Cats Eat Birds - Damian Wayne/OC

25 | DEVIL MAY CARE

GOTHAM CITY; THE EAST END | 1:23 AM | DAMIAN

     WHILE THERE WERE plenty of things that annoyed Damian when it came to Cristen, above all, it was the knowing. He grew up in a house where everyone was constantly in each other's business and very good at hiding it, but Cristen never chose to hide it. Sometimes she'd let Damian think that he'd really gotten past her, but it was always hers that was the last word—and always Damian standing empty-handed, blown away.

Cristen had gotten it into her head lately that she would switch off her lunches, three days out of the week at Jon and company's lunch table and the remainder with Damian. No one had asked her to do so, but she did it still, and it was among a collection of traits that Damian accidentally sought for in his friends. One way or another, his companion's stubbornness won out over his. So he... allowed her to stay.

Being quiet and eating more than five feet away must have been a method of subtlety, but one unaccomplished. Damian only allowed Cristen around because he had other things to do over kicking her out of his special spot. (And she might spill his identity to someone, but Damian personally doubted that). He did, however, remark that she was absolutely there because he'd permitted it.

"Or maybe I'm letting you stay here with my permission," Cristen said, childishly.

He raised a brow at her. That was all that deserved, but in all fairness Cristen was a worthy opponent. Damian wasn't about to admit that to her face, but only a couple of people could successfully get him to completely drone on about animals for more than thirty minutes—a half-hour that bled into patrol.

"There are approximately 98 million cows in the United States alone, Stray," Damian began, casually, like they weren't (once again) back-to-back in a group of gunmen, "but mine is unique—"

While he didn't exactly enjoy violence, he'd had a liking for fighting multiple opponents at one time. Especially if they were armed. As a boy, Ra's was the most prideful when Damian won in these scenarios instead of others. You show great capability, he would say. Remembering grandfather's praise should have burned in the pit Damian had made for things Ra's-related, but father smiled a little differently when Damian showed that same capability. Like now: fluidly, silently, and more avoiding than confronting.

The trick was to keep one enemy between himself and his enemy's companions.

Once upon a time, this was simple for Damian. Being physically smaller helped significantly, to the point where he almost missed it—and how funny that was considering his ten-year-old self so badly wanted to be in his place now. His stature made him a better target. Not an easier one, but better.

Two of them leaped for him first. Robin wove between their shadows, keeping the other enemies from shooting. His cape made him a wraith, swaying with the breeze, moving around them and slashing the guns out of their hands.

Cristen hollered, "I'm still listening! What kind of breed is she?"

Damian made room for himself to cast Cristen a glance. It was the tendency to check his teammates in a fight, but he had a feeling this was needless. While fighting multiple opponents required strategy for Damian, Cristen's powers were bred for this. Her foot bounced off the pavement and struck one enemy, then she rolled aside, stamping both boots into the chest of another. She could have closed her eyes and been fine. At this point, she could have tied her hands and been fine.

Metahumans, he thinks, but it is malice-less. It's much like watching Jon in action—when you could actually see him despite the speed. No matter how many times anyone saw it, it was still quite wonderful, and age had never sullied the hope sights like those gave him.