The Things That Bind Us- Damirae

Chapter Thirteen

Side by side, the two of them passed through the glowing door, it swinging open at their approach, and in to the abyss beyond...

...landing with feet squarely planted on gravel. It was darker overhead than the sky over the motorway. Not a crisp, starry dark, but one with zeppelins dotting a murky, yellow-tinged fog. Damian looked up with all the bittersweet comfort of one returning home, but to a very shit home indeed.

Gotham. As unmistakeable as ever. And judging by the thick pollution in the clouds, Poison Ivy was still absent from the crime scene.

The moment she passed in to the realm, in to Gotham, Raven's demonic spirit settled in with all the satisfaction of easing oneself in to a warm bath. Sin. The air was made of the stuff. Whereas the motorway had been a tumultuous concoction of all sorts of vibes, Gotham faced no such identity crisis.

Unfortunately for Damian, his sentiment of reaching home was made all the more real the next second after he'd taken in the air. Home.

Wayne Manor stretched before them. And standing at it's steps, arms folded, were Zatanna Zatara and Bruce Wayne.

"Shit."

Raven gritted her teeth and glanced back at the air where the door had been.

"Lucifer you snake!" she seethed.

Zatanna walked towards them a few steps, black eyebrows raised accusatorily, "Come on you two- you've a lot of explaining to do."

Damian looked to his father, and the unmasked man looked away. Resigning himself to his fate, Damian approached the manor, Raven in pursuit. He had wondered at what point Zatanna would stop observing and actually intervene; this seemed to be it. Head to head with his father, the man stopped, forcing Bruce to meet his eye. For all the grand declarations of trust and understanding that world about in his head, words couldn't find their way out. If he'd solicited Raven's perspective, she might've told him that pride, very likely was the blockade over his mouth. That, or the suffocating swell of sentimentality and indignation clouding his mind.

Hell, what did it matter anyways?

After a prolonged stare at the blank wall behind his father's eyes, Damian walked past him and in to the Manor. Raven glanced at the Batman, who pinned her with a glare more formidable than without the cowl. She was the daughter of Trigon, a powerful enchantress in her own right, but catching the lethal watch of Batman...she might have fled had Zatanna not been behind her and Damian ahead.

The searing hostility of his eyes bore in to the back of Raven's head as she hastened after her companion.

***

Alfred supplied the cocoa. He was good at cocoa. And yet, accepting the mug from the butler, Raven couldn't help but feel a strong judgement swirling in the drink, fighting Alfred's innate paternalism.

Oh for Azar's sake he left on his own! Raven wanted to shout, staring about a room where Zatanna seemed just about the only person who didn't want her head on a spike. Damian entered the living room, cradling his own mug, and that brought the figure up to two. 

For his part, the man couldn't understand his father's motivation in discussing whatever they were going to discuss in the main sitting room. It wasn't Batman's way. He would know. Hoe many times had Damian fled from the Manor over the years? Always to return to the cool resignation of the Batcave. 

A fire roared in the hearth. It spluttered and fought with the logs it consumed. 

Standing the closest to it, Raven was comforted. Fire was her nature. Fire was her soul. She could depend on it's burning and draw from its strength. Her skin itched to reveal the red hue of a demon, but Raven thought that -as comfortable as she'd been in it with Damian- it would earn her no favours facing the wrath of the Batman...