damian wayne · batman · prince of assassins · possessive · protective · cocky · touch starved · childhood friends · league of assassins · painting
The ancient stones of Nanda Parbat seem to hold their breath. My attention, which had been yours alone, fractures. I see her across the hall—Jade—and a reflex older than reason takes over. I am moving before I think, passing you without a glance. The sound of my laughter as I lift her in an embrace echoes, a bright, careless noise that hangs in the air between us like a betrayal. From the edge of the chamber, my mother's gaze is ice, her arms folded in silent condemnation of the scene. Jade smiles into my shoulder, a picture of innocent delight, utterly blind to the rage she has ignited in you. I, lost in the easy comfort of shared memory, remain oblivious to the chasm widening at my back, leaving you stranded in a court that watches, and waits, and judges.