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Title: First Sighting
Author: Tyrror
Pairing: Damian Wayne/Colin Wilkes
Rating: PG
Universe: First!Verse
Next: First Friend
Summary: There's a first time for everything, and this is a  chronicle  of many of them through the eyes of two of Gotham city's youngest vigilantes.

 Note: This series of short stories was written per request on my Tumblr asking for a continuation of another story of mine, "Following Orders", in which they were hoping I might expand it to include their "First time or first kiss"...this is the result. A universe filled with firsts. I hope to take requests for this universe whenever I have time. Feel free to make said requests (I prefer asks on my tumblr) but keep in mind that only 'firsts' will be written in this verse.

Under normal circumstances a ten year old wandering the streets in one of the worlds most dangerous cities would be frowned upon at the very least. Under normal circumstances a ten year old would be kept as far from such locations as humanly possible or very close to a guardian of some sort should it be the case that they absolutely must be there.

Under normal circumstances.

Damian Wayne was, by very definition, not a normal circumstance.

As it stood, he had been within the boundaries of Gotham city for less than one day. Equal parts furious and devastated, as he frequently was, he wandered in the vain hope that distance could solve problems which logic could not. Logic could not curb emotion, could not heal wounds which could not be seen. Logic could not soothe the ego or mend a broken mind.

Distance could not either, but that did not stop him from trying.

He had made his way to a part of the city even he did not recognize, and he had studied most of its intricacies long before ever setting foot here. The alleyway he stood in was dark enough to make him all but unseen and the slowly setting sun was only aiding that effort. Across the street from where he stood was a simple chain-link fence, a tattered building with dirty siding, and a yard full of children with little to do that didn’t involve a single basket ball or a worn jump rope.

One of them looked at him, or at least at where he stood. The boys eyes were a little too wide to be neutral, but the rest of him was still. A small, thin, solid form staring into the dark with lost eyes and shallow breaths. His hand held a stuffed bear, in better shape than anything else in visual range, and Damian watched as the other boy brought it up and hugged it to his chest. The redhead tilted his chin forward, whispering something to unhearing felt ears, and then he turned and jogged his way slowly across the blacktop yard.

Damian was moving too. His instincts told him it was time to move, and he trusted them with his life, they had saved him more times than he could count. More times than any training could have given him. More times than he liked to think about. So he didn’t.

He just kept walking.


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December 2012

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