Damian Wayne had faced death cults, assassins raised from birth, gods that watched him like an insect under glass, and monsters that could shatter cities.
None of that prepared him for Raven when she was angry.
"YOU DIDN'T CALL," Raven said flatly.
The words themselves weren't loud. They weren't screamed. They didn't need to be.
They were followed immediately by a blast of dark energy that slammed Damian through three reinforced training pillars and embedded him halfway into a steel wall.
The impact rattled Titans Tower.
Damian groaned, peeling himself free with a wince. His new Robin armor absorbed most of it, but the message was clear.
"I was occupied," he said calmly, rolling his shoulders and stepping back onto the mat.
Raven's eyes glowed violet.
"Occupied," she repeated.
Behind a transparent blast shield overlooking the training arena, the rest of the Teen Titans sat comfortably.
Beast Boy had a bucket of popcorn.
"So," he said between bites, "what do you think he did?"
Blue Beetle leaned forward. "Forgot her birthday?"
Beast Boy shook his head. "Nah. That's like… one-energy-blast offense. This is at least three."
Cyborg's eye glowed as scanners tracked the fight. "Emotional intensity spike: ninety-three percent. Probability of Damian surviving without permanent injury: sixty-eight percent."
Blue Beetle blinked. "Why does that feel low?"
Cyborg didn't answer.
Down below, Damian dodged as Raven's shadow constructs lashed out like spears. He moved fast—inhumanly fast—his Devil Fruit–enhanced reflexes letting him slip between attacks that would have crushed most metahumans.
But he wasn't attacking back.
That was the problem.
Raven noticed.
"You're holding back," she said, her voice edged with something dangerous. "Do you think that makes this better?"
"It makes it survivable," Damian replied.
Another blast caught him mid-sentence and sent him skidding across the floor.
From the observation deck, Nightwing winced.
"Yeah," he muttered. "He's in the doghouse."
Starfire tilted her head, watching with genuine curiosity rather than alarm.
"In Tamaran," she said thoughtfully, "when people fight like this, it usually means they are very happy together. They are releasing their feelings so they may grow closer."
Beast Boy stared at her.
"…Your planet is terrifying."
Nightwing folded his arms. "This is… different."
Below, Raven hovered now, dark energy swirling around her like a storm. Her voice cracked—not with anger alone, but something deeper.
"You disappeared," she said. "No message. No warning. Just—gone."
Damian stood still.
That made everyone watching tense up.
Raven's power spiked again, reacting instinctively to the sudden stillness.
"I had reasons," Damian said quietly.
"Everyone does," Raven snapped. "That doesn't mean you get to decide I don't matter."
That landed harder than any punch.
For a moment, Damian said nothing.
His fists clenched.
Inside his head, everything screamed to respond with logic—threat assessments, mission priorities, consequences. That was how he'd been trained. That was how he survived.
But this wasn't a battlefield.
Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his guard completely.
"I was wrong," Damian said.
The arena went silent.
Even Raven froze.
"I thought I could handle everything alone," he continued. "That involving you would only place you in danger. I believed distance was… protection."
He looked up at her then, really looked at her.
"It was arrogance."
Raven's expression flickered—anger, hurt, surprise—all colliding at once.
"You don't get to decide that for me," she said, softer now.
"I know," Damian replied. "I'm learning."
That honesty—raw and unarmored—hit harder than any technique.
The shadows around Raven wavered.
Beast Boy leaned forward. "Whoa. He's apologizing. Is that allowed?"
Cyborg nodded slowly. "Emotional growth detected."
Raven descended back to the ground, landing a few feet from Damian. Her eyes were still glowing, but the energy around her was receding.
"You scared me," she admitted.
Damian swallowed. "I regret that more than any injury."
Silence stretched.
Then—without warning—Raven punched him.
Not with magic.
With her fist.
Damian staggered back, surprised, then straightened.
"…I deserved that," he said.
She crossed her arms, cheeks faintly flushed. "You did."
Nightwing exhaled. "Okay. That went better than expected."
Starfire smiled brightly. "See? Happiness!"
Blue Beetle shook his head. "I'm never dating."
Raven turned away, hovering toward the exit of the arena. "We're not finished," she said over her shoulder. "But we're… paused."
Damian nodded. "Understood."
As she left, Beast Boy whistled. "Man. Welcome to the Titans, Robin."
Damian allowed himself a small, tired breath.
Teamwork, he realized, wasn't just fighting together.
It was surviving conversations like that.
And for the first time since becoming Robin, Damian Wayne wondered if this—this messy, emotional chaos—might be harder than any war he'd trained for.
And maybe… exactly what he needed.