One Week Later — The Mission Completed
The week passed the way real teamwork always did—not in a blaze of glory, but in exhaustion, bruises, half-eaten meals, and quiet moments where trust formed without anyone announcing it.
Damian noticed it first during the third mission.
Mission Three — The Museum Job
The Jump City Museum was never supposed to be quiet at night. Even after closing hours, its security systems hummed with life, motion sensors sweeping ancient artifacts and alien relics alike. That was how the Titans knew something was wrong—because the sensors went dark one by one.
H.I.V.E. was learning.
This time it wasn't Jinx or Mammoth smashing through walls. It was precision. Coordinated movement. Stolen schematics.
Nightwing split them into pairs.
Damian didn't argue.
That alone surprised everyone.
He moved with Blue Beetle through the west wing, communicating clearly, efficiently—no barking orders, no cutting ahead. When a squad of H.I.V.E. drones ambushed them, Damian didn't rush in alone. He waited half a second, read Blue Beetle's angle, then moved in sync.
Three strikes. One disarm. Beetle's cannon disabled the drones' core.
Clean.
Across the museum, Raven and Starfire contained Jinx while Beast Boy evacuated civilians trapped by collapsing exhibits. Cyborg locked down the building's systems and rerouted emergency lighting.
When it was over, the museum stood scarred—but standing.
Nightwing looked at Damian differently afterward.
Not as Batman's son.
Not as the Fire Shadow.
But as a teammate.
Mission Four — The Earthbreaker
The fourth mission was chaos.
An alien creature—massive, crystalline, and burrowed deep beneath Jump City—rose during rush hour, its movements triggering tremors that shattered streets and toppled buildings. Emergency sirens screamed across the skyline.
The Titans moved fast.
Too fast.
And still, it wasn't enough.
Damian knew the moment the ground split beneath him that this wasn't something fists alone could stop.
The creature's core pulsed underground, protected by layers of hardened mineral and alien biology. Raven and Starfire were holding the surface. Nightwing was coordinating evacuations. Cyborg was fighting just to keep the city grid alive.
There was no time.
Damian made the choice.
Flames ignited along his blade—not wild, not explosive, but controlled. Focused. He drew a slow breath, centering himself the way Bruce had taught him, the way his own discipline demanded.
Sun Breathing.
He plunged downward through shattered earth, heat cutting a path where steel would have failed. The creature roared—too late.
One precise strike.
The core split.
The tremors stopped.
When Damian emerged, smoke curling from his shoulders, the city stood silent for a heartbeat before cheers erupted.
No one questioned him.
Not then.
Later, Nightwing pulled him aside—not angry, not accusatory. Just firm.
"You made the right call," he said. "But next time, we talk first. Deal?"
Damian nodded.
And meant it.
Mission Five — The Escaped Mage
The fifth mission tested them in a different way.
The escaped criminal wasn't strong in the traditional sense. He was smart. Dangerous. Armed with arcane technology that let him phase through walls and vanish mid-combat.
He wanted civilians.
That made him Raven's problem.
Damian watched her fight—not just with power, but restraint. Precision. Control born of discipline and fear both. Starfire backed her up, shielding civilians from stray magic. Beast Boy and Blue Beetle handled evacuation routes. Cyborg hacked the mage's tech mid-battle, forcing a feedback loop that destabilized the device.
Nightwing and Damian moved together without speaking.
Blocking paths.
Protecting people.
Ending the fight.
When the criminal was finally restrained and handed over to authorities, Damian felt something shift inside him—not triumph, not pride.
Belonging.
The Reward
Back at Titans Tower, the adrenaline faded into exhaustion.
Raven disappeared into the shower. Damian stripped off his suit, muscles aching, and collapsed onto the bed. For a long moment, he just stared at the ceiling.
Then, quietly—privately—the presence he alone could hear acknowledged the truth.
The mission was complete.
The reward arrived without spectacle.
One hundred kilograms of Jewel Meat.
Even altered, even restrained by the rules of this world, its presence was unmistakable. The meat shimmered faintly, its texture impossibly rich, its aroma warm and grounding—like the promise of a perfect meal after a lifetime of hunger.
Damian exhaled slowly.
He didn't care about the boosts.
Not really.
But he understood what even a minor improvement could mean to heroes without powers. Stronger muscles. Better stamina. Increased resistance to toxins.
Margins mattered.
Edges saved lives.
He made his decision without hesitation.
The Invitation
That evening, Damian found Nightwing in the command room, reviewing patrol routes.
"I want to host a dinner," Damian said.
Nightwing blinked. "A… dinner?"
"A real one," Damian continued. "For the Titans. Young Justice. The League—if they come. No briefing. No debrief. Just food."
Nightwing studied him carefully. "You planning something dangerous?"
Damian shook his head. "Just something good."
After a long pause, Nightwing smiled faintly. "I'll send the invites. No promises."
"That's fine."
Two Days Later — The Feast
They didn't all come.
But enough did.
Members of Young Justice arrived first—familiar faces, cautious smiles, old tensions softened by time. Then came Justice League members, some curious, some skeptical, all tired in ways only heroes could be.
No speeches.
No explanations.
Just food.
Damian cooked.
Not with shortcuts.
Not with spectacle.
With care.
Every dish was prepared precisely, portions measured so no one noticed anything unusual—just that the food tasted right. Comforting. Perfect. The kind of meal that made shoulders relax and laughter come easier.
Raven watched him from across the room, a small smile on her lips.
Nightwing noticed first.
"How did you—"
"Eat," Damian interrupted calmly.
They did.
And for one night, the world felt lighter.
No one knew why they felt a little stronger afterward. Why exhaustion faded faster. Why old injuries ached less.
No one needed to.
Damian sat beside Raven as the room buzzed with quiet conversation and rare peace. Her shoulder pressed against his. His presence steady against hers.
He didn't tell them about the system.
He didn't tell them about another life.
He didn't tell them about the future threats he could already feel creeping closer—demons stirring, shadows watching.
He would handle that.
For now, this was enough.
Teamwork.
Trust.
And the simple, powerful act of sharing a meal before the darkness returned.