Advanced chapters on P@treon.com/Saintbarbido.
(General P.O.V)
Day broke across Gotham slower than Damian would've liked, but he and Cassandra had an excuse: breakfast mattered today.
Jason was busy surveying and reinforcing the safe house's security for their extended stay. So Damian took Cassandra out for what he called a "special recon mission."
They hunted down a modest diner in the East End—one Damian frequented as a kid. Simple, but the milkshakes? "They're so good," Damian said with a grin, "I'd kill for them."
Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "You'd kill."
"I'm serious. They taste like—" Damian paused, then laughed. "Like childhood I can't fully remember."
They reached the diner—only to find it engulfed in flames. Joker's thugs cheered and hollered in glee, revelling in the carnage, as the fire raged on. White smoke spiraled into a red morning sky.
Cassandra studied the scene, lips curved in amused satisfaction. "Guess your nostalgia's expired."
Damian's jaw clenched, literally shaking in anger. Sheathing his humor, he sprang forward, voice booming: "HEY!"
He leapt over the barricade, foot kissing the first thug's face. Then he grabbed his victim's crowbar and pointed it at the rest. "You bastards just burned down the best milkshake place on the East Coast—you'll pay!"
Crowbar smashed a thug's shoulder; another thug backed away, terror in his eyes. Cassandra smirked, crossing her arms. She'd seen him mad before, but not like this.
Two figures dropped down from above—Robin and Batgirl, stepping in front of Joker's bleeding and screaming goons, hands raised to stop Damian from breaking any more bones.
"Stop it! They've had enough!" Robin shouted.
Damian, breathing heavy, brandished the bloody crowbar. "You're on their side?"
Batgirl frowned. "No. But we have orders."
"Oh I see, I see."
Damian cracked a grin. "But here's the thing, Batman's orders don't apply to jaywalkers—or arsonists. And even if they did..." He swung the crowbar; it struck with bone-jarring force.
"I don't give a fuck!"
Robin, not expecting the sudden attack, managed a weak block—then collapsed. Batgirl tried to intervene, Cassandra dispatched her with a rapid strike that elicited only a breath of protest.
"That was for last time. Bitch." She said, spitting at the other girl.
"L-lets get outta here. Joker will hear about this!"
The thugs scattered, limping away.
Damian stood amid the carnage—blood, silhouettes, and a single, smoking flask of melted ice cream shattered at his feet.
Cassandra finally sighed. "Enough moping." she said.
Damian withdrew, crowbar clattering at his feet, chest heaving. He stared at the smoldering diner then at her. "You know," he said softly, "they took more than just a building."
Cassandra handed him a napkin. He wiped dried blood off his hand—his eyes returning to the flames.
Batgirl and Robin slowly regained their footing, shaking—but no longer fighting back. Damian gave them a nod. "Tell your Bat—don't bring Gotham drama to my missions. Especially when breakfast's involved."
Robin managed, "We… we'll consider that."
Damian shrugged. "Consider it." Then turned away. Cassandra followed.
As they walked into Gotham's murky sunlight, Jason pulled up in a beat up old van. "You OK?"
Damian glanced over his shoulder at the wrecked diner. "Yeah." He cracked a small, grim smile. "Worth it."
Cassandra smirked. "Flying in on a crowbar—dramatic first date."
Damian's cheeks tinged pink. "Next time, I'll bring espresso instead."
-0-
(2 days later)
The rusted sliding door of the Mobile Ops van screeched open in front of the iron gates of Gotham Academy. Jason leaned back in the driver's seat, chewing a toothpick and grinning like a man who had just pulled the best prank of the week.
Damian hopped down first, his face twisting into a scowl the moment his eyes landed on the pristine marble fountain beyond the gates.
"Of all the places in Gotham..." he muttered. "Why this cesspit of elitism?"
Cassandra followed, stiffly adjusting the navy blazer that was a size too small and a threat to her range of motion.
"This... chokes," she grumbled, tugging at the collar.
Jason leaned out the van window. "Talia's orders. You two are to 'blend in,' whatever that means. Call it long-term recon."
Damian narrowed his eyes. "This was your idea, wasn't it? Get us out of your hair while you lounge in the safehouse eating burritos and watching reality TV."
Jason gave an exaggerated shrug. "Information comes from observation, baby bats. And this place? Gotham's little social nest of secrets. Be nice, play along, and you might learn something that can point us towards the Lazarus pit."
Damian folded his arms. "This school is full of trust-fund brats with more money than brain cells. I doubt I'll learn anything useful—except maybe how to fake a stock portfolio."
"Can I punch someone if they touch my hair?" Cassandra asked.
