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The Tower's training room still pulsed with leftover energy—kicked-up dust, sore muscles, and the faint echo of Damian's clipped commands. But the common room?
It was wrapped in gold.
Late sunlight filtered in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting streaks of warm color across the floor. Somewhere in the background, the faint static of the television played as Gar flipped through channels with his usual flair for dramatic boredom.
On the couch, he sprawled like a cat in a sunbeam, limbs hanging off the cushions, a bowl of half-eaten popcorn resting precariously on his stomach.
The door slid open with a soft hiss.
Mars entered, steam rising faintly from her still-damp braid. She wore black joggers and a hoodie too big for her—it fell over her hands and hung loosely over her frame, clearly not hers. The soft navy blue belonged to Dick, and everyone knew it.
Not that she cared.
She never asked. She just wore. Hoodies from Dick. Sometimes sweatpants that Gar insisted were "definitely his."
They'd all accepted it after a while—Mars didn't steal clothes. She claimed comfort. And the quiet fact that she wore their things meant she trusted them, in her own soft, snow-pale way.
"Hey, hoodie thief," Gar greeted, waving a popcorn kernel at her as she padded in barefoot. "Survived training, huh?"
Mars gave him a look over the rim of her iced coffee—bottle already in hand like it had teleported there. Her steps led her smoothly to the kitchenette.
"It was predictable," she said, twisting the cap. "Damian likes routines."
"Understatement of the century."
Mars didn't smile, but her eyes flicked with something almost dry. She grabbed a red velvet cupcake from the snack drawer and unwrapped it neatly, settling onto the counter with her knees tucked up.
Gar watched her for a beat.
"You ever not look like a tiny ghost librarian?"
Mars raised a brow. "Says the man who turned into a turtle today and got stuck."
He gasped. "You promised you wouldn't bring that up!"
"I lied."
Gar reached out dramatically to steal a piece of her cupcake.
She let him.
Which meant a lot, really.
They settled into an easy silence, Gar humming softly as he flipped to a space documentary. The screen filled with stars, and Mars's eyes wandered toward it, her fingers tightening slightly around her coffee bottle.
"You ever wanna be up there?" Gar asked suddenly, voice softer this time. "Like... floating, with the stars?"
Mars didn't answer at first.
Then:
"Not want. Dream."
A pause. Thoughtful.
The door slid open again.
Damian.
Still in his gear. Blades long put away but his posture no less sharp. He glanced around once, then locked eyes with her instantly—like he was checking to see if she'd vanished in the shadows again.
"You left one of your blades on the mat," he said evenly.
"It missed me," she replied without looking.
Gar blinked. "Seriously? You guys talk like a noir movie."
Damian ignored him. He moved to the fridge, grabbed water, and leaned against the counter with the air of a cat waiting for someone to challenge it.
The tension slipped into the room like fog. Not hostile—just dense. Unspoken. Charged.
Mars sipped her coffee.
Gar tried to whistle and failed.
A beat later, another voice cut in.
"Marceline," Raven said calmly as she stepped into the room, eyes dark and sharp. "Do you have my annotated copy of Galaxies and Myth in Pre-Civilization Cultures?"
Mars slid off the counter, moving with the fluid grace of shadows learning how to breathe. She crossed the room, opened a drawer near the bookshelf—her drawer, where she kept shared reads—and pulled out the thick, worn paperback.
She held it out without a word.
Raven took it, their fingers brushing briefly. The moment was quiet... reverent, even.
"Thanks," Raven said, her voice softening. "Page 327's folded."
Mars nodded. "That myth reminded me of you."
Raven blinked once. Then gave a small, rare smile.
Gar raised both eyebrows. "Did we all just witness that?"
"You're loud," Raven replied without venom, then tucked the book to her chest and retreated into her own corner.
Mars returned to her perch on the counter, rewrapping what was left of her cupcake.
Damian was still watching her.
But this time, he didn't say anything.
He just watched.
And Mars let him.
For a moment, the Tower was still. The sky darkened into dusk behind them, shadows long and familiar. The TV flickered on Gar's documentary, Raven turned a page nearby, and Mars... Mars simply breathed.
Cold coffee.
Warm light.
Friends who didn't need to be loud to be real.
And somewhere under the layers of frost and silence...
She was home.
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⭐️ Eternal Shadow 🌙 Damian wayne ~~~~complete
FanfictionShe controls the shadows. He was raised by them. Fifteen-year-old Marceline "Mars" Dawn has spent years trying to outrun the past-the night her world was shattered, and the darkness inside her woke up. Now a quiet but powerful member of the Teen Tit...
