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Chapter Text

“You must never take that hood off, do you understand Damian?”

His mother had forbidden him from removing the cloak that concealed his being. Even now, when he felt himself free of the clutches of his mother, the hood hovered low before his eyes. Still, he followed her teachings. He walked her path. He knew not what else to do other than the things she had taught him.

“Speak not, son.” She lectured him. “The Al Ghul do not speak to the unworthy.”

He hears her voice bounce off the walls of his skull. Her soothing, venomous, voice that only a few have had the pleasure of hearing. Her voice would echo in the chambers of his mind for eternity. She haunted his every action and guided the blade in his hand. It is because of this that he realized he had needed to get away from her. When she took up his every thought and mind he knew it was not of a natural cause. His mother was occupying his thoughts through the means of magic. That much was certain from the faint hum he feels when he hears her thoughts. She was invading his mind and for that, he decided he needed to leave. After all, he didn’t need someone to tell him what to do as the guise of an illusion. He would do these things himself. He was his own person. Not a plaything for his mother. Not a trophy for his grandfather.

“Conceal those dark pits. They scare the common people.”

Damian reaches for his hood and tugs it downwards to hide his jet black eyes. It was a result of the Al Ghul lineage. It was the most defining feature that separates him from the rest of the world. While there was no lack of extraordinary unique creatures, there was none quite like the Al Ghuls, with the black soulless pits one might call ‘eyes.’ Damian feels they have taken such a form of the powers they possess. With the eyes of the Al Ghul, he is able to look deeply into the darkness for the disobedient little creatures that are called shadows. The Al Ghul had many employed in their squads of assassins. The creatures were made to be commanded, without heart, and without mind.

Damian remembered when he had first encountered one as a little babe. The shadows were black long-legged figures the hunched over forwards with slumped shoulders. Their bright yellow eyes held no intelligence in them nor any sort of free-will. His grandfather played with them like a toy army and never thought twice of taking his anger out on them. He was the king over them and they were enslaved to his will. Damian knew not how for he never questioned it. All he knew was that was how his family worked. His mother had told him that she would share the Al Ghul secrets with him one day but he felt that day was nowhere near the present. Not when he had shamelessly run away from his home with only a few weapons, his gifted sword in its hilt on his belt, and the clothes clinging to his back.

“Focus, Damian.” A voice snaps him from his contemplation and he faces the beautiful eyes of his mother. They resemble his own, dark pools of nothingness, swirling into a black abyss. He can barely see her eyes due to the hood draped over her head, much like his own. “His sleep will not last long. I must feed-...” She begins and she reaches out a hand to caress his cheek, “You must watch for you will soon do the same. Just as I.”

Damian nods and watches as his mother pulls her hand back in satisfaction. She turns and looks over her prey, sleeping peacefully on his bed, snoozing unaware of the creature ready to feast on him. His mother leans forward, her fingers holding lowering to the man’s chest, and Damian notices the stirring of the shadows around him. They celebrate in what she is to do. They rejoice, for another one will join them, or at least that is what they believe.

“Talia.” A growl. “I thought I told you not to be seen in Gotham ever again.”

Damian’s mother retrieves her hands and twirls on the heels of her feet. She faces a man with a black mask over his face and a long black trench coat reaching his ankles. Damian feels ashamed, for a moment, that he had allowed this man to approach his mother so closely. What’s more is that he didn’t even notice him come in and he was trained to do so if such a thing happened. Surely, his mother would scold him, just as she always did in his mind’s view.

“My love.” She says. She seems calm but Damian can see the twitch of her fingers. She’s not as calm as she seems to be. Damian knows not why this man makes her nervous as she is now, but he did not forget the term of endearment she used.

“And you brought company.” The stranger notes as he tips his head towards Damian’s position. The boy stiffens at the acknowledgment. He speaks not, for his mother commanded he speak to no one but her. However, to find her speaking so freely to this man put him on edge. Clearly, he was worthy to hear the voice of an Al Ghul, but Damian knew not why.

“He is my spawn,” Talia speaks smoothly. Her voice is like a song, clear, and attractive.

The man is silent but his stare is directed towards Damian. The assassin does not like how his mother lets this man gaze upon him for so long. No one was allowed to look at him - not even the shadows - who were not capable of telling anyone of his existence. He grows uncomfortable under the stern gaze and is glad that the man speaks up to wave away the odd atmosphere.

“Your spawn.” He repeats. He walks forward without asking, Damian’s hand is already at his hilt, but his mother whistles at him sharply.

Damian freezes.

She only used that call to tell him to yield.

He did not wish to yield - but he did not wish to disobey either. He must obey. That is the law of the Al Ghuls.

The man’s fingers are on the hood of his cloak, feeling along the fabric, before slowly removing it from his head. Then there is warm skin against the tips of his ears and he hates being this revealed to someone.

The growl escapes his throat before he stops it.

The man’s finger retreats.

Talia gives Damian a disapproving glare.

“He’s mine…” The man speaks slowly.

“Yes. You helped in his creation.” Talia nods.

Damian knew what this meant. His mother was referring to this man as his father, the man he had only heard of in stories, the man who his mother praised highly when tucking him into bed as a toddler. The man whom he despised - who he hated with a burning passion - for causing his mother to retreat from her natural instincts. From forcing her from obtaining her desires.

“And you kept him from me.” The man grounds out, unhappily.

“Your species are not that rare. He is fine where he is now.”

“He belongs with his people.”

“I am his people.” Talia’s seethed through her teeth. “He needs no other.”

“Hybrids are not well received amongst your people.” The man counters. “Is his grandfather accepting?”

“Yes. I do not see why it is any of your concern.” Damian’s mother is raising her voice. Her prey stirs. The shadows cry. Damian does not like it when they cry.

“I will take him, whether you like it or not.” The man argues. “You cannot keep my blood from me. He is mine to raise. That is the rules of a Wayne.”

“You are the last of your kind.” Talia hisses. “What use of your rules is there, Bruce?”

“It matters not what you think.” Bruce returns unkindly. “I will take him, and you will not stop me.”

“He will not be willing!” Talia is on the edge of shouting and Damian tries not to shrink in his spot. She turns to him and demands, “Tell your father that you will stay with me.”

Damian shakes his head - no - he must not speak - but his mother takes it another way.

“Then you want to leave me… for him?” She lowered her voice. It sounded as if she were on the edge of making a threat but she was restraining herself considerably well.

Damian shakes his head once more.

Talia visibly brightens. Triumphantly, her eyes waver over her lover’s, and she laughs, “You cannot win, my love. He is loyal to me.”

Damian hears her shriek suddenly and he understands why when it is far too late. His father sweeps forward and grabs him. Damian is instant to attempt to struggle but the man holding him is far too strong for his liking. It is no human strength that is preventing him from fighting back. It is the supernatural strength the Al Ghul’s have, that all creatures of the night have, and he is pulled alongside his father out of the nearby window.

His mother yowls in anger and points her finger towards his father.

Damian watches as the shadows sweep forward in equal anger.

They chase but his father is quicker. Which is impossible because no one was quicker than the League of Shadows.

Damian yelps and immediately feels ashamed. Even if it was just a noise, he had spoken, and the hold tightening around his waist makes him feel no better about it.

“You are my heir.” His father speaks as the wind howls past them. He hops across rooftops with unnatural skill. “You will not be kept from me.”

And then Damian feels drowsy and he knows this feeling. The tingling of magic.

He fights against it but it does nothing.

His eyes droop and he sleeps.

He dreams of shadows.

Chapter Text

Damian ran away from his home when he was four years old. It had been after a gruesome training situation with his mother, something that had thrown him into tears, but his mother had anticipated his actions. Before long, black tendrils wrapped around his ankles, and dragged him all the way home. The shadows escorting him home held no mercy for the ground underneath Damian and he had gained multiple bruises from rocks that had jabbed him. Twigs had cut through his clothes, tearing into his skin, and he cried his heart out all while doing so. It was the following week that his mother changed the lesson plan. Instead of training him how to defend himself, she would teach him how to control his emotions, and that's why he was the way he was now.

Controlled.

He still wanted to run away from home. He just didn't think it would happen this way. He wanted it to be on his own terms. Unfortunately, not everyone gets what they want, but he was not everyone. He was an Al Ghul. There was no one like him. He was an heir to his grandfather's throne. He would one day rule the shadows. Well, granted, only if his grandfather dies which is an unlikely outcome. Not with the magic that sustains his immortality. Something that he had promised Damian would one day own even if his mother claimed it wasn't necessary.

"One day, you will inherit all that belongs to the Al Ghuls." Damian remembered his mother telling him, on a cold morning, in the midst of training in the mists of a waterfall. He had merely nodded his head. Everyone in his family expected much from him and he prided himself on reaching those heights. The only time he faced disappointment, asides from running away, was when he had displayed an affinity for a different kind of magic. An unknown. Damian knows he has it, he had guessed it was from his father's side, and for that, his mother gave him a disapproving glare. He had tried to never use it again and it worked for the most part. As long as he gave it no thought, it would not spike into being, but it seemed that it would be impossible to ignore it now. Not after he felt the same signature when his father put him to sleep.

Speaking of - when Damian wakes - it is not in the comforts of his own room. Instead, he wakes in a glamorous looking room. The moon glows and gently pours through the nearby window, showing that it was night time. Damian, with no sense of the time, could not tell if it was the exact night he was kidnapped or the following night. He was in a queen sized bed with dark red drapes extending from the high-reaching wooden frame.

Immediately his brain works on possible escape routes.

He swings his legs over the bed and pulls himself up. The sudden weariness in his bones is alarming, but it was nothing he couldn't work with. Drowsily, he drags his feet as he heads towards the window, and inspects the frame. It was bolted down. And barred. Maybe even enchanted. He wouldn't know. He'd have to test it out but that could mean grave consequences might result. Damian then turns towards the door. He trudges forward and wraps his hand around the handle.

As if burned, his hand withdraws quickly. The minute he felt the magic surrounding the door touch his skin, he knew it was a detection charm. Something, his mother had taught him long ago to look out for, because of his family's affinity for magic. A normal person might have missed it, but he was not normal.

Damian's lips form a thin line as he contemplates his next option. Though there were no shadows to accompany him, asides from his own, which he could hardly see without the moonlight... he would attack his kidnapper the moment his captor headed into his newly-found prison cell.
And so he waited.

His patience extended across an hour before the doorknob turns.

Damian does not think twice. When the door opens, his fist flies forward, heading straight for his attacker's gut. The man, much different in appearance than earlier (missing the mask, the dark trench coat, and all the other broody articles of clothing), catches Damian's hand within his palm. Damian scowls, attempting to retrieve his hand, but not doing so successfully. His attacker was clearly stronger than him but Damian would remedy that. That is what he thought, anyway, as he aims a kick towards his offender's legs.

Except, the man expected that, and let go of Damian's fist to hook an arm around his leg.

Damian wants to insult him. The petty side of him wants to banter, to argue, but he does not speak to the unworthy.

His father lets go of his leg and Damian jumps back.

"Just like your mother." His father says.

Damian does not give him the satisfaction of a reaction. His scowl is still in place. Angry. Frustrated. He would not give in.

"She was silent too, in the beginning." His father explains unnecessarily. "As your grandfather... but I digress."

Damian does not move as his father takes a few steps forward into the room.

"Did she ever tell you what you were?"

No sound.

His father did not seem to mind.

"Did you ever wonder why the tip of your ears are sharpened? Why there was a hum amongst nature? Did you not ask yourself why you had jet black hair, unlike your mother's?"

Damian wishes, yearns, for his cloak. He did not like being under the stare of his father. He felt naked. He felt revealed.

"You are my blood heir." His father stresses. "You have no idea how important that is for my people. For we are the last."

Damian would angrily quip something if he had not promised himself to be silent. Once again, he would not speak to the unworthy. His father was not deserving to hear his voice. No one was.

No one but the Al Ghuls and the shadows he commanded.

"You're missing generations worth of history of your ancestry." His father continues. "I will teach you."

Damian is infuriated. His fists shake with rage.

His father's eyes do not miss this.

"Unfortunately, I cannot trust you will not run if I release you, therefore you will stay here until further notice. In time, you will understand this is for the better, and you will come to appreciate what I have done for you."

The statement only made Damian angrier. He could feel his heart swell in his chest, his blood pump, and his head pound. He wouldn't be surprised if his face was turning a sharp emotional red.

His father gives him one more look. He is cold when he does so. His face shows nothing.

Damian does not like it.

Then he leaves.

Chapter Text

Damian’s closest figure to a dad was always his grandfather. The elderly Al Ghul was cold, distant, and strict. He was kind occasionally towards his family but not to the point of displaying weakness. Damian remembers the stories his mother would tell him of his grandfather. She told him things of her training with her father. He was unforgiving. Sometimes they would train until near-death, where he would throw her into the healing Lazarus pit, and she would scream in agony as her life was brought back to her. She would be stabbed with swords, crafted to harm their species specifically, and once he had even tossed her off a cliff. Hearing her stories only made him thankful that his grandfather trained very little with him. He was glad his mother, though still undeniably cruel, was in charge of his growth as an assassin.

Damian never knew anything outside of his family. Sure, there were the small times he would be allowed to accompany his mother during her feeding, but that was about the only contact he gained with the outside world. He only knew the customs the humans kept because of the books that stacked in the Al Ghul’s library. There was nothing beyond that. The text itself was outdated but he still read through it. Books had become an escape for him. It was from books, that he learned how to paint, speak three different languages (including that of shadow-speak), write flawless math, and to expand his creativity. Many of the books he read romanticized nature but it was not the book’s influence that gave him that connection to the nature around him.

It had been something he had since he was a child.

A hum. In the trees, the grass, the soil, everything. His mother never commented on his natural affinity with animals. During his times of meditation, animals would creep upon his position, and watch him with curious eyes. Some would even come as close to approach him, lay next to him, and find companionship in him. Sometimes, he understood what they wanted, even without them telling him. Sometimes he could feel a pain, a curse when the shadows would sweep in and shoo them away. For some reason, they did not like the shadows. His shadows triumphed over anything that could have been a hint of powers from a different bloodline. They were a constant in his life.

Yet, now as he wills them to his side with a longing desire to have them by his side, he cannot sense them. Even his own shadow does not stir. It as if it has been placed in a sleep that he is incapable of waking it from. It had to be because of this accursed room, Damian was certain, for it was chorusing in waves of magic.

Damian realizes he cannot escape.

But that’s okay because he knows his mother will come for him.

He just doesn’t know when.

His father’s servant is the one who attends to his every need. Escorts him to the bathroom. Brings him food and water. Attends to his needs. Damian had asked the servant for paper but the elderly man refused. Something about writing glyphs and such, something Damian was unfamiliar with, but he had an idea of what he was talking about. Perhaps something to do with his father’s side of the family. Alfred, however, does allow Damian to read. He is given a new book every day since he reads through them quickly. He sucks in all the information that is given to him, just so he might gain some sort of advantage over his kidnapper.

Alfred is not as nearly unpleasant as his supposed father. (How could he not be sure he is not just some delusional man that his mother pretended to be his dad? Maybe this was all a test. Maybe.) Alfred, though, is not human either. Damian can sense it in the way he carries himself. Ancient. That’s what he is. Something Damian does not know about. The mystery continues in this strange place. Regardless, Damian appreciates the company, even if he regarded the butler with a rude disrespect earlier. Who knew the man would be so good at chess? It was something to admire, perhaps, but Damian would not catch himself up with such pleasantries.

He has waited for his mother for two weeks now, scarcely seeing his father who claimed he would, ‘teach him’ of his people’s ways. Damian can only assume he has been forgotten. The servant who attends him is the only thing that keeps him from going mad but that was just exaggeration. Damian would never go mad. He has been trained not to. He has been trained to survive the most unlivable conditions.

This was not the first time he was without his shadows. It would not be the last.

When his father finally arrives, Damian forces himself to hold back on showing aggressive behavior. He knew the end result. However, if Damian got his hands on a sword, he knew it would be much different. He was skilled in the art of the sword much more so than the art of hand-to-hand combat. If he just had his sword... Regardless, his father watches him closely, observing him with a sharp gaze.

Damian scowls.

His father boldly pulls up a chair from the desk that resides across from Damian’s bed.

“Forgive me. I was busy.” Is the first thing he says. His father gauges his reaction and continues on when Damian does not make any expression other than a larger scowl. “Come, do not be so angry.” He insists. “I would have arrived sooner or later.”

Damian could have waited centuries. It did not matter to him. He would hate this man to his very core.

His father continues, “Your mother. Your grandfather. They are both shadow-walkers.” It’s a mere fact. Damian knows this already. “When I met your mother - I was ignorant. Shadow-walkers were an unknown. Yet I foolishly fell in love with her before I understood the consequences.”

Damian doesn’t want to listen to a failed love-story.

He doesn’t want to be here at all.

“But us?” His father leans back in his chair in ponderment, “We are beings that date back from the beginning of this world’s creation.”

“We are elves.” His father finally answers the hidden question.

Damian blanks.

Elves.

The little creatures that danced around in forests, playing toots on their flutes, and whistling mischievously. They were relatives to the fae, fairies who were vicious, and angry. No way were they compatible with shadow-walkers. Elves, despite their cunning nature, were a sharp contrast with shadow-walkers. They were light. They were spirits of the wilderness.

“Much has been misinterpreted over the growth of civilization. We are not, in fact, the size of gnomes. The only indicator that we are different is our ears. A defining mark of our heritage.”

Damian grows cold.

No.

He does not wish to be apart of this race - he does not wish it. Why must it be this way?

“Our race was once big and strong. Now there is only two of us left now, ever since my parents died.”

Damian’s heart skips a beat, much to his distaste.

That means he was apart of a dying species.

“But I still follow our traditions. If an elf should provide an heir, well, he will by all rights have all knowledge passed down to him. I am the leader of our people. You will become the next. Not only is it elven law but it is also encoded by our magic. We cannot fight against it. We become, not only leaders of our people but advisors for the common folk.”

Damian did not care about the ‘common folk’ as his father so eloquently put.

“Those who know of us, come to us for knowledge, protection, and for wisdom. That is the role we play.”

That is not the role I play.

“Your existence itself is an anomaly. If it were not me, you would be cast aside for the black blood you contain.” His father’s eyes soften at this. “But I am not one to abandon those that belong to me.”

I do not belong to you.

His father stands up and dusts the nonexistent dirt off his pants.

“I will be going. If you need me, talk to Alfred.”

As if.

His father, as if all-knowing, smiles at Damian.

It is not comforting. Damian can only stare back at him, his eyes swirling in their dark abyss.

“Be well, little one.”

Chapter Text

Damian dreams of his mother.

She moves her mouth but he can hear nothing. The dark space he stands in is devoid of any sound. Even when he strains to listen to his mother to the best of his ability, there is no result. After he realizes that it is pointless to attempt to listen, he follows her lips and watches her mouth form certain syllables.

Shadows

Hesitate

Strong

Her words sparked a childhood memory. When he was four, his mother had collected him from one of his tutoring session. Her words were clear even to this day. She had made sure to engrain them into his head.

“The shadows do not come to those who hesitate.” She had told him.“They want to follow a strong leader. They live to obey. If you should find yourself in a situation you cannot get out of, remember, our magic is far superior to any other. You must understand, my adored, shadows are everywhere.”

When he wakes from his dream, his eyes open to the dreary room (that might as well be a prison cell) he had been confined in for far too long. He closes his eyes wishing that he could see his mother once more because anything would be better than being trapped here. Books were becoming a bore, he could not train, he could not escape, and his father was a pestering annoyance. His father thinks that he can tame him. He does not agree.

He remembers his mother’s words once more.

Ever since he woke up here, he had attempted to will the shadows to his control, except something had prevented them from forming at his command. At first, he thought it was the ward magic but the dream he had offered another answer. Perhaps, it was not the magic that kept him in here, but his own misconception that he could be kept in here.

Damian flexes his fingers.

With a deep breath, he sits cross-legged on his bed and begins to meditate.

It is a struggle to connect to the shadows. First, he tries his own, which wavers on the covers of his sheets. He can feel it stir as if waking from a deep sleep, before it begins to crawl up his back. Tendrils wrapped around his stomach in a cold, strange, embrace. Immediately, Damian feels the familiar surge of power that gave him the natural Al Ghul commanding ability.

The door flies open.

His father stands there, staring at him warily.

“Don’t.” He warns.

Damian bitterly smiles.

Oh, but he will.

The shadow covers his body. His father reaches out but grasps at nothing.

Damian was gone.

His father curses.

Chapter Text

Damian had underestimated his father’s magic. He assumes it is his father’s magic but he cannot be certain. Whether it was his handy work or not, Damian had ultimately underestimated it and was now lying with his cheek pressed against cold concrete. He had intended to go straight home but his shadow-phasing had stopped abruptly. The aftereffects of the ward left an impression in his own magic. If his father was as smart as Damian believed him to be then the man would already be on the search for him. That’s why, even though he has hardly any energy left, he needs to move. His father is unpredictable. He cannot stand still where he would be able to easily find him.

He pulls himself up to his feet. One look around was enough to tell him that he was in the slums of Gotham. The buildings were old, worn, and weathered down. The streets were poorly-kept just as their surroundings. He had only come here once with his mother on a contracted mission. They didn’t spend a lot of time here so Damian didn’t know how to navigate around. Oh well. It looks like that would just have to change now.

Damian may feel too weak to summon his shadow but glamour magic requires little to no effort to cast. With just a thought his shadow wraps around him to conceal him like a cloak. Though he would much more prefer his actual coat, the one that had been carefully crafted for him, this would have to do for now. Besides, the basic glamour magic he used was a beginner’s spell, and it had an excellent side-effect. When in use, detection magic was pointless, therefore concealing him from his pursuers. Unfortunately, it also made detection magic useless for him too. It worked both ways but at least it did its job.

Damian wanders.

Gotham was a maze. He considered asking for directions but does no such thing. If he were to do that - he would consult with the shadows - which was problematic in itself because so far he could only communicate with his own. Besides, the shadows of objects were considerably stupid. They had no comprehension. The only thing they were good for was locating magic residue to understand if magic had been used recently in the area. The smartest, most useful, shadows were from breathing creatures. Animals, humans, and supernatural entities. That is why his mother feeds on those of the living. Objects, though equally as fulfilling, did not supply the sort of intelligence required to obey orders.

Speaking of his mother, he had no idea why she had not come for him. Perhaps, this was a test? Maybe she wanted to see if he was truly loyal or maybe she wanted to see if he was capable of escaping himself. Maybe it was both of these things. A test of loyalty and capability.

Damian’s thoughts are interrupted by a painful mew.

He is immediately alert. The noise leads him to a metal trash can. He lifts the lid, intent on seeing the cause of such a cry, and stares impassively at a shivering kitten. He knows that he has an objective that drives him home. It would be best if he just focused on that. He had no time to escape with how perceptive his father would be. (He did, after all, locate his mother.) His time was limited. Even with his reasoning - his hands scoop the kitten up toward his chest - where he keeps it possessively. That someone would desert a creature unable to take care of itself was a cruel thing. His mother, no doubt, would tell him not to harbor such feelings toward a weak feline.

“Hey!” A voice barks.

Damian turns slowly.

What he sees is a seemingly poverty-stricken man. The man has greying hair, torn rags that could barely be called clothes, and a dirt covered face. He looks drunk in the way he walks forward, a wobble in his steps. Damian considers the worst of the man’s intentions and settles on ending his miserable life. If he dared to be as bold as to approach Damian and cause him harm, he would die. Such was the way of an Al Ghul’s life.

“That’s mine.” The man slurs. “I forgot it and came back. She belongs to me.”

Damian is mute as the man begins to question him.

“Can you not speak, boy?”

Damian scowls.

The kitten in one hand, he unconsciously reaches for where his sword used to be until he remembers that it was taken from him. Being too weak to use the shadows to fend the man off, he takes a few steps back and considers his options.

“Scared?”

Hardly.

Damian thinks that he could lose the man if he made a run for it. However, the would be the coward’s way out. His thinks that maybe he can end his useless life with nothing but his kicks.

He would not get to put his thoughts to the test.

“I think you need to go back home, Mr. Salmer.”

Another voice. Another stranger.

Mr. Salmer turns sharply. His confidence visibly drops in his body language. Suddenly, he isn’t as nearly drunk as he was earlier, and he made an admirable show of trying to look soberer.

“Officer Grayson.” Mr. Salmer curses.

Officer Grayson raises a brow at Mr. Salmer.

“And what do you think you’re doing, in the middle of the night, approaching a child?”

Mr. Salmer is quick to accuse, “He stole something that belongs to me!”

Damian watches as Officer Grayson assesses him carefully. Damian realizes that he may not look so trustworthy in his cloak, but why should that matter to him anyway? He wasn’t aiming to look trustworthy. Officer Grayson’s eyes narrow on Damian’s hand before he lets out a sigh.

“Mr. Salmer. Go home.”

The man sputters out gibberish. Damian will not waste brain-power trying to interpret what he says.

“Mr. Salmer. Last warning.”

The man frowns before looking at Damian once more.

Damian makes no move.

Reluctantly, the man leaves.

Now Damian is faced with another problem.

Officer Grayson is a calm-looking man. There was confidence in his posture. He probably knew his way around with the way he carried himself. He had a dark mop of hair but maybe that was just the darkness playing with Damian’s eyes. The man probably didn’t want to scare Damian with the soft smile he put on his face, treating him like a child.

“Hey, kid,” He calls out gently, “where are your parents?”

Damian inwardly scoffs at the supposedly innocent question.

He holds the kitten tighter.

He needed to go.

“Okay, well…” The man takes Damian’s silence as an incentive to ask more questions, “How about you just tell me your name?”

He takes a slow step forward.

Damian watches him sniff the air - which was strange for a human - especially with that spark of familiarity that passes through his eyes. Suddenly, the stranger looks at him in a different light, and Damian knows he has stayed far too long.

Damian turns and runs.

Chapter Text

Damian is fast. He prides himself on his speed. When he runs, he puts his years of training to use and makes his muscles burn. He is younger than the officer. He has more energy, more stamina, and he could outwit him.

So Damian runs.

Gasping for breath is unfamiliar. The only time he ever does so is when he’s training with his mother but even then it was a rare occurrence. Sure, he could work up a sweat, but never to the point of greedily grabbing air. What was it that drove him to burn himself out so quickly? He can only think of the lack of magic but that in itself could not be the reason for his depletion of stamina. He knew his body, he had perfected his understanding in the warning signs, but this time he had completely missed them. At least he was smart enough to understand the current signs. His body yells at him to sit down before he collapses. Even now, he’s stumbling through an alleyway he doesn’t remember running into, on shaking legs.

His hand softens its grip on the mewling kitten near his heart.

He leans against the nearest wall right beside a group of trash cans and a large dumpster.

And to think I went through all this trouble for you, he thinks to himself as the orange and white kitten stares up at him. A poor color choice for a predator if they wanted to conceal themselves, but what could the kitten do about that? It was born this way. Created to look in such a manner because of the genes of it's parents. It is this stray thought that dares Damian to imagine such a life - where he is not born an Al Ghul - but a Wayne instead. Perhaps, he would not be treated as a prisoner, and not have lived a life as an assassin. Maybe he could have even grown to love his father, as ridiculous as the notion might sound, but Damian has entertained this idea far too long. He would never prefer to be born anything else than in his mother’s family. He was quite fortunate to be the way he is now because anything else might have ended him in the garbage. Just like this kitten. Discarded.

Damian is pulled from his contemplation when he sees misty blue eyes staring at him.

He startles.

“Wow, easy there.” Officer Grayson tells him. The man is crouched low to the ground and Damian has no clue on how the officer located him so quickly. He was certain he had lost him on his trail a while ago but apparently, he was wrong. That could only mean one thing. He wasn’t average.

“I won’t hurt you.” The officer assures. He has no idea that Damian is a born killer that was taught how to kill a man in many different ways. Had he not felt so weak, he would surely pounce upon him, and end his miserable life. The officer was foolish to be as bold as to follow him. He should have just stayed behind. “You know, you’re pretty fast! For a moment I thought I had lost you.”

Damian is not sure whether to be insulted or flattered. He feels nothing.

“I can tell you don’t have a place to go to. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here.” Officer Grayson observes the surrounding slums with a quick look-through. “Why don’t you come back to the station with me? It’s better inside.”

Damian does not like that idea.

He scowls at the mere thought.

Dick quickly intervenes, “Okay, so you don’t like that idea. I get it. Then how about we just stop by my place?”

Damian does not answer. He does not like that idea either.

“You know what, how about I just sit right here…” Officer Grayson settles himself down on the ground in front of Damian. “Okay. Yeah. We can work with this.”

Damian wanted nothing but to withdraw himself in his shadow. Lacking the energy to do so was taking a toll on his mind. He feels stressed that he cannot instantly travel back to his true home. His mother was, most likely, impatiently awaiting his arrival. He would prove to her, simply by his return, that he was a worthy heir to his grandfather’s throne. However, it seemed his return would not be anytime soon. Even now he grasps at the last of his abilities, tempting them to extend farther than their capabilities.

The kitten cuddling near his chest mewled once more.

Damian peers down at it and watches it shiver.

“Must be cold.” Officer Grayson pips in.

Damian is silent.

The officer, in the strange silence, uses a hand to scratch the back of his neck.

“Can I look at it?” The officer asks politely.

Damian does not know what provokes him to reach outward. Perhaps it was the quick look he had given the shivering animal in his pale hand or the dawn of knowledge that he had no idea on how to take care of the tiny creature. He had never had a pet or had the responsibility of taking care of another living thing. Maybe that’s why he considers the officer’s request carefully and why he ultimately gives in to said request. With a tentative gesture, Damian offers the officer the kitten he had been huddling to his chest, and the officer is gentle when he retrieves the kitten from his hands.

Make no mistake. He does not trust him. He merely wishes for his opinion.

