a/n - so this chapter is going to mess with the timeline a little, where i'm gonna make jason's death period be two years rather than four. mind you, that is only for this story and because i miss and love my baby jason too much to let yall go through the pain of being without him. also, two things to remember : one, there will be more on this timeline change in the upcoming chapters, and two, happy reading and enjoy!

□Mara□

I scared him shitless. I really did. Oh my lord, the look on Damian's face when I told him about his staring problem -- this poor boy nearly jumped out of his seat!

Okay, not a poor boy because I don't feel bad for scaring him one bit. It was hilarious.

And now he's standing across the medbay by the counter of mixed medical supplies. I've trued not to laugh to hard because it still hurts to -- with my ribs still healing and the weird Vertigo still in me after all.

But it's okay, I'm not complaining. No, not one bit. It's acutally kind of cool to be sick like this.

I mean, technically I could go get some drugs right now and literally smoke it or whatever and say it was the Vertigo still in me -

Okay, that one's a little far off the deep end.

And if THAT'S what I've reserted to for humor, oh boy am I gonna be a hot mess. More than I already am too!

"I'm sorry for staring, sister."

Damian's voice is strangely calm, which puts me on edge. His voice is usually gruff, and his tone reminds me of a razor blade.

But now it's soft like those marshmallows that are the big squares. I meam, their really good marshmallows but not a good tone from Damian -- the ex assassin (ish), the grandson of the "great Ra's al Ghul", and son of Bruce Wayne himself.

Literally all three of those things go into one category and Damian's voice clashes with all of it. It doesn't make sense, but then again nothing makes sense anymore.

Between this killer of mine - of which I still don't believe has a valid reason to kill me - and my life before I came to the Wayne household, nothing is clear. It's all a blur, and I don't know why.

And that's what scares me. I scare myself with how I have no idea why I can't remember some things while with my father's side of the family, while my mother's side of the family I remember things so damned clearly.

Like I get that more prominent things happened with her, and she raised me from day one, but I've had the oddest experiences with Dad.

I met my new family. I bonded with my siblings. I lost my brother. I found out my family is a group of vigilantes that save the city at night. I almost got blown up. I've got a killer after me.

And I can barely remember most of that. While my mother throwing a fucking beer bottle at me I can remember so clearly.

And how she said that I would live with her until I went to college and end up caring for her every need after that, yet two years later she fucking sells me for drug money.

Pathetic.

Absolutely bloody pathetic. Lying bitch.

Stop.

God, I hate my mind sometimes.

"I am truly sorry, sister," my brothers voice makes me look at him.

He's looking at the floor.

"For what?" I ask, knowing exactly what he's sorry for. I don't know why I want him to say why he's sorry. It's just what came out of my mouth first.

"Sister, I am truly sorry for letting you down and failing you - for failing to protect, defend, and save you,"

"Woah woah okay stop right there." I state, and Damian's head snaps up to look at me. I don't think he expected me to stop him.

"What?" He asks, his face expressing the confusion in his question.

"I said, stop right there. First of all, you didn't fail me. You literally saved my stupid ass up there. If you hadn't been talking to me then I would be dead. Yet again I'm still sitting here, alive, well, able to walk and talk. It's the persons fault for coming after me. It was his decision to do so, as was yours to grab me and run to safety. So thank you, Dami, for saving my life."

I've never used that nickname before; 'Dami'. I kinda like it. It's got a nice ring to it.

"And I swear to god if you stay hung up on this I'll come over there and slap you," I add, crossing my arms as I lean back against the wall.

But he just stands there, staring at me, with no emotion now. I blink, waiting for some sort of reaction. But he just stands and breathes there. Doesn't blink though.

I let out my sigh and drop my head, then looking up the stairs of the medbay.

Suddenly, arms wrap around me. I tense up, my mind going through possibilities of who it is. Dami, a stranger, mother, a rapist. But this takes an eigth of a milisecond before my body and brain realize it's just Damian.

And then I hug him back, resting my head on his shoulder. It's nice, as his grip is tight on me. It's not a threatening type of tight, but a good type of tight.

It's reassuring yet stern.

Telling me that it's going to be okay while also giving me a warning, that I still need to be careful.

But I'm not too worried now, as Damian lets go.

Well, not about myself anyways.

Because then we both turn to see Dad come down the medbay stairs, which would be normal, if it weren't for his pace.

His pace is rushed as he makes a beeline for cloth wraps, a bowl of water, an alcohol bottle, needle and thread, as well as some tweezers.

That's what startles me - you would only need needle and thread for sowing things up.

And sowing things up means something went wrong.

Damian runs up the stairs, following me as I follow Dad. We look to see Dick, barely holding himself upright against Alfred, who's white dress shirt is covered in blood.

It's strange to see Alfred without his formal suit jacket on, or at least a cardigan or old looking sweater of some sort. Now his sleeves are rolled up, as he's holding and dragging Dick over his shoulder, staying considerably calm.

My breath hitches in my throat, and Damian tenses beside me. I look to him, seeing how he reacts to this -- he's emotionless yet bursting with rigid energy. I can tell by his stance, that I've come to know as the stance he takes while sorting and compartmentalizing his thoughts, emotions, and immediate actions.

What? I pay attention. I get bored. Okay, not the point - my point is that I don't really know what to do, so I kinda have to follow Damian's lead. He's got more experience than I do, so I'll copy him.

But Dami just stands there. So I just stand here, watching how Dad, Alfred, and Dick work together to help Dick.

"Damian, grab the morphine syringe," Dad orders, and suddenly my brothers gone, in an instant, leaving me standing there all alone. While my brother bleeds out from some wounds -- probably gunshot wounds. At least - at least it wasn't a crowbar.

"Mara grab the red towels now," Dad voice barks from where he's kneeling, working quickly on Dick's injury. I nod, running off at immaculate speed to the med bay. I half run into Damian going down the stairs but just shove past him, head jerking in every which way to find the red towels. I don't see them on the counters so I just start swinging open cabinets and drawers until I find what I'm looking for.

It only takes me two seconds to find it, in which I grab it and sprint back up the stairs to the main floor of the batcave.

When I get to the group huddling around Dick, I see he's laying on his back, clenching his jaw tightly as his face is a shade of light green and baby blue. I kneel down next to him, purposefully not looking at the wound or the blood, trying to keep my face stoic.

"Mara, give me that," Dad says, and I immediately hand him the rag. Damian kneels next to me, peering over at me every few seconds. It's kinda unnerving, with all that's going on.

I watch Dad and Alfred work on Dick, pretty quickly actually, while me and Damian watch. I mean, they've probably had to deal with wounds worse than this, so I guess it's just normal to them. Damian too, but that's a different story.

"H-hey, Mara," Dick's voice startles me, the sheer volume of it barely reaches my ears. I snap my attention to him, swallowing hard.

"Uh, yeah?"

"T-take my comm out..."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it," he grunts, and I follow his instructions. I quickly take out his comm, hand it to Damian who practically yanked it from me. I'm confused, but I just get up and walk near Damian.

He puts the comm in his ear for a moment, listening. Then he starts typing away furiously on the keyboard, like his life depends on it.

If only I knew what he would say next, I would've wished it was Damian's life at stake. He has a hell of a lot more experience at hostage situations than my brother does. Because the next words that come out of his mouth make almost everyone in the room freeze, the mood going rigid.

"Who took Timothy, Richard?"