just... tolerating them? You might discover something interesting actually doing that stuff."

Damian huffed but didn't reject the idea outright. Instead, he stared with disdain at a nearby group of students laughing loudly. 

"I suppose they could be amusing in a pathetic sort of way. Feeble entertainment." he conceded begrudgingly.

Jon grinned, feeling triumphant even though his friend had really said something messed up. 

"That's the spirit! So, after school are we still going?"

"I guess," Damian muttered, still really heavy in his irritation- but secretly intrigued by the prospect of perhaps not spending the whole day trapped behind the walls of his plain room. 

The rest of the day dragged on, but Jon noticed a slight shift in Damian's demeanor. It was fierce.

At one point, during history class, Damian got into a heated debate with a classmate over the strategies used in historical battles, one of the few topics that could energize him.

Jon watched as he passionately defended his stance, momentarily forgetting his usual bitterness. So Damian could talk- well, insult and defend.

After the final bell rang, they walked out of the building, and the moment they stepped into the evening air, Jon couldn't bottle his excitement any longer. 

"Alright! Let's go grab something to eat!"

Damian hesitated, glancing around at the throng of students. His thorny exterior almost shielded him fully, but a steady spark shone in his eyes.

"I suppose... Only for a few minutes."

Jon beamed, feeling the warmth of camaraderie starting to bloom between them. Or maybe that was just the lunchroom pizza giving him heart burn.

"See? It won't be so bad!"

-

The two stepped into the cozy café just around the corner from Gotham High, the bell above the door chiming softly as they entered. It was a good set up, Damian nodded at the decor.

The late afternoon sun streamed in through the windows, casting a warm glow over the small establishment filled with the rich aroma of coffee and the sweet scent of freshly baked pastries.

"Anything catch your eye?" Jon asked, scanning the chalkboard menu. He had a smile on his face, still riding high from a productive day of classes.

Damian adjusted his collar, glancing at the array of treats. "The almond croissant looks... acceptable," he replied, his tone exuding his usual bravado. "But I'll opt for something more substantial. A sandwich perhaps?"

"Good choice! You can try the new club sandwich. It's supposed to be amazing," Jon encouraged, already pulling out his phone. "I'm gonna text my dad real quick."

As Jon texted his dad, letting him know he'd be home late, Damian's attention drifted toward the counter where a student was behind the register. 

A blond-haired guy with tan skin and a piercing with a small subtle smile was taking orders. He looked familiar, another face from Gotham High, but one that Damian hadn't interacted with much.

Some upper-upper classmen.

Once Jon finished his message, he nudged Damian, "You should go order. I want the double chocolate brownie- I can pay; It was my idea."

"Not if you keep insisting on treating me," Damian replied, rolling his eyes but not hiding the hint of affection in his voice. He was grateful.

As he approached the counter, the barista looked up, and their eyes met.

"Hellooo~" the barista greeted, in a sing song like voice, seemingly unfazed by Damian's reputation. "What can I get for yall on this mighty fine day?"

Yall, as in plural. Damiam chose to ignore the grammer.

"Sandwich. The club, if you've no objections," Damian said, leaning slightly on the counter. "And a dark roast with a double chocolate brownie."

"Solid choices," the barista nodded, quickly preparing the order. "I'm Connor, by the way. I'm—"

"I'm Damian Wayne," he interjected, his tone casual yet pointed. "You attend Gotham High as a Senior? I've seen you in the halls often. You do Archery for Gotham High in Tournaments." 

"Wow, I'm flattered you stalk me." Connor smiled.

Damian sputtered, he sounded like a creep. "No! I wouldn't-"

"Anyways, you're right, but not right!" Connor grinned, his green eyes glinting with recognition.

"How!"

"I'm a Junior."

Damian rolled his eyes. "But what are you doing working here, Queen? Your father-"

Connor smilled, cutting him off. "Yeah, my dad's Oliver Queen, CEO of Queen Industries. But... he insisted I get some experience outside of the family business. And..cut me off allowence for a few months so here I am."

He disappeared into the back before coming right up, as he finished making the sandwich and handed it to Damian, their hands brushing breifly.