“Looks malnourished,” The man mutters. He inspects the kitten, holding the kitten up to discern its gender, and then lowering it to examine its pathetic mewls. “It’s a girl.” He determines. “Don’t know how long the poor thing has been out here.”

The officer hums.

“Well, if you’d allow it, I have some canned cat food in my apartment.”

Damian’s brows furrow, unbeknownst to his observer because of the shade of his cloak, but the displeased frown is clear on his lips.

“I didn’t say you’d have to follow me in. We’d just stop by and I’d bring some out. Promise.”

Damian regards the man’s words with great intensity. He tries to decipher if he is lying or not. Either he was a good actor, or everything in his words was genuine. His body language did not betray him and Damian could not sense an ulterior motive. Still, he is wise to not trust him, but maybe he could still give the man a chance. Damian was in no condition to care for the kitten regardless.

Do not linger. A voice warns him. What if your father finds you?

Damian considers the warnings and the growing anxiety bubbling in his chest. He was pitiful in this state. To be so fearful of the man he called father. Should any child be as scared as he was, at that moment?
Also, that was another thing.

He was scared.

Damian did not fear much, for his mother had taught him to fear nothing, but for the first time, he thinks of what will happen to him if his father finds him. Once more, he will be withdrawn into the confinement of his father’s prison, and rot there for the rest of his life. Naturally, he does not want this to happen, and he would do much to prevent it from coming to pass.

But the kitten mewls.

And his heart turns.

Damian, against his very nature, nods slightly.

The officer, after handing the kitten back to him, claps his hands together. The noise makes him flinch. The officer is quick to notice, giving Damian an apologetic grin, before moving to get up off the ground.

The officer holds out a hand.

Damian realizes that the man expects him to use his hand to aid his own balance. Damian, in his pride, disregards it immediately. He makes a stand with no help from the stranger and only silently observes him.

The man’s hand falls to his side.

“Right. It’s this way.”

The officer leads.

Damian follows.

Chapter Text

The cold is a familiar friend. At times he would go out to camp in the dark wilderness near the Al Ghul home. At first, it was a mere training exercise his mother put him through to make sure he could fend for himself, and learn how to live off of what nature could give him. However, later, it had become a favorite pastime of his. Firstly, it meant he could get away from the overbearing woman he called his mother, and he could escape responsibility if only for a day. Secondly, there was something out there in the wilderness that called to him. He still doesn’t know what it is even to this day, where he sits on one of the steps of a staircase leading up to the second floor of an apartment complex, grabbing his cloak to shield him from the dry cold air.

His cloak was not something that provided any warmth. It was merely an illusion of an article of clothing. That’s probably why the kitten in his hands was still shivering and why he was beginning to feel the effects of the cold. Usually, he was prepared for this sort of thing, but it seemed like that wouldn’t be the case this time. If only he had snatched his real cloak from his father’s clutches even though the prospect of doing so seemed highly unlikely. Perhaps, even if he did have his cloak, it wouldn’t do much to keep him warm with its thin fabric.

The officer returns from his apartment.

“Here it is,” He says as he offers Damian an opened can of cat food. The smell was putrid but Damian found that to be the least of his concerns.

Damian slowly stretches out his right hand and watches the officer carefully. When he is satisfied that the man will not pull any tricks, he snatches the can quickly and settles it on his lap. He then carefully lowers the mewling kitten and watches as it sniffs the food in its curiosity. It tests the food with a lick and then, much to Damian’s relief, it begins to eat away to its heart content. Kittens were animals. They required food. Much more so than Damian himself. Damian found himself hunger only a few times a month and he wasn’t sure why that was. He was taught to consume shadows, just as his mother, who would usually help him collect them. His mother only ate the shadows and Damian had expected he would be the same. Except, his mother provided him food that normal civilians would eat, and told him that he was different than her. He needed both kinds of food for he was of two worlds.

“Poor little critter.” The officer speaks. Damian does not look at him, he instead stares at the kitten who eats greedily and wonders how something so small can eat so much. “Have you thought of finding her a home?”

Damian presses his lips into a thin line.

“I mean, she can’t stay with you if you don’t have a home.” Officer Grayson insists. “Not unless you’re capable of taking care of her on the streets.”

He did have a home, though.

A home that, he wanted to run away from at times, but it was still his home. It was still the place he longed to be.

However, this man would not know this, even if Damian tried to draw it out for him. Damian would not even bother explaining. Besides, Damian can already sense the second layer of the officer’s words. He talks of the kitten but he inquires of Damian’s situation. In a way, he is trying to obtain information about Damian but makes the kitten the main subject of his one-sided conversation. Damian is not stupid. The adults in this world thought all children to be incompetent and ignorant. Damian was not one that was innocent or oblivious.

In his thoughts, Damian shivers, and it does not pass the officer’s gaze.

“Cold?”

The answer is obvious.

Damian doesn’t bother to question why the officer leaves. He stays on the staircase, head devoid of any rational thought, and his core being driven solely by emotion. What was he supposed to do? He’s never faced something like this before. How was he supposed to get home? How would he avoid his father? He didn’t know where he was. His mother, long ago, had taught him how to navigate using the stars… except the stars were hardly visible. Gotham’s cloudy dreary sky was the only depressing sight above him. There wasn’t a gleam or a twinkle of hope. Damian knows not why, in his moment of loss, that he looks toward the sky for answers. He is not a person who looks for hope in the appearance of the sky nor does he wish upon a star for he knows it is a pointless effort.

Though the sky was cloudy and cluttered it was a most welcome sight. He had longed to go outside ever since his capture and he does not regret his escape. His father could not keep him like some sort of pet.

Something drapes across his shoulders.

He jolts at the feeling. He’s ready for the fabric to be used to suffocate him or subdue him. He feels rather silly when he realizes that the officer is simply covering his form in a kind gesture to keep him from shivering. Damian, just as his mother taught him, was wary of the stranger’s kindness. Many are not kind without reason. The man wanted something from him. That must be it. There can be nothing else, not in Gotham, where cruelty is second nature to its citizens.

“Look, you can’t stay out here, and neither can the kitten you plucked off the street.”

Damian does not bother to look at the officer as he settles himself down once more a few inches away from him.

“So I suggest you stay over the night. Just one night.”

Damian wants to ask why he’s so insistent.

But something in him tells him that this could be the perfect opportunity to hide from his father. He would be roaming the streets, not an apartment in the slums, and by the morning Damian would be fully capable of taking care of himself. Well, supposedly. He felt that his magic might return but he wasn't certain. This has never happened to him before. He hasn’t ever reverted to such a weakened state after using shadow-phasing.

Damian thinks, maybe he might accept the stranger’s invitation, but he is not as foolish as to enter someone’s apartment when he can hardly defend himself. Then, there was the off-chance he would mistakenly reveal his eyes to the man next to him, and that in itself would break the rules his mother placed for him. He had not done it willingly earlier, in front of his father, but he was still greatly ashamed for showing him the whirls of black that he called his eyes. He would prefer not to repeat that feeling of shame. It was quite unbearable.

“Look, I can’t just leave you out here alone,” the officer voices, “please. Go inside. I promise, nothing will come to harm you, and I will not lay a hand upon you.”

Damian is reluctant, yet he shivers.

The kitten shivers too. His cloak does nothing to warm it. The cloak does nothing to warm him.

His father is looking for him.

He might find him.

So Damian nods and the officer beside him let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Damian knows not what provokes such a sound. He truly does not understand the person beside him. Perhaps, he could remedy that in the apparent night they would spend under the same roof together.

Chapter Text

Damian stands in the midst of the stranger’s living room. Already he is looking for escape routes should things turn for the worse. There are windows on both sides of him, peering into the alleys nearby, and the door is behind him. It’s closed, not locked, and he doubted it was magically warded. His escape is at the forefront of his mind but other thoughts linger behind. The apartment smells like dog and Damian wrinkles his nose at how it bombards all his senses. He cannot see any signs of the officer owning a dog but he can certainly smell it. It’s a smell hard to ignore.

“Make yourself comfortable,” the officer says after noticing that Damian had not moved at all since entering. The officer was relieving himself of his black officer’s jacket, letting it slide off of his arms, before hanging it on a nook in the wall.

Damian does not want to comply but he knows that he cannot stand forever. However, sitting on the couch meant that he could become comfortable, and becoming comfortable meant throwing his guard down. Relaxing. He could not afford that. In fact, he didn’t even think he could afford to go to sleep.

“You hungry?” The officer calls out but Damian doesn’t know what he expects from him. He cannot reply. He was sure the officer got the hang of it by now. No matter what was thrown at him, he would not speak, because that would betray his very person. “I’m going to get you something anyway. How does cereal sound? I’m kind of lacking in the food department at the moment.”

How about nothing at all?

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

No.

Damian settles himself on the floor, leaning his back against the coach, and lets the blanket that was on his shoulders fall down to the floor. He didn’t need the officer’s petty concern anyway. He was fine as is. That’s why, when the officer settles a bowl next to his person, Damian ignores the offered food. The officer pays it little mind though as he settles on an armchair nearby and stuffs his face. Evidently, he was hungry.

“Not going to eat?” The officer says in between bites. He eats like he has never eaten in his life as if he had been starving, and Damian can’t recall a time where he had felt even remotely on the brink of starvation. He had always taken care of his hunger, no matter where he was, and speaking of such… though cereal was a rather poor looking excuse of a dinner… it looked rather appetizing. Damian reasons that he will eat the cereal mainly for the sake of the kitten. It is not because he is hungry but because he wishes to give the kitten some milk without the residue of soggy cereal. So, albeit reluctantly, he takes the bowl within hand and examines it closely. The possibility of poison was at the front of his mind, but what could the officer hope to gain if he did indeed stain his food? Then again, that is what many say to themselves, before writhing in agony.

Damian considers feeding it to the kitten first, seeing if it held any lasting effects, but for some reason the mere thought of doing so made him feel strangely ill. Perhaps it was the result of his current weakness. Nevertheless, Damian finally retrieves the courage he needs to take a bite. He scoops a spoon in, raising it to his mouth slowly, before letting the taste sink into his tongue. It was sugary. Very sugary. He finds himself raising one spoonful, then another, and another. Before long it is all nearly gone and Damian looks up to examine his newfound roommate. The man had the goofiest grin on his face and apparently he had been watching Damian eat.

Damian, out of spite, stops eating.

He does as he promises. He settles the bowl on the floor and allows the kitten to waltz over to it.

“You can sleep on my bed if you want,” The officer suddenly says, “I can sleep on the couch.”

Damian frowns.

He prefers the floor.

“Or you can just stay there.” The officer notes Damian’s expression and quickly compromises. He is swift in doing so.

Damian observes the officer and watches as he reaches a hand to rub his nose. He was beginning to put pieces together about this man. He smelt like a dog but he had no dog. He was watchful of Damian, as if a predator taking care to pay attention to an intruder on their territory, and thus Damian’s suspicions of the generous stranger began to rise. There was also the fact that he had been able to find Damian even though he was certain he had lost the man’s trail. Though it is far-fetched, with only a few pieces of evidence, he thinks that he could be in the company of another supernatural being.

“I think I’m correct in assuming you’re mute.”

Voluntarily.

“I also think you aren’t normal,” the officer notes.

Damian stiffens.

“You smell a lot like someone I know.”

So perhaps his assessment was true.

Werewolf.

He was in the territory that belonged to a werewolf.

What had his mother told him about this?

Nothing.

He had no idea what to do.

Tread carefully.

“But I can tell that you’re not comfortable here, so I won’t ask for details. It’s not like you can reply to me anyway.”

Officer Grayson sets his cereal bowl on the coffee table that was laying low to the ground in front of him.

“Why don’t you get some rest? You’ll need it. I’m thinking that we can look for your guardians tomorrow.”

Now there was a thought. An officer somehow attempting to locate his mother and his father of all people. Regardless, the officer had mentioned that he smelled like someone he knew, and Damian could only attribute that to the two people he had recently been in contact with. Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth. If the officer knew them on a personal level - that was bad news for Damian - because that would mean instead of escaping his father’s clutches he would head back on the trail running right back to him.

Damian’s cloak of shadow stirs.

It sensed his fear.

Damian does not fear, though, so he wills it to calm.

The shadows adore the confident and fearless. He must continue to be that lest the worst comes to past.

“I think I’ll head to bed first.” The officer says. Damian thinks it is a show of a false sense of security he was trying to lure him into. It can be nothing else. That is why Damian watches the man’s every move as he stands up and disappears into the next room. Before long, he returns to the living room, dragging a blanket across the floor behind him.

He was intent on sleeping on the couch after all.

To not interact with him in the slightest, Damian shifts away from the couch, so that he does not sit next to the man. He did not want to be in touching distance.

Mutt, Damian thinks unfondly.

His eyes once more linger on the front door.

The soft sound of snoring catches in his ear and he stares in disbelief at the man who now lays on the couch. He had fallen asleep so fast and wasn’t wary of Damian at all.

Damian stares.

He does not sleep.

Chapter Text

What did he know of wolves?

They travel in packs.

Yet, Damian observes, the man who snores without a care in this world had no pack to be seen.

They are territorial.

Damian has already trespassed upon this officer’s territory.

Damian stares even as the sun rises and peeks through the curtains.

The light is unwelcome.

His shadow though flickers, ready to release it’s glamour to bathe in the sun’s glory, but Damian does not allow it. It would be a danger to him if he did. The shadow, though upset, appreciates the confidence Damian takes upon him.

Just as his mother taught.

The officer groans.

He wakes.

He lifts himself to a sitting position and he scratches his head in his drowsiness. He glances once at Damian, making sure he was still there and then decides to get up.

His foot hits an empty bowl on the floor.

“You ate the cereal?” The man looks pleased. The man is not too surprised to see no reaction from Damian but perhaps it is because he has already grown acquainted with Damian’s strange mannerisms. It must be strange to a uncultured werewolf.

Damian stands up, grabbing the kitten that had been sleeping peacefully in his lap.

The kitten mewls at the sudden jolt.

Damian feels guilt.

He does not let it show on his face.

“Think you could go for another bowl?”

Damian would not. Staying here any longer was dangerous.

He must leave.

And so he makes his way to the door.

The officer has the audacity to get in his way. It is not something Damian appreciates. Yet, there he stands, with a grip around his wrist. Anger fuels his soul and he whips around with his blood boiling. He snatches his wrist from the man’s hand and gives him the hardest glare he could manage. His glare is something the officer cannot see but Damian did not care. His turn alone should display his disgust with the officer’s actions.

The officer raises his hands in surrender.

“Hey, look, you can’t go out by yourself,” the officer insists, “Gotham is dangerous. Well, I’m sure you knew that already, but it’s not a place for even street rats like you.”

Damian was no street rat.

He was the Al Ghul heir.

Damian thinks that this man keeps him here to turn him in.

Then Damian remembers what his mother tells him of werewolves.

”They choose their pack.”

Damian knew he had to leave now.

Damian makes his move toward the door again. The officer moves to block him and Damian snarls. He charges forward at the man, sending a flying kick to his gut, and the officer is surprised at such a bold move. However, the officer is not as incompetent as Damian believed him to be, and he actually blocks it.

Damian jumps a few inches back to assess his keeper.

“I don’t want to keep you here by force,” the officer says calmly, “but I’ll admit. You smell awfully like someone I know and…”

And Damian didn’t need to hear another word.

A knock on the door.

He can feel it before he can see it. His shadow shivers. It feels it too.

Another mewl from his kitten friend.

The officer gives him one last regarding look before turning around to open the door.

Damian’s father stands there.

Damian’s heart trembles.

Chapter Text

Damian cannot forget his father's face even if he wanted to.

"Damian," comes his rough voice but Damian's mind is somewhere else. It lingers in the manor, stuck in a room where he could not leave, and then of the strange people who kept him trapped there. Then his thoughts squirm into a spiral of rationality and his eyes carefully take in possible escape routes. It would not be hard to kick down the glass of a nearby window, hanging over the werewolf's couch, but would he be prepared for the fall that would come after? The chase that would follow?

"You know him?" The officer asks, his voice lacking surprise.

"I do," Damian's father grunts and nods briskly. He takes a step forward and Damian takes a step backward.

Damian, for a short embarrassing moment, feels a tint of fear. The man who had taken him from his mother was ready to capture him once more. Then he feels angry. Angry at his own stupidity. Angry at himself for not being able to defend himself despite having trained under his mother since infant-hood. He feels angry at the man who stands before him; an obstacle on his path to escape from the hellhole that was Gotham.

"You will not put your filthy hands on me," Damian's mouth is in one of his heaviest scowls to date. "I will not be treated like a prisoner."

"Did he do something?" Damian's host asks after the boy's angry declaration.

"He's my son." His father answers shortly.

The officer makes a clear noise of choking on air. His mouth hangs open and then he looks at Damian's father with eyes filled with disbelief. The man's honesty is obviously not something that the officer experiences normally but Damian wouldn't bother attempting to examine his reactions any further. All he understood from his father's interaction with the officer was that they knew each other. They knew each other well enough that his father would admit to Damian being his son even if Damian believed otherwise.

"Who?" The officer stumbles out, "Wait, no, I can figure that out myself."

He sniffs the air like the mongrel he is. Damian cannot understand how a humanoid wolf could act so much like a mutt without being embarrassed by his behavior.

"Talia." The man deadpans after his sniffing adventure. "Are you serious? I can smell her mark on him but it's faint. Have you been trying to get rid of it?"

"Yes," Damian's father claims and Damian stiffens at his admittance.

Damian is no longer angry. He is infuriated.

The officer takes a long look at his father and then heaves out a heavy sigh.

"You know, trapping a child in a few wards isn't going to get rid of her influence on him, remember?"

"I know," his father replies quickly, "I was the one who taught you."

The officer stays silent for a few seconds, far too long for Damian's liking, but then he continues even though no one had invited him to do so, "You could try something else," Damian listens to the officer rattle on until he offers a foolish proposition, "leave him here. You know how adept my people are at getting rid of scents."

"He's my blood son, " Damian's father begins to stress. "I can't let him go. Not with Talia on the prowl."

"The Al Ghuls know better than to enter someone else's den," Officer Grayson deflects his father's reasoning immediately. For a moment, both are at a standstill, and Damian believes himself to be finding the window a lot more attractive than usual. He could imagine the glass flying all over the place after he kicked his boot into it.

A kitten's cry breaks him out of his fantasies.

The kitten huddled to his chest reminds him of the excellent tracking abilities of a werewolf. He could escape, he could try, but the officer would be right on his tail the entire way.

"I know what having family means to you," the officer lowers his voice, saying gently, "and no other creature could relate as much as my own species. Remember when you last had a binding of blood? You became extremely possessive and overbearing."

Damian's father stiffens.

Good.

Damian liked to see his father outmatched even if it was by a distasteful mongrel.

"Just a few days," he compromises with Damian's father, "and then he'll be back in your care."

His father grimaces.

"You know that if he stays too long that you might..." his father glances over to where Damian stood, between them both, trying to get a grip on the conversation that was flying over his head, "Unless you've already..."

Damian finally gets a clue of what his father is talking about. The man may have been trying to speak in vague terms but werewolves became territorial over the things they thought belonged to them. That is what his mother told him, anyway, and that was why she had warned him to stay away from them. This didn't happen to everyone but he didn't want to risk the chances of it happening to him. There were rare cases of werewolves taking an instant liking to someone and adopting them into their families. Whether it was for, or against their will, mattered not to the furry brutes.

His father does not change his posture but his voice sounds his defeat loud and clear.

"Fine."

Damian does not feel lucky.

Perhaps he was indeed going to be free from his father's clutches for a while longer.

However-

The officer.

He did not want to be with him either.

Chapter Text

"I never formally introduced myself," Officer Grayson says after the sun begins to peek it's head into the golden horizon forming outside the window. "I'm Richard Grayson. My friends just call me Dick."

Damian doesn't look at him as he introduces himself. He thinks that the sun is a much more interesting view even though he has seen it many times in his lifetime. Perhaps, should he look straight into the sun, it would take mercy on his pitiful soul and burn him to a crisp. Then he wouldn't have to worry about being held captive.

It was strange.

He had traded one lunatic for another.

Richard Grayson.

Dick.

Damian voices his thoughts, "What is your relationship with the miscreant that calls himself my father?"

Damian can feel the officer's eyes on him even though his own gaze was directed elsewhere.

"Our relationship is... complicated," Grayson answers carefully.

Damian does not appreciate the vague reply.

"Forgive me for prying," Grayson begins while Damian has already sworn to not forgive him, "but how did you come to be in Bruce's care?"

Damian clicks his tongue against his teeth in mild annoyance.

"He captured me," Damian seethes, "and imprisoned me within his manor."

The officer blinks.

"Captured...?"

"In a term that even children can understand," Damian thinks himself to be rather generous to explain his situation any further to the man who was acting as his current host as he continues, "I was kidnapped." Damian does not bother to go any further than that.

"He must have known that Al Ghuls grow weaker in captivity," Grayson mutters loud enough for Damian to hear him. Damian's eyes then fly over to Grayson's figure and he observes how the man brings a hand up to massage his chin. The thoughtful expression on the officer's face does not slip Damian's watchful gaze.

"The Al Ghuls are not weak." Damian defends. "Never do they grow weak."

His answer seemed to fascinate Grayson.

"Every race has its weaknesses..." he says slowly, watching Damian's expression for the slightest twitch, "and your people are no exception."

"The Al Ghuls are superior to the rest of the populace," Damian growls, "and that is how it will always be."

"Perhaps that is what you were led to believe." Grayson doesn't bother cutting corners. "The Al Ghuls grow weaker in solitude."

Damian prepares to retort but his mind runs back to his captivity in one of the manor's rooms. His authority over the shadows had dwindled greatly. He thought it to be a ward of some kind, something to keep him from escaping, but could his father had known that he already held a weakness? Had he decided to use that information and use it to keep Damian grounded within his home?

"We do not grow weak in captivity," Damian snarls, denying any logic in his brain, and decides to drive solely on his emotion. His pride as an Al Ghul blood heir was on the line. He could not forsake it, even if he wanted to be free from the shackles of his mother's grip, and of his grandfather's expectations.

Grayson ignores him and continues, "Did you not wonder why Bruce was extremely possessive of you? Elves have long lives. Yet, despite that, they lack the ability to bear children freely. Your very existence is a rare one. You have inherited such a weakness. The weakness of elves. The weakness of the Al Ghuls."

"Should you call me weak one more time," Damian threatens, hissing like a venomous snake ready to strike, but the officer is not deterred. The only thing that stops Damian is the lump that he hides close to his chest. A kitten that had long since fallen asleep in his warm hold.

"I have not said any such thing," Grayson insists. "I'm simply explaining your bloodlines to you."

"As if I would need your assistance," Damian growls, "stupid fool. Just release me and let me be on my way. That is the least one of your intelligence can do."

Grayson's lips quirk into a small smile.

"No can do, kiddo."

Kiddo?

"You're under my protection now."

A glint.

Damian had nearly missed it.

Grayson's eyes flash a bright yellow but it disappears as soon as it had appeared.

"And I'm very territorial."

Chapter Text

Everything seemed to be going wrong.

He wanted to escape his mother, certainly, but not in this way. He did not want to be held against his will in a mutt's home. He did not want to be the son of a man who he had heard only in hushed whispers between his mother and grandfather.

"Do not speak," his mother's words haunt him, " to the unworthy."

She haunts him even when he is not near her.

Her words are like fingers, curling around his neck, to keep him from breathing comfortably. He fears she will strangle him in his sleep with the words that bind him. A mother's words had to be absolute. That is what she taught him. That is what he followed.

But then he spoke.

A burst.

Damian's chest filled with a rage. He exploded at his father who had followed him to the stranger's house, Officer Grayson, and then he decided to spill out explanations that were underserved. Having thought to be in control of his emotions, he foolishly allowed them to take control. Now all he feels is a shame. A shame that no Al Ghul feels. Only him.

Only Damian.

The two who watched him, his father and the officer, did not seem to be surprised when he spoke. They showed no shock, no surprise, and no fear. The most important reaction of them all. His mother told him so. It must be true. It must be true because it was her word. And her words bind him. Make it hard to breathe.

"For an Al Ghul's voice is mighty," she tells him in his sleep, "and those who listen, shiver and tremble. They know no better. That is because they were meant to be ruled over."

Yet, his voice had escaped. He hadn't thought twice about putting a leash on it. He lashed out, growling, seething, and no one trembled. They did not seem impressed.

It was almost as if they had expected it from him.

"You must only talk to me-"

His lungs heave.

"A voice holds power-"

He chokes on air.

"Speak not."

He yells.

The frustration, the anger, the irritation, all comes out in a single sound. A sound of rage, tied up around a child, who knew no better than to follow his mother's words. A child who suffered her presence even with when her person lacked.

His fingers tighten over the thing that is closest to him until he realizes that it is not the fabric that had been thrown over him during the afternoon that he had dozed off on the officer's couch after a wave of exhaustion. It was a warm, fleshy, texture that made him think that his mother might have just come from him. She was there to comfort him. To whisper soothing words into his ear even while he would tell her that he was no longer a child.

A voice hushes him. Masculine. Not his mother.

"It's okay."

Lies.

"You're alright."

He doesn't register the arm that wraps around his shoulders, pulling him in, and the hand that cuddles the back of his head. All he can feel is his nose pressing against a man's chest. Grayson. For a moment he doesn't move, but he does stiffen greatly. He feels like a branch, pulled straight off a tree, ready to bend and break under his captor's embrace.

When something brushes against the side of his ear - a bare finger - he snaps back into reality.

He pulls back as if stricken.

The man had the audacity to try to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. The ear that was covered by the cloak formed by his shadow. The shadow that had not left him. The shadow that hugged his form with no warmth. Not like the warmth that Grayson had just several seconds ago.

"Hey, hey," Grayson soothes, "it was just a nightmare. Nothing can harm you here."

That the man would dare to touch him so tenderly was incredibly stupid.

That he would almost touch his marks of shame. The biological markers that connected him to a man he did not want to belong to as a blood son.

Damian's eyes waver over Grayson's form warily. He is now on the far end of the couch ready to pounce his possible attacker.

"Are you alright?" Grayson asks, his voice melodious, and calming.

Damian does not answer.

Grayson raises a brow.

"The silent treatment again? I heard you speak yesterday. You had a lot to say."

Damian's lips curl into an angry snarl, his hand reaching up without thought to keep his kitten to his chest, only to realize that his new little friend was missing. For a moment, he panics, and it might have flashed through his eyes because Grayson seemed to understand instantly.

"Don't worry. Made your kitten a little cat bed. Didn't want you to crush the poor little guy in your sleep."

"I would no-..." Damian begins but shuts himself up immediately.

He looks at Grayson and isn't entirely sure on what to expect.

"They cower in fear at the might of our voices."

Grayson cowers not.

He blinks owlishly at Damian - showing no signs of being affected by his voice.

"Would not...?" Grayson urges Damian to continue.

Damian only tugs at the hood of his cloak and buries his eyes further underneath it. The soulless, swirling, black pits in his eyes were further hidden from Grayson's view. Damian had half-feared that the man might have seen his eyes when he had attempted to brush a strand of his hair behind his ear. The man makes no sign that he had seen them but Damian can't be too certain.

"You have failed a simple rule, Damian."

His mother's face, in his mind's eye, smiles.

"You were weak."

His shadow cloak stirs. Excited. Eager. Damian cannot find a discernable reason as to why it would act up against his will.

"Now that I think about it - The Shadows never talk - and it's a rare occurrence for the Al Ghuls." Grayson remarks. "But Talia could never hold herself back in front of Bruce. They'd flirt relentlessly. Kinda of gross."

Damian blinks.

His mother speaking in front of his father was acceptable. That was a man she had deemed worthy, to some extent, to speak to. Yet, to allow her voice to be heard by this man who held a relationship that Damian could not define as of yet... made his heart sting with a strange feeling. 

What was it?

Sadness? No.

Anger? No.

Betrayal.

Chapter Text

“Now I know it’s around here somewhere…”

Damian’s eyes browse the frames on the wall behind Grayson’s pathetic television set. The grey box was an eyesore - among other things - like Grayson’s mediocre couch that Damian had grown acquainted with in a mere two days. His original idea was to examine his surroundings to gain a familiarity with them should anything occur. That is how he finally notices the pictures on the wall and how his eyes narrow on one in particular. The photo might have slipped his gaze had he not spotted his father standing amongst three others (including Grayson).

Damian’s gaze is drawn to his father’s figure.

He took more after his father (appearance-wise) than his mother.

His own face would be a constant reminder for the rest of his life. Now he’d always see the similarities and be reminded of a family he didn’t want to be a part of.

“Aha!”

Grayson’s voice shoves Damian out of his pondering. Grayson proceeds to make all kinds of racket from within the confines of his room. He could hear the sound of a drawer slamming shut and then of Grayson stumbling outside into the hallway. One look at the man’s hand tells Damian that the object Grayson holds is the reason he had been making a ruckus.

“Found this old sucker,” Grayson shows off the article of clothing proudly, “tucked away!”

Damian gives the hoodie one good long look and then shifts his view back to Grayson.

“Now, I know it’s not much, but I figured it'd better than what you were wearing now.”

Damian allows his cloak of shadow to tuck himself further within its embrace, visibly showing his feelings on the matter, but Grayson was not one to give up easily. The werewolf only sees a small challenge to hurdle over while Damian saw an obstacle to be rid of.

The consequences of changing his clothes consisted of a few situations that Damian didn’t want to encounter. There was the state of his eyes, hidden from the view of others, that could be put at risk to be seen. Then he thinks of his ears. His accursed ears. A gross, hideous, sight. Finally, his shadow would no longer act as an outer shield of protection against the world around him, and it would escape back into his own flickering shadow that extended across Grayson’s carpeted floor.

