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Disarmed and slowly being closed in on, Robin took careful shuffling steps backwards into a dark corner. Eyeing her four goat-masked assailants and her brick surroundings for openings, weaknesses, immediate threats. Weighing the odds on how well she’d fair against their bullets if she were to try and scramble up the garbage bin to her right.
“Stupid, how terribly stupid could I let myself be…” she murmured to herself.
Alternatively she identified the blood soaked makeshift tourniquet around the knee of the leftmost gunman. Could she knock him over and make a break for it? But to spite the way her feet and her posture were already poised to dart, her escape was delivered to her by the hands of a new challenger.
She, who swooped down from the sky like a kingfisher in an angled ray, engulfed the gunmen in the span of her wings and kicked into the sides of their heads. Barely up to declare her bagger, Red Robin pushed a fallen man back down with her extended staff and swivelled around to deliver a swing and crack at the jaw of one masked man closing in behind her.
Before she had fully dealt with the man whose goat mask she had just shattered, another was aiming a gun her way, and she would not be able to raise an arm or duck in time to avoid it. Hardly helpless, Robin let out a roar and rushed the man, tackling him, sending his gun clattering to the floor in a flash of sound and light. The bullet ricocheted somewhere in the distance. Imposing her meagre weight on the man and sitting over his arms, Robin tore his mask off and picked up his head, slamming it against the concrete, knocking him unconscious.
Behind her Red Robin skilfully beat off attackers, even crouching a split second early to allow a man to launch himself clean over her back. When she stood again another man grabbed her by the arms as she lifted them to shield her face. Locking glares they battled for dominance for a moment before she kneed him in the stomach and allowed the momentum of her force and his grip to help her just about supplex him. She fell on her backside as a result and scrambled to her feet. As she stood she felt a strong hand grasp her by the calf. She turned and looked down with a bolt of fear through her heart as the masked man stared back up at her through the holes of the mask, wet, pink eyes boring into her as he tried to drag her stumbling back.
It was then that a single leg from Robin came soaring down on the man’s spine, hard boot digging into cotton t-shirt into muscle into bone. She delivered a first blow to the side of his head that made him cringe away and bring up an arm, and a second that may have broken something in his jaw.
Red Robin brought the base of the bo-staff down on his arms to help loosen his grip, and whacked his head while Robin laid into his shoulder relentlessly. A tooth dropped into and slid out of his cracking mask and rolled into a stringy pile of blood on the floor. The man rolled over, barely holding onto Red Robin’s leg before she tore it away. With his last consciousness before he passed out, Robin roundhouse kicked him in the stomach.
The two vigilantes stepped back from the carnage with heaving breaths. A metal door swung open with a squeak.
“There!” another goat masked gunman cried, and footsteps could be heard as his friends came to his call.
“TT,” Robin grit her teeth. She took off in the direction of the garbage bin. “We got what we want, let us not waste any more time with these goat-freaks!”
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Red Robin agreed. The pair hopped onto the closed bin and hiked up the brick face with their tools, bullets raining around them as armed pursuants pooled on the floor below.
Hearts hammering in their chests, throats dry and stinging, the pair flew across the rooftops not unlike the birds they proclaimed to be. But almost as if it was a reminder of their innate humanity, the path of Robin’s flight was cut shortly when her dash across a rooftop stumbled and slowed to a jog, finally collapsing onto her knees on the ground. Red Robin was still running, and aiming to shoot and grapple onto the next building when she sensed that something was off. She looked behind her and what she saw made her turn around completely and stare for a second before she ran over to girl.
“Hey, what the fuck?” she called, not unkindly. “Robin?”
She could hear the girl vigilante’s dry, panting breaths and every swallow she took. Knew she could taste blood in the back of her throat as she gathered saliva loudly on her tongue.
“Cease…cease staring dumbfoundedly at me.” growled Robin. The impudence provoked disdain in Red Robin, but the way the young girl (so small) shifted to curl in on herself, begrudgingly sprung a leak of concern in her heart. (even smaller)
“Just need…to catch my…to catch my breath…” a gloved hand waved dismissively at her. Red Robin shifted her weight to the other hip and looked around her at the glowing night skyline of Gotham. Teeth worrying at her lip she stared at the roof access stairwell, then stared down at her grappling hook. Seeing no easy option, she sighed with gusto and scrunched her eyes closed.
“Can you…do you want to—do you want to ride on my back?” she asked eyes still closed, fairly certain what the answer would be, obvious and offended, bitter and vitriolic. Red Robin steeled herself for a slew of insults.
Silence.
“That will do.” the girl said breathlessly.
Blinking the surprise away, Red Robin opened her eyes and looked down at Robin, who was still on the ground, but shambling her way up.
“Turn around. I will ride the rest of the way on your back.” she said seriously. Still stiff with confusion, Red Robin allowed herself to be rotated around like a cardboard cutout, but she snapped to life when she felt tiny arms wrap around her neck and little boots scramble at the backs of her legs. She crouched lower and reached backwards to help secure the girl, letting out a small sound at the weight. Robin was warm across her armoured back.
