For Amanda, who was not here for the beginning, but will be the best thing I've gained from its end. Any remaining readers can thank her for this.

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Its not what it was meant to be, not what any of you may have wanted or expected, not truly edited, and far from where I though this story would go, but here it is.

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When they figure out how to break the spell, it's almost too late. Too many of their team has fallen, and Damian is edging on a rage that is slightly below murderous. It's not necessarily that he has a taste for blood, but he has no other way of reacting to the helplessness he feels.

He also has no way to properly thank a woman he's spent the majority of his youth fighting for returning his love from the grasp of his mother. Nor does he have a way to properly show said love just how sorry he is for even putting her in such a situation.

He doesn't have a way to fix a lot of things, and that's why when Raven pulls Tim out of whatever horrors his own mind had conjured, Damian simply says thank you, even though it is because of her that his world is finally starting to seem right again.

When Rowan starts to slip, however, simply because between the three of them she has the next most exhausted mind, and because of the fact that she has the misfortune of owning a piece of his soul, Damian can only hope Raven can perform the same miracle as his world once again tips axis.

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There are pieces of their story missing, she knows. Pieces that leave large gaping wounds in her very being that she would seek to fill except-

She doesn't want to. Rowan Chase, for all that she has seen and learned in the past years she has spent with her boys, knows that she has only seen a taste of the chaos they live in. Damian and Tim have fought in battles historians would salivate to know the details of, and they have experienced tragedies that Shakespear would have balked at. They are all at once both larger than life and oh so real to her because, to put it simply, they are hers.

These people who have done the impossible and become legends in their own right, at the end of the day, are simply human too. And so as she sits in a room, the world continuing on around her as her heart struggles to beat on rhythm after a day she shouldn't have had to handle, and she thinks of the her past and her future. She thinks of the first time she met Damian Wayne, of knots tied and bonds formed. She thinks of the first time she met Timothy Drake; of wet paint and laughter.

She thinks, and think, and thinks, and thinks- and realizes that for every memory she can pull forth of the people who have shaped her life, there is a crucial element she failed to grasp. It is with sort of cool, outside of body realization that Rowan finally sees every single one of those memories, every single one of those 'firsts'… could have been a 'last' as well.

She sits in a room, deep within the confines of the Justice Hall, protected but not quite trusted, loved but not quite understood… And she realizes that this is the moment where everything intersects. Because Damian Wayne is Robin, Tim Drake is Red Robin, and she? She is Rowan Chase, and that's all she'll ever be, that's all she can be.

After the wild ride Harley had given her, the mess she'd been thrown in, and the cloud of uncertainty that now followed her… Rowan Chase was all she wanted to be. But then again, that was the catch. In that moment, Rowan wanted a lot of things.

She wanted Damian not to have to argue to his team and so many others that she was exactly who she said she was, and not some joker reject pet projected that Harley Quinn had blasted through their walls. She wanted the certainty that her Mama and Gran knew she was okay, instead of probably going crazy out of their minds wondering where she was and if she was okay. She wanted to know her boys where okay. She wanted to know that everything would be okay.

She wanted to be back in her room, with her walls stained by their touch and her heart full of their comfort blanketed in the certainty that nothing could touch them, so long as they were together.

She wanted a lot of things that she was not going to have, because the truth of the matter was that in real life, stories don't really get happy, perfect endings. Most importantly, she knew that hers especially wouldn't. Because as long as her boys fought, there would always be pieces of her and of them that wouldn't quite meet, information missing, and things not quite understood. She was no hero, nor was she perfect, and she would never understand how they could do this. As she thought of all she'd learned, of magic and mayhem and the dreams that people she cared about and people they cared about trapping them, she realized that she couldn't hope to understand any of it. She didn't know if she wanted to.

But she knew she'd support her boys as they fought against it, and as the world blurred around her and her thoughts continued to turn, confusing itself on the thoughts that scattered, she contemplated these things… But all the while one thing remained firm in her tired mind.