Grayson takes a few happy steps forward. It was ridiculous to see the man being so joyful over such a simple find. Damian thought that the man might have been cursed with an age spell that kept him from maturing over a certain age.

Grayson holds out the hoodie in an offering.

“I’m also going out to meet some family and I felt this was a good opportunity to introduce you to them. That’s why I thought that you should come with me. You’d stick out like a sore thumb with a long draping black cloak.”

Damian’s lips tug downward into a frown.

“C’mon, kiddo,” Grayson tells him, “gotta get you out of the house. The sun will do you some good too.”

Damian feels that he doesn’t understand his own body sometimes. Somehow, in some way, his hand reaches out against the disagreement that skates across his mind. His fingers curl around the fabric of the grey hoodie.

Grayson’s smile grows ten times brighter.

It’s blinding. Damian doesn’t like it.

It’s hard to be angry at someone who’s always happy.

Maybe that’s why he did that. Maybe that’s why this whole facade existed. Perhaps, Grayson knew of this strategy and was using it against Damian. He thought him incompetent. That is why he was using such a tactic against him.

Damian pulls his arms through the sleeves of the hoodie and pulls it over his head. He pulls up the hood of the jacket at an acceptable length over his eyes. It was a good thing that the jacket seemed to be two times bigger than him. The hood might not have worked too well to conceal his eyes should it have been created any smaller. The downside was that the hoodie was rather baggy against his frame. It made him look a lot less sharp than he really was.

Damian closes his eyes.

This was a better option than taking off his cloak first. He could simply tell his shadow to leave after he put the jacket on. It was through this simple solution that he would be able to keep his face hidden without worrying about foolishly letting his identity loose to a mangy mongrel. 

 He doesn’t stop to consider the mutt that was still watching him as he wills his shadow to slip from his form. The shadow does as he commands, slipping from his body, and slithering down his legs until settling into the form of his original shadow.

“You mean that wasn’t even a real cloak?” Grayson asks.

Damian flinches backward.

There was nothing against showing his powers off. His mother never said he couldn’t do so. That didn’t make it any less… strange… because he was used to using his powers covertly. The only ones who watched him display his true strength were The Shadows, his grandfather, and his mother.

“Just a question. You don’t have to answer,” Grayson says quickly after noting Damian’s reaction.

Damian does what he does best.

He doesn't comment. 

Except, this time, it's because he's too embarrassed to. 

But he'd never admit it. 

Chapter Text

Grayson’s ‘family’ is a mixture of misfits.

The park they meet up in is rundown and unpleasant to view. The trees, with cluttered roots and dead branches, were an ugly sight. Their appearances were something that stretched out of those third-grade American horror films that had been badly translated into Arabic. The trees weren’t the only eye-sores. There was also the dead grass, the weeds that reached across the sidewalk, and the unsightly benches tagged with eye-bleeding graffiti.

Then there was Grayson’s family.

“Tim couldn’t make it,” a woman says.

Red hair. Confined to a wheelchair. Glasses. Threat level: Low. Her appearance was one that provoked others to underestimate her. She probably used that to her advantage. She might have a few tricks up her sleeve.

“Oh, yeah?” Grayson asks without expecting a reply. That is because his eyes shift over to the second person in their presence. A man with jet black hair, a white streak outlining the front of his bangs, with a brown jacket outfitting his torso. It barely covered the dark blue shirt he wore underneath. “Jason! Just the man I was looking for!”

Grayson trots forward and gives Jason a hard pat on the shoulder.

Jason grunts, “Yeah, yeah, just get it over with already, would you?”

“Is something going on that I don’t know about?” The redhead questions.

Grayson turns to her with a crooked grin on his face as he takes a step sideways. He dramatically sweeps his arm through the air and gestures toward the stiff figure of Damian who stands alert for trouble. “This is Damian. He’s come to live with me after some… special circumstances… and Jason is acquainted with his mother. Thought he might be able to provide some insight into his situation.”

Damian’s attention sharpens.

Jason. Grayson called him.

Did he truly know his mother?

“And why am I here?”

“I think you already know that,” Grayson says slowly, looking at the woman who directed the question at him. The woman stares back at him with a glaze of comprehension passing through her eyes before glancing at Damian himself. Damian, not being particularly comfortable with her attention, prepares for a fight.

“He’s not normal,” she observes.

“Not really. No.”

“Wait - wait,” Jason interrupts, “What do you mean, ‘ Jason is acquainted with his mother?’ Don’t tell me that one of the ladies I used to dance with had a chil-”

“It’s nothing like that,” Grayson intervenes. “He’s a Shadow.”

Jason tenses in place.

“Talia?” He says carefully.

“Talia,” Grayson affirms.

Jason glances at Damian and then back at Grayson. Jason then tugs at the wolf’s wrist and pulls him in closer. He begins to whisper low enough so that Damian couldn’t hear him. Damian finds himself unknowingly straining his ears to catch on to what they were talking about, but found himself suffering a small headache from stressing his hearing instead.

That had never happened before.

They finally stop whispering amongst themselves and Jason shoots a look over Grayson’s shoulder. The man doesn’t seem happy, no, because he frowns at Damian.

The woman speaks loud enough for everyone to hear, “She’ll come for him. I can sense it. He’s still under her influence. Bruce isn’t working fast enough.”

“That’s why he’s with me,” Grayson speaks up, pulling himself away from Jason.

Jason runs a tired hand through his hair. He lets out a deep sigh. “This isn’t a normal ‘scent-free’ exhibition,” Jason says this as if he knows from experience. “This is much more powerful than that.”

“But you broke away from her influence rather well,” Grayson points out.

Damian, at this point in the conversation, had no clue about what they were talking about.

“I wasn’t born under it. Not like him. He’d have to break her hold through other means.”

Jason pushes Grayson aside and strides over to Damian. He looks down at Damian while squinting his eyes as if trying to spot the insect underneath his boot. Damian, taking this as a challenge of intimidation, does not move. In fact, he straightens himself and looks back at Jason with equal (if not more) intensity. Perhaps it was a silly thing to do seeing as how Damian could not exactly show off his eyes to Jason, but he couldn’t just let himself be stared down by someone who claimed to know his mother.

Jason opens his mouth, and what comes out is not intelligible to Damian’s ears.

But his shadow?

His shadow gets really excited.

“Dnib taht sdrow,” Jason says and then Damian knows only light for a few seconds until a darkness falls upon him. His shadow shoots across the sidewalk and then brings itself off the ground until it forms a shadowy figure. Damian can tell something is very wrong when he starts to panic, for the shadow had not obeyed his commands to stop. Furthermore, the shadow turns into a humanoid womanly figure that had an uncanny resemblance to his mother’s shadow.

The shadow reaches for Jason with a hand.

Jason does not move.

The shadow reaches in, barely touching his skin, but then it withdraws with as if suddenly burned.

Jason laughs coldly.

“I don’t have it anymore. You’ve already eaten it.”

Damian has the faintest of ideas on what Jason is talking about even as the shadow retreats into the cracked sidewalk. It slithers back to his heels where it forms his shadow once more as if nothing had ever happened.

Damian let’s out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

What was that?

“Jason,” the woman breaks the strange silence that falls over all of them, “don’t do that again without a warning.”

Jason shrugs, his eyes never leaving Damian’s.

“Your shadow isn’t even your own,” he says.

Damian considers this heavily. His shadow wasn’t his own. He had his mother’s shadow. His mother’s shadow had been the shadow that was… was…

Gifted with.

Yes. His mother would never do him harm. This was all for his sake. This was for him. She knew best. His mother was wise. She knew what she was doing. Damian had nothing but confidence in her. He was nothing without her. 

"Attack the traitor,” he hears a sweet voice in his ear. “He is the defiler. He knows nothing of us. Nothing of you. He seeks to deceive. To lie. He walks the Earth when he belongs underneath it. Put him in his place.”

Damian can’t stop the words that come out of his mouth.

“Yes, mother.”

He pounces.

Chapter Text

“Don’t hurt him, Jason!”

“You don’t think I know that!?”

Damian acts without thinking. His years of fighting, sparring, and training comes to him naturally. When he throws kicks, he sees the training dummies that his mother had set in a straight line outside with red targets painted on the middle of their torsos. When he punches, he thinks of his grandfather knocking him down on the cold hard ground with a quick painful jab.

He sees the shadows laugh at him when he gets pinned to the sidewalk.

Jason grunts as he tightens his hold on Damian’s twisted arm. He keeps it hard against his back with a grip that does not relent in strength.

Damian doesn’t try to keep it in. He curses, in flawless Arabic, “Let go of me you worthless swine!”

“Damn it. Of all the times for Tim not to be here,” Jason growls lowly. “Guess Dick will have to do for now.”

What?

“Get your butt over here!”

Damian had been perfectly still, aware that a struggle would be worthless, but his mind flashed into overdrive at the mere thought that Jason might do something to him. Something that he wouldn’t like. Something that would make his life worse than it already was. That is why he struggles even as his arm yells at him to do the opposite. 

“Me?” Dick calls out.

“Yes, you!” Jason barks.

Damian hears Dick trot over. He listens to the bottom of his shoes clack against the broken concrete and stop. Then he hears the sound of clothing shuffling which gave Damian a good guess that Dick had decided to crouch next to his subdued form.

Damian lets out a deep, throaty, growl of frustration.

“You need to make a pact.” Jason says, his tone low and serious, “The only way to break her influence is to make different bonds. Seeing as how we don’t have the time… ”

“ A pact?” Dick stresses, “You know what that can do to someone. He won’t like it.”

“Does it look like we have a lot of options here? The minute I let go, he’s going to attack again.” Jason says, “Look. His shadow. It’s flickering. One of the signs of a hostile Al Ghul.” Jason pauses for a few seconds before continuing, “I could knock him out but he’ll be the same when he wakes up.”

“He was normal until now!” Dick complains.

“Yeah. Then I came in the picture,” Jason mutters, “and let’s say my relationship with Talia is pretty complicated right now.”

The air grows cold as a silence falls over the four alone in Gotham’s rundown park. It’s broken with a heavy sigh that belongs to Grayson.

Grayson huffs, “Fine. I’ll do it. I’m going to have to call off a week of work for this.”

“That’s the least of your problems,” Jason doesn’t sound amused.

Grayson makes no sound in reply.

Jason allows his grip to lighten.

Jason might have done so purposefully. Damian doesn't care either way. He jumps. He wastes no time. 

He prepares to slide underneath Jason’s legs, to strike him from behind, but Grayson intervenes before anything can take place. His hand darts out, grabbing Damian by the neck of his hoodie as he jets pass him, and then grunts, “Sorry, kiddo.”

“My adored.”

Damian’s eyes flicker and Grayson’s eyes flash a sharp yellow.

"Belove-”

His mother’s whispers begin to cut off. He hears many of her terms of endearment but they group up into a jumble of noise in his mind. It grows louder and louder.

"NO!” A final cry comes out from the abyss of his mind. The cry seems more real than all of the other thoughts that had barraged him mercilessly. Damian feels the hopelessness that waves from the word of desperation. 

He feels that the cry is not his own. 

Then everything grows dark.

Chapter Text

His mother never mentioned his father.

Damian never questioned her about it either. He had assumed that he had come into the world through supernatural means. As a child, around the age of six, he had come up with the silly idea that she had plucked him right out of her own shadow. She, perhaps, gazed upon him fondly and decided to raise him from that point on. After conjuring up such a story - he decided to bring it up to his mother. His wrong guess amused her to the point of allowing a rumbling chuckle out. She had smoothed down his hair, leaned down to kiss his cheek, and then said, “No, Damian, that is incorrect.”

She never bothered to tell him what was correct.

He figured it out on his own.

He wished she had lied to him and said yes.

Yes. I plucked you from my shadow and formed you in my image.

A lie would save him from this trouble. He would consider him unrelated to the man that claimed to be his father and that would be it. He wouldn’t have to confront the impurity of his blood.

“A black sheep.”

Light forms in his darkness. Specks litter his dreaming, floating like fireflies, in a place where they do not belong. Damian sits amongst all of them with the vague awareness that he sits in fantasy. This was not reality. Reality isn't pitch black with wisps of inexplicable light.

In reality his grandfather does not stand beside him.

His grandfather stands tall and firm. His form’s outline glows and the wisps in Damian’s dream seem to still.

“Am I not wrong?”

Damian’s eyes connect to his grandfather’s. They are empty. Just like his - they swirl into a black abyss - darkness hiding within the depths of his unmoving stare.

Damian cannot answer. Not until his grandfather asks for it. Not until his grandfather wills for it.

“Speak.”

Damian does. “I don’t understand.” That is all that comes out of him. His voice is low and respectful. He cannot speak louder than his grandfather. That was a show of power -  one only the eldest of Al Ghuls was allowed - and Damian was ill-fit for such a display in front of the most esteemed of shadows.

“Your mindscape isn’t supposed to look like this,” his grandfather says, off-handedly, “with signs of light. Our family is one of darkness. Thus, we dream in darkness, and that is the way it has always been.” His grandfather eyes escape Damian’s to look at their surroundings. He shows no expression. Damian cannot tell whether he is disappointed, upset, or any of the like.

“Perhaps you can interpret the rest,” the eldest Al Ghul finishes. 

His grandfather pauses and Damian listens for his next words. When he realizes his grandfather doesn’t intend to say anything else, Damian dares to look up at him once more only to find his grandfather’s presence missing. He hurries to stand up in his spot. His eyes roam around to find any sign of his grandfather but his attention is grabbed by the wisps of light that float leisurely in his space. They begin to expand in size - growing brighter - until they threaten to engulf him with their blinding rays.

The light grows stronger and stronger.

Then he opens his eyes.

The ceiling light hovers in his vision. He blinks a few times - lying still in his state of confusion. Once his memories race back to his waking person he shoots up with an aching chest. There was no reason for his chest to be aching. He was fairly certain that he had no injuries from his battle with the man named Jason but his chest flutters against his reasonable conclusion.

“You’re awake!”

A rush of worry shoots through his bloodstream.

Damian’s eyes shoot wide open because he has no reason to feel worried. He is never worried.

The mattress he lays on sinks with a new weight and Damian’s gaze darts to the intruder of his space. He is not too surprised to see Grayson even as the man reaches out to make contact with his forearm.

“I was worried,” Grayson says.

Damian stops breathing.

“Jason said there was a reason you weren’t acting like yourself. He wouldn’t tell me much. Just that you weren’t really in control back there.”

No, no, no, no.

He needs to get out. Needs to leave.

Needs to-

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Grayson says as if he knows exactly how Damian is feeling.

“You-” Damian gasps, retreating from Grayson’s touch. His hand reaches up to tug down his hood. When his hand only grasps at air he knows that he is doomed. 

Grayson saw.

Grayson can see.

Damian throws both hands over his eyes in horror. He scrambles across the mattress. He doesn’t yelp when he makes an undignified fall off the side nor when he scoots backward until the wall hits his back. His breath thickens as he ignores the worry that grows ten-fold within his chest. The worry conflicts with the panic that shakes his bones. 

That is not his worry.

Chapter Text

I didn’t ask for any of this.

Damian had done everything his mother had asked of him. He had adhered to her rules even after he was taken from her. Yet, even so, that does not change that she has broken the rules she had set in place. She did so first. Why should he not follow?

Damian feels hot. His skin burns and his hand trembles even as he grips the hoodie that was still worn across his torso. Everything Grayson says passes his hearing. He does not bother wasting any energy on the man’s failing attempts to soothe. Damian can feel what Grayson displays on his face, but he ignores the foreign feelings that invade his privacy.

So he can feel what I feel now?

Damian clenches his teeth hard even as the pressure causes his head to throb.

If Grayson truly could feel what he felt then Damian hopes that Grayson will feel the anger that courses through his blood. He wants to smother the man’s pitiful worry with something far worse.

How dare he?

How dare he?

“You bastard,” Damian seethes through gritted teeth. He is no longer surprised and the problem with the clear view of his eyes suddenly becomes the last thing he cares about. “Continue to pretend that there is nothing wrong with this; you lose nothing in this arrangement.” He can’t breathe correctly, it comes out in short angry bursts between his words, but he makes sure that his words are clear for Grayson. The mongrel falls silent at Damian’s words.

“I did not run from you. I knew you’d track me. I am not as dull as to ignore the scent of a spineless werewolf,” Damian growls lowly, “But if you expect me to linger after this breach of privacy, you are sorely mistaken, and you will regret interfering with my life.”

The shadows around him in the room bend in his direction, but Damian knows he cannot use them properly as they were the shadows of objects. The weakest in the shadow family. Unthinking. Unknowing. Damian only calls for them because he cannot call for his own. It doesn’t reply to any of his mental summonings.

Imagine his surprise when the shadows surge across the floor, swirling around his arm, and then forming an object within the grip of his hand.

“Your meddling,” Damian raises his body from the ground, pulling the sword through the air into a familiar stance, “will now come to an end.”

His mother had made certain that he could hold a sword from the age of three. Damian was no stranger to the sword, no matter the shape it took. The shadowy form that the sword held itself in was of no concern to Damian. All he thinks is of exacting his feelings on Grayson - in physical form - and his sword would be a satisfactory end to his captor.

Damian springs forward across the room. He is acutely aware at how small the room is once he jumps for the police officer, but that doesn’t stop him from thrusting forward to stab the mutt in the abdomen.

Grayson stumbles to the side in narrowly dodging Damian’s sword, but Damian anticipates this. He pulls back quickly and swings downward at Grayson’s fallen figure.

“I didn’t have much say in this either!” Grayson shouts, once more narrowly escaping Damian’s swing by shuffling to his left,“But you were not in control of your own actions!”

“Discard your act of folly,” Damian spits out venomously. “You have stolen a freedom from me. It matters not what your intentions were.”

Damian’s blade slices through the air but the trajectory is thrown off the second Grayson kicks Damian’s knee with his foot. Damian is forced to take a step backward to regain his balance which is plenty of time for the mutt to jump up from the ground.

“Even if such intentions were to break you free from your mother’s influence?” Grayson asks, his fists raising in a defensive stance. Damian nearly scoffs at the sight but keeps his face carefully composed. He could not risk allowing his opponent to read his moves through the slip of an expression, even if the said opponent was intending to protect himself from a sword with his bare hands.

“I do not question her decisions,” Damian lies.

He raises his sword above his head, steps forward, and then swings in a downward motion.

The rest happens quickly.

Grayson raises his hands quickly. Both do different things. One captures Damian’s raised elbow in a tight grip while the other stays flat against the area of his wrist. Damian immediately comes to recognize the technique he is using because his mother would use similar ones to disarm him, but he cannot escape Grayson’s grip so easily. The mutt was physically stronger than him so regaining his arm seemed to be an impossibility.

Grayson’s hand flies over his wrist, forcing Damian to lower his raised arms, and then he grabs hold of the hilt of Damian’s sword.

Damian does not relinquish his hold on his sword, neither does he move, because his eyes are glued on the hand that tightens around the hilt of his sword.

It isn’t possible.

His eyes widen in utter fascination.

No one could wield shadows - only the Al Ghuls. Any other person would phase right through unless Damian commanded the shadow to have an opposite effect.

Damian’s distraction is his downfall. Grayson swiftly twists the sword out of Damian’s hands after adjusting his grip on Damian’s elbow. Damian falls backward in his dumbfounded state.

Grayson points his own sword at him.

“I didn’t want to form a pact with you,” Grayson says. Damian feels a regret spur up in his chest which must belong to Grayson. “I had little choice.”

Damian watches as Grayson foolishly drops his sword to the side. The object instantly evaporates into a whiff of black smoke. The shadows that had been grouped together to form Damian’s sword fly to their rightful places.

Damian doesn’t like the look in Grayson’s eyes. Not at all.

“And I’m sorry .”

Damian hates it that he can tell that Grayson means it. He hates that he can feel everything that Grayson can. He hates it that Grayson can probably feel everything he feels in turn. It was a major breach in his security.

“All I can ask is that you give this a chance. Give me a chance.”

Damian stiffens under Grayson’s unwavering apologetic gaze.

He gives him a hard stare in return.

“No.”

Damian takes in a deep breath.

“I’m leaving and you can’t stop me.”

He would find his mother and he would get answers from her.

Chapter Text

Damian doesn’t look back at Gotham’s receding city line.

He had left in the dead of night with his kitten in tow. Grayson seemed to have been sleeping. Damian wouldn't put it past the officer to have been feigning his state of rest, but that didn't stop Damian from slipping out as quietly as possible. On the off-chance that he was legitimately asleep - Damian was careful to make near to no noise. The only thing that might have given him away was the turn of the door handle. Regardless of noise, he left, and Grayson didn't stop him. Grayson must have known he would leave tonight. He had said he would leave. That is why this was - in a way - a silent acceptance that Damian was free to do as he liked.  

He stuffed his little kitten within the confines of Grayson’s hoodie so he could sneak her onto the bus that was leaving Gotham’s borders (he made certain his hood was on before gaining admittance as a passenger). He does this all while the events of the previous day are fresh in his mind. He cannot be rid of the image of Grayson holding his sword. It was unnatural.

The bus ride is fairly peaceful, or it would be if Damian was not as on guard as he was now. He was not one to allow his defenses to fall even if everything seemed to be quiet.

Someone is waiting for him once he steps off the bus.

The doors close behind him leaving him no option to retreat back inside. He is forced to encounter a woman who looks at him with a smug smirk on her face. Damian knows that smirk because he used to see it throughout his days in the League of Shadows. The woman across from him would call it the League of Assassins, instead, because that is what the organization is properly called. That is the organization she belongs to.

Cheshire. That is who she is. She is a woman who served the League of Assassins even before Damian had been born. She was one of many that worked under his grandfather’s command, but that didn’t make her one of them. She was a type of demon with literal poison running through her veins that his grandfather had plucked up from her mother’s corpse. A human, Vietnamese, woman who had been taken advantage of by a poisonous incubus.

Cheshire’s appearance wasn’t too different from the one that Damian had grown up with. She still had jet black hair with an eye-catching green martial artist robe outlined with gold. His grandfather’s colors.

“I found you, little prince,” she says, amusement lacing in the back of her voice.

Damian doesn’t question how she had known that he would step off the bus, at this exact time, in this exact place. He knows Cheshire has a wide channel of informants and scouts. His best guess was that his mother had commanded her to keep track of all public transportation leaving the city just in case Damian decided to use such a route. It was either that or that this was somehow a complete coincidence which was highly unlikely all in itself.

That you have, Damian wants to say, but he doesn’t. He may have spoken freely to several other people in just the past few days but he can’t let himself slip here. Cheshire would report back to his grandfather if he made the slightest action that suggested him being a rule-breaker. Besides, he wasn’t trying to gather the attention of his grandfather because his main objective was to confront his mother about his situation. He wanted to ask her why she’d break the rules she had preached to him to follow, why she would inject her shadow into his own being, and why she forced him to act.

He wanted to ask why she betrayed the family.

“My orders are to escort you to Infinity Island. You will report your grandfather immediately upon arrival. Do you have any objections?”

Of course not. He can not.

He shakes his head.

“Excellent,” Cheshire hums her approval. She sweeps her arm through the air and gestures to her right where only the road stretches out for miles. “Little lords first.”

Cheshire giving him mocking nicknames was nothing new and so he pays her no heed. He simply decides to take her invitation to lead and heads down the road. He does so until five minutes in when she pulls him to a stop with her voice.

“There we are!” Cheshire’s voice rings out. She picks up her pace in a jog, heading toward a brush on the side of the road. She swipes away at the foliage and branches that pile high on top of each other. Her efforts prove to be rewarding as the metallic shine of a car begins to shine through.

“Good, good,” Cheshire mumbles to herself as she continues to work at the remaining remnants of nature. Once she finishes - she pulls the handle of the driver’s seat door - and settles herself on the white leather chair hidden within. She pushes a key in the ignition and starts it up. Damian follows her example and pulls himself into the front passenger’s seat. He slams the door behind him which earns him a glare from his driver, but he ignores it all the same.

Cheshire steps on the gas and Damian’s return begins.

Damian raises a hand to his chest to make certain that the kitten he had hidden in his jacket was still okay. He is understandably relieved when he feels the kitten’s rising chest underneath the palm of his hand. It gives him some comfort that the kitten didn’t die from stress or from a lack of oxygen. He had made sure she’d get enough air by tugging at the bottom of his hoodie every so often. He didn’t want the air to get too stuffy for her, but he also knew he couldn’t show off his little companion freely to his escort. 

Speaking of his escort-

“Did you have fun?” She teases even though she knows he cannot reply to her. “I sure had a hell of a time with your mother at my throat. She seemed pretty confident in finding you until she encountered a… roadblock… so to say.”

She lets out a low laugh but it is not an amused one. It is dark. Her hold on the steering wheel tightens and Damian can hear the leather underneath squeak against her skin. “And as a servant of the night, I was forced to suck it all up.”

Damian ignores Cheshire’s passive aggressiveness (as it was nothing new to him) and decides that the passing scenery is more interesting to him. It would be all he would see until he reached Infinity Island.

He would temporarily trust Cheshire, for now, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be careful around her. Everyone knew that she had dodgy alliances with others outside of the league. There was nothing that would stop her, other than Ra’s al Ghul’s wrath, from changing allegiances.

“This is the start of a long journey,” she hums happily as if her anger was something to be easily dismissable. “I’ve always loved road-trips!”

Damian inwardly groans.

And then a thought floats around in his mind. Uninvited. Unwanted.

Can Grayson feel the exasperation I feel right now?

Chapter Text

Damian falls into deep reverence the moment he steps off the helicopter.

Infinity Island. Damian had not been raised on Infinity Island but he knew of the significance it held to his grandfather. The ground he stood on was the birthing place of all of his servants, slaves, and minions. It was a gathering place for the weaved shadows that came to life under his grandfather’s hand. It was also a base of operations for those who shared his world views or for the lost souls that searched for more power. His grandfather promises them, that with their servitude, they will grow in strength with his guidance. Those that fall for his binding words find themselves trapped in eternal obedience.

The shapes of shadows shoot across the dirt and stop a few feet away from Damian’s position. The shadows pick themselves off the ground until they form a small group of humanoid figures. Cheshire says to this, in a mumble, “Guess the welcoming committee is here.” She falls silent after commenting because of the shadows love for silence. A trait they picked up from their long, undying lives, of subjugation.

The shadows stand limply in front of them for a few long moments. Watching. Waiting.

They melt back into the ground and glide away from them.

Cheshire breaks the silence with a heavy sigh.

“Guess we passed,” she remarks tiredly, “makes my hairs stand on edge every time.”

Cheshire titled them adequately when she called them the ‘welcoming committee.’ None could set foot on Infinity Island without passing inspection. Damian had never failed because of the familial status he held within his grandfather’s eyes, but those that did were typically dragged into a room akin to a dungeon.

“I don’t want my head chopped off,” Cheshire begins, taking the lead this time when walking ahead, “so we better report back to base.”

Damian knows what she refers to. His grandfather was not as forgiving as one might hope. The smallest of failures could trigger his anger. That is why Damian was groomed to be as perfect as possible before he first met his grandfather. His mother warned him of his grandfather’s dislike for mistakes. He still remembers her lengthy lectures on him to this day. Fortunately - from what Damian had heard from his mother - Ra’s al Ghul was greatly merciful when it came to the affairs of his own blood. Damian simply thinks it is because of the potential they all carry. They all have it sewn into the marrow of their bones - his legacy - and it follows all those related to the mighty demon that sits on his throne.

Ra’s al Ghul.

Damian prepares.

Cheshire leads him to a room within the giant metal base where only high authority can reside in. A room dedicated to someone who ruled over all others.

“I’m not staying,” Cheshire tells him as two shadows pull the double doors open. The doors open slowly and Cheshire slips away as quickly as she can and Damian cannot blame her. She had the right to fear his grandfather. All did.

Soulless pits greet him.

Damian walks four steps forward and falls to his knees.

“Do not lift your head,” the memory of his mother whispers, “until you are invited to.”

His mouth feels dry. The silence might have been comforting if his grandfather wasn’t staring down at him with his judging gaze. His grandfather could say anything, could command anything, and it would come to pass. If he deemed Damian no longer worthy to reside as a member of the Al Ghul family - he could end his short life in an instant.

“You have returned to us,” his grandfather’s voice is powerful and shaking, “as I suspected you would.”

Damian hears the head of his household shuffle with the rustle of his clothing. Damian can imagine him wearing his green and gold robe as he always did.

“What have you learned of the world outside?” His grandfather begins, “Does your sight align with mine? Did you see the trash and abominations that roam our world?”

Our world, he claims, and Damian feels some sort of pride that his grandfather would add him into the equation.

“You may speak,” his grandfather finally ends.

Damian does not allow this opportunity to waste. He says, “I felt weak.”

“Continue,” his grandfather urges, sounding a little eager, but Damian thinks it’s a trick on his ears. His grandfather is never eager. His expression is always a neutral one; a portrait that no art-enthusiast could ever properly interpret.

“I was abducted against my will,” Damian says, though he is fairly certain that his grandfather already knows this, “and spending days away from the shadows made me feel weak. I was not myself. I doubted my abilities even though I know I am superior to the filth that I encountered.”

Damian does not lie. He is stronger than others his age, much stronger, and he was on the way to the highest limits of the Al Ghul physique. He could fight with grown men fist to fist without getting a bruise. He was excellent with the sword. He was better than those who subdued him. Better than Grayson. Better than his father.

“Were you alone?” His grandfather asks.

What a strange question.

No. He wasn’t alone.

“No.”

“Then it must be the tainted blood that you carry.”

That is not something Damian wants to hear.

His grandfather continues, not noticing Damian’s sudden emotional stress, “But we will remedy the disease you carry within time. For now, you must rest, and continue your lessons with your mother.”

Damian hears the doors open and turns his head slightly (he does not lift it. That is a death sentence).

