Chapter Text
As Tim walked out of the medbay, he surveyed the cave. Dick and Damian would be coming back from patrol soon – maybe Jason if he were hungry – but he would likely stay away from the manor because of… obvious reasons. Tim walked over to the Batcomputer to find Dahlia sitting in the chair, flipping through his case files. She indeed was wearing his sweatshirt. It was his Red Robin one, and secretly his favorite, but nobody needed to know that.
Dahlia could feel Tim breathing over her shoulder; she almost wanted to punch him, but alas… she should refrain. For the sake of diplomacy – her trainers would always say. Besides, she was far too engrossed in the case file to even care. It was about some guy named The Joker. Now, Dahlia would never be one to judge another for their looks, but she could make an exception. This guy looked like a musty, disgusting pedophile.
“Do you know anything about the Joker?” Tim muttered, leaning against the desk while eyeing the file.
“No, should I? Is he a particularly bad person?” Dahlia questioned. She was lying, though; she actually knew quite a bit about the Joker, but the more distracted Tim was, the better.
Tim took a sharp breath through his nose. “The Joker is a very dangerous and violent man. He has committed many atrocities and killed so many people, including Jason. But don't tell Jason you heard that from me; it's a touchy subject.” Tim could see the gears turning in Dahlia's head; it almost made him laugh.
“Why?” She mumbled, diving deeper into Joker's file.
“Why is it a touchy subject?” His voice twinged with annoyance.
Dahlia crossed her legs in the chair and dropped the file in her lap, ready to listen. “Yes.” She nodded.
Tim pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Because he DIED, Dahlia. It was traumatic for him because he died, and Bruce couldn't save him. And then he woke up in a coffin a few months later, thanks to your people.” He barked.
Dahlia only became more confused: “I've died a bunch of times before, though.” Dahlia had lost count of how many times she had died. None of her deaths was actually sad enough to be upset over; she had just accepted it. Death is just a part of life. Sometimes you die, and you get to wake up, but other times you don't. It was a simple concept to understand, really. Anyone could die at any moment. She didn't know why Tim was getting so worked up about this.
“Ya, okay, you know what, I'm not explaining this to you.” He snatched the file from her hands and started collecting it with the others.
“Why doesn't someone just kill the Joker?” Dahlia prodded.
“What?” Tim turned around. Dahlia's pupils were constricted, almost as small as an ant. Weird, it was dark in the cave.
“It solves the problem.” She stated very matter-of-factly.
“We don't kill.” God, Tim sounded like Batman.
“Tt.” Dahlia kissed her teeth. “Then cut off his arms and legs. Or break his spine and paralyze him. Or turn him–”
“That's enough. If you talk like that and Bruce hears you, you're done. And don't even think about acting on your words cause it will not go well for you. Got it? We don't kill in this family, and we're not cruel.” He slammed the files onto the desk in anger.
“But it's not cruel; it's just life.” She retorted, knitting her eyebrows together.
“No, Dahlia, just no… we don't get to be the desider of life.” Tim shook his head in disappointment. Damian was like this when he first came to the manor, but he was certainly less forward about it. At least Dahlia wasn't trying to kill him. Not yet…
Dahlia got up from the chair and quickly walked toward the cave exit, dropping the argument completely. It was pointless; Tim wasn't going to listen nor was he going to understand. She didn't need anyone to listen, though, she didn't need anyone.
Dahlia entered the upstairs hallway, where the rooms were. She noticed each door was personalized with stickers and drawings. The names of her siblings were hung in painted wooden letters on each of their room doors. Cute, Dahlia thought. She quickly located her door and looked to see who her neighbors were. Damian's room was just across from hers, and to the left of hers was… Tim's room. Of course it was. Well, that's just grand now, isn't it? – She rolled her eyes.
She looked at the plain wooden letters that hung on her door; she would have to paint them later. As she opened her room, she felt a burst of excitement. It certainly had the potential to be so cozy; she just had to fill it with stuff. Dahlia noticed 3 boxes on her bed with a note on top.
To ~ Dahlia
Inside are a phone, a laptop, and a credit card for you to keep. Spend as much as you want.
From ~ Bruce
Aww, sweet – she thought – very stupid, but sweet. Dahlia powered on both devices and started logging into her several accounts. She knows that these devices had been compromised and tapped by Bruce, but it's not like she was doing anything illegal. Not yet anyway. Just shopping, nothing to see here!
A soft knock filled the room, but it wasn't coming from the door she entered from.
“Uh heyyy…” Tim peered through the door to see Dahlia lounging on her bed with a laptop, still in his sweatshirt. “I thought since we have to share a connecting bathroom, we should probably set some ground rules.”