"Generous of him. Experience is... valuable," Damian replied, taking the food while weighing the information. "For what it's worth, I think you'd make a good fit in my world"

"Oh?" Connor raised an eyebrow, curious about what Damian meant. It' not every day you meet an edgelord. "What world is that?"

"The world of the unfortunate," Damian stated matter-of-factly. "My friend called it 'the world of no regrets and endless brooding."

"Thanks, but I'll stick to my café world for now," Connor laughed, at the seriousness in his tone. 

"But if you ever need someone to take your order, I'm your guy." He winked.

"Indeed." A thought struck Damian, and he pulled out his phone. "Perhaps we could remain in contact, Connor. I would like to share some... resources."

"Uh, Sure, why not?" Connor replied, taking Damian's phone and entering his number. "Just don't expect me to join those rigorous brooding sessions of yours."

"Believe me, I have no intentions of dragging anyone into my problems," Damian softly smiled, contemplating how this meeting might prove Jon wrong.

Jon approached the counter, a sandwich in hand. "Got everything you need, Damian?"

"Yes," Damian replied, slipping Connor a grateful glance. "And maybe a little more."

Jon paid and as they walked toward a cozy nook in the café, Jon glanced back, suspicious. "Did I interrupt something?"

"Not at all," Damian said, "Just making a potential ally in my next social endeavor."

Jon smiled. "Nice, let's eat then. We've got a good while to go before homework, right?"

"Indeed," Damian agreed

Chapter Text

Roman sat at his desk, tracing the scribbles from whoever had this desk before him. He tried his best to focus on the words spilling from the teacher's mouth. But all he could think about was how deafening the buzzing chatter around him was. 

This was the worst. 

The classroom smelled like cheap cologne and sweat, and he couldn't shake the feeling of a hundred eyes boring into him, judging and sizing him up. His nose had always been too sensitive to scents.

At least the Elijah kid had that friendly smile, which was a small comfort amid the chaos, but Roman barely acknowledged it.

The clock ticked slowly, this felt like a punishment. Everyone seemed to know each other in this place, laughing and whispering, while he was just an island of awkwardness in a sea of familiarity.

Would everyone just shut up?

Mrs. Moreau droned on about algebraic equations, but all he caught was that today's topic was patterns.

Patterns.

Thread and needle, sewing and spining up design after design. 

Complicated; that made him think of the complicated algorithms of the life he had recently been thrust into- new name, new family, new expectations. 

How do you just get on with life? How can you make sense of the patterns life had formed lately?

'You can't.'

His attention drifted to the window, where raindrops splattered against the glass, each drop a small reminder of the wait of warmer days.

Suddenly, a folded piece of paper landed on his desk, all crumbled up. It pullied him back into reality.

Roman glanced to his left, finding Elijah looking at him, a smile on his face. 

"What's the answer to number three?" he whispered, barely keeping a straight face.

Roman frowned, suddently glancing at the paper infront of him. He hadn't even realized they were in the middle of a worksheet.

"I don't know," he muttered, focusing on the confusing scribbles and numbers.

Elijah laughed softly. "You're a funny guy," he said, nudging Roman's arm gently with a smirk. 

He gasped, mentally screaming 'Did this retard just fucking touch me?!'

Elijah, not noticing the offense, laughed once more. "You really are new here, huh?"

"Is it that obvious?" Roman couldn't help a scowl. He managed to hold his tounge.

"Nope, just a hunch," Elijah replied with a wink and a stupid eyebrow wiggle.

'Oh, so he really is retarded..' Romans temper lessened at the thought of his disability.

"You'll learn quickly that we all have our roles to play here. Just don't let anyone push you around."

Roman felt a flicker of something he hadn't experienced in a while- disgust.

This felt too cheesy, too much like a boarding school like soon they'd be trading secrets and wearing suits and ties.

'Blegh'

-

Then the bell rang, freeing the students from their desks like a starter gun at a race. Roman felt the rush of adrenaline as everyone began shuffling to their next class. 

His pulse quickened at the thought of moving again, he was out in the halls struggling to find somewhere to leave. Upper classmen, and lower, were all rushing around.

His head hurt.

"Hey, want to grab lunch together?" Elijah asked as they walked out, moving in sync with the crowd.