His mother stands motionless in his view but she has the slightest of smiles that only appears when she spots him on the floor.

That smile. It was for him and him alone.

"That I have lost,” his mother says in flawless Arabic, “has now been found.”

Chapter Text

Damian thought that he knew his mother.

“You have grown clumsy,” she says smoothly as she sweeps him off his feet. He lands on the ground hard enough that he loses his breath after getting the wind knocked out of him. It takes a few seconds of panic for his body to kick into gear and catch up with his racing mind. “This is what happens when you neglect your training.”

“I’ve had little opportunity to train, ” Damian spits out.

His mother collected him from his grandfather’s presence a mere day ago. When she had expressed an interest on checking Damian’s skill - Damian had made certain to hide his little kitten within his room - and then one can imagine what happened next.

“It’s not only that,” his mother looks at him inquisitively, “you are distracted.”

She stands ready to fight and gives Damian time to pick himself off the floor. She patiently waits for him to make the next move and Damian is not one to disappoint his mother. He picks his right leg off the ground and hurls a kick to his mother’s side. There is no impact as his mother scoops his leg in the crook of her elbow.

“Tell me what it is that plagues your mind.”

With his leg effectively trapped in her hold; the next step is to regain his trapped limb. That is why he pulls his foot back as far as he can and presses his heel against her hip bone. He does all of this and pushes hard against her. She stumbles back a step but it’s not enough to catch her off guard. 

“I am troubled,” Damian admits, “and I have many questions.”

A corner of his mother’s lips quirks into a small smile.

“You need only ask.”

Damian would not let this chance go to waste.

His mother does not allow her chances to waste either. She is quick to surge forward and throw a punch. Damian takes advantage of his shorter stature and ducks underneath her punch.

“Why did I never learn of my father’s heritage?” Damian asks.

“I did not want you to question your position as the heir to your grandfather’s throne. Your father also has a seat to be filled. I did not want such an option to be presented to you,” his mother tells him in a neutral tone. Damian cannot tell what she is feeling even as she deflects a punch he aims at her chin.

“Even though it’s my birthright? ” Damian says in between gritted teeth. She deflects another one of his punches with the outside of her wrist.

“You are lucky to be considered for your grandfather’s position, to begin with. Hybrids are taboo within our family.”

Damian knew that. It was unspoken, most of the time, but being of mixed blood was not right for the Al Ghuls. That is one of the reasons why Damian’s uncle, a man named Dusan al Ghul, had been kicked out of the family.

“If your grandfather did not respect your father than things would be quite different,” his mother explains. Damian throws one more punch and his mother deflects it again. She does this for his barrage of punches until finally, he knicks her after switching to his opposite fist. It lands against her cheek in a blur.

“I do not wish to call him that,” Damian says.

His mother pulls her gaze back to Damian after the collision of his fist.

Damian begins his attack once more. His mother isn’t having it. She grabs hold of his arm and throws him over her shoulder.

“Your decisions are your own,” his mother agrees.

Damian is left looking at the ceiling as his mother hovers over him. Damian feels a drip of sweat trail down his forehead, but that was the result of his physical confrontation with his mother. She was going easy on him.

“You spoke.” Damian states.

His mother raises a brow.

“You spoke to people outside of our family.”

He sees it. It’s just a glint but he spots it. Hesitation. Right through her eyes.

“Who told you that?”

“The man who calls himself my father, the mutt that hangs around him, and a man named Jason.”

His mother stiffens. Then she frowns. “Jason?” She repeats, “Jason Todd?”

“He had a white streak in his hair.”

“Did he say anything?”

“He said a lot of things,” Damian answers.

“Did he say anything that would make you feel strange?” His mother tries again.

Damian remembers. Vaguely.

He files through the memories in his mind and brings up the image of Jason saying something to him in what sounded like gibberish. “He said something I couldn’t understand. It sounded like English being spoken backward.”

His mother inhales. Loudly.

Then her eyes travel to his feet and she searches for something. Something he is now missing.

“That is why I could not…” she trails off in thought.

Damian sits up in sudden interest. His mother showing such emotion was not typical nor usual for her. For her to be this bothered by something he said was a rarity.

“Could not what?” He asks in a demanding voice.

“Track you,” she finishes.

Damian narrows his eyes.

“He saw the connection that lingers between you and me. He got rid of it.”

“He said the shadow I had wasn’t my own,” Damian says carefully.

His mother closes her eyes tightly, almost as if she were in pain, but Damian could see no bruises on her. It must have been emotional. He could not know. She was just as his grandfather. He couldn’t decipher any of the expressions on her face even after having been raised by her hand.

Damian doesn’t know why she crouches down to his eye-level. He doesn’t know why she takes him in her arms or why she holds him so tightly. Her hand settles on the back of his head keeping it firm and unmoving.

“My little one, ” she whispers, “you have not had a shadow since you were born.”

To say this new information wasn’t life-shattering would be a complete lie. 

Damian doesn’t think.

Damian can’t think.

His mind is empty and blank. It takes him a while to form any sort of word, and when it comes out it spaces out, “No… shadow…?”

How could that be?

He is a Shadow. He is part of the Al Ghuls. A family of the dark reflections of all things. Every one of them had a shadow trailing after them. Damian thought he had one too - had thought since he was a child - until this very moment.

“Your shadow isn’t even your own,” Jason’s voice echoes against the walls of his skull.

How was he even living ?

“Then why did you…?” Damian trails off.

His mother’s hold tightens.

“I cannot say,” she whispers.

Why was your shadow with me then? Damian wants to ask. He would have asked other things. He would have asked how she knew Jason, demanded a proper explanation on why she talked to those outside the Al Ghul family, and why her shadow had completely taken-over his person.

Nothing comes out.

He stays silent even as his mother escorts him to his room. He is silent as the shadows search his room on the behalf of his grandfather’s interest.

He is silent until he hears a small mew.

His eyes dart up from his lap, atop his bed, and look at a shadow that holds his kitten by the scruff of her neck.

“Let go of her!” He stands up from his bed swiftly.

The shadow looks at him but it has no face.

And then a small line forms across its face. Damian has seen it before. All shadows mimicked the things they saw and this one was copying a mouth.

“Un...worthy…” the shadow says slowly as it gestures to the kitten within its hand. “Fi...lth…”

“Mine,” Damian growls, “and off-limits.”

He stomps forward and snatches the kitten out of the shadow’s hold. He holds her close to his chest where he felt she belonged. Close to him. Nowhere else.

“Mi...ne…” the shadow whispers.

Damian graces the shadow with a gaze once more and wonders what his grandfather saw in such servants. They were not intelligent. They only copied what they saw and then forgot all such information when the sun went down.

But they were still shadows.

And they were genuine.

More genuine then he’d ever be.

Chapter Text

His days are empty.

He is on auto-pilot when he trains. His mother must have noticed by now, that something was wrong with his mental state, but she makes no comment. Damian prefers it that way. He vents all of his energy, his absolute everything, into training. The only times he breaks out of his mindless stupor is when he returns to his room to enjoy the company of his animal companion.

Sunset.

That is what he names her.

Sunset seems to be the only highlight in his days. However, to have a highlight at all was strange to him because when had he ever had something to look forward to? He had done things routinely since birth. He had been told, repetitively, that he existed to succeed his grandfather’s throne. Once it had settled in his head - it became the ultimate truth - and that is how it has been.

That is how it has been and Damian loathes it.

He tires of it. He is exhausted of hearing his grandfather’s ideals every day and he is tired of the constant preaching. Sometimes he dares to think that his mother tires of it too because she is the one who takes charge in changing the subject when his grandfather rants on and on about the pitiful life forms that wander the Earth’s surface. It is just recently that Damian began to wonder what would have happened had he born something else. Would he be a victim to his grandfather’s grand aspiration to cleanse the world? Would his grandfather toss him away without a second thought?

“That man, Jason,” his mother says, breaking him from his thoughts as she places her bowl of soup down on cold, dirty, ground, “you would do well not to initiate a fight with him.”

Damian looks at his mother with questioning eyes before picking up the stick he had laid down on the ground earlier. He pokes and prods at the fire-spitting flames in-between them which allows his mother to continue, “He is a man that I thought had potential. I did something unspeakable.”

Damian stops moving his stick.

“I brought him back from the dead.”

He knew what such implications meant. She had used the Lazarus Pit.

The Lazarus Pit was something exclusive only to his grandfather. It keeps him seemingly ageless even though he should have died many centuries ago. Likewise, his mother had been blessed with the privilege to use the healing pits should his grandfather will it. Damian, himself, had never used the Lazarus Pit. He had no need of the swirling green waters.

The Lazarus Pit could also bring someone back from the dead.

It created zombies.

Except, zombies were typically mindless. Jason displayed a shocking amount of intelligence for someone who had previously been deceased. His mother must have done something to help him keep his mind after being revived.

“He stayed here for a year. He learned much under my guidance. I intended for him to…” his mother stops dead in her tracks as if she almost let something slip. She pauses for a good long moment, looking Damian straight in the eye, and continues, “That is why he knew of us and of our weaknesses. I was foolish when I thought that he would be loyal to us. I thought aiding in his revenge against his father would be enough for him to stay by our side.”

“His father?” Damian asks.

She cracks a smile.

“He did not tell you?”

“I tried to kill him the last time I talked to him,” Damian deadpans.

His mother stays silent in careful consideration.

“Is there something I should know?” Damian huffs.

His mother looks away from Damian and at their surroundings. They were sitting in a circle of trees, on the dirty forest ground, with two tents not too far away from where they were sitting. Their camping trip was a last minute decision, but his mother had insisted that they work on Damian’s survival skills.

“You are not an only child.”

Damian is blank.

“How many?” The words somehow come out.

"Three step-brothers,” she informs him. “Two live in Gotham. One lives in San Franciso but he visits Gotham frequently.”

“And Jason is one of my step-brothers?” Damian asks bitterly.

“Yes,” his mother is straight with him.

“You did not care to inform me of this,” Damian is exasperated. How many secrets must be withheld from him? 

“They are not of our blood,” his mother states, “and therefore are pointless additions to your life.”

“I would like to decide that for myself,” Damian spits.

His mother takes on an expression of warning and Damian instantly falls quiet. He does not back down, however, and returns her sharp gaze with one of equal intensity.

Apparently, his mother was feeling merciful that day because she pretends that he had not raised his voice against her. Instead, she returns to their past conversation by saying, “Jason knows much about us. Too much. At the time that I fused my shadow into your person - I was filled with hatred for him - and that reflection of my past was what must have provoked… unforeseen consequences.”

“It controlled me,” Damian hisses.

“I did not know how it would act,” his mother is honest with him, “because I have never tried such a thing until you came into my world.”

“But why ?” Damian looks down at his lap, gritting his teeth.

His mother looks around the area cautiously and then settles her gaze on Damian’s form once more. She takes in a deep breath and then releases, “What I am about to say to you is something I have kept from you since you were born. Your grandfather cannot hear of this.”

That catches his attention.

“You know of your grandfather’s dream to cleanse this Earth?”

Damian nods.

"His plan includes us, naturally, but your participation is one of tragedy.”

Damian stops breathing.

“Yes, you are his heir, but not in the way you think. Your grandfather never intended to give up his throne. His true goal was to…” she pauses and a pained expression slips onto her face, “to make your body his own.”

“What? But he told me-”

“He lies,” his mother doesn’t wait to deny Damian his claim, “and I did not want to give you up. I weaved my shadow into your body so that it would alert me should your grandfather do something unpredictable. It had other uses, too, like leaving a magical signature I could track down. It also proved to be an excellent camouflage against your grandfather’s assassins, ” she says the last word with a bit of venom in her voice. “They all happen to have been spying on you for him since birth.”

“He doesn’t know that I don’t have a shadow…?”

“No,” his mother begins, “but recently…”

Damian glances down at his missing reflection. The sun was supposed to cast his shadow naturally, like all living beings, but his shadowy figure was nowhere to be seen. Basic science tells everyone that it is physically impossible not to have a shadow. Damian seems to be an exception to that rule and he can’t explain why. This was all new to him. Regardless, had his grandfather noticed this when Damian first reported to him? Did he spot his shadowless presence?

“I fear the worse.” His mother’s voice drops lowly.

Damian can’t imagine it. The image of his grandfather parading in his body is something he doesn’t want to imagine.

“He seeks a younger body,” his mother says, “and that is why I train you. He wants a body in peak condition - with his blood - and your father’s blood is a bonus.”

Damian remembers looking up to his grandfather.

As a toddler, his grandfather’s back seemed unreachable. All of his aspirations had circled around his grandfather. He had always wanted to like the highest esteemed Al Ghul. The man had been the perfect example of everything Damian wanted to become, and now…?

Now Damian feels disgusted.

His grandfather thought him to be a mere tool to be used? A walking body that would one day be ripe for his taking?

Ha.

Haha.

“You tell me this now? ” Damian feels a hysterical laughter bubbling in his chest. “Have I no family that keeps secrets from me? At least - at least the secrets from that filthy elf were not nearly as life-threatening as these-”

“I intended no harm,” his mother tries.

“But it would come,” Damian laughs, “and I would not know until he plucks me like a fruit.”

“No,” his mother disagrees, “because you know now. ”

“Does it make any difference?” Damian’s laughing starting to die off in low, dark, chuckles.

“Yes,” his mother replies.

Damian throws a tired hand over his face and finds himself surprised when he notices how sweaty his hands had become. Then there was the absolute dread that fills his body, shooting through his blood, and covering his bones in its ear-bleeding melody.

And he feels the tiniest hint of a different feeling. Someone trying to comfort him.

It is not his mother.

“I cannot be here anymore,” Damian’s laughter stops completely and his voice hits a serious tone.

“You cannot,” his mother nods her head in agreement, “but there is little we can do until the opportune moment presents itself.”

His mother stands up and Damian stands up alongside her. The fire is now long forgotten.

She walks around it and places both of her hands tenderly on her son’s cheeks.

“I will protect you,” she promises.

Chapter Text

Something is wrong.

The air is different. One can call him foolish for his suspicions, but that didn’t change the fact that something was off with the shadows. They usually had set routines. Damian notices, after an intense training session with his mother, that all of the shadows were standing idly. He thought it to be the result of his grandfather’s mood, but there was something else to it that he couldn’t put his finger on.

He gets the gist of it when his mother kicks his door down.

There is a grave look in her eyes and her lips are pressed firmly together. Past her expression is the odd appearance of several shadows clinging onto her. Some of them had their arms wrapped around her waist, others barely holding onto her shoulders, and then there were the hands sticking out of the ground wrapping around her ankles. The strange image seems to have no negative effect on his mother. She seems calm.

“We leave. Now,” her voice leaves no room for questioning.

Damian hops off of his bed and grabs the katana hanging on the wall. He then swiftly scoops up the kitten that had been curled up in his blankets and tucks her in his shirt. Leaving Sunset behind meant almost certain death. No one would be lenient upon the discovery of a cat.

His mother doesn’t bother asking him how, or why, he had come to have a feline friend. She just gives him a look that tells him that they will have a conversation later.

He follows at her heels.

The shadows let go of her when she moves. Even so, they follow behind both mother and son mindlessly. Damian gives them a glance and thinks of how he has never seen such behavior from them before. Perhaps his mother had more information on this strange happening than he did.

“What provoked this?” He asks, feeling that this is a good time as any to ask questions about his situation.

“His plan. It moves,” his mother answers shortly, “and I cannot risk your presence here. We need to leave.”

“What must we do?”

His mother doesn’t stop as they move into a run down the hall. The shadows that can’t keep up seep into the ground and shoot across the walls alongside them.

They do not get far.

The woman that stands in their way is someone that Damian had only seen in passing. He knew that the woman they were confronting was one that was heavily-skilled in the martial arts, and he had once heard his grandfather praising her fighting prowess. He had taken it upon himself to discover more about her background after his grandfather’s compliments but he didn’t find much. All he learned was that she was the result of a superstitious couple that heeded a fortune-teller’s words about the misfortune she would bring. The two decided to give their daughter up as a sacrifice to a man-made god of fortune.

They stupidly created a vengeful spirit.

Lady Shiva.

She would be a tough opponent. She was masterful in the art of combat.

“You are not allowed to leave,” Lady Shiva tells them as they stand across from each other. The picture they painted was a perfect example of a stand-off. Both sides knew that they would eventually have to fight.

“Yeah. Family traitors are a no-go,” another voice pipes up. Damian recognizes it instantly. Cheshire.

Cheshire pulls herself to stand beside Lady Shiva and dares to put on a smirk. She pulls out a set of sai she has hanging from her sash and twirls them in her hands. “I mean, I know it’s boring here, but that doesn’t mean you have to run away,” Cheshire laughs but there is a seriousness in her eyes that betrays the falsity of her relaxed expression.

“You really are a mommy’s boy!” Cheshire taunts, looking straight at Damian, “Following her fallen path!”

Damian scowls, deeply.

Lady Shiva stops assessing the situation and darts forward. She heads straight for Talia and gives her hardly enough time to pick up a defensive stance. Damian doesn’t have much time to pay attention to his mother’s fight as one of Cheshire’s sai collides with his katana.

“Is this how you wish to throw your life away? In your own home?”

Damian pulls back and Cheshire swings at him aggressively.

He will not allow her to get the better of him.

Damian swings his sword for Cheshire’s head but she blocks it with the sai she holds in her right. He then swings in a fast vertical movement, but Cheshire seems to be one step ahead of him. She kicks the back of his knee and forces him down.

Damian is quick to defend himself from a slice of both of her sai by holding his sword above his head. The blade protects his head from the force that threatens to cause him harm.

“You know your grandfather’s words are absolute. You should also understand that your service will do the ultimate good for the fate of this world.”

When did you care about the fate of the world? Damian thinks to himself as he puts all of his strength in tossing the sais off his blade with a heavy push. He retaliates from the ground by aiming his sword’s slice at her stomach. She jumps backward which gives him only seconds of relief.

He throws another attack at her and she blocks it with both sai once more. They are left staring at each other in a battle of strength.

Then Damian hears his mother cry out in pain.

He glances at her and sees Lady Shiva holding onto his mother's arm as they both lay across the ground. She had his mother in a compromising position that was threatening to break her arm. Damian knew that Lady Shiva would not hesitate to break her arm. Breaking limbs was child’s play to a woman who killed without a second thought.

“You… must… go…” His mother gasps in pain. Lady Shiva’s hold on her seems to tighten and Damian watches another yell of agony escape his mother’s mouth. The sight is unreal to him because he had never seen his mother subdued by anyone else.

His distraction causes him to fall down to his knees once more because of Cheshire’s dominating strength.

Damian ceases his idle thoughts and pushes back against her. He bets against her stamina and puts hope in his own ability.

Once he starts showing signs of winning their competition - Cheshire raises a leg to kick him in the gut. The impact makes him grunt and sends him back a few inches.

“Surrender, little prince,” Cheshire says.

Damian recovers his composure and stares her straight in the eyes. She prepares herself as he readies himself to swing at her neck. She raises her sais to deflect his movements but his sword never makes it to his destination.

Damian realizes he is frozen in place and the cause is the man who appears out of the shadows draped in his signature green and golden robe. He does not freeze because he is shocked. No. He freezes because multiple shadows are forcefully preventing him from moving with their unfeeling hands.

His grandfather gives him a look-down before he turns to Damian’s mother. The woman cannot bother to return his look. She is too busy having her face smothered in the ground by her opponent.

“You have done well, Lady Shiva,” he says.

The woman says nothing.

“Daughter,” he then addresses, “this charade of yours has disappointed me greatly.”

“You wished to take what is mine, ” Talia returns through gritted teeth.

“He will not be the only one,” Ra’s says with certainty, “there will be others you may dote upon.”

“He is not disposable, ” she seethes, “he is of our blood!”

“Which is precisely why he is compatible with that which is the greater good.”

Damian watches his mother argue with his grandfather.

He watches his grandfather’s cold gaze.

His cold gaze is all he sees when he is thrown in a cell alongside his mother.

His mother curses in Arabic. He cannot translate it because it slips his attention, but he can understand the feeling behind the raw emotion in her voice.

When she next speaks, he pays better attention, and she says, “I have doomed my son.”

He says nothing.

Chapter Text

“I did not anticipate Lady Shiva’s presence,” his mother says in the darkness of their cell. The only light that shines is the dim flicker of a candle hanging on the wall outside the door. Damian cannot see his mother’s face but he can hear where she is. He estimates that she is sitting only a few feet away from him. “She is a worthy foe. She has made even your grandfather struggle.”

Damian sits stiffly in a cross-legged position as his mother continues to explain the faults of her plan.

“I was too rash but I did not want to risk him getting to you first.”

“What happened?” Damian asks her. “Why was this so sudden?”

His mother’s silence is eery in the darkness. Damian turns his head and strains his eyes to attempt to see her form. He can only see the outlines of her figure, but her facial features were completely lost on him.

“He found what he needed. A lost magic untouched for centuries.”

“A lost magic?” Damian repeats.

“Yes,” she replies, “It is compacted into a cursed tome. The reading of its pages is all one needs to obtain the abilities of a race that has been extinct for many generations. The Doppelgangers.” She pauses for a moment and then continues, “They were ancient creatures that could copy the form of someone else to the smallest biological detail.”

“Does grandfather intend to copy my body?” Damian clenches his fists hard against the fabric of his pants.

“No. Not exactly,” his mother explains, “because that is a blood born magic that only Doppelgangers are capable of. No. What he seeks to do is obtain their lost knowledge on their experimentations with body-possessions. I know you can put together the rest.”

Damian thinks of all the times he had talked to his grandfather. The Al Ghul head had never made any inclination that he desired to take Damian’s body for his own. It was a shock that Damian had even idolized his grandfather at any point in his life. How could he follow at someone’s back so blindly?

“What would he do with my body once he has it?”

His mother sighs.

“He would use your potential. A hybrid. Born of two worlds. A powerful being in the making. That is what you are, my son, and you have not discovered the greatness of two types of blood that mix together in your body.”

Damian hated the Elven part of himself. He hated his ears. He hated the fact that he was born of an Elven man who took him from his mother, but that whole situation paled in comparison to his current problem. What would have happened had he stayed with the officer? What would have happened had he taken the time to learn more about his father’s side of the family?

“The Elves were once worshipped for their abilities,” his mother remarks, “and I remember a time where they were many.”

“What happened to them?” Damian asks.

His mother falls silent.

"What?” Damian repeats.

“They were hunted.” Damian can see the outlines of her head turn away from him, “Many of them were killed by your grandfather. Only two live. You and your father.”

Damian widens his eyes

“Does… my…” he swallows because he is hesitant to call him that name, “ father… know of this?”

His mother grunts, “No. He does not.”

Damian cannot say that he forgives his father for his stupid ways, but he did feel some sort of grief. He felt a light grief for an entire race that his grandfather had persecuted.

“Why did he do that?”

“To find the tome.” His mother answers as if it is simple. “The Elves were always well versed in the lost magics of the ancients.”

“That they were.”

Damian and his mother both freeze at the intruder of their conversation. Damian turns his head slightly to see the shadowy face of his grandfather’s face. Ra’s holds both his hands calmly behind his back as he peers into their cell.

“The Elves knew much-forbidden knowledge. I, naturally, had to exterminate them. I did not want any to potentially interfere with my plans.”

He looks straight at Damian.

“How does it feel to be one of the last?”

Damian returns his gaze. He does not avert it this time. He will not be submissive. He no longer had any reason to bow his head in front of his grandfather nor to show any sort of respect. How could he show any respect to someone who intended to do him harm?

“Speak,” his grandfather says the magic word.

But Damian remembers.

The Al Ghuls to do not speak to the unworthy.

He keeps his mouth shut.

“You try my patience,” his grandfather says after two minutes of unshaking silence.

Good, Damian thinks.

Something glints in his grandfather’s eyes as they have a heavy staring contest. Their intense gazes only stop when Damian’s mother speaks up, saying, “Why have you come?”

Ra’s turns his eyes to Talia.

“You will have two days.”

That is all he says and he does not bother to expand upon his statement when he turns his back to leave.

“We do not have much time,” his mother’s voice sounds urgent, “we must escape this place.”

“I have already inspected the cell,” Damian says, “and I have found no weak-points.”

“Then we wait until we are released.”

“We may be subdued again,” Damian warns though he is not in disagreement with his mother’s suggestion.

“There can be no other way. The Shadows will not heed my commands to send messages. We can call no help.”

Messages. The word triggers something within him.

A small mew catches his attention and Damian sticks a hand into his shirt. He pulls Sunset out of the bottom of his shirt and watches as the kitten gives his hand a few licks. It would be comforting if Sunset was not sticking her little claws into the skin of his wrist, but that was not at the top of his concerns.

“I could send a message,” Damian starts.

“And how would you do that?” His mother sounds interested.

“I… can feel… that man’s feelings. Grayson.”

His mother is quick, “The Werewolf.”

Damian nods even though his mother can hardly see him do so. “Yes.”

“A pact. ” She lets out a shaky breath. “I would not condone such a thing if we were not in a troublesome situation.”

“A pact?” Damian mumbles.

“A pact is an empathetic bond. Something similar, in comparison, would be how I infused my shadow in your body.”

“And..?”

“And you can use your pact to give off a signal. An SOS.”

“How would I do that?”

“From my understanding,” Talia speaks her thoughts aloud, “you must muster up all feelings of panic, worry, and fear. Then you would burst it through your bond.”

“What would that do?”

His mother answers, “It would give the receiver of your feelings the idea that you are in trouble.”

Damian only has questions. He asks, “How would he find me through such means?”

“I would hope that he would go to your father,” his mother hums, “for if the Waynes are known for anything in the mystical world, it is their phenomenal location magic, but your brother Tim would do just a fine job as well.”

Tim. Brother.

Brother.

He forgot he had those.

“Alright,” Damian breathes out. He does not like the idea of calling out for help or for throwing out his feelings to Grayson in such a strange matter. He didn’t like their ‘pact’ to begin with. This, however, was a desperate time. Damian was not one to give up his body so easily. He would use all the sources available to him.

He closes his eyes and releases the floodgates.

Chapter Text

His mother hungers.

The signs are easy to spot. He can see her hunger in the way she licks her lips and in how she can no longer sit still. She shifts when she sits and paces when she stands. Damian wonders how long his mother must have gone without the consumption of shadows. He hadn’t noticed her leaving the island at any time to hunt. The island itself was not a good feeding place as it was filled to the brim with shadows in servitude. They were off-limits because in a way they had already been eaten. That is why his grandfather never hungers. He constantly feeds off of the shadows that are in servitude to him.

He sees her look at Sunset once - while she curls in his lap - and he knows what’s going through her mind.

He will not allow it.

She knows that, too.

“Possessive, like your father,” she tells him. It is neither a compliment or an insult. It is simply an observation she makes when she comes to understand that Damian was not willing to let go of his animal companion.

Shadow consumption meant leaving the host body ultimately powerless against any form of magic. All races, animals, and things had natural immunities to a certain magic, but that changed once their shadow was taken from them. Other side-effects included; memory loss, sensitivity to light, depression, and anxiety.

One would think that Damian would have such side-effects after the realization that he had no shadow. He supposes that he is a special case because being born without one is different than having it stolen.

Aside from his mother’s constant shifting - their time in their cell is a rather quiet one. Damian spends most of his time petting Sunset to calm his own nerves and feeling. After he had tossed a bundle of his own worry for his ultimate demise through his forced bond - he got a near instant response from the other side of his so-called ‘pact.’ Grayson had sent him an equal amount of worry that had made Damian falter at the time. The feeling had been so overwhelming that it took him longer than he wanted to regain his composure. Then, for the rest of the night following the break of dawn, Damian felt nothing but Grayson’s attempts at comfort.

It was like that until the current evening.

Damian begins to wonder if it was a good idea to snag Sunset from his room. He is incapable of feeding her or giving her water. No one had come to grant food, either, so he could not share a plate with her.

No one bothers to visit.

No one, until a shadowy figure drags itself across the floor. Damian can see its face by the light dim of the candlelight. He recognizes it in an instant because of the mouth that it had formed across its face. The shadow was the exact same one that had been tasked to look around in his room.

“Un...worthy…” it repeats the words he had said that day, “fi...lth…:

Damian disregards its attempts to speak and marvels at its appearance in fascination. Shadows did not keep the facial features they copied off of others for more than a day. That this shadow should keep its attempt at a mouth was baffling. It was against everything he had learned.

His mother speaks up, reminding Damian that she also sees what he sees, “No other shadow has ever come unless it is tasked to replace the candle.”

Damian gets up from his spot near the wall and approaches the cell bars. (He tucks Sunset within his shirt once more before doing so.) He looks at the shadow closely in an effort to interpret its actions. He can find no reasonable conclusion. All he manages to do is, “What is it that brings you here?”

He hopes it is not to escort him to his doom.

The shadow reaches behind its back and pulls out an object.

Damian sees how it jangles the key to his freedom in front of his eyes.

“Hand it here,” he demands, sticking his hand out of the cell bars, but the shadow makes no move to comply.

It stands there. Waiting.

His mother grows an interest and takes her place by Damian’s side.

The shadow raises its hand so that the key hovers over the candlelight. The key has the slightest shadow that reflects on the wall behind the candle’s waving flame.

“Does it come to taunt us?” His mother mutters.

Damian rummages through all the thoughts in his mind and then understands. It is not taunting them. It is showing them. It is showing them something that Damian knows he is perfectly capable in doing.

Damian focuses his eyes on the shadow of the key. It does not respond immediately. No shadow has ever replied to his call since his mother’s shadow had released its hold on him. However, with intense concentration, he wills the key’s shadow to take form. It vanishes from the wall, surging across the floor, and traveling up his arm until it takes shape in his hand.

His mother looks at him as if he had grown a second head.

“That…” she whispers, “is not possible.”

Damian looks at her questioningly.

“Certainly, we can consume the shadows of all things, but make it a usable object…? That is an impossibility.”

