Chapter Text
"Take that you Ninja wannabe." Damian smirks as he bests his adopted sister, swiftly pining her to the blue training mat in the workout section of the Batcave.
Cassandra fixes him with a narrow eyed look. He doesn't have time to react, which he's loath to admit, when she snatches his wooden sword and literally rams it against his nose.
He gasps and rolls backward, instinctively putting distance between them, stumbles, embarrassingly, over her discarded sword on the ground and efficiently finds himself out of breath, lungs burning, head spinning, and nose throbbing, with a decent pressure pinning him down.
He blinks tears out of his eyes, because a hit nose – assassin trained or not - stings like hell. He makes out her general shape and feels the impassive look she directs him as she tilts her head above and leans in, the pressure on his collar bone increasing.
"I win."
Two simple words. He loves those words – that is – he loves saying those words. But when other people say it? Not so much.
He huffs, forcing back a wince. "Get off me already."
She pushes harder and his survival instincts scream at him, he reins them in – just practice Damian, remember, don't try to maim your practice partner. Grayson's voice was alarmingly clear in his head.
"Surrender." She says simply.
Damian is sort of regretting teaching her these words. He also regrets his mistake and miscalculation – somehow, she always manages to get something against him. Right when he believes he's won and – that's it.
It irks him considerably.
But it also makes him have begrudging respect for her.
" I- I don't want to." He snaps, just to be contrary.
Cassandra huffs, he can see her clearly now and she gives him a slight quirk of her lips. "Fine. You lost anyway."
He snorts as the pressure comes off his chest and waist as she stands and stretches easily, offering him a hand up.
Damian doesn't feel this loss as badly as he used to – probably because Cassandra was the closest one to fighting style with him. He could often unleash some pretty fierce techniques with her without worrying, like he has to with the less trained heroes his age when they spar.
"You should watch more closely next time." She says easily and pats him on his sweaty spiky dark hair.
Damian huffs and shoves her hand away. "I merely let you have that opening. It was a onetime thing." He lies.
Cassandra looks at him with sharp slanted brown eyes and smiles, wide and surprising. She doesn't smile often, but when she does, it lights up a room.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night." She teases and Damian's so very annoyed that she sounds exactly like Todd – the jerk probably taught her how to use that expression against him.
"Whatever." He scoffs and reaches for his water bottle.
The entrance to the Batcave from the manor opens up and his father comes down, heading for his computer center without so much as a glance in their direction.
"Is there a mission father?" Damian calls out anyway as he takes a gulp of water.
Cassandra stops mid leg stretches and looks up sharply, she too wants to know the answer.
"There is – Clayface is taking on forms of several politicians, I haven't figured out what he's after yet." Batman is here – not his father.
Damian doesn't really care either way. He refuses to notice Cassandra watching him closely now, like she does when she's reading things on him that he doesn't want her to.
"I'll go get suited up." He says.
"No Damian."
The boy's heart drops. He's ten years old now – he'd hoped his father would stop pushing against him and let him be the best Robin already. But no - ever since he 'accidently' maimed professor Pyg so he couldn't walk for an indefinite amount of time – he'd been benched.
Father thought it best he isn't released for a while. Like he's a caged dog or something.
"You could need my help, I – "
"I said no. Stay here, Robin's off duty until I say otherwise." The order is firm and clipped and – not from his father. It's from Batman.
Damian sneers and turns away, anger boiling as he tries to take in a deep breath. "Fine." Not fine – he hates this, he hates being benched and shoved aside for reasons he doesn't understand, if Grayson was here, he'd take him – but Dick wasn't here.
And Damian promised, against his better judgment, that he wouldn't make Father upset. For now, anyway.
Something warm and firm grips his shoulder and Damian turns angry blue eyes at the breech of personal space. Cassandra gives him a small comforting smile – she knows. She knows exactly what he's thinking. He sometimes hates it that she can read him at all.
As an assassin, he should be better at hiding his feelings – but he isn't around her.
The Batmobile's motor starts up and revs powerfully, rumble echoing in the cave as Batman screeches down the exit ramp and out to Gotham.
Damian scowls darkly and shoves Cassandras hand off him. "He'll regret not taking me one day." He snaps bitterly, willing the feeling of disappointment in his gut down.
Why can't father just except that he'll make mistake sometimes – but also . . . someone like Pyg being maimed close to death deserved it occasionally.
Cassandra taps his shoulder and Damian looks at her sharply. She tilts her head at him and he knows this to be her version of a question she can't quite put into complete words yet.
"Go away already, I don't want to talk to you." He says cuttingly. And aims to stomp out of the cave as loudly and angrily as he can to prove a point.
Cassandra sighs, grips him by the back of his white Tee shirt, and flips him over smoothly, slamming him into the hard mat below, properly knocking the wind out of his lungs. Again.
He wheezes and she steps in the center of his chest, hard, and leans down, Damian growls and his hands instinctively snatch her ankle as he brings both his legs up and rolls away from her, easily pinning her in a pretzel like hold.
The girl snickers softly and pinches his wrist to make him drop his grip. Damian hisses in pain and swipes for her, she dodges and rolls away, shooting to her feet in a smooth stance and motions her fingers to him in a 'come and get me' sign.
Damian sneers, cracks his knuckles, and lets a, borderline sadistic, smile stretch his face. "You want a real battle?" He can tell by the stance she's in. Perfect, aligned, lethal.
Fight me with all you've got.
Damian launches himself at her with a roar.
After fifteen minutes of flipping, dodging, kicking, screaming, and potentially maiming each other permanently, they end up falling together on the hard blue mats, breathing hard, adrenaline making their insides buzz and their chests heave as they lay next to each other.
Damian stares at the sharp picks and points of the ceiling of the cave. He slowly comes down from his fierce high that Cassandra put him in – few people could push him to this extent – and he realizes . . . he feels a lot better.
He lets his head fall to the side and Cass does the same. They look at each other wordlessly. He knows she can see what he understands and wants to say, but won't. Not out loud.
Cassandra smiles and lifts a hand, dropping it heavily in the center of his chest. Damian chokes down a laugh and she pats him a few times in the same spot solidly.
"I love you too, little Brother."