Damian was not scared. He was never scared. He was a vigilante, just like the rest of his family -- he was strong, and he was brave, and there was no way he would be scared of something as stupid and simple as fireworks.

He wasn’t scared. He was just... cold, that’s all. That was why he was hidden away beneath the blanket, blinds drawn tight over his windows. He was shivering, not flinching, even though it only happened each time the boom and crack of fireworks going off echoed through the night.

“I’m not scared,” he said quietly, voice hoarse and a bit shaky despite himself. He wasn’t scared. Why would he be scared? It was just fireworks. That was all it was. No reason to be scared.