Before Roman could answer, he spotted a familiar face out of the corner of his eye. It was the kind girl with curly brown hair, the one who'd waved at him earlier. She had been on the other side of the courtyard that morning. 

She stood by her locker.

Her eyes followed his, locking onto his with an unexpected intensity. Roman lost his train of thought, warmth creeping in, as if she could see right through him.

She turned her shoulder with a small smile.

"Are you coming or what?" Elijah asked, breaking him out of his momentary daze.

"Um, okay." Roman muttered, he was feeling a type of blend of confusion and something else as he turned to follow.

As they made their way to the cafeteria, the noise level rose, students laughing, shouting, trays clattering. This was a warzone. It had to be.

He felt uneasy, glancing around at the boisterous energy. It was all overwhelming, and he noticed that his hands were beginning to shake slightly.

He tried to ignore it, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his pants, but it didn't help. He never did well in loud unfamiliar environments.

Roman can't quite remember what the doctor had called it....

"Are you okay?" Elijah asked, glancing sideways at him, but Roman could only offer a forced nod. 

They reached the lunch line. Roman's stomach twisted, and he realized he hadn't eaten all day, not even the Big Mac Grant forced into his hands. He never really ate large meals in the morning.

Or any meals.

He stepped up, quickly scanning the options: soggy pizza, wilted salads, and something that might have passed for chicken nuggets.

"Yum, huh?" Elijah beamed, clearly finding the school food enjoyable.

"Gourmet, definitely," Roman replied sarcastically, trying to shake off the suffocating atmosphere. 

After getting their food, they found an empty table in the far corner of the cafeteria.

"So, what's your story?" Elijah asked as they sat down. "I mean, it's not every day we get someone new around here. Nobody would willingly attend Gotham High. More or less, Gotham."

Roman hesitated, the question lingering in the air, but he quickly reminded himself that he couldn't afford to show weakness. "Not much to tell. Just moved here."

"Yeah? What brought you to Gotham?" 

"The same family drama that ends up on daytime TV," Roman replied, rolling his eyes. 

"Oversharing is my specialty," he added dryly.

"Oh, so you come from a dysfunctional background," Elijah smiled back, curly hair falling in his face. "You'll fit in just fine here!"

Roman couldn't help but clench his teeth, a weight pooling in his chest. "Glad to know."

They fell into an awkward silence for a moment, the loud banter of other students wrapping around them. 

But as the lunch hour continued, Roman's thoughts drifted back to the unexpected twists life had forced his way: The chaos of shifting identities, and even the curious eyes that seemed to follow him.

He had to be imagining it all. Also something the doctor had reminded him about.

Just then, as if he couldn't reason with his mind anymore, the girl with the brown curly hair strolled by their table, her smile wide as she greeted Elijah.

His chest twisted up tightly- Roman had been so lost in thoughts that he hadn't noticed her approach until she was practically standing beside him. 

"Maya! T-This is Roman, our new classmate.." Elijah introduced, not so subtle blush on his face.

Maya turned to him, her hazel eyes sparkling. "Hi! Welcome to Gotham High! It's a crazy place, but we make it fun."

"Yeah, fun," Roman replied, and he couldn't help but feel disturbed.

"Don't worry about the weirdos here!" Her gaze fell over Elijah. "If you need help finding your way around, I can show you," Maya offered.

Encouraged by Elijah's nod, he did so himself. "Sure...some other time maybe."

Maya gave a small wink. "Of course."

Once she retreated fo her table of the louder kind, Elijah exploded into questions.

"She's an upperclassmen did you know that!?" He was practically the human equalivent to a tomato. "Maya's head of the girls volleyball team too!"

"Man, have you seen her hair!? She'd be a solid 10/10 if it were longer! And her body-"

'So he's retarded and a pervert, wow. That's fun.' Roman thought dryly, looking down at his equally dry sandwhich.

Chapter Text

"So, you thinking about trying any after-school activities? Sports club?" Jason interrogated the moment Damian stepped foot into his lofty yet humble home. 

The small apartment was a hodgepodge of mismatched furniture, the walls adorned with peeling paint and posters of old movie stars. 