Strands of her hair and the whistle of her laboured breath tickled against what little there was of Red Robin’s exposed skin. She felt her chin slot into place in the crook of her neck and an indescribable emotion washed over her stomach. Her cold little nose. Her fluttering eyelashes. For a moment she was dizzy and afraid she might fall and drop them both. But she swallowed the throat marble and hiked the girl up a little before setting off to the edge of the roof.
It took them longer than usual to find home, their success no thanks to their entangled position. By the time they stepped foot in the cave, Robin insisted she was good enough to walk on her own. The two of them peeled off what they could of their uniforms as they took the walk to the showers. By now sweat was cooling uncomfortably inside the crevices. It hardly escaped Thea’s notice that Demi was cradling her chest.
“What’s up with your chest?” Thea asked pointedly, unzipping herself out of her top half.
“Nothing you can fix.” Demi replied cryptically. Pulling the ties from her hair buns. Thea sighed in exasperation with this kid.
“But not anything that’s serious, right?” her question came out with steel to it.
“No. You can rest assured knowing you will not be held responsible for my death tonight.” Demi said grimly.
“What kind of answer is that.” Thea screwed up her face. Defeated, she shook her head. “I’ll just…have a look when we’re all washed up, okay?”
Demi didn’t like that. At all.
“You will do no such thing.” she spat, jerking a bottle of shampoo too hard in her hands and producing an oversized dollop in her palm.
“I will do what I goddamn please, cause I’m the responsible one here, and if I need to assess an injury that’s clearly bothering you, I’ll do it. Whether you like it or not.”
Neither could spin around on the other because they were both naked, but Thea could tell Demi was glaring at her over her shoulder.
“So that is the decree? You claim authority over my body? I must submit and allow you to search and pry and examine my body as you please?” she grimaced, clutching the shampoo. But she didn’t know…she was unaware of the way her comment sent a thrill of sweet, dark heat to Thea’s core. She choked, rolling her eyes, cheeks rosy.
“You’re so dramatic. All I want you to do is show me the injury. I don’t even have to do anything if it doesn’t need attention. I just want to know what it is.”
There was a hollow, echoing mechanic clicking as Richie Grayson strolled in, whistling to herself.
“Hello, ladies,” she said jovially, and passed them.
“Richie tell Demi I’m not being a controlling asshole by wanting to check over her chest injury.”
“Demi, Thea isn’t being a controlling asshole by wanting to check over your chest injury.” Richie repeated dutifully, taking off her towel, a smile on her face.
“TT,” Demi scoffed. “Rachel, tell Drake that I am a good enough judge of my personal injuries to identify when one needs attention and when one can simply be left alone. ”
“Thea, Demi has had enough experience with injuries to be able to bring it forward to you if she needs medical attention.” Richie turned on the faucet. Groaning Tim shut off her water and towelled herself dry aggressively before wrapping it around her and storming away.
Richie watched her go as she lathered soap across her beautifully muscled chest.
“Normally that’s your cue.” she commented. Demi was very pointedly not looking in the direction Thea had left. She also wasn’t looking at Richie either. Over her shoulder, Richie glanced at the young girl under the opposite stream and stared brazenly at her scar mottled back with a soft gaze. The most obvious scar of which being the long puckered staple scars down the length of her internal metal spine.
“Hey there babybird.” she cooed. “Is your wing twisted, baby?”
It was minuscule, but Richie knew the signs. Demi melted at that. She stared at the floor.
“Wanna come over here?”
Demi looked like she was seriously considering it from the shining flash of bejewelled green that shot her way. But it was only for a brief moment. Demi hung her head again.
“I am unharmed, Rachel.” she said quietly. “Truly. I have a large bruise on my ribcage. I cannot rise to my full height…but I will be fine in time.”
Nodding, Richie continued to watch her carefully wash herself facing away.
“And the Timmy thing?” Richie pried.
Demi was silent for a moment. But she wasn’t ignoring the question.
“…I wanted her to piss off.” Demi mumbled.
“Hmmm…” Richie squinted. “A big bruise is a weird hill to die on, don’t’cha think?”
“It’s not if that’s not the hill I’m dying on.” Demi’s words echoed in the quiet hiss of the showers.
Now fully facing the young girl, Richie marched right over and placed a calloused hand on her narrow shoulder, making her jump at the touch. She brushed aside her wet hair to the other shoulder and gently rubbed the girl’s back.
“We can only properly respect your boundaries if you clearly communicate them to us, Demi.” Richie said softly. “But you’re right, you told her no. A no is a no.”
She pressed a chaste kiss to the shining wet nape of her sister’s neck and with that, Richie walked back to her running stream. Demi quickly finished her rinse. She covered up and dashed away, not looking back. Alone, Richie sighed.