She loved her boys, no matter what, and even if took everything she had, she'd support them, even if it terrified her.

It was just a part, just one of the many bits and pieces that made up her, and even her boys. She knew fear lived in their relationship, and with good reason, but it was not the deciding factor. Because in the multifarious pieces between them, there was love inked on their skin and nothing and no one could take that from them.

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Their beginning, ironically enough, ended as it started.

She was scared, and nervous, and subconsciously, she reached out for anyone, and anything to keep her from her own darkness. The only difference was that this time, she was surrounded by outstretched hands. And so, exhausted both body and soul, she let herself drift down into that beckoning embrace of her own cursed nightmare.

.

.

.

She'd been thinking, mostly. Thinking, snacking, and waiting for her boys to finish their mission. Now this wasn't unusual because that's what she normally did, and it was routine. It was normal, and familiar, and even if it was a little nerve wracking, and even if what was shifting through her mind wasn't exactly idle thoughts, it was comfortable.

And so it was with this comfort that in the middle of the night, she found herself drifting off to sleep. She didn't fight it, because any sleep was needed sleep as far as she was concerned, but like most nights, her drifting was not so thorough as to pull her under immediately. Rather, she stayed in that between state for a quite a while, and it was there that she found her mind's eye shifting into foreign territory.

It was there, on the very edge of her own psyche, she found herself trapped.

She didn't realize what was going on, at first, because she knew that this wasn't real life, it couldn't be. Not with mist suddenly swirling around her ankles, when just moments before she was in her bed. Not with Gotham's ever imposing structures towering silently, too silently, around her.

Not with the unease twisting deep in her gut, so vivid she knew something could only be deeply wrong.

"Rowan," a voice called.

Immediately, she found something in her loosening because she knew that voice, and of course to trust it was the only way she knew how to respond. Teeth sinking into her lip as she fought back the ill feelings threatening to overtake her, she moved in the direction she'd her Tim speak from.

She moved, and yet she saw nothing but dark open space. Still, it was something and step by step she fought for any grasp of sanity amidst a world that suddenly made no sense to her at all.

One foot after the other, and the steady rhythm of her own steps was the only sound to break the silence. Somehow, the light tap of rubber against pavement only served to make her feel lonlier. Somehow, the tap tap tap only seemed to-

"Rowan."

Large hand hot against her skin and she can feel calluses rough, but welcome.

Rowan whipped around, and the bit of skin that had felt so warm was chilled when she caught sight of no one, Damian's voice still ringing in her ears.

Her teeth sunk deeper, and she found herself moving once again.

Second by second, minute by minute… Time seemed to go by as she walked and to anyone else, it would have seemed maddening, but Rowan knew something others would not have. Rowan knew her own mind, she knew her own demons.

So she walked, because she was in a bad dream and every dream had its end. And then, when red, yellow, green, and black flashed in her peripheral vision, she ran. She wasn't quite sure where she was running to she tore down street after street, but she didn't tire and she could feel that she was close.

She wasn't sure what to, or what for, but she knew she was close.

She ran harder than she ever have in her life, and harder than she ever would, and then before she could realize what was happening, every step was taking her farther from her answers and closer to a slip of sanity.

She knew she'd made a mistake when her vision, forever seeking the color only her boys could bring and only finding Gotham's enveloping darkness, blurred and she stumbled.

She hit the ground knees first, and by the time her hands had clutched gravel, her mind was torn within itself, a hidden image brought up within a dream.

She is nine years old and it's a little cold outside, but that's okay because she has got on her favorite jacket, and she is at the park with her friends.

Damian and Tim are, as always, arguing. She doesn't mind though, because technically Tim has a right to be mad since Damian popped the bouncy red ball they'd been playing four square with. Rowan had just laughed because she knew Damian was just a sore loser, but she wasn't really upset over the loss of her ball.

After finding out Damian had never played four square, her only goal had been to introduce him to the schoolyard game. Though it had been a short game in which she'd gotten her glasses knocked off and a new bruise on her stomach, it had been worth it simply because she knew that no matter what Damian said, he'd had fun.

