Chapter Text
“Again.”
A monotone voice droned from its position on the platform above the training grounds. White permeated every pore of the space, save for the dark coloured robes of the figure lording over the entire scene, seemingly displeased with the procession below him.
Talon shook from his stance, body aching in pangs that made no sense to him. Physically, he was fine—any wounds he acquired would heal before they could truly cause it pain. Instead, it was a phantom pain in his chest, as if he was missing something. There was a hole in his chest he couldn’t remember emptying before, but the very absence of its presence tightened its grip on him, like bands pressing into his body.
The drills were easy, mindless tasks. Kick here, punch there. Sever their head, stab their heart. Simple obedience that was expected, yet Talon had always felt different from the other talons. The Grandmaster tells him it’s because he’s their Gray Son, but he thinks it’s more than that.
It’s his ability to formulate those very thoughts to begin with, to disobey their wishes even under duress.
“End him,” the voice pressed, irritated.
Even now, deprived of any kind of respite, mind pushed to his limits, Talon refuses to follow the voice commanding him, ordering him to end the life before him. Looking into the teary and terrified eyes of the bound man in front of him, it was that emptiness in his chest that was screaming at him, begging him to disobey.
The clatter of his knives on the pristine white floor sounded like gongs in the silent room, rattling deeply in the recesses of his mind. Like a church bell ringing its last in resignment.
Talon folded his arms behind his back, head tilted down in deference. He couldn’t do it.
Three other talons jumped down from the balcony, summoned by the Grandmaster’s displeased gesture, two of them seizing Talon and forcing him onto his knees. Wordlessly, the third moved forwards deftly, swiftly slashing a blade across the victim’s neck. His eyes stayed open, glassy as they turned lifeless.
“Drag him to the freezer. Maybe some reflection can teach our Gray Son what it means to obey.”
With a toss of his cloak, Cobb turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
“A few ground rules. One: You obey my commands in and out of the field. That means fighting on my terms. Understood?”
A wordless silence met his words, Talon standing at perfect rest, head tilted down. At the prolonged silence, Talon grew more and more wary. Did his new Master want him to… respond? Would it be seen as disrespectful if he didn’t?
Slowly, Talon nodded, eyes never leaving the floor.
His new Master sighed. Talon’s breath quickened, body tensing in fear. He knew what ensued of disobedient talons, and he’d somehow already managed to displease his Master.
His Master took a step closer. Talon forced his shoulders to relax. He would accept whatever punishment was deemed appropriate.
Thumb and index finger gently digging into his chin, his Master tilted Talon’s head up. “Second: You look at me when I’m speaking. I’m not your master, much less your “Grandmaster”.”
With his face tilted up, Talon couldn’t fully hide his confusion; a rookie mistake. Talons weren’t meant to feel anything, much less show emotions. Yet, he didn’t understand his orders. What did he mean by—
“Third: Hold still.”
Talon immediately locked his limbs at the order, mind eased at the simple command. Staring at the corner of the ceiling, Talon only saw a flash of movement in his peripheral vision before he felt a sharp jab in the side of his neck.
Syringe fully depressed, Talon felt nothing at first, until pain was all he could feel. Like molten fire running through his body, spreading from his neck to every crevice and pore. He was suffocating, liquid pouring into his chest and out of his eyes. Feeling wetness running down his face, Talon almost believed he was crying—a physical mechanic he’d long thought impossible—until he touched his face and saw the dark sludge covering his claws, dripping down onto the once pristine floor.
The electrum running through his body was at war with whatever he was injected with, slowly expelling itself in the purge. Something was wrong with him, and it stopped at nothing to fix it, in any way possible.
It felt like the agony would never end, building up across his chest into his appendages. Distantly, Talon recalled his third order, yet he couldn’t bring himself to obey, not when the very pain brought him to his knees. Eyes slowly closing, Talon could feel himself fading in consciousness, welcoming the darkness that filled his vision like the warm embrace of someone he long forgot.
Dick woke to a raging headache. It felt like someone dug into his brain, scooped it out, and curb stomped it before throwing it back into his body.
He tried to gather himself, taking stock of his body and its status. All he got back was: Ouch. Every part of his body felt raw, like he’d been stripped down, with his soul shoved into a reanimated corpse. What was he even doing to get here? All he could remember was….
Nothing.
At this, Dick started, lifting his body up from the cot, pain temporarily forgotten in his panic. Where was he? What happened? All he could remember was… a white room and—
“Finally awake?” A familiar voice approached Dick, entering his line of sight.