"Preferably not," Jason said. "But if they insult your combat boots, go nuts."
Damian sighed heavily.
Jason whistled, tossed a lazy salute, and revved the engine. "Good luck, you two. Don't break anyone on the first day."
Smoke belched from the back of the van as it pulled away, coughing its way down the street.
Damian stared after it, scowling. "We have access to League resources and he gets us that rust bucket?"
He turned—and stopped.
Cassandra was standing in her now sleeveless blazer, the fabric shredded cleanly at the seams.
He blinked. "Did you just—"
"Better movement," she said simply, rolling her shoulders.
Damian rubbed his temples. "We're going to get expelled in under a week."
"I hope so," Cassandra muttered under her breath.
With a final sigh, Damian adjusted his collar and gestured toward the gate.
"Let's get this over with."
They stepped through the archway into Gotham Academy, passing the old Latin motto carved in stone.
"Lux in tenebris."
Light in the darkness.
Damian scoffed. "What a joke."
Standing in front of a room of bored Gotham Academy students was exactly how Damian wanted to spend his day—said no one ever.
He stood with arms crossed, dressed in the pressed uniform blazer he hated with every fiber of his being, his dyed-black hair swept low over his forehead to hide the faint curve of his red horn. Beside him, Cassandra stood like a shadow—silent, watchful, and already bored.
"Class, we have two transfer students joining us," the teacher said, gesturing to them with fake cheer. "Why don't you introduce yourselves?"
Damian didn't wait. "Damian. And this is Cassandra. That's all you need to know."
Cassandra gave a small nod. The class murmured. More than one pair of eyes lingered too long.
He could feel the shift in the room. Whispers. Glares. Girls sizing Cassandra up. Boys glaring at Damian like he'd insulted their bloodline.
One girl near the window, with dark hair and a sharp gaze, smirked like she knew something. Damian's eyes lingered on her for half a second longer than necessary.
Of course he noticed the jealousy in the room.
He just didn't care.
He was a predator among sheep. Just like before.
Between classes, Cassandra got cornered by a wiry, over-enthusiastic teacher who gasped at the sight of her mutilated blazer sleeves.
"This is unacceptable! You can't just—"
Cassandra's glare said everything her silence didn't.
The teacher's voice faltered, confidence draining.
Damian stepped in, offering the faintest smile. "Apologies. My sister's… eccentric. We'll get the blazer fixed. No need to inform the principal, right?"
The teacher blinked, confused, a little shaken but a victim of Damian's charm. "Well… see that you do."
As she scurried off, Damian leaned close to Cassandra. "Last thing I need is an after-school detention. It's lunch."
The cafeteria was exactly as he remembered. Polished. Pretentious. With food that tried too hard to be gourmet but still left you hungry.
Damian led them to an empty table with practiced ease.
"You know this place too well," Cassandra noted, eyeing him.
"Attended my junior year here," he said with a shrug, picking up a fork. "Place hasn't changed. Food still looks expensive, still tastes like regret."
She raised an eyebrow at the plate of truffle risotto in front of him.
"I'd trade all of this for a slice of cheap pizza," he said.
They were about five bites in when trouble came swaggering over.
Three fellow seniors. Polo shirts, smug grins, all bark, no bite.
"New kid," the tallest said. "If you're not into five-star meals, maybe you're in the wrong school."
Damian didn't look up. "Add another complaint to the list. Your face. It's draining my appetite."
A sharp giggle broke the tension. The dark-haired girl from earlier—same amused expression, now seated a table away.
"Something funny, Helena?" the bully's leader sneered.
She smiled. "Just wondering if you forgot the last time you picked a fight with someone smarter and stronger than you."
"Bigger too. Get your facts checked." Cassandra glared at the girl, almost immediately disliking Helena.
The bully turned red. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Damian stood. "It means this."
He grabbed the boy by the collar and slammed his head down onto the steaming plate of risotto.
Cassandra stood up immediately.
"Food fight!" she called out, expression blank but voice loud. The fact she aimed for Helena went unnoticed in the ensuing chaos.
Meatballs flew. Juice cartons sailed. Someone launched a tray like a discus. Damian ducked a dinner roll and flung a yogurt cup across the room.
Helena, ducked the salvos unbothered, sipping her drink as if she'd seen this movie before.
Cassandra smacked a boy with a baguette. Damian clotheslined another with a lunch tray.
By the time the staff stormed in, the cafeteria looked like a five-star war zone.
Damian dusted off his blazer.
"Honestly," he said to no one in particular, "this school's never been more fun."
Maybe Jason wasn't all bad- nah, he still sucks.