"What do we do now?" You asked, raising an eyebrow. It was dark, but the domino mask that Robin wore only illuminated what he was looking at. So he ended up tying a flashlight from his utility belt to the end of the grapple hook. So there's a hook attached to a beam in the ceiling, and down that rope, at the very end, is a grapple gun with a flashlight tied lazily onto it. And it was one of those flashlights that could probably light an entire stadium, only for a few minutes though.

"There is no 'we'. I'm figuring something out right now-" He started speaking, almost glaring at you it seemed. Holding his hands up by his face and making quotations with his fingers as he said the word 'we', emphasizing it while scowling.
"There's no 'we'? Well there definitely was a 'we' when you kept telling me that I needed to get into position." You retorted, scoffing and crossing your arms.

"Tt, you're just a civilian. And you're making it awfully hard for me to concentrate." He grunted back to you. Pressing his back to the wall of the container before taking off one of his green gloves, removing the gauntlet on them first so he could remove the more softer fabric.

"What are you doing?" You asked, grimacing as you edged towards him. Wrapping your arms up in a cross under your chest to keep warm. That was an issue at hand, it was getting cold in here. And your damp red hoodie isn't going to keep doing it's job for much longer if the fumes of gasoline on it are started to bother your eyes and screw with your vision.

You watched as the light from his domino mask illuminated where his hands went, and you looked back at him to see the flat facial expression of nothing but blank and boredom. You watched his lips go from thin and pursed to parted in agitation. You looked up at his eyes, well what eyes of his you could see. If it weren't for his eyebrows making movements under his domino mask, you wouldn't have been able to tell that he had started to glare.

"It's lined with lead." He stated, pausing and then dunking his head downwards between his shoulders to look down at his feet. "It explains why we sank so fast, and why the cargo shipment container isn't rising back up to the surface. These things are suppose to float for a reason, but it seems Scorn thought ahead." Robin stated.

'It also means that Jon can't hear or see us, damn it.' Robin thought to himself, bringing his hands up to his face and wiping under his domino mask out of boredom. Watching to rub his eye, it's been itching for a while. But it's obvious, for many more obvious reasons why he can't do that.

"Scorn? Before I passed out there was somebody talking to me." You mentioned, rubbing the back of your neck. Wincing when your thumb brushed against the cold nape of your neck, making your eyes widen at the feeling you got from that. It was a quick pain, but it was pretty damn sharp.

"What did he say?" Robin asked, turning his head back up to look at you. You had to cover your eyes with your free hand, placing your hand on your forehead and letting the shadow cast from your palm. He saw this, looked up at the flashlight. He had an emergency flare in his utility belt, along with a flare gun if he ever needed that. He decided to turn off the lights from his domino mask. the light white and blue beams shut off, leaving you to sigh and place your hand back down under your chest.

"You'll see my scorn? Or you'll understand my scorn? He said something else, too. It had to do with one of my classmates. I don't really think that matters to you, though. Since i'm just a 'Civilian'." You furrowed your eyebrows together, removing your arms from under your chest and uncrossing them. Making quotations with the word 'Civilian' just as he had done with 'we'. The creases in your eyes from how you narrowed them only proved slight shadows on your face. And if robin looked close enough? Your temple twitched a little bit whenever you seemed to get annoyed. But when your jaw tightened, he noticed this meant you were about to retort with something. He takes note of this, because after all. Isn't he the world's greatest detective's son?

"And let me tell you, I'm really starting to understand his scorn. I was suppose to be at a friends house right now. She's probably really worried, and oh god-" You cut yourself off, biting down on your tongue as you came to a sudden mental realization. One that had just absently left your mind due to your past fears and worries of being in here.

"My mom." You mumbled quietly to yourself, backing up into an oil drum and knocking it over, sitting down in the place it once was. Pulling your knees to your chest and letting your arms sit softly over them, the faded fabric of the light blue jeans was also damp.