A solitary lamp with a stained shade flickered in the dim light, casting dancing shadows that seemed to mock the disarray. Outside, the lampposts lined the street like sentinels, their yellow glow barely penetrating the encroaching dusk, creating a gentle haze that wrapped around the building.

A little too humble.

"No," Damian replied, tossing his bag onto the floor, the sound echoing in the cluttered space.

"Got some tea on the stove." Jason tilted his head slightly, a lazy smile stretching across his face, but his brow furrowed slightly, as if sensing Damian's mood.

Damian nodded, glancing around with hesitant curiosity. "Can I wear shoes in here?" he asked, lingering awkwardly by the door.

Jason arched an eyebrow, his expression a mix of disbelief. He gestured around with a sweeping arm, revealing the surrounding chaos: muddy shoe prints zigzagging across the floor, old pizza boxes towering like very low rise buildings. 

"You're serious? Bro, look at me-" He shook his head, his eyes wide in mock horror.

"Look at this place!" 

"Oh." Damian stepped inside, his shoes crunching against the debris like unwelcome guests at a party. His concern for the state of his sneakers rapidly overtaken by the need to discern Jason's apartment.

"So, now was your third week of school?" Jason stretched himself out on the couch, sprawling like a cat basking in sunlight. Sometimes Damian missed the sun.

Damian, always feeling like a misplaced puzzle piece, sat cross-legged on the carpet beneath him, the fibers prickling against his skin.

"Uneventful," he replied, the word slipping out with the weighted tone of someone who had expected more but been left wanting.

"Really? Thought you met the Kent kid."

"Jonathan." Damian nodded. "You know him?"

"Eh, who doesn't? Bruce and Clark, they got some history." Jason's gaze dropped to the pamphlet in Damian's hand, curiosity igniting a spark in his eyes. "What's this?"

"School clubs." Damian practically murmured, his voice barely above the rustle of the crumpled paper.

"Right, you gonna sign?" Jason nudged, leaning forward, eager.

"No. There's nothing of interest." Damian's expression morphed into one of disinterest tinged with frustration, his lips pressed together as if sealing away his next words.

"How about...Tennis? Ya'know, Talia was great at that." A nostalgic grin spread across Jason's face as he recalled her gloating about the topic he definately hadn't asked about during his stay with her.

His mother had somehow known Jason. Damian knew family a web too intricate to explain.

"That's a girls' sport," Damian retorted, the corners of his mouth twisting into a frown, indignation brewing like the tea on his stove.

Jason gasped, hand dramatically clutching his chest as if he were struck. "No, it's definitely not." He paused recalling good boy Dick Grayson swinging the racket with a signature grin. "That's mighty sexist of you, Dames." 

"Okay, what about Soccer? I played that." Jason hummed, recalling his feats when he had been the same awkward kid with a good nature, kicking a ball evolved into being a great player. 

Sure Bruce encouraged him, but Jason really just did it for his attention- which he still wouldn't admit.

"Didn't you get a concussion?" Damian questioned, brow raised. "Nothing serious."

"You coded twice!" Damian expressed.

"What doesn't kill ya makes ya stronger." Jason winked

"YOU WERE DEAD FOR TWO MINUTES!"

"And then God realized, who would make the show interesting? Me of course." Jason got up, bones popping with a soft groan. He made his way to turn off his stove

"This is not a joke, Todd." Damian glared with serious intent, sitting up on his knees.

"Still, I was joking." Jason waved him off. "What about Basketball?"

"No."

"Right, you're too short." 

"EXCUSE ME!? HOW DARE YOU-"

Jason snapped his fingers, disregarding Damian's outburst. "Fencing."

Damian blinked, anger dissipating. "Why?"

"You might like it."

-

And that's probably how he got here, in the crowded school halls, writing his name down under some Nika Morozov for tryouts. Above hers was a name recalled

"Connor Hawke." He said outloud. Is that who he'd need to beat in tryouts?

"Damian!" A girl practically squealed, pink and orange beads on her bracelt waving. He looked up to meet her hazel eyes and short brown hair.

"Ducard?" Damian stepped back, he last saw her years ago, before Gotham. Maya Ducard was most likely his sworn enemy in his entire Martial arts class, and he did ruin her whole hobby, taking the win.