Tim had too, and Rowan loved when she could have fun with her friends. Even if they did argue.

That was why when Damian sneered, pushed Tim face first into the table they'd been at, and ran, Rowan took off with Tim after him.

Damian hopped over a nearby picnic table, and made it into the sandbox and was heading across the open field when her foot caught, and in a split second she braced herself for the fall. Rowan fell a lot, and she was used to it. Her Mama had special Finding Nemo band aids at home for her and everything.

Eyes squeezed tight, hands out in front of her, and body tense Rowan was prepared to meet the ground's unyielding surface. She was so prepared that it took her a few moments before she realized that she was not, in fact, on the ground, nor was she falling.

Her eyes popped open and all at once she felt four hands holding her up. Damian's disapproving glare and Tim's worried gaze surprised her, and she found herself tentatively smiling at them both.

No one had ever bothered to catch her before.

Palms stinging, she felt those same hands on her again, pulling her up and setting her on her feet and her eyes opened. Memories blurring as her vision cleared, she found the emotions of a day long passed filling her.

She'd been so happy with her friends, so proud to have them. Proud that they'd cared enough to play with her day after day, to catch her when she fell. As she got older, she grown to love them for doing the same in very different ways.

"Damian… Tim…" she called, their forms mere shadows in front of her. She knew it was them, though.

Still trying to carefully balance her own reality with the faux one around her, she found herself teetering dangerously on edge when both boys stepped from the shadows.

Unmasked, and both in suits she knew they'd only ever wear for their father's events, they were beautiful, though they seemed confused. Regal even, with their meticulous appearances where she felt scattered.

Tim looked mildly apologetic in his confusion, and when he spoke, she knew why…

"I'm sorry, but do we know you?"

She thought it funny how all it took was a few words to tear a hole right there her.

"Don't be stupid, Drake. Why would we know someone like her?"

It was funnier how just a few more could rip her apart.

'This isn't real this isn't real this isn't real this isn't real-'

Over and over she told herself what she knew she should have, and yet she still couldn't breathe.

And just like that, they were gone. She stood frozen, body still tingling from where they'd touched her and fought down the desperate cry that clawed at the back of her throat. She knew it was illogical, but in this empty city she simply couldn't stand the idea of being… Left there. She knew that in this dream, in this nightmare, she was only ever meant to get hurt and so their prescience could only bring her ill will, yet she still sought them out. Regaining her movement, Rowan twisted and searched the dark corners and sharp reflections all around her.

She found nothing, of course, and her gut clenched. She knew that she had to be calm, and think rationally, but as the seconds ticked by that became harder and harder. In an attempt to quell her quickly rising mix of emotions, Rowan started a quick walk, refusing to remain sedentary.

She thought that perhaps if she moved, she could force whatever was going to happen to happen faster instead of simply leaving her with that ungodly anticipation.

Hyper aware as she was, she began to realize that good or bad, she'd been right, because out of the corner of her eye she caught the flash of the city's endless black light green… And her heart jumped.

Immediately she stopped, perhaps foolishly hoping that Damian would fall out of the shadows to push this pace of her ordeal, but when she focused on that flash of color in a shops darkened window…. She did not see the hues of Robin.

Rather, that brilliant green had been the twist of fabric. It had been the color of a girl's tanktop.

"What..?" Rowan found herself voicing to the open air.

She didn't dare go closer, but from where she was she could see the reflection of a girl staring back at her. Her internal alarms went off, of course, but she did not move. Mind bending reality reflected a young girl back at her, for Rowan's own reflection was nowhere to be seen and she knew instinctually that despite this, she was still very much alone.