"You haven't been gone for more than a day. You've only been missing for a few hours, police are looking for you but it's not a serious case-" He started speaking, but the sound of your voice covering up his own was what shut him up. Finding no use, even as Damain, to talk over you whenever you cut him off. Merely scoffing and crossing his arms, he can see that you really don't care that he's Robin. To you? He just seems to be another person.
"I take it you're not suppose to be telling the victim all of that, right?" You asked, leaning forwards and placing your hand under your chin.
"I'm not. But you're not stupid, and you deserve to know." His voice sounds softer than it did earlier, and just for a split second, you feel like it's somebody else talking to you.

"Hey, what type of accent is that?" You asked, leaning back and moving your chin off of your hand.
"What?" He replied, voice high in a questioning tone. Slumping a shoulder back so he can turn to look at you, and you can clearly make out a puzzled look on his face just by the way his lips shift.

"I guess this doesn't matter, since you know who my dad is apparently. But when I was little I picked up my dad's accent. I spoke cockney all around the house, using different words for a different thing. Speaking like that drove all my friends crazy. It's really just a matter of how you rhyme things. But I guess I dropped the accent after a while, as you can probably tell." you said, extending your arms as if presenting yourself. A sad smile on your face. The lack of any of your fathers accent in your voice still proved that you worked hard to get rid of it, listening to Lea speak over and over again and try to say things like she said them started to really pay off. Because in truth? Accents form in the way you speak based off of the way the people who raised you spoke. Your father had an accent, and sometimes used cockney slang around the house. And five years is a lot of time especially when developing speaking. So it took just as much time to get rid of the accent.

"You sound American, but it sounds forced. Not many people point that out about you, don't they?" You added, lulling your head back against the container and sloftly placing it against the metal. The hood of your jacket loose around your neck creating a soft cushion.

"Why are you telling me this? And it doesn't matter what my voice is or what accent I used to have. What matters is getting out-"

"It's the chemicals. They're getting to me, I don't get why they're not getting to you, but alright whatever." All robin can do is try to imagine you speaking cockney, and having somewhat of a thick english accent. But what he can imagine in even greater detail, is you being picked on for the way you spoke and said things. Imagined how hard it must have been for you to try and get rid of something so personal like the sound of your voice just out of spite of your father.

Damian naturally dropped his accent, spending less time with his mother. For some reason, and he didn't even intend to. But after a while, whenever he hears his voice from years ago on some recording? All he can think about is how his mother was to him back then. And that is what he understands about you.

You see Robin, Batman's sidekick. The fourth kid to take up this mantle. Though Damian see's (Y/n) (L/n). He doesn't see (Y/n) Constantine, all he see's is who he knows. Just like how when it comes to Damian, you only see the Wayne in him. Which, can be taken as an insult in one way or another. But it's better than you seeing the Al Ghul in him.

'How unfortunate of you to grow feelings for someone you're not allowed to touch.'

Damian keeps letting the words run through his head, and the mysterious connection between you, and Leviathan.

All Damian knows about Leviathan isn't very simple. But he knows it's serious enough to a point where he's died because of it. In the Wake of Ra's Al Ghul being weakened by the Lazarus pit, Talia knew full well that was probably going to be his last time ever using it. Which meant that Ra's was basically on his last limbs here. Damian only became aware of his Grandfather's condition when Talia started to take advantage of it. Tired of being controlled by her father, only to make all of his same mistakes.

She broke off from the league, just as Nyssa did. But she did it differently. Whereas Nyssa, Damian's aunt, broke off for her own personal reasons. That's all he was told, though. But the last time he had ever seen Nyssa? She was bleeding, badly. And the window to the terrace of the room she was in had been broken into. He still has his doubts, knowing full well his mother wasn't always truthful to him. But it's not like he and Nyssa were close. Talia broke off to conquer the league. To take their place as something else. Something bigger.

