□Mara□

To say that I'm in "big trouble" is an understatement. To say that I've fucked myself seven ways to hell is just borderline being an overstatement. Damian is going to throw me to hell himself. Dad is gonna bring me back from hell and ground me for months.

I mean, it's not like I'm ever going to leave the house without an escort. Not even when I'm an adult. Nope, their going to never let go of me because of this, meaning they're never going to trust me ever again. To do anything. And that's my fault.

But was it worth it? Was Batman being six feet away from my killer worth it?

"Sit down."

I follow Damian's orders as I sit down on the metal chair, Dick, Alfred, and Tim watching me as I do. Dick's face shows his guilt for this situation, but I can still see a glint of pride in his eyes. Tim looks like Damian -- seething. Alfred just looks disappointed, which hurts the most. Of all the looks, Alfred giving me a disappointed one makes me want to start crying.

Not crying for me, but crying at me. Angry tears, not sad or pitiful ones.

But I can't, for the love of my mother herself, cry right now.

So I'm not going to. I'm going to stand my ground and explain my actions. High school is harder than this, so I can do this. Right?

"Do not say a word until he gets back. If you move a centimeter I will put you down, sister."

Put me down? The fuck does that mean? What, am I a dog who needs to be put down for biting another dog too many times? Yeah well, maybe it's not my fault I bit. Maybe, maybe it's the other dog, who threatened my fucking life, who wants to kill me, who's at fault here. Because I was just trying to help, not hurt, yet you seem to be more hurt by my actions, bitch.

Alfred speaks slowly, my eyes not meeting his as he stands next to me, "Miss Mara, I would highly reccomend keeping your calm, as I see you're feeling emotions that could just worsen the situation, so -"

"Fine."

I sit with my arms on the armrests, hands embracing the low temperature of it. The waiting is long, about thirty minutes of sitting in silence, when we hear it. Well, when I hear it anyways.

The ominous footsteps that echo down the left wing of the cave.

And then my heartbeat floods my senses, my blood pounding in my ears, and my hands feel numb. My mind racing with thoughts of how he's going to react having me in one place, where he can tell me off for what I've done. For what I've risked, for what I've messed up.

And then he walks in, his cowel off, showing his face. Dad's wearing his suit, probably to still show he's the boss right now, or that he's the adult and I'm the child who did a bad thing.

Damian straightens as he walks past him, Alfred glances at him, and then all eyes are on him, including mine. Alfred puts a hand on the back of the chair, and then lets go. He walks to stand next to my brothers, who have decided to leave the main wing, Tim going to the left wing and Dick and Alfred going to the right. They disappear quickly.

Accept for Damian, who's standing behind Dad, his back against the railing, head turned towards me.

Dad stops a few feet away from me and the chair.

And it's quiet, as we just stare at Dad. I'm waiting for him to speak, because I don't dare speak. At least I don't think I get the right to speak first right now, not after the shit I just pulled. His eyes analyze me, my wide eyes as I stare back, holding my breath, waiting.

"Are you hurt?"

What?!

I shake my head, and he swallows, letting out a sigh. I realize he was just asking a instinctive question, as I'm his child and I've just had a knife to my neck, of which I still haven't really believed has happened. None of this, actually, since I'm so focused on my killer, I realize I haven't had any time to process any of this.

I mean, I almost got blown up, found out I have a killer, then shot in my own house, been poisoned, and then met my killer, face to face. Of all the killers I could have in the world, mine is a fucking clown. Goddamnit.

Speaking of clowns, where is he?

The second the thought comes to me I can't control myself.

"Where is he?" I spit, sounding completely hostile when I didn't mean to be. Dad blinks once, his eyebrows furrowing. His head tilts as we stare at one another.

"Mara -"

"I need to know if you caught him."

"Excuse me?" Dad says, his tone sharper than before, making me frown, irritation stirring inside.

I let out a huff, looking quickly around the room, trying to think of how to get him to answer me, and then look back at him, lips pressed together tightly.

"Mara I -" I cut Dad off.

"No! No, let me speak. I need you to tell me right now, honestly, if you caught him or not! Because if I did that for nothing then -"

"You want honestly Mara?! Is that what you want?!" He yells back, our emotional tones and loud voices filling the room quickly.

"Yeah, actually, it is!"

"Then no, I didn't - !!!"

"What!?! Oh my God, Bruce! I gave you a fucking opening right there, I gave all of you a fucking opening to catch him, to stop him, to kill him, something!! And this is how -!"

"Mara!! You watch your fucking tone with me, because if we hadn't gotten there when we did, then you would've been dead!" Bruce yells, trying to obtain control over the situation.

But he's not going to fucking get it, not until I explain to him my side of the goddamned story!!

"But DID I die?!" I roar back, suddenly standing up, throwing my hands in the air.

"YES, Mara, you ALMOST did!!! Jesus Christ, can't you see that?!?! Can't you see that you were a fucking second away from death?! Just like -" Bruce takes a step forward, his face contorted with a concentrated rage that I'venever seen before.

It only makes me angrier, not fear him, therefor escalating the situation.

"He wasn't going to kill me!!"

"Sister, listen to -" Damian suddenly shouts, stepping forwards.

"No!" I yell back, shoving him away. He stumbles back as Bruce throws his hands between us, pushing us both back a little more.

"Let go of me!" Damian yells, swatting Bruce's hand away roughly. I step back, shoving the chair back with my leg as Bruce roars once again, "ENOUGH!"

And then Damian grunts, seemingly setting Bruce off over the edge, as he freezes. Literally, he holds one arm out that had once pushed be back, the other arm frozen in the spot Damian swatted it. His head down, face staring the floor.

Deadly silence comes next, as Damian and I stand breathing heavily, out of breath from simply yelling, while Bruce stays put. My face muscles relax, as do my shoulders and hands.

Bruce is so still I can't even see him breathing, which alarms something in the back of my head. It spirals, suddenly reminding me of my mother. She didn't get quiet, but I remember the fight clear as day. And then, it's as if I'm seeing clearly.

I see Dad standing there, his face twisted with rage, anxiety, and fear. For me. At me. It doesn't matter, because all he sees is his daughter who broke the rules. And almost died because of it.

I feel remorse and rage too now. I understand what he's saying. How quickly I figured this out I don't know why, but I just do.

I'm remorseful for making Dad feel like he's going to lose me, and rageful at myself for being so self centered and stupid enough to think this would work.

Dad didn't catch my killer. All I did was show the clown how much Dad and the rest of the family cares about me. And how much it would hurt them to lose me.

"Dad," I whisper, feeling my throat close up and my eyes water.

Don't fucking cry, you weak ass little shit. Don't fucking do it.

It comes out as a growling demand, filled with dark, deeply buried emotions.

"Get out of the cave, now."