Either way, they became friends.

"You're in Gotham!?" She questioned. "With your dad maybe? Oh! Are you staying for the year!?"

Damian met the gaze of none other then the floor. "Unfortunately."

"Don't be like that, we could definately have fun this year!" Maya offered.

"Your idea of fun is different then mine." 

"Either way." Maya shrugged. She looked at the tryouts list. "Fencing?"

"Yes." Damian curtly nodded, pulling at his collar.

"Well, goodluck!" Her short brown hair seemed to bounce with every exagerrated hang gesture she made. "Maybe after school you could come over? I don't think my Mami would mind much."

Damian frowned, thinking his plans over. It sounded so good.....

Dread soon filled his body as he remembered a Wayne Gala later that evening. "I can't. My father is hosting an event. Perhaps tomorrow?"

Maya gave a thumbs up. "May I get your number?"

Damian shrugged, taking his phone out. "Of course."

Chapter Text

She stood at the edge of the gymnasium, heart racing as she watched students practice their fencing routines. 

This shouldn't be too hard.

She tied her hair up, white locks swishing with each movement.

The air was thick with tension and adrenaline, a familiar mix that sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. 

As usual, she was stretching into her splits but this felt different. This was Gotham High tryouts, not her usual fencing league training, and today- like no other, she felt the pressure of expectations weighing heavily on her shoulders like no other.

'Mama and Papa would kill me if I didn't make it,' she thought to herself, stomach twisting up.

As she tightened her grip on the epee in her hand, her mind drifted back to the intense training sessions with her fencing coach, who had a reputation for being uncompromising. 'What a bitch', she murmured to herself.

She watched the heads of the Gotham High's fencing team call out names and give affirmatives as students battled it out.

Her legs ached with every stretch. 

Eyes bore into the back of her neck.

Nika knew Coach Svetlana had little patience for mistakes, and she often found herself pushing against the clock, trying to prove herself worthy to her new league, it proved more difficult then the league back in Russia.

To prove yourself in Gotham seemed much harder now that her Coach was also her asshole of an aunt and a gym teacher here. Kids would often scoff at Nika when they'd be forced to do the extra laps she'd occassionally skip. Like that was her fault.

But enough of that. She untied her hair, habitually running her hand through it. 

It was a stressed habit.

Today, she needed to be at her best- especially with rumors going about the new student, son of a billionaire, expensive Damian Wayne, who could potentially be trying out.

"Next! Rodnaya, Nika! Just don't stand there!" Coach Svetlana barked, snapping Nika back to reality. 

Her face heated up, watching as every contestant looked at her. Having her aunt be a gym teacher here was a nightmare.

Not that she wasn't confident, it was just hard to be a social butterfly infront of your family. Especially when this would all be repeated over dinner.

Taking a deep breath, Nika stepped forward. Her first bout was with a senior named Elena, a fierce competitor known for her mother's money. 

Aren't they all?

Nika squared her shoulders, remembering the countless hours she had poured into perfecting her footwork, the struggle through every day. Spending hours of her life for this sport.

Hours she'd rather be in her bed.

The moment the bout began, quick anxious adrenaline surged through her veins. With each clash of swords, she felt the familiar thrill of combat, the way fencing allowed her to channel her frustrations and anxieties into something tangible.

She can't remember just why she lived this sport, or how she got into it.

She danced across the mat, ducking under Elena's swipes and parrying expertly. She felt like her body was soaring through the air, as if she was weightless like a feather. 

The thrill always brought strength and confidence to her.

With an undetctable final thrust of her sword, she scored the touch she needed, the tip roughly hit the girl in her solar plexus.

Elena yelped, rubbing her hand over the sore spot.

Nika awaited a form of praise. She tilted her head to an angle.

"-Well?"

"Congratulations." Elena huffed, fists clenched as she stepped back. Nika felt a swell of pride, igniting as she moved to the sidelines.

Coach Svetlana nodded, with not much of a smile, yet Nika knew it was there.

The Gotham High senior fencers gave a thumbs up. "8/10!"

She beamed, practically bouncing in her spot.