She must have been planning it for years. Thinking about striking back against Ra's for all of the things he'd put her though. Damian can clearly state that he understands why Talia would lash out. And if she's one for patience, her Leviathan plan clearly shows that she was a woman of patience.

Leviathan stood for the same things that the league of assassins does. But with somewhat of a different and newer agenda. Talia went from being Talia Al Ghul, to Talia Head. And as clear as her plan was, in the end? It's what got her killed. By something so mundane too, a simple bullet through the head. And that's all it took.

Leviathan went to go lay low after that, but cults have been made. Groups, people who followed Leviathan have started planning. And in their silence, new plots have started forming. And unfortunately, their root is from the league of assassins. Which means the majority of them are former league members. Which is what's been making them so hard to find. Steph has come up with rumors of a school brought up in Talia's name, but they don't know enough to go on it right now. It's something to be researched on, but it's going to be dealt with.

During Damian's year of blood, probably the worst year in his life that he can account for. Back then, it was an honor to him. But now? Under Bruce's care? He knows how completely wrong his actions were, and that it's just another example of Talia's control over him. But Maya made sure he got his redemption for that year.

What little of it he can remember.

Those swords on your wall, he know's that he's seen them before. And he highly doubts that you just happened to buy Al Ghul heirlooms on craigslist or amazon.

He didn't get a clear look at them, but that's because of the wrapping around the hilt and bottom half of the dual sword was covering the engravings that he assumed was there. One thing for sure, he knows that as Damian? He's going to stop by the bookstore again and take a look. Even if he has to go as Robin and sneak in there, he's going to take a look at them. IF he's mistaken them for something else, he'll just leave it be.

"Hello? Robin, um, boy wonder?" Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, causing him to let out somewhat of a confused grunt in response.

"Did you hear any of what I just said?" you asked, narrowed eyes while you crossed your legs, removing them from tucked to your chest. Placing your hands on your lap to keep them warm. The tips of your fingers were starting to get blue, and you could feel the tissue under your nail beds get more sensitive. Because every time you touched something? It'd sting a little bit.
"No." He said flatly.
"Wow, okay." You mumbled, baffled.

Now is his chance, he can ask you as Robin and not as Damian. It's a perfect time, he can just say that some underground organization calling themselves LEviathan was apart of who Scorn associates himself with. Granted, that is the biggest lie ever. But he can use it as an excuse.

"Did Scorn say anything about something called Leviathan? Or just anything you know about Leviathan." Robin asked you, coming closer and slowly standing at ease before you. He made eye contact with you, and you nudged your shoulder to the left a little bit. A body tick. You twitched, and he saw it.

"Can you sit down? My head's hurting craning my neck up like this." You mumbled, tilting your head to make the vertebraes in your neck pop.

"Alright." Robin said slowly, sitting down in front of you. Copying your actions, crossing his legs and placing his hands on his knees. His cape tucked under him, and the hood up and resting on his head. He too, had taken note of the colder temperatures.

"Scorn dind't say anything about anything called Leviathan. All I really know about Leviathan comes from the bible. I'm not exactly religious or anything, but one of my friends had really religious parents and he hated going to church alone. Sometimes I went with him, like on Wednesdays and Sundays. But isn't Leviathan like some sea monster? A monster in purgatory, I think? I don't remember, it's been a while." You stated calmly. But it didn't feel like you were the one saying the words. More so like your mind was working faster than your mouth was. And it felt the same way whenever you say a lie you spent all night practicing.

"Hmm." Robin made a low 'hmm' spund, putting his hand on his chin and straightening his back. His eyes went to trail to your hand, in which he remembered you said something about dislocating your thumb.

"I can fix that for you. How'd you do it, though?" Robin said, reaching forwards with an open palm of his gloveless hand. You slowly, but reluctantly, placed your hand on his.