The key in his hand proves otherwise.

Damian wastes no time. He reaches his hand over the bars and tries to fit the key in the key-hole properly. It takes a few tries but then he hears the satisfying click that he was waiting for.

The cell slides open and Damian can already feel the freedom that he knows he will attain.

“We must go. At once,” he says.

“Yes. We must not idle,” his mother breathes in wonder, still shocked from the previous event.

Damian knew the dungeons well. He has been here many times in watching his mother’s confrontations with their prisoners. That is why he leads their way out, up the staircase, and into the wide hall that would eventually lead to the courtyard.

The shadows that go about their daily tasks pause to look at them. Perhaps it is because they know that Damian should not be wandering around freely, or maybe it was because of the shadow trailing after them. The one with the mouth that occasionally repeats everything Damian says.

Or maybe it was because of the explosion they hear.

It rattles the walls with an intensity that forces Damian to raise both his arms for proper balance.

“Are we under attack?!”

“No,” his mother says, “this is the work of your father.”

“He’s here?”

“No other can come this far,” she nods her head.

“He cannot stand a chance against grandfather!” Damian voices his opinion.

“You would be surprised,” his mother returns.

Chapter Text

The courtyard is a scene of chaos.

When Damian kicks his way past a few shadows, huddling together to watch the situation, he sees a battle of individuals. Something tells him that it is his father who fights even though the man wears a dark cloak and conceals his face with a what can only be described as a cowl.

“It’s been a while since he’s put on his cloak,” his mother remarks beside him.

Damian does not bother to interpret that statement. He hopes the sentence is as simple as it sounds because he doesn’t have a lot of time to spare any precious thought.

Damian watches as Lady Shiva’s fallen form, several feet away from his father, slowly gets up. She wipes at a trail of blood that stems from her nose. The situation explains itself. His father had been fighting Lady Shiva and somehow had thrown her several feet away from him. Damian would look for more details if he didn’t spot Cheshire approaching him with one of the cockiest grins he had ever seen.

“I knew you’d get out, little prince,” she doesn’t seem to care for the scene behind her.

Damian snorts and then stands in a position that suggests that he would attack her should she provoke him.

To his surprise, she holds her hands up.

“I’m not here to fight,” she claims, “not when the odds look to be in your favor.”

“How so?” Damian’s mother answers for him. She does not seem as uptight as Damian.

Cheshire opens her mouth but then Damian’s father is sent flying into the wall. The sound of the impact catches all of their attention as Lady Shiva stands stoically in the middle of the courtyard. Damian observes and finds himself mildly surprised when his mother heads to his father’s aid. She keeps an eye on Lady Shiva as she checks over his sunken form. She then reaches out a hand which he clasps without any hesitation.

“My love,” she sings sweetly.

“Talia.”

“Perhaps I can lend assistance?”

He grunts.

His mother somehow takes that as a ‘yes’ because she stands facing Lady Shiva with the intent to fight once more. Damian was unsure how his mother planned to take Lady Shiva down. The woman was an extreme master at martial arts with none to rival her except for his grandfather. Damian also learned, by simply watching her recent spar with his mother (in which she got beaten to a pulp and tossed into a cell alongside him), that Lady Shiva had an observant eye. Somehow, in some way, she had a better read on her opponents than he’s ever seen. She seemed to be able to predict their moves before they happen. Was it experience? Damian was unsure.

Lady Shiva starts in a full-out run toward her opponents.

Damian cannot explain what happened. All he knows is that he cannot turn his eyes away from their deadly dance. Lady Shiva effectively blocks each and every single jab and kick sent her way. She quickly turns the tide by sending Damian’s mother a swift kick in the stomach that sends her spiraling back. She then turns her attention to Bruce with a diagonal chop to his neck that he stops with the side of his arm. The rest seems to be a blur. Damian would almost call it an even match should he not have seen his father get hit a few times.

Damian watches as she gains the upper-hand. She pulls his father’s arm backward in mere seconds and kicks his back hard enough that he falls on the floor.

Cheshire stands still next to Damian and watches the fight with him.

How could this possibly be in their odds?

Damian glances at his companion and realizes that she isn’t going to make any effort to join in the fight. Damian then looks at his father who struggles to recover from his position and his mother who massages her skull after waking up from her small nap after hitting her head against the courtyard’s concrete wall.

Damian wonders if he’ll regret this later.

Damian runs forward while willing all the shadows near him to his aid. None of his grandfather’s servants obey his command, but the shadow of objects immediately shimmer in obedience. They swirl around his person and crawl up his body as they have done previously. That is when a sharp sword forms within his hand - resembling the appearance of the sword he had summoned the day he had woken with the newly formed pact - and he charges at Lady Shiva with thoughts of death.

He cannot go easy on her. Doing so meant that he would be risking his life.

He swings at her and she lets go of his father’s arm. Her foot no longer keeps him down on the back either as she has to use her whole body to prepare for Damian’s sword.

Damian is told not to speak to the unworthy but Lady Shiva is worthy.

And so he opens his mouth.

“Stop standing in our way!”

He swings in empty space as she steps to the side to avoid his swing. He compensates immediately by slicing sideways but she jumps back in an excellently performed dodge.

Damian knows, quickly, that she is not taking him seriously. She does not treat him as his father. It seems, instead, that she is simply observing him. Perhaps she thinks him too below her to properly fight back.

“Damian?” His father calls out as he finally regains his bearing.

“You waste potential,” Lady Shiva’s voice is as smooth as silk. Damian didn’t remember the last time he had heard it. Had he ever heard her speak? He’s not sure.

Lady Shiva runs forward at lightning speed and grabs hold of Damian’s collar before he can even blink. She lifts him in the air and stares in him dead in the eye.

“You remind me of her,” she says slowly, carefully, “wasted potential.”

Her?

“My daughter,” she whispers, “where is my baby?”

Damian knew vengeful spirits didn’t particularly make sense all the time but he had thought Lady Shiva had been the most intelligent out of all of them. It was strange that she would revert back to such nature during their one-sided battle.

He glances at the ground where his sword had fallen on the ground, vibrating as if upset to be away from his hold, and then he kicks her hard against the chest.

She drops him.

Damian lands on his feet in a crouch. He grabs his sword and slices at her knees.

She jumps over his sword.

His father calls out his name, loud, and Damian doesn’t understand until he recognizes that Lady Shiva is no longer going easy against him. She readies a fatal blow against the top of Damian’s head with the heel of her boot by raising her leg. She brings it down and Damian holds his sword up as if it was enough to keep his head safe. He was certain that his strength paled in comparison to hers. She would probably ignore the sword all together and successfully land a hit on his head that might just prove fatal.

But then he feels something warm.

It’s not him.

The wind rushes past him and his face presses against someone’s chest.

For a moment he thinks it is his father. There is no other man here.

Wrong.

A hand cups the back of his head gently as if he is made of china glass. His chest burns with relief that is more overpowering than his own feelings. It doesn’t take him long to conclude that the man who cages his protectively within muscled arms is Grayson.

“I have you,” Grayson breathes.

Damian ignores the way he clutches at Grayson’s shirt for his dear life. He ignores the slight trembles throughout his own body because of the fact that he could have had serious harm done to him. A harm that would cause a child, his size, to possibly face a life-threatening situation.

“Dick,” his father calls out.

“I’m here. Brought some calvary too.”

“Jason?” His father jumps to conclusions.

“And Tim,” Dick adds in.

His father says nothing after that. He simply gets up and raises his fists against the seemingly mournful Lady Shiva. Damian’s mother also returns next to his father’s side and readies herself for round two.

Shadows creep at his mother’s back as if finally heeding her commands. Damian also sees, from the corner of his eye that is free from the pressure of Grayson’s chest, that his father glows slightly.

The glow starts out small until it grows to conceal his father’s entire form. The light covers his entire body with rays that were bright enough to cause several onlooking shadows to cower in submission.

Grayson finally releases Damian, but not without fussing over him. He looks, pokes, and prods for injuries on his smaller body. Damian swats at his hand in irritation and ignores the feelings of rejection he receives on Grayson’s side of the bond.

How could there be such a being that was so emotional? Damian can not wrap his head around it.

But Damian was not unfeeling as much as he’d like to be. He feels a tiny amount of gratitude but he covers it all up with stubborn pride.

A hand lands on his head.

“We’ll get you out of here,” Grayson promises.

Damian believes him.

Chapter Text

“Dick!” Bruce calls out while blocking a barrage of punches and kicks, “Take Damian and get out of here! We can handle ourselves here.”

Damian watches as his mother appears behind Lady Shiva’s back and wills her shadow to wrap around her opponent’s body. Talia’s choice seemed to be a good one because Lady Shiva’s speed took an instant downfall. It was enough to allow his mother to give the spirit a hard kick in the curve of her back, the first successful move to land on Lady Shiva since the beginning of their fight, and Lady Shiva stumbles forward because of it.

“You will follow your brother, Damian,” Talia agrees.

Brother?

Damian takes one glance at Grayson who is scouting the surrounding area with his eyes. His mother’s words suggested that Grayson, of all people, was one of his brothers. The new information draws a blank in his mind. How was he supposed to react? What was he supposed to do? How is he supposed to handle gaining so many family members in so little time?

“I will not leave you-” Damian begins but his mother sends him a harsh glare. It’s the look she gives him that reminds him of his poor ability to fend off Lady Shiva by himself. The mere thought causes him to clench his fists.

His own weakness angers him.

If he stays he will only hold those around him back. It is not something he wants to do, but he is not stupid. There is a difference between ‘want’ and ‘need.’ Right now, he needed to get out of here as originally intended. Lady Shiva was only one obstacle. His grandfather was the second. Damian had no idea about the elderly man’s whereabouts, but he was aware that he would not find mercy should he encounter him anytime soon.

“Come on, Little D,” Grayson ushers him to follow his lead.

Damian does so, reluctantly, but not before scowling at the strange nickname.

Damian follows Grayson out of the courtyard and into one of the wide hallways that winded around the base. Damian had walked the hall many times before. His familiarity with the League of Shadow’s base allowed him to come to the conclusion that Grayson was leading him in the opposite direction from the entrance.

“This is not the way out,” he growls.

“I know,” Grayson replies.

“Then you should turn around,” Damian mutters.

“We have another escape route,” Grayson says calmly, not put off by Damian’s grumpy voice at all. Grayson does, however, take a spare second to look over his shoulder. Once his eyes connect with Damian’s, he gives him the slightest of smiles, and says, “It’s nice to hear your voice.”

Damian found himself at a loss for words.

Grayson pauses in his step and sniffs the air. Damian, knowing the keen smell of the werewolf, slows down in his walk to observe his apparent brother’s notice of smell.

“What is it?” Damian asks impatiently.

His brother frowns.

“Blood.”

“That’s all?” Damian has disbelief in the back of his voice. That is hardly something to keep them from continuing forward.

“I recognize it,” is Grayson’s explanation as he picks up a light jog, “and it’s coming our way.”

Damian does not have enough time to question Grayson’s recognition because of the appearance of two men that skid around the corner at the end of the hallway. Damian’s reaction is instant. He raises his fists and readies to attack until Grayson sticks an arm out in front of him. The simple gesture draws Damian’s gaze to Grayson’s unwavering eyes.

“Damn, didn’t think we’d meet up so soon.”

Damian knows who it is the minute he speaks. Damian does not forget voices easily, and that is why he can easily determine that the person in front of him is Jason. The man accompanies someone else, someone he has never seen before, but Damian feels it is same to assume that everyone in his presence knew each other.

“Is the portal still open?” Grayson directs his question to the singular unknown person that has blood smeared across his forehead.

“Yes,” the man says, “but Ra’s is guarding it.”

Grayson presses his lips together in a straight line.

“The bastard nearly took one of my arms,” Jason grunts as he rolls his shoulder, “Doesn’t he know that limbs aren’t the easiest thing to reconnect?”

“At least it wasn’t your head,” his bloody companion deadpans.

Jason rolls his eyes and then lowers his view to Damian.

“I see the Al Ghul gremlin, but I don’t see Bruce,” he observes aloud.

“He’s fighting off Lady Shiva," Grayson's answer is instant. 

Jason visibly flinches at the name.

“That pain in the ass?”

Grayson ignores his comment and explains, “Well, the only way to safety is through the portal, and that means we’ll have to go through Ra’s. I’m assuming you’re all up for a round two?”

Jason scoffs, “I think he let us go just to lead his little spawn back to him.”

The bloody one says, “With the three of us, I’m sure we can handle it.”

“Four.”

Everyone looks at Damian.

“The four of us.”

Damian’s expression is like that of steel, solid, and unmoving.

“He might be a good distraction,” Jason says thoughtfully, breaking the contemplative silence. 

“No,” Grayson rejects the idea immediately.

“I have a better idea.”

Damian turns his head to see Cheshire walking toward the group with a confident sway.

“But I don’t think Mr. Werewolf will like it,” she gives everyone a large smirk.

Chapter Text

“Our blood is above all.”

Damian doesn’t remember having a conversation with his grandfather without hearing the practiced words that he was somehow superior to the rest of the populace. His mother, in the depths of his childhood, was also guilty of preaching dominance over all other races. Regardless, Damian, the oblivious child, was eager to adopt their words as his own. To fit in his family - he must adopt the all Al Ghul philosophies - and that is how it has been until now.

Now Damian has doubts.

Had his grandfather not intended to possess Damian’s body as his own… Damian would not suffer the affliction of countless doubts. His grandfather withheld his true intentions behind sweet words that Damian would one day sit upon his throne as the rightful heir. Damian’s mother, Talia, also played a part in keeping him in the dark. What would have happened should she had decided to tell him about his grandfather’s wishes sooner? There was a lot of possibilities, but none of them come to the forefront of his mind. He was using too much brain-power focusing on his grandfather’s figure.

Ra’s Al Ghuls stands tall and proudly. He has both of his hands clasped behind his back. He eyes Damian with an expression that Damian cannot hope to decipher. His grandfather had mastered the art of concealing his desires and keeping them off of his face.

“Ah,” the leader of the Shadows acknowledges his presence, “it is unfortunate that your escape attempt has failed. Your capture puts your father’s efforts to waste.”

Damian wants to shout out insults but keeps his mouth shut. His habit of silence is something that is too hard to break, but his want to obey is also hard to break. When his grandfather speaks to him, Damian wants to fall on his knees as he used to. Damian, however, would not grovel so easily in front of the man who wanted to steal his life.

“Cheshire,” Ra’s turns his attention to the woman standing next to Damian. Cheshire holds the back of Damian’s shirt, a top resembling that of an Uwagi (1) (the last thing he had changed into before getting captured), and then she dares to pull on a daring grin in front of The Demon himself. Cheshire, from what Damian understood, would turn into a respectful servant in front of Ra’s. It was strange that she would bring such a face in Ra's presence. 

"This is a pleasant surprise,” his grandfather continues, “because I was certain you would take this opportunity to betray me. Speak.”

“I would not think to do such,” Cheshire assures, “for I know what awaits a traitor.”

“That is wise of you,” Ra’s remarks.

Damian looks past Ra’s and sees the blue wispy portal floating behind him. Ra’s was truly using his whole entire body to shield the portal and was effectively blocking it from anyone who wanted to go through.

“And what of my daughter?” Ra’s studies Damian’s features. Damian hates how the man looks at him. It’s as if he can see everything that he’s thinking.

“In battle.”

“That is what I wanted to hear,” Ra’s hums, “I would not think it good news should Lady Shiva disobey my orders to distract her and our guest. ”

Ra’s takes a few steps forward. Damian almost tries to step back as Ra’s approaches him but Cheshire keeps him firmly in place with her fist. She is warning him, through body language, that it would not do him any good to be uncooperative. Even so, he scowls.

Ra’s grabs hold of Damian’s chin and lifts his gaze to his own. He stares at his grandson straight in the eye.

“Damian,” he addresses him, “you would do best to forget all dreams of freedom. I will attain what is mine and you will give it to me.”

Damian spits out, “My body is not yours. ”

“I do not tolerate disrespect,” Ra’s says apathetically, as shadows creep from the dark corners of the room. They stare at Damian blankly, and Damian catches a glimpse of the one that had formed a mouth not too long ago. “Should I teach you the meaning of subjugation?”

“I would have more respect for a grandfather that cares to listen to his grandson’s opinions,” Damian speaks with venom in his voice.

Ra’s releases Damian’s chin and looks up sharply at the one who holds him back from doing anything reckless.

“Cheshire,” he says, knowledge flashing through his eyes, “it seems you are a traitor after all.”

Damian has no idea how Ra’s reaches that conclusion, and he still doesn’t know even as a body flies at Ra’s from the ceiling.

Jason drop-kicks Ra’s from the rafters above. He might have been successful should Ra’s have not decided to step swiftly to the side. Jason then has to adjust into a roll when he lands on the hard ground underneath them all.

Ra’s frowns.

“C’mon old man,” Jason barks, “only losers run away.”

Ra’s keeps his jaw firmly shut. Damian recognizes why. Ra’s does not think Jason to be worthy enough to speak to.

Cheshire lets go of Damian and grabs hold of the sais she had tucked in her sash.

“Jason,” Cheshire shouts, “be wary of his shadows!”

Shadows surge forward at a speed Damian had never seen them reach. The shadows that were under his grandfather’s commands were typically slow in all of their tasks and took their sweet time in getting anything done. Damian then comes to realize that he had never seen his grandfather’s shadows in actual action. He had heard that his grandfather could use them in battle, but he did not get the chance to witness it with his own eyes. Is this why they were faster?

“Was your plan to get surrounded!?” Jason shouts as shadows charge at him. He dodges most of their attacks. When he attempts to return the favor with a series of attacks of his own - he finds that all of his punches and kicks simply go through the shadows.

“We had only one chance to end this,” Cheshire huffs as a red mist surrounds the tips of her sais, “but I had underestimated Ra’s senses.”

Cheshire’s abilities as a half-succubus manifested in a red mist. Her manipulation over her own power demonstrated her skill. However, just like Jason, Cheshire’s many attempts to destroy her opponents fails. Her energy does disperse many of them, temporarily, but they quickly regain their forms

A loud bark ripples through the air and the echo is clear magic. The effects is impossible to deny. Many of the shadow’s forms waver at the shattering sound. The magic seems to hurt the shadows more so than Cheshire and Jason’s attacks. Many of the shadows struggle to regain their correct forms. The lines of their beings wobble. 

Damian does not stand idly. 

He summons his sword.

Damian stabs his sword through one of the shadows. It makes no sound when it falls to the ground in a goop of blackness.

Ra’s does not stand idly, either. The old man understood Damian’s abilities to permanently dismantle his shadows and so he charges forward for his grandson. He stretches out his hand for Damian’s shirt, but Grayson is quicker. The werewolf pulls himself through the mindless shadows and stands in front of Damian with the intention of defending his back.

Grayson engages in a battle of martial arts with Damian’s grandfather.

Grayson fights with the flexibility and skills of an acrobat. He makes flips, turns, and dodges with the signs of a professional performer. He pulls off a lot of flashy moves while Ra's was much more reserved in his fighting style. 

“I’m not doing any damage to them!” Jason informs the rest, “Could really use your help, Tim!”

“Give me a second,” Tim grumbles from the edge of the room.  His eyes are closed as Jason’s punch goes through another shadow.

Tim mumbles something under his breath and then holds out his collapsible bo staff. Magical energy leaves the staff in wisps, but Damian has no time to spare any attention. The shadows reach out for him, clumsily, and he keeps them all off of him without the aid of others.

Damian would keep fighting if he did not feel a body collide with his own.

Grayson grunts as he is sent flying away from Ra’s form. He sends both he, and Damian, to the ground in a heap.

“No time for naps!” Cheshire laughs. Damian does not understand how she can be of good-cheer at such a time.

Grayson groans as Damian drags himself out from underneath the heavy man. His muscles packed on a good couple of pounds that gave Damian a hard time when trying to remove himself from being pinned to the ground.

Tim finishes his incantation and energy flies off of his staff and around the area. The power increases ten-fold as it shoots through many of the shadows surrounding Jason. The shadows fear whatever power Tim has, for they try their best to avoid it. The energy, however, seems to act like homing missiles. When a shadow tried to move away from the energy - the energy would make a sharp detour.

Ra’s pays it all no mind. He trudges forward with a sharp, angry, face.

“I have had enough of your games,” he claims.

“I have had enough of yours, ” Damian snarks back.

Ra’s makes no effort to reply as he spares a glance to the unconscious werewolf on the ground.

Damian knows that look.

He intends to get rid of him.

Damian shouldn’t care. He really shouldn’t.

Then why does he pull himself in front of Grayson as if to protect him?

“I suppose I must get what I want through violence,” Ra’s sighs, “even if I did not wish to harm you, to begin with. It would make things more difficult for me when I take what is mine. I would have preferred your body to be in a healthy condition. I see now that I cannot take a peaceful route anymore.”

“Peace doesn't come from stealing,” Damian yells angrily.

Damian considers his options carefully. Ra’s was much more skilled than he was - he knew that - but he could not simply give up because of that. He would rather die than willingly give away his body for someone else to parade in. This was his body. It belonged to no other. Only him.

And if Damian had to fight to prove such? So be it.

Damian disregards the strong emotion he feels as he has a stand-off with his grandfather. He does not notice how all the shadows seem to still as if there was about to be a challenge of authority. He does not notice his apparent brothers, or Cheshire, stop in their offense to observe him.

“Damian,” his mother’s words return to him, “The shadows do not come to those who hesitate.”

He does not hesitate.

Damian charges forward and misses the way his sword begins to shine. A golden light dwarfs out the dark existence of his sword. Damian does, however, notice the way his grandfather recoils backward as if already harmed even though Damian had not even landed a strike yet.

Damian slashes at his grandfather who takes a step back to avoid his sword.

Ra’s does not falter for long. The skillful assassin turns the tides quickly as he unsheathes his own sword from a scabbard he had refused to touch from the beginning of their fight. He then slashes at his grandson relentlessly, giving Damian little time to regain his balance. His strikes, unlike Damian’s, holds a heavy strength to them. Damian almost dares to consider that his grandfather is somehow going easy on him because of how one-sided this battle was. Unlike Damian, his grandfather had centuries of battle experience. His grandfather was purposefully making an example of him out of this fight. He was showing him that he had no hope to beat him.

His grandfather tosses him around like a ragdoll in their swordfight. One of his strikes, which would surely have caused him great harm, was deflected by Tim. The wizard holds a hand out in Damian’s direction and forms a last-minute flimsy barrier around him.

Ra’s breaks through the shield after a hard kick and stab. The barrier shatters like glass and Ra’s raises his sword to strike once more.

Grayson tackles him from the side.

“No,” Grayson growls.

Damian intends to aid Grayson (why would he think of that in the first place? strange) but then a hand grabs hold of his arm.

“Not today, little prince,” Cheshire says as she tugs him toward the portal.

“Unhand me!” He demands as his eyes linger on Grayson.

“Your mission is to stay alive,” Cheshire tells him as she draws closer to the portal.

“He will die!” Damian yowls.

“He has backup,” Jason shouts from the side, referring to himself and Tim, “we’ll follow after.”

Damian opens his mouth to argue but then Cheshire pushes him in front of her.

She laughs, “I’ll apologize for this later!”

Damian turns abruptly only to face a kick to his stomach.

He falls backward into the portal and all he can think of is the people on the other side.

Chapter Text

“Thank the heavens.”

The first words he hears, from the other side of the portal, sounded relieved.

His falling through the portal gave him a less than elegant landing on the other side. He landed on his bottom with his hands stretched out behind him as if to ease his landing.

Traveling through a portal had been strange, but Damian hadn’t had the time to admire the magic itself. His mind had been in turmoil. He had been thinking of all the people on the other side, all the people that had come to help him specifically, and he thought of his father fighting alongside his mother. How could they possibly stand a chance against Ra’s? He had an army of shadows, was nearly unbeatable, and could pull himself back into the healing pits of the Lazarus if he was injured.

Damian looks up and sees feminine features looking back at him.

He recognizes her because he had seen her with the rest of Grayson’s friends when Damian was forced to accompany him to the park.

“I’m not usually wrong in my predictions, but I couldn’t help but doubt,” she continues, and then Damian notices that she has his father’s servant standing by her wheelchair. The man stands straight, tall, with the slightest of pleased smiles on his face. “It was tricky getting through Infinity Island’s magical defenses.”

Nevermind Infinity Island’s magical defenses, did she say predictions? It just came to Damian now on how oddly she spoke.

“You-” Damian begins but then he grits his teeth to stop himself.

Damian doesn’t know why he even bothers trying to hold back his voice anymore. Something in his mind, a complete habit, kicks into play everytime he dares to open his mouth. He feels as if there was a mental barrier keeping him from doing as he wished because there was no rational reason to keep himself from communicating with others any longer.

“I…?” She encourages him to continue. When it is apparent that Damian will not continue, far too in his own head to do so, she glances at his father’s servant with a hesitant expression.

When she turns back to look at him - she looks straight into his soot-dipped eyes. The action reminds him of his naked face and he reaches for the phantom hood that he had rid himself of after training with his mother.

His hand skims the back of his shirt and only grasps air.

“Damian?” The woman calls out sweetly.

The woman calls him as if she knows him personally. He does not like how she addresses him.

“I would move if I were you…”

Damian stares at her blankly and that’s when Alfred pulls himself to action. He strides forward, grabs hold of Damian’s arm, and effectively pulls the boy out of the portal’s view.

Three people fall out together in a heap.

“Get off of me!” Tim huffs, pushing at Jason’s jaw.

“I thought I got the hang of this a while ago,” Grayson grumbles as he pulls himself up from the ground.

Cheshire then soon follows after them, walking through as if she had done it a million times before. Damian would not be surprised if she has. Succubus’ and all hellish creatures tended to use some sort of transportation to get out of the pits of the underworld.

She hums happily as she twirls a sai in her hand. Damian notices the smeared blood on her face, and the blood-tainted tips of the weapon she carelessly spins within her hold.

Grayson’s eyes search the room and then he sees Damian standing next to Alfred. His eyes light up like a child on Christmas day. Grayson spends no more time standing around and heads right for Damian.

“Good,” he sighs, his shoulders slumping in relief, “you’re okay.”

Damian feels the same relief running through his chest. It hugs his heart, warming it, before shooting through the rest of his body.

“Barbara’s never wrong,” Jason huffs from his spot on the ground. Tim had tossed the muscular man off of him and was currently dusting off his own shoulders.

“Barbara? Ah! The seer!” Cheshire acknowledges.

How Cheshire knew about Barbara was something that flew over Damian’s head. In fact, Cheshire seemed to know a lot about the people around him even though he was certain she hardly left the League of Shadow’s base, lest it be to complete a mission assigned to her.

“That is I,” Barbara nods her head at Cheshire politely, “and may I safely assume that you are Cheshire?”

“Hmm? Yeah. That’s me, alright,” Cheshire smiles, though her smile is not genuine, “must’ve spread past Star City, huh?”

“I have a few friends over there,” Barbara raises a brow, “and they’ve told me of your exploits.”

“Don’t tell me you know the ol’ Roy boy?” Cheshire feigns surprise with a shocked gasp.

The two ladies continue to chatter with one another as Grayson looks over Damian for any injuries. His eyes scan up and down Damian’s body as if looking to lick wounds.

“Enough,” Damian snaps, though his feelings betray his tone. He felt… dare he say… embarrassed... that someone would concern themselves so much over him. “I am uninjured.”

Grayson stares at Damian straight in the eyes, places both hands on the boy’s shoulders, and then asks, “Are you positive?”

Damian holds Grayson’s gaze for a whole singular second before averting his gaze. The flushing of his cheeks is utterly mortifying, but there is nothing he can do to prevent the crimson color that paints his face.

“I’m fine, ” he stresses. “Instead of focusing on me, I would like to know on how you managed to escape death.”

“That’s easy!” Jason answers for Grayson. Both Damian and Grayson turn to see the man shuffling to the side, out of the portal’s entrance, and closer to Barbara. “I used this baby,” Jason grabs hold of the grip of a pistol that was tucked in his belt.

“Which I told you not to use unless an emergency presented itself,” Tim scolds.

“Hey, I’ve seen the Demonhead fight before, and I knew we didn’t have much of a chance against him.”

Damian takes a closer look at the gun in Jason’s hand. At one glance one can tell that it was no ordinary. Ordinary guns did not have special sigils carved into their metal.

“So you shot him?” Barbara speaks up, her conversation with Cheshire having ended a minute ago.

“Rocksalt,” is Jason’s reply, “because my bullets were somehow ‘magically’ replaced with useless clumps of salt mid-battle.”

Jason glances at Tim.

Tim rolls his eyes.

This conversation alone gave Damian the idea that his morals differed greatly from those around him.

When the portal starts to glow, lightly, everyone falls still. Tim steps out of the way of the portal slowly.

Everyone’s attention is glued to the portal.

“Could it be Bruce?”

Barbara’s question is answered the minute Bruce pulls himself through the portal. He does not fall clumsily out, like the rest of his sons, because he cannot afford to. Damian learns why fairly quickly.

His mother’s limp form lays within his hold.

Bruce does not look at anyone. His eyes push past the entire group as if he had a destination in mind.

He hurries forward and does not stop.

“Was that a stab-wound?” Damian hears a voice pull through the static of his mind. Jason.

His mother’s deathly pale skin lingers in his vision.

He doesn’t hear Grayson’s call for him when he turns sharply on his heels, nor does he pay attention to the quiet murmurs of those who had seen the same scene as he.

Damian follows after his father’s footsteps until he catches up to his father’s quickened pace.

He will not leave his mother.

Chapter Text

Damian only recalls seeing his mother near death two months before his sixth birthday.

She had played off her deathly state with a bloody smile. Someone supported her, a stranger Damian had never seen before, while his mother leaned heavily on their shoulder. Confusion had sparked in his blood after she had been laid down on a queen bed in the middle of her room.