With quick glances around the gym, she kept an eye on the gate, waiting for Damian to make his entrance. 

He was the prize of the gym.

It took a few bouts and pointless arguing sessions but he appeared. Her eyes sparkled meaningfully.

When he finally opened the door, a gust of cold air blew into the gym, her hair drifted momentarily in the short breeze, Damian carved a striking silhouette against the backdrop of the bustling gym. 

The media was right, he is extravagant. It's money, isn't it?

His presence was magnetic, and Nika watched eagerly as he approached the tryout area with an air of nonchalance.

Their eyes met momentarily, enough for Nika to register his steely gaze before he turned away to prepare for his own bout.

She felt an annoying mix of admiration and frustration—he exuded effortless confidence, as if this arena was where he truly belonged. 

No matter how much she trained, how she grew up with the sport, how many hours- she could never feel comfortable. Never found the belonging feeling.

As the bout started, Damian eventually took his spot in the ring for a duel with a Junior named Connor.

They shared a few quiet words and vauge smiles ws if they were buddies.

"Weird," She said under her breath.

The moment the duel began, it was clear Damian was no amateur. His movements were calculated and precise, an elegance that belied the ferocity behind each thrust. 

Nika found herself enthralled, watching as he defeated Connor with startling ease, a flick of his wrist sending Connor stumbling back in surprise. He tossed the pole on the ground. "This isn't for me."

"Ohhh, impressive," she muttered to herself, not fully aware of how captivated she was until her own name was called for the next round.

Wiping her palms on her fencing uniform, she stepped onto the mat, her heart pounding in her ears like a drum. 

Her opponent was a taller girl, someone she recognized from previous meets in detention, who eyed her with a mix of skepticism and determination.

"Let's see what you've got, Morozov," the girl taunted, and Nika felt her competitive spirit ignite.

"Hallie" she replied coolly, "You might want to watch closely."

With the Coach's signal, they began to duel. Nika concentrated on finding her rhythm, the world around her fading away. 

It felt as if sparks flew as their swords clashed, and every thrust felt like a release, the weight of her anxieties lifting with each successful maneuver. The crowd faded away, and it was just her and her blade, dancing with purpose. 

Moments when the world would go dark and the light glinted off the pole she felt like a star, a real dancer, but Nika never felt as if the floor was her real grounds. She always felt like she was always playing away from home.

After a few intense minutes, Nika managed a precise riposte that caught Hallie off guard, scoring the winning touch. Breathing heavily, she stepped back, a victorious grin teasing her lips.

"Not bad," The blonde girl admitted begrudgingly, and Nika felt a rush of satisfaction.

As the bouts continued, Nika noticed Damian watching her from the corner of his eye.

His intense gaze felt like a spotlight she ears missing, and she couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth. For the first time, she found herself interested in what he might think of her skills.

Did she compare to his fancy rich training?

Finally, the tryouts concluded, and Coach Svetlana called for everyone's attention. "You all showed the potential. I'm ez-excited to announce the team picks shortly."

As Coach Svetlana exited, to discuss with the fencing team leaders, Nika found herself standing beside Damian, the adrenaline still pulsing in her veins. 

"You were amazing out there," she said, her tone light despite the flutter in her stomach. "Was that skill or just big bucks?" She grinned.

He inclined his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'd have to think about that some day."- Damian looked off towards Connor, the blond boy picked up his bag and left.

"You have talent yourself, Morozov."

The compliment caught her off guard, and she played it off with a laugh."Thanks, I guess. I mean, I've gotta be. Born and bred to fence!" She exaggeratted with a grin, anxiously looking to the side. Nobody was watching her embarrassing social interaction.

"You know, you're not what I expected."

"Neither are you," he replied, a hint of amusement flickering in his green eyes. "I thought I'd have an easy time here, but you seem determined. I like it."

"Just trying to keep up with the competition," she replied, crossing her arms casually, though inside she felt a storm of excitment build up.

Atlas, a real challenge to look forward to.

"If you want to keep up, I'd suggest you train hard. It's going to get tougher." Damian turned to leave, but paused, casting a lingering glance over his shoulder. 

She tilted her head, "Oh, Yeah?"