"I was zip tied to that chair. I knew I had to get out, I wasn't really keen on waiting for this to happen on it's own." You said, talking about the fact that this crate had now gone under water. You try not to think about it, because ultimately? It's pretty terrifying to think about that right now.

"I see. And you did that all on your own?" He said, not bothering to look back up at you while he worked his gloved hand over your thumb. Trying to find where the joint had been at and tried to figure out how he was going to do this without you screaming out in pain and moving the crate a little bit more. Who knows, maybe they're on the edge of something in the harbor. Maybe the Crate hasn't even sunk that far yet. But one more inch to the right of to the left, and you could hit the bottom of the harbor with him in this crate. Or, there is the possibility, that the two of you are already at the bottom of the harbor.

"Does it look like there's anybody else in here-fuCKING ASSHOLE!?" you retorted bitterly, but halfway through your sentence he had shoved your thumb back into place. As if his response for your bitter tone towards him was to do this right in the middle of you speaking.

"No, it looks like it's just us." Robin retorted sarcastically, smirking. Being thankful that the crate hadn't moved any.

But your feet kicked out at a closed oil drum, and when it hit the ground? Damian slowly turned around as if he was watching everything happen in slow motion.

The lining of the barrel of the drum on the inside had plastic in it. Now, what type of chemical has to be kept in a plastic container or else it eats through literally everything else?

"Robin-What the hell is that?" You asked, watching as the light green fluid started flooding out of the container, you slowly stood up and skidded your back against a sharp edge of the wall. Arching your back in pain, the sudden smell and fumes started racing up towards the ceiling.

"That's Hydrofluoric acid, damnit." Robin said, somewhat alarmed. Pulling out the only small breathing mask he had in his utility belt. Turning to you, and quickly shoving it in your hands.

"Put this in your mouth, it helps you breathe under water."
"What about you?!" You exclaimed, taking the device and holding it in your hands.
"I'm a fast swimmer." He said somewhat sarcastically, but you could still hear the smallest hint of nervousness in his voice.

The chemical started to eat away at the bottom of the crate just as quickly as it had spilled out, and the hand that grabbed your own did belong to Robin. Not bothering to wait for the acid to get over and spill to you, Robin guided you safely out of the crate and into the freezing water. Making sure you avoid all and every drop of the corrosive acid that started to flood into the water.

The water was so goddamn cold, but he's dealt with worse.

It's you he's worrying about, why? Other than the obvious reasons of his debatable emotions for you, it's the fact that if he passes out? He's going to have to rely on you for help. To literally swim his body out of the harbor.

And it's a long way up.

Currently? He's swimming ahead of you, he has the benefit of speed. but you? You have the benefit of being able to breathe. He doesn't doubt himself that he can get out of this, as seemingly arrogant as that is. But he knows that if this goes wrong, he has to depend on you to get him out of here.

And it's hard enough for you to breathe when your lungs feel like ice. you have your eyes shut tight as your body seems to just float upwards. It being too cold for you to even move your legs.

He knows you aren't going to drown, but it's possible you'll die of hypothermia before your lips go too numb to even hold the breather in place.

He's stuck at a problem right now. Either hope you float upwards, barely alive due to the possibility of you dying from hypothermia. Or he can go back and try to swim you up. But at the cost of him losing consciousness and potentially drowning in these cold waters.

But he can't even make his decision, seeing as his vision is starting to fade. He can see little to nothing in the water, due to the darkness outside. But he can tell when his eyes start to close and his limps start to go limp, that he's passing out.

But right before he's out, he feels hands under his arms pulling him upwards. Meaning that you got it under control, and seeing him start to falter like this must have been what got you the motivation to actually move.

But one thing he dind't count for, was the fact that after this? He's probably going to need CPR, and a medic as fast as possible.

The CPD, he assumes you might know. But the medic? And a place to rest? He can't just get up and walk away from this.
He has to put some blind trust in you for a single night and hope that the mask doesn't leave his face.

That is, if you manage to pull him out of the harbor.