Dahlia slammed the laptop down and hopped out of bed. “We have to share a bathroom.” She deadpaned.
“Ya…” Tim scratched the back of his head and walked further into Dahlia's room. It was bland for now, but he was sure she would do something creative as Damian did with his room.
“Tt. Well, let's see.” Dahlia hissed, shoving her way past Tim.
The bathroom wasn't horrible. The only part they actually would have to ‘share share’ was the sink area, but that had double sinks and plenty of counter space to spare. Dahlia would install a vanity in her closet anyway. The shower and toilet area was in a water closet, closed off from the rest of the bathroom, good for privacy.
“Well, I’ll start: Don't touch any of my toiletries or makeup without asking, always knock before coming into my room, always knock before entering the water closet, and no shoes in the bathroom if you can help it.” Dahlia listed, counting on each finger. “Your turn.”
Tim paused for a moment. Dahlia had pretty much covered everything. “Every rule is pretty much the same for me; just don't come into my room without permission.”
“Wonderful! Perf!” She clapped her hands together in agreement. “Oh, one more thing!” Dahlia faced Tim and smiled sadistically. “If I ever see that the toilet seat is up or see that you haven't cleaned up your little mess. I will cut ALL of your toes off. Понял?” Shit she didn't mean to let that slip. All the languages seemed to blend when she was tired.
Tim huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, “Heh… очень угрожающий.” He joked. “I don't know much Russian, but I do know that you don't need to hide your accent around here.
“That remains to be seen.” Dahlia subconsciously picked at her hands.
Tim turned his back and scrambled toward his room. “Good night Dahli!” He grinned, having heard Damian call Dahlia ‘Dahli’ today. Frankly, it was cute, and he was going to use it; he'd never had a little sister before.
“Tt good night, Timmy!” She yelled back. If he was going to play that game, so be it.
Now, back to business.
—-----------------------------------------------------
The clock on the nightstand read 4 am. She was exhausted; it had taken her roughly all night to remove Bruce's spy-wear from her computer, and she still was waiting for her code to load in. Dahlia sat on her floor with her computer. While Wayne Tech laptops were aesthetically pleasing, you could cook an egg on them; sitting on blankets only made the computer run hotter.
“Dahlia-”
HOLY SHIT. Dahlia flung herself from the floor and grabbed the knife she hid in her bra. “Stay alert; get ready to attack,” the voices of her trainers whispered in her head. A masked woman hopped down from the window, landing without a sound.
The woman raised her hands in peace. “Stand down-”
“Drop your gun and take down your mask.” Dahlia directed.
“Dahlia, listen-”
“Drop the gun and take down your mask.” She barked, sterner this time.
The woman took her gun out of its holster and slid it across the floor. Next, she took off her mask. The scars on her face were illuminated by the moonlight.
Dahlia froze. It couldn't be. Her hand turned ghostly white as her grip tightened around her knife. She took a slow step forward before faltering. It's a trap; it had to be. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
“Tanya… you're supposed to be dead,” She whispered.
“I'm not dead.” Tanya grinned.
Dahlia's breath caught painfully in her chest. Tanya had died over a thousand times in her mind; she was decapitated and crushed by a building. No one came back from that. “But you couldn't have survived.”
“The Lazarus pit saved me. Just like it did for you!” She giggled.
The Lazarus pit. Dahlia was born in the pit, literally. She had been revived by the pit so much that it ran through her blood.
The Lazarus pit was almost conscious. It had personality. It kept anyone who had bathed in those waters on a tight leash, calling out to them, blessing them, cursing them, healing them. It marked them too. Dahlia wasn't born with green eyes. They were a gift from the Lazarus pit, as grandfather said. Tanya didn't have green eyes.
Tanya was dead.
“No, you're lying.” She crept closer with the knife firmly in her grip.
Tanya smirked, “Prove it.”
Dahlia lunged forward and pinned Tanya against the wall, holding her by her throat. A set of hands came flying, scratching at anything they could latch onto. Dahlia only pushed back on Tanya's throat harder.
“You know…” Tanya croaked as she scratched at Dahlia's hands, “I think you- cough- you enjoy watching people suffer.” She smirked. “As much as you try- gasp- you will never fit into his mold.”
“That's enough.”
“And you know-” Dahlia slammed the knife into Tanya's throat. Blood poured out of her mouth, seeping down Dahlia's arms and dripping to the floor. Tanya's body landed without sound, then disappeared without a trace.
Dark spots filled Dahlia's vision as she sank to the floor; the blood didn't stop soaking Tim's sweatshirt.
Shit.
Dahlia faded out.