“What happened?” He had asked, clueless, and upset.

The stranger, a woman with short black hair, had turned to him with lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Your family,” she had answered him, “is a cruel one.”

Damian would never quite understand those words until now. Seeing his mother brought back the memory that he had buried in the corners of his mind. His mother had always seemed untouchable, but seeing her vulnerability had put him into a shock. His image of her, just like in his past, shattered. No longer was his mother an immovable force to be reckoned with. All he sees, as he watches his father place her down on a metal examination table, is someone who could have her life easily taken away from her.

The rest of what happens is a blur.

Someone guides him to a seat after ten minutes of standing by his mother’s side. He doesn’t remember who it was, but logical deduction pointed at his father. No one else except for Alfred had followed them, and Alfred had left the cave for emergency bandages elsewhere after directions to do so.

Damian watches his mother’s rising chest. He stiffens if she stops breathing even for a second. His eyes take a careful watch of her every movement.

His father works quickly when Alfred returns. Now his mother would have proper bandages instead of a bleeding wound pressured underneath the fabric of his father’s shirt. Damian watches his father’s hand work in practiced movements as if he’s done this many times before until nearly an hour passes.

“Damian?”

His father’s voice is soft.

He doesn’t touch him. Damian prefers it that way.

But he does crouch in front of him, breaking his attention from his mother.

“She’s going to be okay,” his father promises.

Damian sees the slight outlines of his mother’s form over his father’s shoulder. He blinks, swallows air, and then lowers his gaze from her.

“Good,” is all Damian can muster.

Damian takes a good look at his father.

Damian had not talked to his father for what felt like a long time. He had been eager to be rid of the man after being trapped in the mansion against his will. Now? Now, Damian wasn’t really sure to feel. His father had taken away his freedom. Damian knew that. Damian could not forgive him for that.

But his father had also come to rescue him and went through the effort of healing his mother.

The only other who had done as such was his mother. That had been before he had even known the other half of his family. There had been no one else who would go out of their way, risk their lives, to save him from a troubling situation.

Damian is confused. He is not sure how, or what, to think anymore.

“She’ll be up on her feet in a few days. You know your mother best. She’s tough.”

Damian hears his father’s words and wonders if he truly knew his mother best. There were many things that his grandfather had hidden from him. Could the same be said of his mother? It’s not as if this was the first time he had considered such things.

His father leaves him to his lonesome for the rest of the night. Damian, a natural insomniac, finds that he can not even consider sleeping with his mother’s irregular breathing. Others will sometimes shuffle around him. Bodies would come in, he’d hear the wheels of a wheel-chair squeaking, and soft-spoken voices come trying to comfort him. 

He does not need comfort.

If he receives comfort - it will be in the form of his mother recovering.

It is early in the morning when his mother breathes in a sharp gasp.

No one is around them. Even if there was, Damian would not care if they saw him in such a concerned state as he shoots up in his spot. He is next to his mother’s side in an instant with her hand in his own.

“Adored?” She whispers.

“Here,” Damian replies.

He rests his forehead on the back of her hand.

Her touch warms his cold body.

“Where…?”

“Father’s cave,” Damian finishes before she can properly end her question.

“I see,” she whispers.

Damian admires his mother’s blackened eyes as they scan their surroundings.

“What caused you to fall?” Damian asks, interrupting her examination.

She grunts and her hand tightens around Damian’s.

“Your grandfather,” she breathes out heavily, “and Lady Shiva. While your father was distracted by Lady Shiva’s advances - I saw your grandfather aim to critically wound him. The rest can easily be connected.”

“You protected him?” Damian simplifies. 

“I did,” she sighs.

 “Why?” Damian begs to learn.

“He is your father,” she says shortly.

“And you are my mother,” Damian is quick to return, “therefore marking you irreplaceable and…”

And precious.

His mother summons a smile.

A silence falls over them as they both are lost to their thoughts. Damian thinks, imagines, of a world without his mother. Had anything turned out differently, had his mother been lost to the blood that had escaped her body, he would have been considered motherless. 

His mother, on the other hand, thinks of something considered… questionable… in the Al Ghul family.

“Damian,” she begins, breaking their quiet atmosphere, “there is something that you must have.”

“Mother?”

His mother sucks in a shaky breath and withdraws her hand from his grasp.

“There are some things you cannot do without a shadow.”

He doesn’t like where this is going.

“I have abilities that our family does not have,” Damian inserts into the conversation in an attempt to dissuade whatever her ultimate reason was for bringing up such a topic.

“I have seen,” his mother says, “but it is not enough.”

Damian embraces silence.

“My shadow. Take it. Claim it as your own.”

Damian stands up from his kneeling position and glowers at his mother.

“That is taboo!” He shouts.

“You will consume it-” his mother tries to continue.

“I will do nothing of the sort!” Damian growls out.

“You are not powerful enough to protect yourself from your grandfather,” his mother struggles to make him understand, “and he will come for you. He will hurt you. My son, please, put your mother’s mind at ease.”

“Then what of your defense?” Damian is beyond angry with his mother for even considering this possibility, “You will be rendered powerless!”

“Sacrifices must be made,” she claims.

“When necessary, ” Damian counters.

“Does your inability to protect yourself not count as necessary?”

“It is not necessary for you to give up your own protection for mine,” Damian grounds out.

“A mother protects her brood,” Talia raises her voice, sounding borderline frustrated with her rebellious son.

Damian can no longer look at his mother’s face. He turns his chin sharply away and disregards the searing heat that boils in his body. After seeing his mother as is - what good would it do to take away what minimal abilities she had to protect herself from her own father? Giving away her power was enough to disown her from the Shadows entirely.

If anything - Damian doesn’t want to see her like this again - and he can’t accept the way she pushes her shadow upon him.

“I will not do this,” Damian decides aloud.

“You must.”

“I will find another way,” Damian puts out stubbornly.

“And if there is none?”

“There is one.”

“Which is?”

Damian returns his attention to his mother.

“I will inherit the other half of my blood.”

Chapter Text

“I could have handled myself.”

“Is this how you thank me?”

Talia stares at Bruce with a steely gaze. Damian's father’s expression was unmoving. It was much different than the previous day when Bruce had let compassion slip through his stiff exterior in order to comfort his shocked son.

“I’d rather you not get hurt,” Bruce states bluntly.

“You would do the same for me,” his mother lowers her voice, certain, “unless I am mistaken?”

Bruce looks down at Talia from where he stands and the two have a passionate conversation with just their eyes. Damian wondered how strange it must be to try to get a read on someone when all they had to return was the black soulless eyes of the Al Ghul.

“No,” he finally answers, “you are not.”

Talia smirks.

Bruce folds his arms tightly across his chest, glances at Damian, and then back at Talia. He says, “Are you going to tell me what that whole thing was about?”

Talia’s smirk falls.

She looks away from Bruce and to the endless expanses of the cave on her right. Damian, himself, finds his eyes lingering on the state of his lap. He still wasn’t over his grandfather trying to take over his body, but then again who would recover from something like that ? He had been lied to for his entire life. He had been given the sweet songs of taking the throne for himself. It didn’t help that his mother helped fuel such a lie. Why she would conceal such a heavy truth for him weighs down his mind and gives him the lightest of headaches.

How many times has he gone over this?

Tired.

He’s tired of thinking about it.

“You know of my father’s plan to cleanse the world from all the filth that resides within it?”

Damian hears his mother talking and he does his utmost best to pay attention. Even so, that did not stop the room from spinning. It doesn’t stop the pounding in his head, the thumping of his heart, and the swirling feeling he was getting in his stomach. He brings his hand up to his mouth in fear that he might just throw up, but Damian has not thrown up since he caught the flu at age four. It would be unsightly for him to tarnish his image in front of his parents.

“Yes,” his father answers.

“There are things I have kept from you, beloved,” she tells him truthfully, “such as my father’s desire of taking Damian’s body as his own.”

“His… body?” His father repeats in disbelief.

“He wished to be young again,” Talia grits her teeth as she recounts her father’s wishes, “insomuch that he was willing to sacrifice my son for his cause. The fact that Damian is a hybrid did not help matters at all. My father desired his body more after receiving the knowledge that he was of your blood as well.”

Bruce opens his mouth but shuts it when he hears the stomping of footsteps.

Grayson appears into view. Gasping. Ragged. He looked as if he had just run a marathon.

Grayson does not spare a look for anyone in the room except for Damian. Damian suddenly feels smaller than he already is with the pressure of Grayson’s eyes on his own. It did not help that Damian was clutching his stomach as if something was wrong with it- when in reality he was simply twisting the fabric of his shirt within his hand (as if it would relieve some of his discomforts).

Why had he run here?

The pact, Damian’s mind answers for him.

“Dick?”

Grayson does not pay any heed to his father’s words and kneels down in front of Damian.

“Are you okay?”

No. Not really.

Talia speaks up, in realization, “When was it that you’ve last eaten, Damian?”

Right.

Right.

He eats shadows.

Haha. Ugh. Wait that’s not funny.

Damian feels all the strength leave his body when Grayson scoops him up into his arms without a second thought. Damian might have struggled had he not felt so utterly exhausted. Perhaps it was due to his obsession with seeing his mother alright that drives him to this state. Maybe it was the backlash of the previous events.

His father reaches out for him but Grayson growls menacingly causing Bruce to pause.

Grayson widens his eyes, immediately aware of his actions, and he says sheepishly, “I… sorry… I don’t know what came over me and-...”

“It’s fine,” Bruce says.

“He’s stressed, ” Grayson says, softer, “and I guess I just got a bit defensive? I can’t really explain it-”

“Dick,” Bruce stops him, “It’s fine.”

Grayson takes in a deep breath, shakes himself out of his haze, and nods.

“Right. Okay. I’m taking Damian to a bed.”

Bruce makes no objections and Grayson does exactly as he promises. He goes into an elevator that was within the cave walls, up a couple of floors, exits, walks through a hallway that looked fairly similar to his father’s mansion, and then he lays Damian down onto a mattress.

His back almost cries out in relief. The stiffness escapes him.

“You’re gonna kill me with worry one day,” Grayson is quiet when he says it.

“S’rry,” Damian slurs.

Grayson looked taken aback at Damian’s honest apology. Damian himself even felt a bit off for having apologized to someone, but that might have been because of his delirious state.

Damian hears Grayson talking to him but he cannot listen. He blinks lazily, eyes dropping down against his will, and sleep beckons him to a cold embrace.

Maybe he’d wake up to see the sunset.

Sunset…

Sunset?

Chapter Text

Damian remembers this place.

Darkness. It surrounds him in every place, but he could still see the floating specks of light. Damian cannot properly conclude his current thoughts without a side-by-side comparison with his past memory of this area, but he swears that the lights are bigger than before. What once were tiny flying orbs were now the size of a typical Christmas ornament.

His grandfather stands next to him. Again. However, this time, his grandfather does not look like himself. He has a dark aura that escapes him through the shapes of black tendrils. His eyes shine a bright red - piercing through the darkness - and Damian finds it quite off-putting. It wasn’t right to see an Al Ghul’s eyes cover in a blood-red color. It made his grandfather look alien.

Damian does not wait for his grandfather’s order this time. He initiates a conversation with little regard to his grandfather’s preference of silence.

“You called me a black sheep the last time we met in this place.”

Elderly eyes shift to his own.

“You were wrong,” Damian says.

His grandfather twitches. It is nearly impossible to see, but Damian had paid close attention to his grandfather’s body language. He saw his arm twitch even though it had been tensed in the act of clasping his hands tightly against his back.

“I do not make erroneous statements,” his grandfather finally speaks.

“You lie.”

“No.”

“It is not I who is the black sheep, grandfather,” Damian steels his expression, “it is you.”

After he says his words, the darkness slips his vision. His eyesight is blinded with light and Damian soon figures out why. It is because he is awake, and now he is staring straight into the decorative light fixture hanging above his limp figure.

He twitches his hand to determine that his waking state is not a figment of his imagination. He thought that there would be no resistance but he finds himself mistaken when he feels his fingers curl around someone else’s grip. Their hand is much larger than his own, warm, and unwelcome. Damian lifts his head to find the foolish one who holds his hand like a clingy child. That is when he spots the werewolf snoozing at his bedside.

Damian tugs at his hand. His failure to release his hand from its cage only proves to fuel his vexation.

Damian gives up, for the moment, and continues to stare at the ceiling helplessly.

He looks out the window and sees that dusk has finally fallen. It seemed that he had slept all day. Did that mean that Grayson had stayed with him for the entire day, too?

Damian clicks his tongue against his teeth in irritation.

That seemed the be the waking cue for his pact-partner.

“Mmm?” Grayson murmurs, raising his head from Damian’s bedside. He removes his hand from Damian’s to rub his eyes. He blinks wearily at Damian. Once. Twice. Then, comically, Grayson’s eyes widen in sudden awareness. “You’re awake!”

Astute Observation, Damian thinks snidely.

“I thought you might sleep through the night.”

Unlikely. The Al Ghuls did not easily tire at night. There was that and then there was the fact that he had slept through the whole day. How could he even think of sleeping through the night?

“Not going to say anything?”

Damian decides that the ceiling is no longer interesting and turns his head so that he can see Grayson better. The werewolf was looking at him in anticipation of something - maybe Damian’s words - but Damian did not feel like giving him what he was expecting. Yet, even so, he now had an obligation to meet with his father. How else would he learn of his inheritance? He must say something in order to ask questions.

No. First things first. Sunset.

“Have you seen… an orange and white cat…?” Damian hesitates to ask.

Grayson answers with another question, “Wasn’t that the kitten you’ve been carrying with you since we met?”

A nod.

“No. Can’t say I have. I haven’t heard anything about the little guy, either. Why?”

Damian doesn’t bother to give Grayson a reply. He clutches the blankets on his lap tightly. How could he forget Sunset? How could he? No. No. He hadn’t forgotten. He knew he put Sunset underneath his shirt after escaping his cell. He had felt her little claws clinging onto the fabric of his shirt. He had also felt the weight of the kitten the entire time. When was it that Sunset had disappeared? How could he have missed the weight of her presence? If he left her behind… was she even alive…?

He grieves.

And the damn pact acts up again. He can see the change in Grayson straightaway. The man tenses and looks at Damian with a sharpness he had lacked earlier. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he lowers his voice as if approaching a wounded animal, “What’s wrong?”

“I…” Damian cannot find any words escaping the confines of his throat. They force their way down his neck and crush his chest with despair. One part of Damian found his behavior completely out of character as an Al Ghul did not mourn over animal companions, but there was a different part of him that was particularly sensitive over the loss of Sunset. The mere implications of leaving Sunset, a kitten, dependent on him, behind without anyone to take care of her is devastating.

“I can’t help you out if I don’t know what’s wrong,” Grayson says.

Damian lowers his head and his bangs fall over his eyes.

“I left her behind-” Damian’s voice cracks under the pressure of keeping down his erupting emotions. It is hard to compose himself. “I don’t- when did she-?”

Damian realizes he must not be making much sense with incomplete thoughts but Grayson seems to get the gist of it all.

Something flashes through Grayson’s eyes before the man makes a decision. He stands up from Damian’s bedside, plops next to Damian, and then gently navigates Damian into a hug.

Damian feels his grief overrun with feelings of warmth and compassion. It does not distract him from Sunset’s circumstances, but it is… nice… in a way.

“I do not need consolation,” Damian mutters.

“I know,” Grayson tells him.

“As you should,” Damian says, “because I am not upset. ”

“Of course,” Grayson agrees with Damian’s intentional falsehood.

“I need no sympathy.”

“Right,” Grayson hums.

The two fall silent and Damian makes no effort to move away from Grayson’s snug arms.

What is happening ?

Grayson pulls away.

“Okay?” He asks, hands now gripping Damian’s shoulders.

Damian makes a noise akin to ‘hmph’ and pulls himself away from Grayson’s hands. He settles himself at the edge of the bed where he knows Grayson cannot reach him unless the man stretches out his arms.

Damian does not bother to answer. He does not wish to linger on his disgusting state of restless feelings. He should really have better control of himself.

“I want to talk to father,” Damian decides aloud, pretending that nothing had just happened between him and the off-duty police officer. He must put this past him even if that means pushing the problem of Sunset aside. Temporarily. He would not leave things here. “Where might I find him?”

“Right now?” Grayson sounds reluctant.

Why?

“Yes.” He leaves no room for disagreement.

He would confront his father and find the truth of his bloodline.

He would cause his mother no more suffering.

Chapter Text

Damian had not meant to intrude upon his father’s conversation with Jason, after Grayson had told him that he’d find his father in his office. His intention had been to convince with his father in learning the history of his blood, but he ended up obtaining the curiosity to listen to what he was saying to Jason instead. 

“Barbara said things would take a turn for the worst should Talia appear through the portal-”

“She is the boy’s mother.”

“And Barbara is never wrong,” Jason finishes.

“I would not leave her.”

“Then you would rather doom us?” Jason scoffs. He folds his arms tightly against his chest as he stands in front of his father's desk. Bruce, on the other hand, sits and leans forward with a look of contemplation. Both of his hands are folded over one another as he uses them to support his chin.

“Fate can be changed,” Damian listens to his father say, “and I know you have first-hand experience with that statement.”

Jason frowns, grumbles, and then turns on his heels. He looked like he was about to storm out of the room, but he stops once he notices that Damian stands idly behind him.

“Hmm. Brat,” he greets.

Damian does not give him any reply in return. The only thing that he gives is an unwavering stare. Damian did not appreciate being called brat because such a term was regarded as an insult. He would have expressed his disagreement should he have had no purpose in coming to his father’s office. Banter could wait for a later time when he was free of the invisible chains that kept his Elvish bloodline locked up. Ultimately, he would not reward Jason’s pathetic jab.

Jason grunts when he understands he’s not going to get a reaction out of Damian. Their staring contest seemed to have actually put him a little bit on edge, but Damian was unsure as to what he could attribute that too. It could have been his soulless eyes, his unanswering silence, or his absolute stillness.

Jason brushes past Damian and doesn’t look back.

“Damian,” his father welcomes once Jason is gone, “what brings you here?”

Damian takes a few steps forward until he is barely brushing the edge of his father’s desk.

A part of him wants to ask about the conversation he had with Jason. The mentioning of his mother’s name was something that had given him an interest in discovering the reason for their discussion. He could logically conclude that Barbara had a vision about his mother. That content of their conversation, aside from bringing forth ‘doom,’ was that his mother’s arrival was the sign of a grim future. Naturally, this concerned him. 

But that wasn’t what he came here for.

“I want to learn.”

His father lifts his chin from his hands and straightens himself against the back of his chair.

“Meaning?”

“I want to learn.” He says again. Why was this so hard for him to say? It felt like something was in his throat while he was choking on the words he wanted to get out.

He didn’t want to talk to his father at all. He wished he didn’t have to be here. Certainly, he was thankful that he had come to rescue him, but that didn’t change the fact of he had spent most of his time in the Wayne Manor in captivity. It was that fact alone that made him have a hard time with what he wanted to say. “I… want to learn more about our bloodline.”

Time falls still.

It takes his father only a few seconds to answer but it feels like an eternity. Damian’s anxious anticipation did not help matters at all.

“You did not seem to want such during your previous stay,” his father says.

Damian grits his teeth, “None would be too willing if held within a room against their will.”

“I could not risk your disappearance,” his father explains.

“I was a prisoner,” Damian scowls, understanding that this was not necessarily helping his own case to receive the intelligence of his father’s family, “which makes you no different than my grandfather.”

“I am not like Ra’s,” his father raises his voice, taking offense from Damian’s statement.

“He held me against my will, too,” Damian’s anger raises and he clenches his fists that hover by his side, “and he had no care for my opinion.”

“You are my heir-” his father tries.

“I was his heir, too,” Damian’s voice is louder now, “and look at where I am today.”

“Damian.”

“Do I want to be here? No. I had a life ahead of me. I had a plan!”

“ Damian, ” his father stresses, standing from his seat while doing so, “I know that I… did something wrong… and…”

His father seems to be struggling with his words too. Maybe it was a genetic thing.

“I… we’re the only two left of our kind… I wanted to protect you,” he says. “However, I ended up putting you in an oppressive situation, and for that… I… am sorry… I just didn’t…” His father’s sentence goes incomplete as he falls silent. Damian finds his eyes looking at the floor instead of his father’s face.

“Damian,” he calls out his name again, for the third time, “if you still want to learn… I will do my utmost best to teach you. Please. Give me another chance to make up for the things I did.”

No, Damian thinks, too sunken in his past.

While he doubts, he sees his mother in his father’s arms. He thinks of how his father had personally bandaged her wounds, how he had come to rescue Damian in his time of need with little regard to his own safety, and then he thinks of his father’s recent apology.

His father was putting this decision on his shoulders even though it had been Damian that approached him first on the subject of learning from him.

A minute of silence is all Damian needs to have his answer.

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

“Have you spoken with your father?”

Damian sits at his mother side as his father’s butler serves them both a cup of tea. His mother asks him a rather simple question, but Damian does not answer right away. He is entranced with Alfred’s tea-serving skills after he transfers a tea-set to a table he had propped up next to Damian’s side.

“Adored,” Talia calls out gently.

“I did,” Damian finally answers her, “and he has agreed to teach me of our people.”

His mother nods shortly and then glances at Alfred. That action did not mean anything to Damian, but he should have been paying better attention to her moves. Her expression alone showed that she was keeping information to herself, away from sharing, because of the unrelated man in hearing’s view.

“While that is good to hear,” she says, “remember who the superior race i-”

Damian stares at his mother. The rest of the words she says flies over his head. It was otherworldly to hear her lecture him about their race when they had finally escaped the influence of his grandfather. Most of what she was saying were things that he’d hear come out of his grandfather’s mouth.

That is his way, Ra’s way, of haunting his mother. It hadn’t been too long ago that Damian had been thinking along the same lines as his mother.

All other races had been beneath him. Everything, aside from his own family, was filth that littered the Earth. He was perfect. Everyone else was in the wrong for simply existing. He might have continued to think in such a way had he not been exposed to the nefarious plan his grandfather held for him.

Besides…

Grayson is not filth.

Do not ask what provokes this singular thought. Damian does not understand it. It can not be explained.

“What of father?”

His mother stops mid-sentence.

Alfred seems to pause as well.

“What do you think of him?” Damian asks.

Damian recalls the stories his mother would tell him as a babe. She would often tell him of his father in the description of being an ‘exceptional man.’ Damian had never given it too much thought.

“I regard him as my equal,” she says honestly, “if not more.”

“You do not think him lower than you?”

“There are few that can best me in combat,” his mother hums. “Is that not worthy of recognition by itself?”

Then is that how one gains the respect of his mother? Being bested in battle?

Alfred shuffles about the cave and then leaves mother and son alone. Once Alfred is out of sight, his mother turns to him with serious features lining her face. Her quick change of demeanor had shocked him but it also helped him understand that his mother’s next words were not to be taken lightly.

“Did you tell your father of the reason his people are nearly extinct?”

That simple phrase sparks a memory in him. His mother had told him exactly why his father’s race had died out, and at the time he hadn’t given it too much attention. Certainly, he felt slightly sorrowful for a whole species’ extinction (because of his own relation to it), but it wasn’t something that called to be the center of his mind. Now? Now, it is different. Now - he considers it heavily.

Why would his grandfather slaughter an entire race?

There was his goal, of course.

Cleansing the whole world. That is what he wished to do.

But never had Damian heard stories of his grandfather erasing an entire people. Yet, what did Damian know of his grandfather? The head Al Ghul had centuries of experiences, stories, that he kept from his family. Sometimes Damian found out more about his grandfather from history books than he did from the old man himself.

What significance did the Elves have to his grandfather? What role did they play?

“I didn’t.”

“Good,” his mother sighs in relief.

“Good?” He questions. What part of that was good? Why would they need to keep this information from his father?

“He can not know the perpetrator of their deaths,” his mother tells him.

“Grandfather?”

“Yes.”

“You’re…” Damian can’t believe what he is hearing, “ protecting… him?”

The man that had betrayed them? The man that had no care for Damian’s welfare? Was she seriously keeping the truth from his father on his grandfather's behalf? 

“Your father will stop to no end to avenge what happened to his family. I have no doubt in my mind that he would find a way to kill your grandfather. His people are adept in the destruction of dark creatures such as we.”

“What?” Damian is baffled. “Why does grandfather’s being concern you? He has brought us only misery and pain!”

“He is my father,” his mother answers, emotionally.

“A man with ill intent!” Damian reminds her.

“I can not forsake him.”

“You must!”

His mother does not answer him.

Why was she being difficult? This should not be hard. She should not have a strong attachment to someone who has caused suffering. Ra’s Al Ghul did not have his own daughter on his mind. He would cut through all that was needed to proceed with his goal. Damian knows that. Why does his mother not know that?

She does, the quiet part of him answers his hidden question.

Damian stands up from his seat and runs an exhausted hand through his hair.

What was he to do about this?

He knows not.

Chapter Text

The Elves were a gentle people.

Damian can see why they were all slaughtered.

They were too forgiving.

“Elves have the ability to tap into the natural resources of magical power that the Earth contains. The manifestation of this power appears the form of light. ”

His history lessons had been long and grueling. His father had much to share about their people. He told Damian of the great gatherings they would have every ten years to share the knowledge they had gathered, and of the Elves influence on the world. The Elves were creatures that had greatly advanced the understanding of magic as a whole, and they did not keep such information to themselves. They shared their knowledge with all creatures. 

The Elves were also peacemakers and mediators between races. It is due to their efforts that many races were able to live in peace.

“Elves have affinities with animals-”

Sunset-

He hates being reminded of her. How can he rescue her when she is hundreds of miles away? He can not risk going back for her. Encountering his grandfather again - alone - was suicide. He would be handing himself to Ra’s on a silver platter.

“The reason why you can not fully tap into your magical abilities is because you have not participated in the ritual that has been within our people for generations.”

Hm.

“It is usually practiced - traditionally - when an Elven child reaches twelve years old.”

Damian is eight.

“However - it seems we will have to make an exception considering current circumsta-”

Good.

That is good.

He cannot delay any longer.

He must have this power for himself. He must protect himself so that he could put his mother’s mind at ease and…

And…

His mother… his mother…

Ugh. He does not wish to be reminded of the previous conversation. It makes him sick just thinking about it.

“You look distracted.”

Damian ceases all think and focusing on his father’s face. He can see his father searching his own face. Could he have presented all that he was feeling on his features? Such a demonstration that showcased his lack of control over his own feelings was a rather shameful thing.

“I have much on my mind,” Damian tells the truth.

“Then perhaps we should stop for now. We can continue this lat-” Bruce does not get to finish his sentence as Jason bursts into his office without knocking.

Damian notices how his father does not look surprised despite his brother’s rash action.

“What’s the matter?”

Jason looks at Damian first.

That prompted the question. Why look at him? Was he searching for his approval? No. That was just jumping to conclusions.

“Talia is gone.”

Damian half-expects his father to shoot up in his chair. He finds that he is wrong when his father does not do such.

His father sports a grave face. His eyes narrow. His eyebrows furrow.

“When did you notice this?”

“Went into the cave to check on her…”

Why would Jason need to check on her? Was that not Alfred’s job? Damian heavily doubted that Jason was close to his mother. He could not believe that Jason shared any kind of closeness with his mother after she had told him about the rocky relationship she shared with him. (After raising him from the dead.)

“Five minutes ago. Searched everywhere for her. No signs of a struggle. I doubt she was kidnapped. She probably got up and waltzed out herself.”

“She would not leave without-” Damian starts.

Without me.

“The situation suggests otherwise,” Jason states.

If Damian had not felt betrayed by his mother before, when they were talking about his grandfather, he certainly felt betrayed now. While he believes that his mother would not leave without good reason - there was an irrationality that presented itself in his mind.

What if she went back to his grandfather?

But no. After all that they did to escape him?

Damian places his face on the palms of his hands.

Why?

Chapter Text

His mother’s disappearance does not distract him from his hunger.

The signs start small.

He barely notices them. He could go without eating shadows for weeks, but signs of hunger usually began with the simple thought on whether or not a certain shadow might taste delicious. It was this sign that explained why his eyes had been glued onto the shadows of all those who spoke to him.

Then he suffers deep cravings.

He considers consuming the shadows of his family more than once. The only thing that keeps him from pouncing on one of them is the fact that they had saved him from his grandfather’s captivity. Yes. Just that. Certainly, it couldn’t be the fact that if he took their shadows… they would ultimately be rendered powerless… Certainly not.

So he turns his mind to the next available source.

The dark reflections of inanimate objects.

The shadows of the unliving were unsatisfying and hardly fulfilling. That is why Damian had been rather reluctant in his decision of eating an object's shadow. 

Imagine a feast set before you. It has many of the foods you desire. Now imagine a poor man’s meal; Cold soup, stale bread,  and dried sardines. Both extremes represented Damian’s dilemma. He was presented with the most delicious looking shadows waltzing around under the same roof as he, but the angel on his shoulder told him to go elsewhere for food.

That is how he comes to stand before a nightstand near the bed his father had given him. The nightstand casts a short shadow against the wall. Damian moves it slightly so that he can reach the wall behind it. Once he makes a gap, big enough to stick his arm in, he kneels down on the ground.

His position is not a flattering one. He’d rather no one walk in on him to see him checking behind his nightstand. The only upside presented was that any intruders would not be able to tell what he was doing.

He closes his eyes and remembers his mother’s teachings.

"Allow only the tip of your fingertips to be covered-”

The shadow slowly crawls onto his fingers.

“Carefully remove it-”

He slowly peels the shadow off the wall like a thin piece of tape,

Any other creature could not do what Damian was doing. All shadows could not be touched in the physical sense.