Still, she studied this small, sickly looking girl. Her features seemed to be as confused as Rowan felt, with her fluff of short cropped her falling haphazardly around her face. Her arms, thin and striped red so vividly that Rowan could see even from her distance, where wrapped around a small waist. To her horror, Rowan could see the color transferring from the girl's arms to her tank top, tainting the green. The girl, however, did not seem to notice. Instead she stood, shivering slightly and staring with dark ringed eyes, always staring. Rowan could tell the girl wanted to look away, however, and she watched how short chewed nails dug deeper and deeper into the skin they clutched with every second.

She was nervous, and Rowan sought to understand why she was being shown this. This girl, so frail, seemed to be scared. Without conscious thought, Rowan found herself drawing closer, and every stop brought the truth farther towards her. And then, when Rowan was close enough to see the bracelet, worn ragged with age, she stopped.

Rowan was frozen, watching as this girl who was so much like her yet not stared back. Instead of the full, round cheeks she was used to, Rowan saw off toned divots of flesh stretched around cheekbones that she'd never before seen, and lips chapped and bleeding. This girl wore no glasses, and instead chose to view the world uncorrected from hallow eyes that while different, where not unfamiliar. Because truth be told, even if Rowan didn't fully recognize what her reflection was showing her, she knew those eyes. She would always know those eyes; so full of fear and caution and loneliness. She'd never be able to forget, not after having to see them in the mirror every day as a child.

It was then that she realized that the only difference between her and this sad, worn down girl before her was that ten or so years ago, she'd learned how to live.

Because ten or so years ago, Rowan had been a little girl who couldn't sleep, and on most days, couldn't breathe from the anxieties and fear that had consumed her. She had been lost, and alone, because for all of the love that her Gran and Mama held, that also kept their own reservations close to heart, and could never teach her how to let loose the ones that kept her trapped. Ten or so years ago, Rowan had met Damian Wayne, and Tim Drake, and they had shown her that she could be more, and that they'd be there despite and even for whoever she wanted to be.

They taught her that even if she was scared, she could always be without fear of the world coming down on her. Without fear of being left alone, and bitter, and so, so sad.

They taught her how to live, and without them, she knew that this person she saw looking back at her was all she had left.

She saw that fear, that loneliness, and she also saw the insomnia, the anxiety, and the pain with no outlet but the ones dug deep in her arms. She saw it in the way those things still echoed back at her now, even if they were so much less severe.

She saw, and she was afraid, because without her boys she was nothing, wasn't she?

In the end, nothing could only ever be nothing.

And, just like that, Rowan was sinking.

The really scary thing, however, was that she knew that this was just the beginning.

In a split second, her entire world seemed to warp, stealing the breath from her lungs and leaving her even more disoriented than she already was. Before, it seemed as if the world around her had been trying to consumer her, now it seemed to fade, stretching out impossibly far even as a strangely familiar figure drew near in the distance.

"Tim?" she questioned, her voice echoing in the eerie emptiness. Gotham was never meant to be so lifeless, even if said life was cruel.

Still, as the figure drew nearer she began to wish that she was truly alone, because even as Tim's features became more and more clear, she felt no comfort. That was her first warning.

Her second came when he finally drew close enough for her to see his lack of costume, and the silky shift of his unbound hair. It came when she registered the look on his face, or rather, the lack of it. Tim, even in his worst moments, always had that comforting smile to great her with. Maybe that smile had its edge, sure; a secret he wouldn't tell, or a plan she was to be part of. There was nothing here, though, and maybe she should have been scared.

Maybe, if she where the Rowan she'd been a few years ago, she would've been. Maybe if she loved him less, trusted him less, and knew herself and what she was capable of less, she would've been scared.

Maybe she should've willed herself to be scared, because when he stopped in front of her, face devoid of emotion, and reached out, she did not have the sagacity to move.

"Tim?" she inquired once again, loud even in her own softness.

She got no answer but the fingers that landed no her collarbone, burning ice through her shirt, and sending warning into her soul. It was wrong, so very wrong because when had Tim ever made her feel that way? When had he ever made her feel threatened?

'When did I forget what he was capable of?'

She thought that maybe she forgot when she fell in love with him. Maybe.

Maybe, but…

Had she really?

