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The sun crept higher, bleeding soft orange and hazy gold through the Tower's high glass windows. A gentle hush hung over the common room, broken only by the low drone of the television, still playing muted cartoons none of them remembered turning on.
Empty takeout cartons and grease-stained wrappers littered the floor like the aftermath of a war fought with mozzarella sticks, fries, and egg rolls.
On the couch, Gar was snoring softly, his head tipped against Jaime's shoulder, who had an arm flung over his face and a half-eaten dumpling clutched in one hand.
Kory lay sprawled across the adjacent couch, a fry container balanced precariously on her stomach.
Raven was curled up against the far corner, hood down for once, face softened in sleep. A book she'd started reading was still open in her lap, one hand loosely resting against the page.
And in the middle of it all, between two open cartons of garlic fries and a toppled container of dipping sauce, Marceline lay curled on her side, her head pillowed against Damian's shoulder.
His chin rested against the top of her head, one arm draped lazily around her waist, their hands still faintly entwined between them. The faint line between his brow, always tight with irritation or caution, had smoothed out in sleep.
It was the kind of peace neither of them ever got. The kind they never let themselves have.
Which made it the worst possible time for the doors to hiss open.
Boot steps echoed in, sharp and clipped. A taller, dark-clad figure entered first, followed by several others, voices low but carrying.
Clark Kent's easy baritone spoke first. "Well, seems like we missed the party."
Diana's amused hum came next. "Or what's left of it."
Arthur crossed his arms and grinned. "Kids these days."
Bruce Wayne strode into the room last.
His sharp gaze swept over the disaster zone in one practised scan. The mess didn't faze him. The half-eaten food, the sticky takeout bags, the flickering cartoons—none of it. His eyes fixed on one thing and one thing only.
His son.
Damian Wayne. Fast asleep. In public. Cuddled up to a girl.
A girl with ink-dark hair and shadow-touched skin, tucked tight against his side like she belonged there.
Bruce's jaw ticked. He said nothing.
Clark nudged him with an elbow. "Told you, B. Sooner or later."
"I said nothing," Bruce replied stiffly.
"Oh, you're saying a lot right now," Hal added with a grin, gesturing at the scene.
Diana stepped forward, gaze softening as she took in the way Mars and Damian seemed more whole like this than they ever did apart.
"Love is not weakness," she said quietly, almost to herself. "It's strength you fight for."
Bruce's lips pressed into a thinner line, but he didn't argue. Didn't correct. Didn't demand his son get up and fall back in line.
He just stood there, watching the boy he'd trained to be a weapon sleep more human than he ever let himself be.
Mars stirred first.
Her senses — always sharp, even in rest — prickled at the shift in the air. At the presence of people trained to move like ghosts. Her lashes fluttered, breath catching, before she cracked one eye open.
It took a second to register the scene.
Justice League. Here. Watching them.
Fantastic.
She didn't move. Didn't jerk upright. Just sighed softly and let her head burrow a little deeper into Damian's shoulder. If she was going to get lectured by half the damn planet's best heroes, she was at least doing it while comfy.
Damian's hand twitched against hers.
"M'awake," he muttered, voice hoarse and thick with sleep.
"Yeah," Mars murmured. "We've got an audience."
He cracked an eye open, then immediately tensed.
Bruce's unreadable stare met his.
A flicker of something passed between them.
Not anger. Not disappointment. Something quieter. Harder to name.
"Father," Damian acknowledged stiffly, sitting up just enough to square his shoulders but not enough to dislodge Mars entirely.
Gar, still snoring.
Jaime, out cold.
Raven and Kory, too.
Bruce took a slow step forward, crouched beside the pair, and studied Mars with the same clinical precision he applied to battlefields.
"You fought well," was all he said.
Mars blinked. Of all the things she'd expected — that wasn't it.
"Didn't have much of a choice," she muttered.
Bruce's lips twitched. Barely. A breath of approval maybe.
"Choice or not," he said, standing again, "you protected my son."
And that... wasn't nothing.
Clark smiled faintly at the pair, then shot a look at the scattered Titans. "Someone wake them up before they get drooled on."
"I'm fine here," Gar mumbled from his corner without opening his eyes.
"We'll let them sleep," Diana cut in softly. "For now. They've earned it."
Mars let her eyes slip closed again, leaning a little heavier into Damian's side as the League started quietly filing out, leaving them to their wreckage and exhaustion.
She could feel the conversation coming later — about choices, about what came next, about how you rebuilt after breaking. But for now, for just this brief sliver of morning light and cooling food wrappers and the solid weight of a friend beside her...
It was enough.
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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...