"Undeniably. Perhaps we can push each other further. I could use a sparring partner who isn't all incompetent."

Nika's breath hitched slightly. Her eyes went wide, she felt like the heart eyed emoji! "Ah! You mean outside of practice?"

Damian shrugged, a nonchalant gesture, but Nika saw the glimmer of determination his eyes.

The kind she saw in her own.

 "Unless you're afraid."

Her competitive spirit flared. "I'm not afraid of anything, Wayne. Give me a day."

"Then it's settled." With that, he walked away, a confident stride marking his departure while a smile crept onto her face.

She turned away and giggled in her palm, face flushing with excitment and adrenaline.

'I have a sparring partner! Oh my god!'

As the results were called a short time later, Nika stood with her heart beating like a drum.

Whether or not she made the team, she still felt a spike of excitement about the future.

When her name was announced among the team roster, she gasped, full of elation. She'd done it. She'd secured a spot on the fencing team!

"Mama's gonna be so proud." She whispered to herself, star struck. Damian's name was also called.

What a win!

She soon felt a tap on her shoulder and screamed shortly. Everyones attention turned to her, she quieted down and allowed this stranger to hand her a piece of paper.

"Come over Friday. Here's my address. 7:30, Morozov" Damian rushed through.

Nika nodded her head suspiciouely. "You don't need to call me 'Morozov' all the time. Call me by-"

"We're not on first name basis." He cut off coldly.

She narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, whatever."

"I'll see you then." Damian turned his back.

Nika glanced down at the paper, he had pretty hand writing. She heard someone clear their throats.

She looked up to see people grabbing their bags.

Oh, everyone was leaving now? 

"Oi!" She turned her head to see her Aunt. Her mood dimmed. "Do not be playing around during trials!"

"Tryouts." Nika corrected, packing her bag. "And I'm focused."

"Focused, eh? You talk talk all the time. A liar. Do not give me this attitude girl." Coach Svetlana growled, Russian accent clear as day.

Nika rolled her eyes, back turned, "Yes, for sure."

Chapter Text

Nika hesitated for just a moment at the gates of Wayne Manor.

The place looked like something out of a fairy tale, or maybe a nightmare.

The stone walls loomed high, ivy curling around the edges like something from an ancient castle. The grandeur of it felt… wrong, almost like she’d wandered into the wrong part of Gotham.

The kind of part that didn’t take kindly to a girl who knew the value of a dollar only because she had to work for it.

She rang the doorbell with a sense of reluctant finality. What had she gotten herself into?

This wasn’t just a sparring match.

This was Damian Wayne the boy who oozed money and privilege, who treated everything like it was a personal challenge.

He was used to winning, and if there was anything Nika hated more than losing, it was being underestimated.

Alfred opened the door, his pale blue eyes glinting with some unreadable emotion. He probably already knew how this was going to play out- rich kid vs. street-smart fighter.

But whatever. Nika was here now.

“Miss Morozov,” Alfred greeted, stepping aside. He didn’t offer her the usual pleasantries- no “please come in” or “can I take your coat?” This wasn’t his first rodeo with the rich kid’s buddies.

“Yeah, yeah. You know the drill,” Nika muttered, breezing past him into the marble hallway, already trying to ignore how much her sneakers didn’t belong here.

Alfred’s voice called after her, “Master Damian is in the training room, should you need—”

“I’ll find it,” she snapped, cutting him off with a wave of her hand.

There was no need for him to make this any worse. She could practically feel the weight of the mansion pressing down on her shoulders, the polished floors too pristine, the air too still.

And then there was the faint, almost imperceptible click of the sword hilt in the other room.

Damian. Of course.

When she entered the training room, he was already there, fully geared up, black pants, that perfectly-pressed white jacket, the kind of outfit only someone who had never seen the inside of a real gym would wear. He looked like he had just stepped out of some fencing tournament documentary, the kind where the rich kids smile like they’ve already won.

Probably because they had, and she knew that all too well.

He didn’t even look up as she walked in. Instead, he was busy twirling his epee between his fingers, clearly more focused on looking cool than on anything else.

“Nice of you to show up,” he said finally, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I was about to think you’d gotten lost in the mansion.”