“Cup it into your hands-”

He gently lays the shadow into the palm of his hand. He then pulls both of his hands together and cups them as tight as possible. He did not want anything to slip through the crevices of his fingers. He was not a messy eater.

The shadow morphs from a thin fabric-like state of being and pools into his hands.

“Bring it to your mouth-”

He brings his hands to his lips and tilts his head back.

“Then drink.”

It was a hard thing to swallow even though it ran down his throat smoothly.

He winces at the taste.

Gross.

It does not settle well. His stomach feels full - that is a plus - but he also feels an intense feeling of disgust. The taste left something bitter in his mouth and he wouldn’t put it past his body to throw it back up.

He takes a deep breath. He slowly breathes out of his mouth and inhales through his nose. He does this several times to calm his upset stomach and his negative emotions.

Damian would continue his breathing exercises if he did not hear a clash of noise underneath him. His observational skills come to play when he realizes that the source comes from downstairs. It spikes his curiosity and causes him to leave the confines of his temporary room. He hopes that it will be a good distraction, too, as he didn't want to focus on his upset stomach. In any case, it does not take long to find the source of chaotic noise.

“Hey! I’m innocent!”

“No demon of hell is innocent- ” a voice rings out.

“Wow! Calm down Cass!”

“I will not. ”

Damian finds three people at the entrance of the Wayne Manor. Dick Grayson plays the peacemaker for two women. One is familiar as he can never forget Cheshire’s foolish face even if he wanted to. The other is a stranger to him although vaguely recognizable. He doesn't know why.

Grayson stands in between both Cheshire and Cass (Damian concludes). He faces the stranger with a nervous smile on his face and attempts to calm her down. He says, “She’s not an enemy.”

“Trickery,” Cass is short and simple in her response. “We must be rid of her before she-”

“Oh hey, little prince!” Cheshire interrupts.

Damian grunts.

Cass takes one look at him and seems to fall slack. Her previously tense stance disappears the moment she captures his image in her mind.

“Damian… Al Ghul…?” She questions.

“That’s the one!” Cheshire answers for her.

“You have…” Cass pauses and Damian wonders why she looks at him as if he is a figure of her past, “grown…”

He narrows his eyes at her and wonders how she knows of him. He files through the memories of his childhood and nothing turns up. Nothing - until he sees a flash of black hair in the corners of his mind - and the limp form of his mother.

"Your family… is a cruel one.”

“You are the woman who-”

“Carried your mother back, yes,” she finishes for him.

He had questions.

But he can not ask them here. Not when everyone is looking at him.

“You two know each other?” Grayson asks.

“Yes,” Cass answers.

“As much as I love reunions-” Cheshire drawls, “I’m looking for Mr. Wayne. I have information he’d probably like.”

“Well - I can’t get him,” Grayson reasons, “not if it means leaving the two of you alone.”

“I can handle myself!” Cheshire teases.

“We can test that,” Cass suggests, unkindly.

Grayson sighs and then looks pleadingly at Damian.

Oh, no.

No.

Nope.

Grayson’s eyes manage to become even more pathetic as the seconds tick by. Damian clenches his fists to prevent himself from giving in. This test of will could not end in failure. He will not - could not…

Damian grunts.

Acceptance.

“I know I could rely on you!” Grayson feels it through their pact even though Damian makes no move or word to demonstrate his surrender.

Damian turns his back against Grayon’s giant grin and tries not to think too hard on what just happened. He would not think of it as succumbing to Grayson’s puppy-dog eyes. He was doing this out of his own volition.

Damian alerts his father of Cheshire’s presence in record time. He then finds himself following after his father’s footsteps until they stop at the bottom of the manor’s grand staircase. Damian makes the effort to stand a long distance away from his father. He does not want to stand behind him nor too close to him. That is why he makes his way to the side where he can see everyone within his peripheral vision.

“There’s the man!” Cheshire cheers. “I’m honored you’d come out to greet me personally!”

Bruce ignores Cheshire’s charade and asks, “What is it that you have?”

Cheshire’s smile drops.

Her change of character is quick and abrupt.

“I found out what Ra’s is planning.”

She then glances at Damian.

“And I know of the whereabouts of his daughter.”

Bruce’s gaze is hard and heavy on Cheshire. He says, “What is it that you expect in return for such information?”

“Souls, no doubt,” Cass growls out. The only thing that stops her from lashing out at Cheshire is Grayson’s body. He shields Cheshire from Cass’ wrath.

“Hmm? No. Freedom from Ra’s influence is enough for me,” Cheshire’s eyes become clouded with the secrets of her past with Ra’s. It is then that Damian realizes that he doesn’t truly understand Cheshire’s standing with his grandfather. He hadn’t even seen Cheshire as much as he had recently. Cheshire had often been an elusive character with actions that were difficult to decipher.

Bruce doesn’t look like he trusts Cheshire’s words but it did look as if he was willing to listen.

“What do you know?” He asks.

“I have much to share,” Cheshire says, “but allow me to simplify what I have learned.”

She looks at each person. One by one.

“Ra’s intends to cover the world in eternal darkness.”

Chapter Text

“He’s been planning this for generations.”

Alfred transfers the teacups from his tray to the coffee table situated in the middle of Bruce’s formal living room. The room had one couch and two armchairs that were being occupied by every person interested in hearing what Cheshire had to say. Damian found himself situated on the right side of his father’s black chic couch. Grayson sits next to him only after Cheshire made the suggestion, through the use of her body language, that she was going to sit straight in the middle. Grayson did not give her the opportunity to take the seat she wanted, so she ends up sitting to the left side of the couch.

His father sat in an arm-chair while Cass sat in the opposite one. Cass musters the harshest of glares for Cheshire. She does not take her eyes off of the half-succubus for even a second.

“He used the call of shadows, something that summons all the assassins of the league, just a few days ago. That is how I came to learn of his intent. He is preparing to seize Gotham.”

 “How does he intend to do it?” Bruce asks.

“I’m guessing that means you believe me?” Cheshire sounded a bit smug.

Bruce narrows his eyes.

Cheshire holds her hands up in mock-surrender and says, “Yikes! Got it!”

“Stop wasting our time,” Cass growls out.

If Cheshire was bothered by Cass’ demand, she made no sign of it. Cheshire continued by saying, “Ra’s has had a book of forbidden magic for generations that he could not decipher. It is something that only the elves can read-”

Damian’s eyes dart up to Bruce.

“Damian’s half-elven heritage made him a prime candidate for body-possession. It would it would be a smoother transition to take over Damian’s body rather than the body of a full-blooded Elf.” Cheshire glances at Damian and says, “Ra’s intends to invade Gotham. The distraction that the chaos creates will give him apt opportunity to abduct Damian once more. After completing a ritual created by the late Dopplegangers - he will take over Damian’s body - and then he will use the forbidden book to cast the world in eternal darkness.”

Cheshire pauses for a moment to regain her breath. “An eternal night will prove to be a field day for all creatures of darkness. One can guess why that would be problematic.”

Cheshire stops talking and silence falls upon all those in the room. Grayson has a grave look on his face, but he is the most expressive person in the room. Damian feels the intense worry that travels through their pact and it mixes with his own concerns on the current situation.

Eternal darkness was not a bad thing - for a creature such as he - but that did not make it ideal. His grandfather seemed to have forgotten that shadows cannot exist without light. Where would his food source go after a world cast in darkness? That is, assuming, all workings light fixtures, flashlights, and fire were affected by the spell as well.

What is more concerning is that his grandfather intends to follow him to Gotham just to have his body.

“Damian?”

His father calls out to him. It is then that Damian realizes that everyone is looking at him. They all had good reason to. He would be the first step for Ra’s in a world covered in darkness.

Damian stands up from his spot on the couch and ignores the heads that follow him.

“Wait,” Cheshire says, “Don’t you want to hear about the whereabouts of your mother?”

Damian pauses in his stride to retreat to a place to think and thinks over Cheshire’s words.

His mother.

His mother who had left him here.

He did want to know. Was she okay? Why did she leave?

Damian, instead, walks out. He leaves behind all those who watch his back.

He does not look back.

Chapter Text

“That’s usually where I sit-”

Damian stares blankly at Tim.

“Or not,” Tim says as he moves to sit on the other end of the couch that was situated in the middle of the Wayne Manor’s library. He then pulls out the book that he had tucked underneath his arm. He flips through his book until he reaches his desired page. His reading leaves behind a quiet that Damian finds himself appreciating.

Think.

Think.

That is what he had come here to do.

He goes over everything he knows over and over. No ultimate conclusion comes from his thoughts nor does he determine what he’s going to do about the oncoming trials. He feels empty. Unwhole.

Damian glances down on the floor and notices his missing shadow.

What was he supposed to do now?

He’s not who he thought he was.

Damian Al Ghul.

It’s strange how wrong it’s starting to sound in his head.

“There you are.”

Jason’s voice interrupts Tim’s reading time and Damian’s brooding.

“No,” Tim says.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Jason complains.

“You were going to ask for something,” Tim says as he casually flips a page.

“Um. Yeah. Aren’t you the expert in transfiguration here?”

“That I am,” Tim answers.

“Met Stephenie the other day. Said she’s running out of blood.”

“And so she sent you,” Tim sighs.

“I live to serve,” Jason bows in a dramatic manner. He then looks at Damian and glances back at Tim. Tim shrugs and turns back to his reading as if he had never been searched out for in the first place.

“What’s up with the brat?” Jason asks. “Why’s he sulking?”

“I don’t know. Must have something to do with our guest.”

“Guest?” Jason questions.

“Cheshire,” Tim replies.

“Ah. That chick.”

“Cass, Grayson, and Bruce are all talking to her. Don’t know what it’s about.”

“And they didn’t invite you? Aren’t you our resident wizard?”

“You already know the answer to that question,” Tim states. He turns another page. Damian wonders how he can read and converse at the same time.

“Can’t you spy on their conversation or something along those lines?”

“I am not all-powerful,” Tim says with a roll of his eyes. “My magic knowledge is limited which is why I’ve been trying to study until you came in.”

“Lame.”

Tim shuts his book and turns around sharply.

“Don’t you have better things to do? I get that Stephenie needs blood. There’s no point in you lingering.”

Jason puts on his best puppy face, “What? Do I need a reason to spend time with my brothers?”

“You’ve got to have some ulterior motive for this.”

“Fine,” Jason relents, “I’ll just go where my company will be appreciated. ”

“And that is?”

“The kitchen.”

“Jason,” Tim says with a hint of warning in his voice, “ you know you can’t eat anything. It’ll sit in your stomach and rot for days.”

“Pfft,” Jason scoffs, “I’m going there because Alfred is in there. He likes me.”

“No one said they disliked you.”

Damian tires of the two brothers arguing back and forth. He moves to stand up and decides to go elsewhere. He had wanted a place to think in quiet. This environment was the opposite of what he wanted.

“Something wrong?” Tim asks him.

Damian grunts. “Noisy.”

Tim hums in thought. “Give this place a chance? It’ll quiet down soon enough. I could use a companion.”

Damian turns to look at Tim’s face.

Genuine concern.

Tim didn’t even know him.

Damian finds an invisible force driving him back to the couch where he sits in the spot he had been sitting just a minute before. He doesn’t even really think about how Jason plops himself between the two of them with a newfound determination to stay rather than to go to the kitchen.

Tim pops his book back open. 

Jason leans his head back and closes his eyes. Meditating.

Damian stares at the wall.

They all sit in comfortable silence.

Chapter Text

One guest replaces the other.

Cheshire had left after she had relayed all that she knew to his father. It is the following evening when Grayson intrudes on the quiet of the three Wayne siblings. Grayson insists that the whole family go downstairs for a family meeting. He makes extra sure to try his utmost best to convince Damian specifically to attend as he is one of the main subjects of the conversation they were going to hold.

Damian doesn't want to return to the people he had just walked out on, but Grayson's face made it hard to say no. That is why Damian finds himself returning to the manor's entrance.

The guest that had replaced Cheshire was someone that Damian knew. Not a lot of people didn’t know about Clark Kent. He was a famous figure - a humble man turned celebrity journalist. He covered a wide range of controversial topics between races, and he was praised for his boldness by the general public. Clark Kent didn’t have a particular species perse. Categorizing him into a specific place was difficult considering the nature of his creation. Clark, Damian had learned, was an artificial being created to look human. The closest species in relation to such a description would be a golem, so that is often what the journalist was referred to.

No one had any idea on where he had come from. His parents were normal humans with no magical capabilities. It was impossible for a normal human to create a magical creature like a golem.

Clark had the biggest stature out of everyone in the room. Damian’s father was a close second which was then followed by Jason. Damian didn’t want to admit that he was a bit intimidated with the way that Clark towered over him. It made Damian feel like a dwarf and seeing as how Damian did not want to feel inferior… he made sure to give Clark the sharpest stare he can manage. Damian’s glaring gave himself a false sense of security on his position as the smallest person in the room.

“I appreciate that you came on such short notice,” Bruce exchanges pleasantries with Clark.

“You sounded grave," Clark says from his position at the doorway.

“A grave matter has revealed itself,” Bruce tells him. He moves aside so that Clark is free to enter through the door without any opposition. “And we could use all hands on deck.”

Clark enters with a grateful smile and then looks over everyone in the room.

“I see the whole family is here,” he notices aloud.

“This is somewhat of a family matter,” Grayson answers for Bruce.

“Oh?”

“There’s a lot to tell you.”

And tell Clark they did.

Bruce and Grayson took turns explaining the situation to Clark.

Damian knew that Clark was a famous journalist, had connections, and shared a friendship with his father. Even so, he couldn’t find a reason as to why anyone would consult with Clark on Ra’s plans to invade Gotham. There was little that the man could do. He could publish an article about it, sure, but that wouldn’t change anything. It would only prove to rile up the public and cause them to panic.

Clark says, “I’m guessing that you want me to inform the rest of The Patrol about this?”

‘The Patrol?’

“Yes.”

He had heard of The Patrol multiple times in his grandfather’s upset, grumbling, curses. The Patrol had been an enemy organization to the League of Shadows. They would always interfere with Ra’s plans. His mother told him that it was no concern to him, but now it seems that the current situation proves her wrong. It would have been helpful should he have learned about the enemy that kept getting his grandfather’s way so that he would have some information to rely on in the present time.

“Alright,” Clark sniffs, pulling up a hand to stroke his chin in thought, “and I’m assuming you have a plan?”

“Correct,” Bruce says. “Allow me to explain.”

His father tells Clark everything. He tells him about how Damian’s protection is priority. Then he goes on to inform him about his desires that Damian should enact a traditional Elven ritual. It had been the same ritual that Damian had learned about from his father on when a child would be able to unlock the abilities that only the Elves had. His father’s reasoning is that granting Damian such a privilege would strengthen his defense against Ra’s Al Ghuls attacks should they have a one-on-one confrontation.

Bruce had looked at Damian for confirmation throughout his explanation and saw no disagreement.

“I also plan to consult Oracle about the potential outcomes of this plan,” Bruce says.

Clark nods. “That’s a good idea. There have been hardly any instances in which her visions have turned out wrong.”

Jason grumbles something under his breath which reminds Damian of the argument Jason had shared with his father (in his office) not too long ago.

“What I need is members of The Patrol to defend various points of Gotham. We won’t be able to protect everyone, so we decided to focus on the most populated areas. Ra’s has various members of The League of Assassins that will act as ‘generals’ of his army of shadows. Patrol members should prove as an apt distraction against them while we defend the manor off from invaders,” Bruce takes a breath and continues, “When this occurs, I will be in the cave producing a counter-spell to all of the invading shadows. Cass will be assisting me. I ask that Tim may as well.”

He looks over at Tim.

“I’ve got no objections,” Tim replies.

“Dick has agreed to protect Damian-”

Damian wants to complain but decides against it. He knows better. He needs all the help he can get. He can not do this alone even if he wishes for it.

“I had the hope that Jason would too.”

“What? Why can’t I help you out with your voodoo thing?”

“It’s not voodoo,” Bruce deadpans, “and I already have all the help I need.” Bruce gestures to both Tim and Cass with his eyes.

“Fine,” Jason relents. He doesn’t stop there though. He says, “But why is Cass going to help?”

“Her abilities in exorcism will come in handy,” Bruce informs.

Jason glances at Cass and the woman makes no movement to acknowledge it.

“Now that we have that in order,” Clark interjects, “I will proceed to tell the rest of The Patrol about your plans. Is that all?”

“No,” Bruce pauses, “Thank you, Clark, for doing this.”

Clark seems a bit surprised. He widens his eyes and his eyebrows shoot upward.

Damian observes his reaction and wonders if his father’s gratitude is a rare thing.

“Uh… you’re welcome,” Clark recovers quickly.

Bruce holds out his hand and Clark does the same. They both shake their hands in a friendly manner as if their connected hands would communicate something that others could not hear.

“Hopefully we’ll have reasons to hang out when the world isn’t in peril after this,” Clark jokes.

“I’ll look forward to it,” Bruce allows the smallest of chuckles.

Chapter Text

“We’ll have to do the ritual on the night of the full moon-”

Damian listens to his father describe the process of the traditional ritual he was supposed to go through in order to unlock the other side of his powers. The ritual itself sounded rather complicated from the way his father was explaining it. He had to meditate in a magical glyph, offer a drop of his blood, wait for the peak of the full moon, and then-?

“Then you will have to accept my name-”

His father’s name? Bruce?

“You will then be encased in light. Your spirit, temporarily, will be placed within the realm of our ancestors. It is there where you will encounter one to accept your birthright.”

“My spirit, ” Damian repeats dumbly.

“Yes,” his father affirms. 

Damian was rather skeptical about all that he was hearing. He was no stranger to magic, that was an understatement, but this sounded a little too other-worldly. His spirit would leave his body? Really? That sounded like a devil’s contract in which one offers their soul to their gluttonous stomachs.

“Is that all?” Damian asks. He ignores his thoughts, all his questions, and decides that he’d rather escape his father’s company. He still couldn’t be in his father’s presence without remembering their last encounter. The only thing that makes hanging out with him bearable was the receiving of his powers.

His father is silent at Damian’s question. Damian gives him the time to think over his answer before, thirty seconds later, his father says, “No. I have something else I’d like to ask.”

Damian tilts his head, slightly, in a questioning manner.

“Would you like to go somewhere with me?”

His father’s serious expression makes Damian think twice about saying ‘no.’ Damian hadn’t wanted to stay any longer. Regardless, Damian finds himself in front of two marked graves next to his father’s side. He had ultimately relented to his father’s request after convincing himself that, if he did this for his father, the man would not bother him for the rest of the day.

Martha Wayne.

Thomas Wayne.

His father’s parents. Damian’s grandparents.

“I thought of…” His father holds a hesitant tone as he continues, “ introducing you. To them.”

Damian stared at the tombstones. He doesn’t feel any amount of sadness. His father, on the other hand, was his opposite. His father’s face was stricken with a hint of grief. Just seeing his father’s face made Damian think him to be a fool for mourning the past. One should move forward. They should not linger behind. It was hardly befitting a warrior of any kind.

“They were a gentle people,” his father explains, “and kind.”

Damian says nothing. His eyes are glued to a firefly, sitting on one of the graves with the faintest of glows.

“I think they would have liked you.”

Damian nearly scoffs. He can’t imagine his grandparents who were supposedly ‘gentle’ and ‘kind’ to like him. He had killed before. He had brought ruin and suffering to many people. He was the son of a cold-blooded assassin and the grandson of Ra’s Al Ghul. He was not, in any case, someone that they could be proud of.

“I disagree,” Damian says aloud.

His father looks at him pointedly.

“They would hate me,” Damian says confidently.

Their frustrations of the loss of their race would land on him. They would be reminded that he is the grandson of the mass-murderer that took away their people and they would utterly loathe him for being connected to such a man.

“No,” his father corrects, “they would not.”

Damian bites his bottom lip as if it would prevent him from blurting out all the information holed up in his head. He decides to test the waters first, by saying, “You would hate me too if you knew what I know.”

“Untrue,” his father states.

“You can not know that,” Damian insists.

“Then I will prove it to you,” his father returns. “What is it that you think will make me hate you?”

Damian clamps his mouth shut.

Should he tell him? His mother told him not to. His mother said that his father mustn’t know the truth, but she had also said that it was for the sake of his grandfather. Damian had no care for his grandfather. Not anymore. Nothing good would come out of defending his grandfather’s honor when the man hadn’t a drop of honor within him.

“I am related to the man who drove a race to extinction.”

His father is smart. Damian knows he can decipher the meaning of his sentence.

Damian had his eyes still glued onto the firefly until the accursed little thing decides to gently pick itself off his grandmother’s grave. It floats in the air and Damian gives up his observation of the pitiful creature. He, instead, focuses on his father. Damian realizes that his father is staring at his smaller form intensely.

His father catches him further off-guard when he drops down on both knees. His hands fall on both of Damian’s shoulders.

“Damian,” he says, sincerely, “you are not your grandfather.”

Damian is visibly surprised with what comes out of his father’s mouth. He had braced himself for something else entirely. He had expected his father to ask for more details on his race’s extinction and how Ra’s played a part of it. The man had a right to know how the fate of his people came to the mercy of Ra’s hands. He had also been looking for signs of anger and hate in the features on his father's face. 

“You are not his keeper,” his father continues. If he notices Damian’s shock, he makes no comment of it. “And the tragedies he inflicts does not fall upon your shoulders. You are not responsible for the things he has done and will do.”

“You are not surprised?” Damian musters through his surprise, “Surely, you are unhappy that I have kept this hidden information from you?”

His father shakes his head. “I’ve always suspected.”

Damian’s eyes almost pop out of his skull. 

“How long?” Damian asks.

“Long,” his father is unhelpful in his reply.

“You did not think to take revenge on him through me?” Damian questions, not knowing where exactly his question was coming from.

“Never.”

“Then you don’t-”

“I don’t hate you,” his father finishes for Damian, “and I know that I haven’t been the best father. I’m not a good example - I think irrationally - and act too often on my feelings when it comes to my own flesh and blood. Just… Just let it be known that… that I…”

His father clears his throat.

“I do not hate you,” he repeats affection added in the back of his voice, “Nor do I ever plan to.”

Damian grunts, as his father releases his shoulders, “I should return to my room.”

“If you must.”

Damian finds himself emotionally worn out from his conversation with his father. He had not expected to tell him the truth nor had he expected that his father already had known  about   the one responsible for the extinction of his whole race. No. Their race.

Their conversation also made it difficult for Damian to despise his father even though the feelings of distaste are fresh in his memory.

Maybe he could give his father a chance.

Maybe.

Chapter Text

Damian thought that the comforts of his temporary room would give him some sort of peace. His solitude was supposed to settle his mind and help him determine the state of the relationship he shared with his father. Upon the realization that he could not properly meditate on the series of subjects presented to him in the past few hours, including that of the traditional ritual that his father had described, he took it upon himself to get some fresh air.

The first thing Damian notices, when he goes outside, is that his father’s garden is well-kept. Whoever was their garden-keeper deserved commendation. Damian, however, considers the fact that there is only one servant in the Wayne Manor. Alfred. The butler could be the organizer of the garden, but Damian finds himself heavily doubting that a single individual could be responsible for taking care of the whole grounds.

The garden is a spacious area that gives Damian the idea of a quick-training session. One could not go too long without polishing their skills lest they wish to become rusty.

A single thought is all it takes for his shadow sword to form in his hand. He doesn’t think about which objects he had pulled the shadows from in order to create the weapon that he was carrying, but he does think about how much easier it has become to summon his weapon. His mother had claimed it impossible to manipulate the shadows of objects. Damian was the living proof that falsified her statement. Her words are strange to him especially when he is able to will an object’s shadow with no difficulty.

Damian swings down his sword in a vertical line.

Damian starts with the kendo katas that his mother had ingrained in his head at an early age. He goes through the familiar motions while his mind escapes elsewhere.

His mother was still missing. Cheshire had offered to tell him what she was doing, but Damian had refused. Her betrayal, despite his denial, had hurt him. She had been the one good thing that came out of the Assassin’s hell hole. She had looked out for him for his entire life even if some of her actions were rather questionable. She was his mother. He loved her. He still loves her even though she had left him after their troubling conversation regarding his grandfather. (Though he doubts he’ll be able to talk to her properly should she return.)

Speaking of his grandfather - the stupid man thought himself capable of capturing an entire city - and apparently, that was enough to have his father call out ‘The Patrol.’ Was his father the leader of that organization? What is Clark Kent’s relation to The Patrol? Why did his father think the golem-pretender was necessary to their plan? Damian was fairly certain that they could control the outcome of this whole situation by themselves. There was no need for outside help of any kind.

“You’re here,” a feminine voice states the obvious.

Damian makes no effort to respond and continues in his katas as if he was never interrupted in the first place.

“Damian,” she says.

“ Cass, ” Damian says her nickname in a mocking tone. “Do you not have better things to do?”

“I thought you would have questions,” she says, quietly. Damian hadn’t thought her to be soft-spoken after all of those threats she threw at Cheshire. She was much more aggressive than she is now.

Questions. Yes.

“How did you come to be here?” He asks. The last and the first time he saw her was when she assisted his mother to her bedroom. That was their one encounter. That is why Damian finds it odd that Cass is treating him as if she was more than just an acquaintance.

“Here?” She looks around.

“At the manor,” Damian elaborates, “with these… people.”

“They’re family,” she tells him.

He stops mid-swing and turns his head to look at her.

“Blood-related?”

“Adopted,” she is quick.

Damian hums and continues in his katas. His actions were his way of telling her to go away, but Cassandra’s lack of movement proves that she is ignoring his body-language. Instead, she asks, “You have no other questions?” With the tilt of her head she continues, “I thought you would be more curious as to how I am related to the League of Shadows.”

“I have no need of your life-story,” Damian grunts. “However…”

He glances at her from the corner of his eyes. “I already have a few guesses.”

“Oh?”

“Lady Shiva. You both share the same features.”

No reply from Cassandra. Damian guesses that he’s either guessed spot-on or that she was leaving him in suspense.

“Although I cannot come to understand how a creature of the undead can possibly have children.”

He stops his katas and drops his shadow sword. His sword disperses into shadows that run across the grass back to their rightful places, but he doesn’t pay the display any mind. “I suppose that would mean that we aren’t terribly different. If you are indeed Lady Shiva’s daughter that would mean you were also raised in similar conditions.”

Damian looks up at the horizon.

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” she says, “you are not.”

“Hmm,” Damian acknowledges her answer. The two fall in silence until another presence makes itself known by the sound of their steps. Damian could hear their shoes press into the grass upon their approach, and he only thinks that it is another irritation to delay his peace. He stops thinking such when he sees the cause of the sounds.

“There you guys are!” Grayson says cheerfully. “Alfred told me to gather the family for dinner. It’s been a while since we’ve all eaten together.”

Grayson looks between Cassandra and Damian.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“Nothing,” Cass answers for them. She then turns away from Damian and makes her way into the manor without any further communication with Grayson. The werewolf, in turn, watches her leave with a thoughtful expression. Damian considers the idea that Grayson might ask him for questions about Cass’ presence, but the werewolf surprises him by avoiding the unasked question completely.

“I said family you know,” Grayson says warmly, “which includes you too.”

Damian’s lips form a thin line.

Grayson pays Damian’s features no heed and trots up to Damian. He then swings an arm around his smaller shoulders with a wolfish grin.

“I do not need to eat,” Damian deadpans.

“Still no reason not to attend,” Grayson tells him as he guides them both back in the direction of the manor. Honestly. Why was Damian even letting Grayson direct them both? Damian was perfectly capable of finding his own way to the dining room. “Besides. You’re a Wayne. It’s kind of an honorary thing, too, you know?”

Wayne.

Wayne.

Damian Wayne.

Hmph. It didn’t sound too bad.

Chapter Text

“How are the sigils I carved working?”

Jason stops stuffing his mouth with flesh of some kind and squints his eyes at Cass who sits across from him. She, unlike him, was carefully picking apart the lemon-coated salmon in her plate while waiting for his answer. Jason tries to swallow everything down, coughs, and then pounds on his chest.

“Great,” he hacks, “does its job.” He clears his throat. “Takes care of the demons that huddle up in Gotham’s underground.” Jason grabs his pistols from their holsters and showcases them to everyone at the table. He holds them at an angle so that their engravings can be seen by everyone at the table.

“Master Jason,” Alfred scolds. “No guns at the table.”

“You know the rules,” Bruce agrees.

Jason rolls his eyes. “It’s not a big deal,” he groans as he tucks his pistols back into place. “They were both on safety. Oh - and - full of rock salt. ” Jason sent Tim a glance after he was finished making his point. “All it’d do is hurt. A lot.”

“Rock salt. Better than bullets,” Tim defends himself after he swallows a mouthful of food.

“How do you even replace them? I never see you do it!”

“Magic.”

“No, duh. ”

“Now, now,” Grayson plays the peacemaker even though he has a bright smile on his face. He was clearly enjoying their bickering even though it wasn’t in the ‘proper table-manners’ guidebook. “We’re here to enjoy good company and good food.”

“It’s good,” Cass tells Alfred, comedically. 

“Thank you,” Alfred bows politely. He stands behind Bruce as he observes everyone eating at the table with a warmth in his eyes. “It is nice to know that my cooking is appreciated.”

“We’ll always appreciate your cooking,” Grayson says, truthfully. “It brings family together. It’s hard to get Bruce out of his office nowadays anyhow.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Alfred chuckles.

“I’m right here,” Bruce tells them.

“We know,” Grayson returns. “Usually you’re not there. Hard to miss you sitting with us.”

“Wasn’t Barbara going to join us?” Tim speaks up, changing the subject. No one knows if it is intentional.

“She’s recovering from a vision,” Jason answers Tim’s question. He sounds bitter when he does. He plays with his fork on his empty plate. He pushes around his remaining crumbs while grumbling, “And I think it’s about our latest plan.”