It was getting hard to think, hard to focus on anything but his fingertips moving up to rest against the hollow of her throat and she was frozen at his touch, frozen by his countenance.

She was frozen and confused, but when he leaned down and his hand spread and his lips brushed her cheek, something in her seemed to snap, and scream with all of it's might.

Even though this spectre looked like her Tim, like her Soul Mate… her soul still knew better. It knew, and so when it screamed wrong, she listened, and she jerked away and ran.

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Jason had been hesitant when the idea was brought up.

It was simple really: link their minds and hope that the mentality of the others could override the focus of the spell on personal demons… After all, it was only designed to draw out the issues of one person at a time, right? Sure, it was connecting soul mates but that was more because it was kind of hard to drown a soul in darkness without dragging down its other pieces.

It had worked well enough with Tim, but it had also exposed some things that Jason wasn't quite sure he understood… Or even wanted to.

With the girl though… With Rowan? Jason wasn't quite sure it would work as well as it had worked with Tim. The main issue there being that Jason hardly even knew Rowan. How was he supposed to break through the fog surrounding a dormant mind when he couldn't even say he was familiar with the person who owned said mind?

According to the way Raven was currently yelling at him, you couldn't

"Red Hood! Your negativity isn't helping us!" Raven butt in, for what seemed like the hundredth time. Honestly, it might have only been the third time she'd said it, but when it was reverberating in your head… It kind of sounded way worse than it actually was.

Because of that, Jason's already easily riled frustrations were now building double time. Evidently he was supposed to open his mind, but a piece of him rebelled against seeing something that was surely meant to be extremely private. The bit of honor he still held had him grinding his teeth as Raven pushed him, and he almost tapped out. He really did.

But then, just as he was about to give up, he opened his eyes just for a moment. What broke his reservation was in the end, pretty simple. The absolute pain and helplessness on his youngest brothers' faces as their Soul Mate remained unresponsive and they were dragged down with her was what tipped him.

His frustration was reaching higher and higher, he finally opened his mind.

In hindsight, it was a damn good thing he did because it was that moment that really cemented his respect for the 5'2 piece of fluff his brothers had dragged home.

It was in that moment that he watched, thanks to Miss Martian, as she outran two guys at the peak of their physical prowess and in the prime of life like she could do it for years, he realized she just be able to keep them from doing something too disastrous.

Then Damian pulled a move that had him swinging out in front of her, and she managed to do a quick slide that spun her around a corner and she jumped back on her feet with a face full of nothing but concentration and he knew that this girl had more mettle then she knew what to do with.

He knew she was going to be just fine when she barreled into a building, watched Damian slam through a wall, jumped out the nearest window in response, and used Tim's head as a foothold when he swung down from the opposite building and pushed herself into the window below.

Tim was thrown off course from a foot to the face and the force Rowan had used to propel herself, and Damian was left to regroup on the floor above.

Rowan just kept moving.

"Well I'll be damned…" he muttered, grinning beneath his helmet.

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Her lungs felt like they were going to seize but god she couldn't stop now.

Not after Damian had just… Broken through the fucking wall like that. She sometimes forgot how strong he was, especially since these days he tended to be more careful with her. Drywall crumbling and hitting her in the face, though? That was a very nice reminder.

As such, she decided to pick up the pace a little because while what they were doing was pretty similar to tag, in a way (which was what she was telling herself to get through it all), there would be no ending if she got tired.

She just needed a way to knock them on their asses before they knocked her on hers?

Simple right?

The scratches on her palms from going down too hard after diving out of the way of a smoke bomb said otherwise.

It was taking everything she had to do it, but she needed to time her movements just so or else she was going to end up seriously hurt. Logically she knew inserting herself into Damian's space so close was a really bad idea… But it was also her only chance.

So, when they neared a dead end, and she knew Tim was far enough away, she took a turn and ran towards the wall at the end of the alley… And swallowed every bit of apprehension and fear and mind with the very person she was trying to face.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, but she knew it was but a few seconds.