“…Slade? What the hell? What—”
Slade held out a hand to cut him off, which, rude.
“You’re welcome.”
“What?” It felt like Dick had taken a sledgehammer to his memories. “What are you talking about? What am I doing here?”
The heart monitor by his bedside started frantically making its presence known, as Dick’s chest heaved, heart beating faster in his agitation. Wait. Heart? Talon didn’t have a….
A searing pain scorched through his head, clawing through his temples to his nape. Dick couldn’t help the shout of pain from the unexpected pounding in his mind, hands flying up to cradle his head.
In his desperation, he grabbed onto the IV pole, hands tightening in an attempt to steady himself. At least he was, until the metal crumbled under his grip like a sheet of paper.
“You asshole! What did you do to me?”
“Kid, calm down,” Slade demanded, sounding uncharacteristically concerned. Through eyes squinted from pain, Dick could see him slowly approaching, hands out like he was taming a wild creature. “The rage you’re feeling is amplified artificially, enhanced with the serum running through your body.”
“You—”
“Yes. It was that or the Lazurus Pit, and we both know how that would go,” Slade intoned, though the slight upwards tick of his lips betrayed his amusement.
“You’re crazy,” Dick breathed out. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You died little bird. Died in the very costume that you fought in. At least, you were dead, until the Court got their claws in you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dick said, speaking through clenched teeth. But even he couldn’t believe his own words. Because Slade has never given him less than the truth, in all the years they’ve fought.
Because deep down, he knew that the unease within him, the source of his pain, wasn’t baseless.
“Believe me or not, it doesn’t matter.” Slade started turning away, waving at the long abandoned cot. “Get some rest first. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Dick couldn’t help but flinch at the clear dismissal.
“Wait,” Dick reached out, his arm jerking forwards to grab Slade’s shoulder before he walked away. “At least tell me this: Who did this to me?”
Slade turned back towards him, eye glinting with interest.
Their deaths were almost too easy. Laughably quick. A sniped shot through the clown’s head. A freeze pellet to the chest. Sword suspended over the prone figure of his great-great-grandfather, all Dick could think was one thing: Cobb would be proud. As if was possessed, a sense of calm washed over him as he swung his sword down.
Dick gingerly walked over the corpses, dousing them with gasoline.
As the match fell towards the floor of the warehouse, he left something else behind. A playing card and a mask; a calling card. A taunt.
Or what it really was.
An apology.
Suffice to say, pain was a long companion of his. Perhaps even a friend, with how long they’ve been acquainted. But being used to agonizing… well, agony didn’t make it any easier to undergo every time. Especially considering he was just blasted with a faceful of arcane magic.
Dick opened his eyes with the feeling that everything was shifted slightly out of order, and it wasn't just from reliving his memories. It felt like the very molecules around him were pressing against him in recognition of the wrongness of his existence. Scanning his surroundings, he tried not to panic outwardly at the realization that he was in the Batcave. Likely some temporal mismatch from the spell’s backfire.
But Dick couldn’t be sure of the nature of his apparition without access to an expert. Like he said, time magic tended was fickle. First things first. He had to leave, preferably before Batman came back. Hopefully he could contact Zatanna and return to where he belonged without further outside interference.
Except the universe seemed to really hate him, because as Dick prepared to escape, he heard the telltale sound of boots descending down the stairs, freezing as he turned his head to lock eyes with the whites of Batman’s cowl.
“Nightwing? What are you doing here?” Batman called out, steps halting on the platform.
Fuck the universe. Well. Universes, plural, probably. Definitely, if it was what Dick was guessing. Should he pretend to play along to this universe’s... Dick Grayson? It had to be who Batman thought he was, if he was calling him Nightwing, right? It was a name gifted to him that only he could possibly know, aside from its bestower.
Unless that was also stolen from him. Sardonic scorn grew from that thought.
But what if he was wrong? If this was some twisted future, or maybe even an illusion? He had no way of knowing what curse the sorcerer had laid upon him exactly.
Luckily, he was saved from needing to reply by the sound of the Zeta tubes activating, lighting up to reveal a version of… himself. Except, wearing a skin-tight costume similar to the field outfits he often wore out on missions, minus the light blue lines running along his fingertips, conferring at his chest into a larger insignia.
“You won’t believe what happen—” The other Dick stopped short, eyes widening underneath his mask, staring in shock at his doppelganger. Other Batman wasn’t any better, head shifting between the two Dick Graysons as if gaping for longer would suddenly rid him seeing double.
Shit.