“Right. Because you think I’m the kind of person who would get lost in a place this obnoxiously big?” Nika shot back, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “I’m just trying to figure out if the walls are made of marble or if you just bought a whole quarry.”

Damian smirked, but his eyes never fully left the sword in his hands. “I don’t know, Morozov. It’s not the size of the house that matters. It’s the way you handle yourself when you’re inside.”

Nika rolled her eyes. “Good thing I’m not here for your house tours. I’m here to kick your ass.”

That got his attention. For a brief second, the hint of a challenge flared in his green eyes. The smirk faded, replaced by something almost dangerous.

“You’ll have to try,” he said, flicking his sword lazily. “If you can even keep up.”

Nika's frown turned to a grin in seconds. “Try? Sweetheart, I don’t try. I do.”

Damian raised a brow, his smirk returning, but this time it was more knowing. More… real.

He tossed her a fencing mask, his eyes assessing her, as if wondering if she’d buckle under the weight of it all. “Let’s see if you do as well as you talk.”

It took everything in Nika not to roll her eyes again. She was here to prove herself, not to play games. So she did what she did best— she stepped forward, took the mask, and strapped it on without a second thought.

When they stepped into position, the silence between them felt… thick. The usual buzz of a sparring match, the noise of the world moving around you, was gone. All that was left was the clang of steel as their swords met.

Nika moved with fluidity, her muscles used to the grind of fencing practice. But even as she slid to the side, parrying a jab that would’ve sent most people scrambling, there was a weight to Damian’s movements that made her pause for a second too long.

He was good. Too good.

It almost....scared her.

But she’d never back down from a fight. Not for anyone.

She lunged, the thrust sharp and calculated, and for a moment, she could almost hear her coach’s voice in the back of her mind. “No hesitation. Don’t waste time thinking. Just move.”

Damian countered smoothly, his sword flicking through the air with an elegance that seemed far too effortless. His precision was a little too much like her own— like he’d been doing this for far longer than anyone should.

As the bout continued, she couldn’t ignore the familiar surge of frustration bubbling up. She’d spent years training in dingy gyms and crowded rooms, fighting for every inch of progress. She’d poured blood, sweat, and tears into this sport. And here was Damian Wayne, looking like he had barely lifted a finger, moving with a grace that screamed privilege.

It wasn’t fair.

“Getting a little winded there, Morozov?” Damian taunted, his voice soft as his blade slid past hers again. “You’re looking a little… slow.”

The crackling arrogance in his tone made her blood boil. “I’m fine,” she hissed, tightening her grip. “But, you know, maybe you should stop talking so much and actually fight.”

He laughed, like the sound of it alone was a victory. “If I wanted to fight, I’d ask for someone who actually stands a chance.”

Nika gritted her teeth. “You wish I was that easy.”

She barely even saw it coming— the sudden twist of his wrist, the way he redirected the force of her strike. The flash of his blade catching hers in a clean, perfectly executed riposte that sent her stumbling back a few steps.

She regained her stance quickly, but inside, something cracked.

Again!

He was good. Too good.

Still! She couldn't let fear stop her. She refused to let it.

Damian’s eyes, though, were watching her more carefully now no longer just the rich kid enjoying a game, but something else, something more focused.

He wasn’t just sparring anymore. He was learning.

When they finally paused for breath, a slight tension lingered between them, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken competition that had shifted between them.

“Not bad,” he said, his voice low. “You’re not as terrible as I thought.”

“Gee, thanks,” Nika muttered, wiping the sweat from her forehead. “Maybe I’ll get a gold star after this.”

He didn’t smile. Instead, his gaze flicked to the side for a moment, like something had caught his attention, before returning to her. “Don’t get cocky, Morozov. You might have some talent, but I’ll have you know, I don’t see it well”

She raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. “Is that so? You’re not the only one who doesn’t see potential.”

There it was again—the simmering edge. The challenge. The tension, thick and tangible.

For a brief moment, they just stood there, staring each other down, like two predators sizing each other up.

Nika scoffed at the look on his face. Power hungry and true.

Just like her own.

And maybe, just maybe, they were starting to realize that neither one of them was going to back down.