Her palms hit the wall flat, and she let out a gasping breath, but before she could pull back in large hands where tight around her ribs and she was being spun around. Panic tried to flair up because this wasn't the grip she was used to; this wasn't even the new hardly leashed show of passion she was coming to be more comfortable with.

This was over a decade of training squeezing the life out of her.

But she wouldn't let him.

As he turned her, she forced her body up and he more than supported her weight. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and it forced him to resettle but his grip didn't loosen. Rather, his hands came up around her neck and for one second, she thought she was going to die right then and there.

Then she bit the bullet and craned her neck, thankful that Damian was so up and personal with his kills (Which was something that was slightly disconcerting). Hoping to god her plan worked, she slammed her lips against his and shoved her tongue between his lips, kissing him for all she was worth. For one dread filled second, she thought it wasn't going to work.

Soon, however, the quick shift in his tensed muscles and the tongue working against her own told her otherwise. She had no time to even truly feel the usual intoxication she felt when they kissed though, as her hands reached around his shoulders to grip his sword.

It was one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do, but she managed to yank up the sword, sheath and all, and in one smooth movement she jerked her head to the side and brought the casing forward hard against the back of his head, slamming his face into the wall behind her.

It was a long shot, but she wasn't going to complain about the fact that something as small as a kiss could distract him enough to allow him to be knocked out from a simple blow from her.

Instead, she scrambled from beneath him with her adrenaline pumping and was off.

In the end, her biggest fear was herself. Maybe she wasn't good enough, strong enough, brave enough for her boys. But she also knew, deep down, that maybe she was wrong.

Because while she was afraid of herself, Tim and Damian where in the same boat. They would always be their own greatest enemy, and in the end she was no different. In the end, they where no different. They were human, they were young, and they were all just trying their best. 'Maybes' aside, Rowan knew that was enough.

So she ran, they chased, and despite the fear and confusion and whatever else was going on, they played their own maddening game of cat and mouse.

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When they woke, Damian's head was pounding, and his conscious was heavy, but… He wasn't alone, and that was enough.

Silence stretched around him, but he knew he his Beloveds where awake.

"We're a mess," Tim said, his pitch low.

When Damian looked over, he felt a wave of calm rush through him simply at knowing Tim was there, and he was alive.

And then there was Rowan's soft voice, which was as tired as his own, but it was a balm to any of the wounds left open by their ordeal.

"And you're point is?"

Tim laughed, and Damian felt like a fool at the joy it brought him. He was a damned fool, but he knew in the heart most saw as black that he would never have it any other way.

"Nothing, I just wanted to make sure we were all clear on that."

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Later, when she was alone, Rowan felt none of the panic she thought she'd feel. Some fear, sure, but she was not so lost as she thought she could have been.

The world could throw all it wanted at her, it could try and end for all she cared.

In that moment, Rowan was calm because her heroes where out fighting the good fight, and as long as they and those like them would stand, they would be fine, and they would come home to people like her.

The people who loved them for their actions, good or bad, and their souls.

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In these two years I have had late nights and early mornings, idea fragments and half writings, and everything in between. There are ideas that none of you will ever see, and half baked half typed scenes that may remain forever unfinished. Hell, this isn't even the second or third version of how this chapter was supposed to be. But I still think this story is what it was meant to be. With that said, it was hard to even comprehend the end of this story, and should I ever feel the overwhelming need to, I may one day edit or add in scenes or epilogues, but please don't wait for them. This story has reached its end.

It's been a wild ride everyone. There was laughter, there were tears, there was anger, and there was happiness. This story has been a rollercoaster for me, and has served as an expansion of my abilities as a write and a person. With that said, I sincerely thank all of you for sticking along. I have more gratitude towards my readers then anyone will ever know, but the only payment I can offer is this story, so thank you. I hope you've enjoyed it, and I hope all who read continue to find happiness in this little piece of my heart.

So, without further ado, here's to my first finished work, and the most effort I've ever put into anything.

The End.