When Demi returned to the cave to exercise she found that Thea was curled up in a chair with her knees resting against the desk that hosted some of the largest monitors in the house.
She must have been quite deeply engrossed in her case studies, for it took her until her sister’s first blows to a Century Bob to realise she wasn’t alone. Swivelling just enough in her chair she stared behind her at the ringed arena and the girl prancing fluidly through the familiar motions of Kung Fu.
Blinking, Thea pushed off from the desk and sauntered up to the stage and propped herself up against the bars. That must’ve caught Demi’s attention because she stopped using offensive force on the mannequin and stood wide legged and heaving, meeting Thea’s gaze. With a nod and a whistle Demi was beckoned over, a call she met with some hesitation.
“Ah. You’re bothering me for what now?” she asked in that accusatory tone. This did not keep her away.
Thea refrained from answering her and accepted her into the broad circle of her arms, not touching her once, not rising to Demi’s glare. It was like a sudden flash of movement when Thea struck like a lying snake, twirling her around and yanking her back to her chest. In a second her hands were immobilised behind her back and twisting inside a strong grasp. The squirming, wriggling girl in her arms spat and hissed.
“You audacious—I will split you pelvis to sternum!” she roared, attempting to jerk back her elbow over and over to hit her assailant’s soft gut. Thea simply bent her back into a deeper curve and settled her own back against the arena fence. With the long expanse of Demi’s own front exposed Thea’s fingers deftly found purchase in the hem of her sister’s loose sports tank and worked it up her chest to bundle under her chin.
She felt emboldened to do this knowing from a glimpse that all she would find was a front zipping sports bra. Thea allowed her free arm to rest restrictively under Demi’s chin as she leaned forward eagerly and searched what was visible of the exposed brown skin. There it was—mottled wine purple and yellow like faded turmeric stain. a wide, flat bruise. Curious white fingers found the blood bursting swell and pressed on tender flesh.
“ Cease this! Remove your hands while you still have them!” Demi gasped. Her whole body jerked away hard. She choked out a raw, throaty noise of pain as the fingers pressed down harder. Rubbed. Even as she attempted to fold herself forward into a pretzel to escape Thea’s piercing fingers digging into her sore, bruised rib relentlessly, she was growing rigid. Unable to escape her captivity and the pain she kicked snapped her jaws at the air, hoping to snag Thea’s nose.
“Exactly as I thought. Not a big fucking deal—and certainly nothing you had to make me look stupid in front of Richie over.” Thea said, voice hard steel. “Actually,” she teetered into a contemplative tone with her fingers closing around the zipper to Demi’s sports bra.
“while I have you here for I don’t know how long, why don’t I check you over? Since you’re so reluctant to divulge anything about the state of your health to anyone who can help.” she said with an acerbic edge as she peeled up the zipper until it clicked and finally split open, allowing Demi’s plentiful breasts to burst free from confinement.
“How dare you, Drake!” Demi shook with barely repressed rage. But her vitriolic anger found little ground in her elder’s fear. It was the first touch of her long, cold fingers against the underside of her breast that imbued Demi with the fear and adrenaline she needed to jerk her head back into a surprised Thea’s nose and wage a war out of her strong arms. She skittered to the floor on her feet and scrambled away, barely taking a moment to zip her bra back up and pull her top down. Sizzling with annoyance, Thea watched the girl run, her exposed breasts bouncing with her momentum (likely painfully so, given their size) until she had found the stairs and disappeared.
With no one in sight to see, Thea rolled her eyes and sauntered back to the desk. Standing in front of her chair she allowed the tips of her fingers to rest on the table’s edge and stared deeply in thought, picture memories flashing unbidden behind her eyelids even as they closed. Her cheeks warmed a degree, flat mouth twisting into a troubled frown. If she hadn’t been alone, the tension in her winged shoulders would have been visible from across the cave, even in the low light.
The cover of that late night found the young woman in no better shape, only this time she was not the only one troubled. Her sister wandered sleeplessly throughout the halls.
It might’ve been logical consequence or the playing hand of fate, but what kept Thea awake and engulfed in blankets reflected a perfect half of the nightmare—or was it a dream?—that stole Demi away from sleep and into one of the great rooms of leisure in the manor. Who could have known as Thea rolled over in bed and squinted into the sky that Demi would be slumped and spread across the couch in her loose silk robe, glaring at the same moon as if Artemis had her cursed on a personal slight.
Of course she found it near impossible to procure answers from the bright, inscrutable poker-face of the moon. Thea only looked down from the sky to find refuge from its accusing stare in the mental onslaught of crime-scene photography imaginings. A small dark body below her looming form, heaving and topless and angry . Demi slipped a furtive hand into the falling collar of her robe and her two fingers found the rough swell of a nipple to pinch. It was meant to be chastising. She grit her teeth in grief against the sweltering heat that it spurred, and resolutely did not think of anyone else but herself above herself.
They slept that night. Eventually. But no rest was found.