The Normal Life Of The Other Demon

Stay Out of Trouble

Demetria's P.O.V.:

"Are you two fucking crazy?" Tim scolds us, as he begins to tend to Damian and I's hand.

"Hey, why isn't Jon in trouble?" I complain. "He was there during the incident, I don't understand why it's only me and Damian getting yelled at—Ow!" A hard, large hand smacks me in the back of the head.

"It's because he wasn't as stupid enough to do something like this," Dick scolds.

"Tch. Solving one's curiosity doesn't make the person of low intelligence, Grayson," Damian retorts.

"Well," Dick says, helping Tim tend to our hands. "Curiosity killed the cat." He grabs disinfectant wipes and begins to dab my wounds as Tim does the same with Damian.

"What cat?" Damian asks him.

"Do we have a cat that I don't know about?" I ask curiously.

Damian and Tim stop dabbing our hands and look at us with baffled expressions. They look at each other as if they had just discovered something unimaginable. Looking back to us, Dick shakes his head in disbelief. "Nothing. Just sit there and be quiet while we fix your hands."

Dick and Tim quickly move from the disinfectant process of the wound to the stitching. We sit on the counter in the kitchen, our feet dangling off of the island, impatiently waiting for the two idiots to finish. Jon sits on the family table, his feet swinging off of the furniture as he stares intently at our hands. He continues to kick his feet, now and then, accidentally hitting the chairs that his feet come into contact with.

"Will you sit still," Damian scowls at Jon.

"You should take your own advice," Tim retorts. He grips Damian's hand, trying to keep it still.

"Tch." Damian attempts to pull his hand away from his grasp, only for it to be taken back and pinned to his leg. "I don't need help."

"Why the hell am I working with the pessimistic brat?" Tim complains. "Why couldn't you take him instead?"

"Because when I came in, you already decided to work on Damian first," Dick says as he calmly continues to stitch my hand. "Besides, it looks like you two are getting along quite well."

I look over Tim and Damian, totally caught off guard by the scene before me. "What about this is us getting along?!" Tim exclaims. As Tim trying to pin Damian's wounded hand down for him to stitch, Damian attempts to rip Tim's hair, practically pulling Tim up with the force that he's using.

"Dami," I say once Dick finishes stitching me. "Let Tim stitch you up."

"I don't need this peasant to help me," he complains, releasing Tim's hair. He scowls to himself as he allows Tim to work on his hand.

Stitching and finally wrapping the younger boy's hand, Tim looks to me with curiosity written on his face. "How do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?" I ask, jumping off of the counter, opening and closing my hand to check the tension of the stitches and wrap.

"Make him do whatever you want."

"I don't know," I answer truthfully, shrugging my shoulder. "I just do."

"Did the bleeding stop?" Jon asks, jumping off of the table and over to me and Damian.

"What bleeding?" Alfred asks as he walks into the kitchen.

As quick as Alfred had appeared, Damian and I hid our wrapped hands behind our back. Out postures straightened to the max as we place both of our hands behind our back to make the impression that everything is fine. "Bleeding?" I ask, acting oblivious.