The table falls silent. Only the clatter of silverware can be heard.

“It was that intense?” Cass asks, quietly.

Jason nods.

“She wouldn’t give me the details,” Jason sets his fork down and leans forward. He places an elbow on the table so that he can rest his chin on the palm of his hand. “But she looked worried.”

Silence. Again.

“Uh-” Grayson tries to recover the mood, “Well, ha, I’m certain she’ll tell us when she's ready. We should celebrate that we’ve got a new little brother-”

“I’m not the youngest anymore,” Tim’s eyes widen at his new realization.

Everyone looks at Damian who sits at the end of the table. The opposite chair that sits across from him is empty. The chair sitting at across from Bruce’s head position at the table was also empty which allowed Damian to assume that they were missing two members of the family.

“Tsk,” he clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth in his irritation.

“Well-said,” Jason’s sarcasm is strong.

Damian has nothing in front of him unlike the rest of his family. They all have plates of food. Most of it was salmon with the exception of Jason who seemed to have a plate of animal skin (that had already been eaten). He’s not sure what kind of animal skin it is, as he doesn’t have too much knowledge on the diets of zombies, but Damian wondered why Jason needed to eat at all. Didn’t Tim tell him that all the food he ate would rot in his stomach? What made animal skin different?

“Have you eaten?” Bruce looks at Damian with an intense stare.

“If you must know,” Damian huffs, “yes.”

“Who did you take it from?”

Damian found himself slightly offended by the question.

“ No one, ” he growls.

“Then you haven’t eaten-”

“I have eaten,” Damian counters in his agitation, “and it didn’t belong to any resident of this house unless you count the inanimate objects that stay here.”

His father’s shoulders relax. Actually, everyone’s shoulders relax except for Grayson. Damian’s pact-mate seems to look at him with a trust that Damian is unsure he deserves.

“Forgive me. Your mother would…”

“I know.” Damian cuts him off.

She’d go off in the middle of the night to consume the shadows of others. There was no secret there.

Damian can feel agitation spring up on Grayson’s side of the pact and his eyes fall upon Grayson’s wavering smile. Grayson says, eager to have their conversation in a lighter tone, “I heard you’ve been collaborating with LexCorp on a protection program for species near extinction.”

“Yes,” Bruce nods stiffly. “Mr. Luthor has been generous in his aid.”

This is the first that Damian hears of this.

“We’ve made great strides in preserving the Goblin folk. We’ve also made a few connections with the Dragur.”

“Aren’t Dragur an undead species?” Tim asks.

“Correct,” Bruce says, “and they are limited in number.”

“Zombies are ‘limited in number’ but I don’t see us getting any special benefits,” Jason mumbles.

“The Dragur are being hunted for their bone ash,” Bruce interjects. "Bone ash is used as an ingredient for potion brewing.”

“Oh right,” Tim says after swallowing the rest of his meal, “I’ve heard about that. Bone ash is used to create potions of vitality. Spellcasters saw profit in selling such potions to the weak and sickly.”

“Yes,” Bruce says, “and that created a near-extinction of the Dragur.”

“Any other creatures?” Grayson asks as he pushes aside his plate.

Everyone watches as Bruce takes a moment to think before saying, “Humans.”

“They’ve been hunted like crazy. It doesn’t help that they’re a food source for many, many, creatures. We’ve had to fend off ghouls, zombies, vampires, and the like.”

Damian felt a sharp pain in his heart when he heard the truth in his father’s words. Humans were indeed the largest hunted species on the Earth. They were the main course for all of the things his father listed and for Shadow Walkers.

His own people.

Damian was capable of stealing the shadows of other creatures but they usually put up a fight. Humans were weak. They did not put much of a fight which is what made them so desirable. 

Tim frowns and says, “Steph is a vampire and she hasn’t eaten human.”

“She’s not an ancient vampire,” Grayson counters, “and she doesn’t see eye-to-eye with the pure-blood traditionalists in her race. It helps that you provide her with a never-ending source of food.”

“Alchemy with the assistance of transfiguration magic,” Tim explains, “makes turning water into blood an easy affair.”

Jason interjects, “This conversation is fascinating and all… but I have some things to do.”

Jason stands up from his place.

“Like what?” Tim lifts an eyebrow.

“Like checking on Barbara,” Jason states before nodding at Alfred in thanks. The butler simply bows his head back politely and Jason took that as his cue to leave. “Come get me when the world is in peril. Yeah?” Jason waves his hand lazily as he exits the room.

Damian follows his example.

“You’re leaving too, Damian?” Grayson’s expression morphs into one of disappointment.

Damian falls back onto his habit of silence when he decides not to answer Grayson.

“You should go with Jason,” Grayson suggests, “to check on Barbara.”

He is not  Jason’s caretaker.

Damian keeps his snark to himself.

“You could learn something.”

Damian regards Grayson heavily before nodding stiffly.

Grayson gives him a small smile.

Chapter Text

"Damian," Barbara greets.

Damian looks over Barbara's room and finds that it is not too different than his own. The only noticeable differences consisted of the mattress, the trinkets hanging across the wall, and the picture frames standing on her desk. Upon closer inspection, Damian could see that most of her framed photos included members of the Wayne family.

Damian regards Barbara carefully and notices the paleness of her face. Her whole complexion looked as if she had several nights without sleep. His eyes then travel to one of her hands being held captive by Jason's grip. The man himself kneels next to her bedside with a face split between concern and annoyance. The concern was, obviously, for Barbara. The annoyance had only appeared once Barbara had acknowledged Damian's presence.

"Could you leave us, Jason? I would like to talk to Damian alone," Barbara asks softly.

"I was here first," Jason says, stubbornly.

"I know," Barbara chuckles, "but I have some concerning information for him. It'd be better to go over it with him now rather than later."

Jason glances at Damian from the corner of his eye and then lets out a loud sigh. He releases Barbara's hand and stands up. Barbara gives him a reassuring smile which Jason takes as the signal to leave. Damian watches Jason's whole journey to the door from Barbara's bedside until his figure vanishes from sight. That is when Damian settles his attention on the visionary bedridden woman in front of him with a newfound sense of curiosity. He wanted to know why Barbara would have any sort of 'information' for him when she (probably) didn't know about his situation as well as the others.

"Pull up a chair. This might take a while."

Damian shifts his eye from Barbara to the chair situated next to her desk. He walks to the chair, tugs the object over, and then he plops down with his arms folded over his chest.

Barbara looks away once Damian has situated himself. Her eyes hover over the glass window to her left where the sun was sinking into the horizon.

"I have visions. I suppose you've already gathered that," Barbara says, "My visions typically come as passing flashes. It is only upon your arrival that I've had rather... intense... dreams."

"Because of me?" Damian asks. It is probably the first words he has ever aimed at Barbara specifically.

"I think it just means that you play an important role in upcoming events," Barbara tells him, "although most of it appears in a blur. My visions have never been particularly difficult to decipher until now."

Barbara stops looking out the window and turns her attention back to Damian.

"I've had a repeating vision that has been bothering me during your stay. I can never remember much of what I see, but I remember the raw feeling that comes with my dreams. I feel determined, courageous, and powerful. These feelings last until the end. Then I'm suddenly thrown into a miserable pain. The pain is so great that it wakes me up."

Damian stays silent as he processes her words.

"This isn't the only vision I've had about you. I've dreamt of you before Dick put together a rescue-party."

"Oh?" Damian unfolds his arms.

"My visions gave me the impression that all would go well should certain events play out upon your return to the cave."

"But...?"

"But then your mother appeared."

Damian hears Jason's voice ringing in his head. He recalls Jason arguing with his father, inside the head Wayne's study, saying, "Barbara said things would take a turn for the worse should Talia appear through the portal-"

"She is the boy's mother."

"And Barbara is never wrong," Jason finishes.

"I would not leave her."

"Then you would rather doom us?"

"What does my mother's appearance mean?" Damian questions.

"I only saw the exact events that would lead to the most desirous outcome," Barbara tells him. "Your mother's appearance was not a foreseen event."

"Jason spoke of the negative consequences it might create," Damian mentions.

Barbara blinks. "Yes, well, just because we won't receive a preferable outcome, most likely including the defeat of your grandfather and the protection of this world, does not mean we will face certain doom."

"He also said that you said things would take a turn for the worse should my mother appear through the portal."

"That-" Barbara pauses, "Yes, I did say that. I said it in a moment of close-minded thinking. You must understand that my predictions are rarely wrong. I thought it to be a bad omen that your mother appeared against fate's plan for her."

"Then why was your vision wrong this time?" Damian questions, aware that he has talked more than he liked just to probe questions out of the seer.

"I've been asking that question too," Barbara sighs. "Why are you special? Why am I having visions of you? What unknown variable is directing fate off her natural course? Why do I wake up in pain every night? All of these things currently lack answers." Barbara turns her head to look at her lap. "I thought that talking to you might help reveal the unseen."

"Your abilities are your own," Damian scowls, "I can not interpret what I do not understand."

"I realize that."

They both fall silent and Damian spends their quiet moment of pondering to observe Barbara's expression. Her brows were furrowed, nose scrunched up in frustration, and Damian felt a hint of sympathy creep up his arms. He reminds himself that he has no connection to Barbara. There is no attachment between them. He should not feel bad for her situation when she didn't matter to him.

What if you were in her shoes?

His traitorous thoughts push to the surface of his mind.

The devil on his shoulder snickers, 'But you aren't in her shoes.'

"Forgive me for the trouble-"

'Don't finish that sentence!'

"that I have caused."

She looks up in slight surprise.

"It's not-" she stumbles over her words, "It is not your fault. It is my fault for being born this way."

Damian was ninety-nine percent sure that her sentence held an underlying meaning. Was she somehow hinting that she did not appreciate her abilities?

Damian looks at the framed photos on her desk.

"There are others who would disagree."

Barbara follows his line of sight.

"You're right," she reluctantly agrees. A smile slips onto her lips as she continues, "Thanks."

Damian frowns. Thanks? For what? All he did was state the obvious.

He does not say you're welcome. He leaves it to hang in the air as he stands up from his seat.

"Could you send Jason back in?" Barbara requests.

Damian arches a brow.

"Knowing him," Barbara laughs gently, "he is probably waiting in the hallway. He may not like to talk about it, but he worries the most out of everyone. I think it's about time I finally tell him how I feel about this whole situation."

Damian stiffly nods.

He does as asked. Jason had seemed almost delighted when Damian had told him of Barbara's desire to talk to him, but he quickly covered his foolish excitement with a fake cough into his hand. Damian only catches a glimpse of Barbara's content expression before Jason closes the door behind him.

Damian is left standing alone in the hallway with only the shadows as his companions.

Damian feels empty after hearing all that Barbara had told him. He also feels terribly lost. What was he supposed to do with Barbara's visions? There was too much. Too much. Too much to think about. There was the ritual, Barbara's visions, his grandfather, and his own relationship with the Wayne family. Where did he stand in their close-knit world?

"Hey? You finished?"

Damian looks up.

Grayson jogs up to him. He then reaches out his hand and ruffles Damian's hair. "Had a nice talk with Barbara?"

Damian looks at Grayson inquisitively. Why had Grayson come running over to him?

"Come on. Why don't I show you the gym? I'm aware that you haven't had a full tour of the place."

Was Grayson purposefully trying to distract him?

Damian's first thoughts are the pact.

His second thoughts are about how compassionate Grayson is. It's utterly mind-boggling.

Grayson grabs hold of Damian's hand and tugs him forward as he chatters away happily about the manor's features. Damian can only look at his back, dumb-founded, and slightly grateful for his older brother's interference.

Damian doesn't pull away.

Chapter Text

The full moon was a busy night for all creatures on the planet.

There is no rational explanation as to why a full moon affects all kinds of magicks. The moon’s glow would enhance all things no matter the origin. That is why rituals, summonings, and spells that required the strongest of magic would take place on a night with a full moon. That is why vampires go out hunting when there’s a full moon, why witches brew their strongest potions, and why Damian was standing in the middle of a magic circle.

The circle had no symbols drawn within the lines that surround Damian. All that could be seen were carefully placed lines, crossing along each other, partnering with various smaller circles that had been cut in half.

His father was the only one in the room with him. Damian had been told that this ritual was a private, father-son, affair. Even so, Grayson and Tim were standing outside the door in case of an emergency. Bruce assured Damian that the ritual couldn’t go wrong, but that they needed to anticipate that something might happen regardless. That is also why there were people situated around the manor on the look-out for any abnormality. Barbara, alongside Cass, were both patrolling throughout the interior. Alfred and Jason, on the other hand, were both patrolling outside.

Damian was already informed of the risks that were involved once the ritual begins.

His father had repeated, four times (Damian counted), that every participant of this ritual were full-blooded elves. Damian would be the first half-elf to step into their traditional magic circle. It is for this reason that his father told him that there may be unknown side-effects to his experience on the path to meet his ancestors. It was unknown as to how it would play out. That is why he must approach his oncoming journey with heavy caution.

Damian watches as his father raises his hands in the air. His hands begin to gather bright energy, crackling around his fingers, as he closes his eyes and murmurs something underneath his breath. Damian cannot hear what his father is saying until the man raises his voice purposefully, chanting, “Blood of our fathers, blood of our mothers, under pale moonlight.”

Damian watches as the circle begins to glow faintly.

“A new name we seek on this night; a name of elven bloodline we accept in this rite.”

Must everything rhyme? 

“Hear the name we rewrite! Damian Al Ghul, now Damian Wayne, find our ancestor’s light!”

Damian expected his form to be overtaken by light. He, however, did not expect for the shadows in the room to surge forward across the ground. None of them care for the magic circle and shoot straight to the middle where Damian watches in his shock. His father seems to notice that something is dreadfully wrong as well because the man’s eyes pop open in apparent distress. Damian suspects that he must have sensed the disturbance by magic alone.

“Damian!” His father calls out.

Damian sees absolute fear in his father’s eyes. The sight nearly knocks Damian off-balance until he understands.

He raises his hand up to his eyes to see shadows creeping up his palm. They seek to leave no part of his skin uncovered.

“This is…” he can not finish his sentence out of pure shock. The shadows cover his legs, arms, and then wrap around his neck.

“Damian! Step out of the circle!” His father commands.

Damian splits apart his fingers to see his father’s worried form.

His vision begins to darken due to the fact that the shadows were now halfway up his face. He can only see half of his father’s body.

“Father?” He whispers.

His vision fades and then Damian stands in pitch blackness.

He stands still for a few minutes. He listens for his father’s voice but finds he cannot hear a single sound. He could not hear his father’s rushed breathing or voice lined with fear. That is why he strains his hearing as best as he can to listen to his surroundings until…

Until he is slammed onto the ground.

Damian closes his eyes upon impact as he hits the ground.

It is hard.

Concrete? No.

Wood. A wooden floor.

“He is not ready,” he hears a voice say.

He freezes.

“He will be once I am finished with his training,” a feminine voice rings out. “Must you have such little faith in your daughter?”

Damian opens his eyes and is surprised that he can suddenly see. He tries to get up, pushing himself off the ground with both of his hands, but he pauses halfway through. His sight is glued onto the details of his hand. His small hand.

“Damian.”

Two legs appear in front of him.

A green and golden robe.

“Do you not remember what it is that I have taught you? Speak. I will listen.”

His mouth moves without permission and a young voice escapes, “The conquerors are kings; the defeated are bandits.”

Damian looks up and sees his grandfather’s coal-dipped black eyes. He quickly averts them when he remembers that he has no right to look at his grandfather’s glorious being. Not without permission. He dares not.

His grandfather looks at him with a look of contemplation. His grandfather then kneels down and gently pushes back a piece of Damian’s hair to get a better view of his pointed ears. Once Ra’s finds the features he is looking for, he frowns, and then he looks up at his daughter in plain distaste.

“I would think you to cut them off.”

Damian can’t see his mother as she says, “I will do no such thing.”

“Then conceal them. I do not wish to look upon them any longer,” his grandfather replies. He stands up and makes the faint noise of clasping his hands behind his back. Damian knows. He is familiar with his grandfather’s actions.

Damian feels a cloak fall onto his shoulders.

Damian is thrown into another fit of shock as he looks up and sees a completely different scene. His grandfather no longer stands in front of him and instead it is his mother who is in the center of his vision. It also so happens that he is no longer on the ground either. He is now standing up near his mother’s bed.

The woman in front of him adjusts the hood of his cloak with a hint of motherly affection and tells him, “You must never take that hood off, do you understand, Damian?”

He nods shortly.

“Speak not, son,” she lectures him, “The Al Ghul do not speak to the unworthy.”

She uses her thumb to rub at the corner of his right eye.

“Conceal those dark pits. They scare the common people.”

A soft voice. His voice. “Why?”

She stops her gentle touches of affections and takes a moment to think.

“They fear what they do not understand,” she tells him.

‘That’s not the real reason!’ Something echoes in his head. Him. Damian?

Damian Wayne?

Was his name not Damian Al Ghul?

Damian turns, cloak sweeping alongside him, as he exits his mother’s room. He walks steps that he has already walked before, but he knows not why. His mind is broken. Shattered. Nothing fits together. The pieces that he was desperately trying to gather were escaping his grasp.

He stops in his walk when he sees something.

It is not a typical shadow in his grandfather’s service that enters his pathway. What he sees is a pitiful looking kitten with bright orange and white fur.

Damian narrows his eyes.

What is disgusting filth doing in his home?

‘No!’

He must dispose of it. His grandfather would not be happy to know that there was something akin to a rat running around within his residence.

Damian grabs hold of the kodachi(1) at his side. The short sword seemed to feel wrong in his hands for some reason as if it was no longer his weapon, but he disregarded any stray thought. He aimed only to kill the animal that was mewing pathetically in front of him. He could tell that it was trying to call out to his weaker side. Damian would show his grandfather that he was not a merciless child if he gifted him the body of a dead kitten.

He takes a few steps forward. The kitten does not move.

Worthless animal.

Damian only stops in his final step when he realizes that something is holding him back.

He tries to move his legs but they do not obey his brain’s commands.

His head seems to work, as well as his eyes and neck, so he peers over his shoulder to see the cause of his lack of mobility.

He sees his own shadow pick up from the ground in clear disobedience.

Not possible. It obeys him. It does not have a will of its own.

Damian watches in strange fascination as the shadow mimics his own mouth. A line splits across the shadow’s face and it opens only to tell him, “Filth… un… worthy…”

“What?” Damian can hardly understand the shadow behind him. His shadow should not be capable of doing this without his command.

“Min… e.”

Damian suddenly stumbles forward when he regains the control of his limbs. He quickly regains his bearing and makes a sharp turn to get a better look at the oddly-created shadow that had just popped up from the ground.

He blinks twice when he sees that it has the kitten within its hold.

He peeks over his shoulder once more to see if the kitten was still in the same position it had been earlier and saw that it had disappeared. His surprise was an obvious reaction to the realization that something wasn’t quite right with how the shadow was able to easily obtain the kitten without his knowledge.

Damian looks at the kitten in the shadow’s hands. He frowns.

“Let go of her!” He demands.

What?

His hand flies over his mouth.

He didn’t say that-

His mouth opens to say more even though his hand was muffling almost all the sound that was leaving him. Damian tries his hardest to keep himself back. He hunches over, terrified, and scared that his body is not his own.

“Mine!” He says, “And off-limits!”

Stop. Stop!

Damian blinks and then everything changes.

Gotham. He knows this place. He knows-

How does he know this place? He’s never been here before. Why does everything look familiar?

He walks forward to the ledge. He looks over and sees a strange sight. He sees the bodies of people all over the ground. There was no sign of movement. No twitches. Nothing.

“It starts here,” he says.

Not him. Not him.

“I shall cleanse this world-”

‘Get out!’

“and create a paradise.”

Damian falters and takes a few steps back. He trips over something, a body. His heart picks up ten beats when he makes an examination of the man.

Ra’s Al Ghul?

Was he dead? How?

“An old body. I am glad to be rid of it,” Damian says.

“Damian!”

Damian thinks it is his imagination. The sound, for once, does not come out of his own mouth.

“Damian Wayne!”

That is not his name- that is…

That…

That is his name.

Damian stands up on his feet and wobbles slightly. He feels woozy. Confused.

“Here!”

The world fades into darkness. Gotham’s buildings all fade away and he stands once more in an abyss while a voice echoes all around him.

“Grab my hand!”

He sees color glow in his neverending nightmare. He looks in the distance at a woman who was calling out his name, searching desperately for him, and for a minute he thinks that it is his mother.

The woman turns and spots him.

“Damian! We need to leave! This isn’t right!”

It is not his mother. His mother did not wear a red coat nor did she fancy pearl necklaces.

“This place is wrong!” She grows closer to him. “There are people waiting for you. People who want to meet you.”

“Meet… me…?” He questions.

“Did you not call on your ancestors?” She asks, softly. She is now close enough that she could grab his hand without his invitation if she wanted to.

Did he? Was it him?

Or was it someone else?

“Take my hand,” she says again, gently.

He looks at her extended hand in silence.

Damian did not take the hand of anyone. The woman in front of him, however, had the air of someone familiar. He could see that he shared something with her.

He puts his hand in hers.

She smiles at him reassuringly and gives his hand a loving squeeze.

"You will not regret your decision,” she promises him.

Chapter Text

“It is dangerous to sleep in this realm.”

Damian feels fingers combing through his hair. The movement was so calming that Damian wanted to stay where he was, with his head set upon something softer than the ground. It isn’t until he cracks his eyes open that he is assaulted with a crash of recent memories. He remembers spiraling through his past under the identity of a terrifying nightmare. He had been thrown through various situations that had left a long-lasting impression on his mind. He can still recall his disorienting journey. He knows one thing for certain from the result of such an experience. He does not want to go through that again.

“Mother?” He calls out drowsily.

“No, dear,” the woman says.

Damian doesn’t remember falling asleep.

He remembers taking a woman's hand. The rest escapes him.

The woman hovering over him was a blurry mess as a result of his waking vision. Damian finally has the opportunity to observe her up close when her image clears. The woman who was supporting his head in her lap had a small red jacket lined with fur. A high-quality pearl necklace hangs from her neck. Her expensive appearance gave Damian the inkling that she was a rich woman, but there was something in her features that set her apart from the stereotypical mistress.

“Where...?” Damian sits up and rubs at his head. He was no longer in a dark space. The world around him had shifted to a field that stretched out of eye-sight. Damian’s hand falls to the ground and then he curls his finger over a few strands of grass. Everything here felt real so Damian doubted that this was another one of his confusing dreams, but then he remembers that all of his dreams had felt eerily real.

“You are in the abode of elves.”

Damian looks back at her.

Sensing his desire, the woman tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear to display her pointed ear tips.

“Those that are deceased come here.”

“Why?” Damian asks.

She gives him a small smile. “We return here so that we may serve those who live. Our bodies may disappear but our spirits remain. We use our energy to fuel the magic of our descendants.”

Damian frowns. What kind of existence was that? Talk about miserable. Did that mean, when he died, he would also become a fuel-source for some snotty-nosed kid?

The woman laughs as if she understands his line of thinking. It must have been the emotions that had flashed across his face that gave her the idea that he didn’t like the sound of their fated afterlife. She comforts him by saying, “Not all elves come here. Those that choose to stay here are called the guardians of all elvenkind. Those who do not reside here go elsewhere.”

“Where is that?” Damian asks.

The woman shrugs. “I could not tell you. I’ve never been there.”

“Does that mean that you’ve been here since you’ve died?” Damian asks.

“Yes,” she answers.

Damian moves on to another question, continuing, “Who are you?”

The woman chuckles warmly, “I am called Martha. Martha Wayne. I am your grandmother.”

Damian stares at his grandmother in a new light. His father had taken him to his grandmother’s grave not too long ago, but who would have thought that he would be introduced to her in a literal sense. Meeting her in person sure beat talking to her tombstone.

“You’re…” Damian trails off, unsure as to how exactly he should react to meeting a dead member of his family. He was going to say that she wasn’t as old as he thought she would be, but one of the passing guests in the League of Shadows had taught him that woman tended to be sensitive about their age. “You’re… um… looking good for someone who is dead,” Damian finishes lamely.

Martha laughs, “Thank you.” She then continues, “I must say that I’ve always wanted a grandson. I see that you’ve inherited your father’s handsome looks.”

“How did you know I was your grandson?”

“I sensed you through your father’s ritual.” She gives him a silly grin and says, “You should have seen the whole realm. Our kin were singing in joyous celebration.”

Damian falls into a reverent silence. His mood seemed to burst his grandmother’s happy one and a look of concern settles onto her face. “What’s wrong?” She asks.

“The elves,” Damian questions gravely, “why were they exterminated?”

He knew the general information about the extinction of the elves. He knew that the elves were somehow involved with his grandfather’s spell on the Doppleganger’s lost art of body possession, but he didn’t understand why his grandfather seemed to have spared his father from the fate of the rest of his race.  He felt that it would be better to ask someone who had actually gone through the traumatic event.

“Our people suffered greatly at the hands of Ra’s Al Ghul,” Martha’s expression darkens as she recalls the fate of her species, “and it was because of his aspirations to cleanse the world. He offered our kind an alliance but we are perceptive beings. We could look through his guise and sense his greed. He wanted something from us. We just didn’t know what it was until it was too late.”

Damian scowls. That sounded like his grandfather.

“It is then that we found out that he had obtained forbidden magic of an extinct race. The Dopplegangers.”

He knew this part.

“We were familiar with such magic. It is us who forbade it in the first place.”

That was new.

“He wanted to use this knowledge to possess the body of an elf.”

“What!?” Damian blurts out, “Why?”'

“A book, filled with dark magic, fell into his demonic hands. It is in this book that he discovered a way to cast the world in eternal darkness. The only problem that he faced was a simple fact; such powerful magic was impossible for him to cast. It did not matter how much power he gained. There is no one on the planet that had the capability to cast such dangerous magic. No one, except for the elves. It was we who had the potential to aid Ra’s in his evil plot and it was we who rejected him. That is when the book offered him a theoretical solution.”

“How could an elf do what my grandfather can not?” Damian questions.

“Did I not tell you that the realm you reside in is a place of guardians? Deceased elves who use their energies to fuel the magic of our descendants?”

Damian began to put the pieces together.

“An elf could fall back on the magic of their ancestors. Think of all those who are dead and then think of the potential power one can have.”

Damian did not like where this was going.

“Retreating back to my previous statement,” Martha says, “Ra’s wished to possess the body of an elf, but that was impossible for a creature of darkness. His efforts would ultimately end in failure. We, after all, are creatures of light. It is within our nature to oppose the dark.”

Martha sighs, “That is why he went down a different route. He decided that he would drive our race to extinction for the sole purpose of making a singular elf far more powerful than he should be. Your father, being the last before you came, was only left alive to create a half-breed. You. A child torn between two worlds; a child with a body that Ra’s could deal with efficiently. You were born to a man who has cultivated generations of your ancestor’s powers.”

“My grandfather planned this long before I was born,” Damian realizes.

Damian finds himself disgusted at the understanding that his grandfather had used his own mother and father as a tool to bring about the world’s demise. Speaking of his mother, had his grandfather ever cared for any of his family members? Sharing one’s blood with Ra’s didn’t seem to make them immune to his nefarious plans. It made Damian sick to his stomach.

“A sad truth,” Martha’s face morphs into one of sympathy.

“Does being a half-blood give him a better chance of possessing me?” Damian asks, keeping down the bile that threatens to leave his stomach. His grandfather’s actions did not represent his dreams to ‘maka e paradise.’ A paradise, for one, would not have someone like his grandfather as their leader.

“Yes.” Martha grabs hold of one of Damian’s hands and covers it with both of her own. “He would inherit your ability to stand between two different worlds, two different magicks, and he would use this advantage to his own desire.”

Damian had never heard it the way that his grandmother put it. He never thought of being stuck between bloodlines as an advantage. That is why he covered up his ears. That is why he did all his grandfather told him. He thought that his obedience to his grandfather would erase his flaws. His self-hatred pushed him to try the best to please his family, but was his self-deprecation just another one of his grandfather’s plans? Did he think that Damian would just give up his body if Ra’s had mercifully offered to erase Damian’s heavy doubts?

Damian’s mind wanders to his father.

“Damian. I know that I did something wrong… and… I… we’re the only two left of our kind… I wanted to protect you. However, I ended up putting you in an oppressive situation, and for that… I’m sorry… I just didn’t…”

Had his grandfather ever tried to apologize for anything he did? Damian still did not look fondly upon his father’s actions, but his father had admitted that he was wrong. He was trying to make up for his terrible mistake.

“M… My ancestors,” Damian changes the subject, “What would happen to me after I accept their blessings?”

Martha says, “You would unlock the seal that holds your elven side back.”

“Would it do anything to my… my other side?” He can barely manage his words. His mind is heavy.

“You may have some trouble creating a balance between light and dark,” Martha tells him, “but I can’t know for certain. You are not like us. You are not like the Al Ghuls. You are like you. You must figure your powers out yourself.”

Damian looks away from his grandmother and then looks out at the endless field. The grass shimmers with the breeze. The scenery was a picture opposite of the one in his heart.

“Will it hurt? Their blessings?”

Martha looks absolutely stricken when Damian says that. She gives his hand a gentle squeeze and shakes her head, saying, “No. No. It won’t. I can promise you this.”

Damian takes a deep breath. “Can I meet them…?” He weakly questions.

“Yes!” His grandmother beams. “You can! I just have one request of you.”

“What is that?”

“Close your eyes.”

Damian turns back to look at her in slight reluctance.

Martha returns his look with a reassuring smile.

Damian sighs in submission and then closes his eyes shut.

He flinches when he feels a soft pair of lips press against his forehead, but then he relaxes at the voice that comes following the innocent form of affection.

“I give you my blessing,” his grandmother whispers.

The change is instant.

Martha’s warmth disappears from his side. The breeze no longer sings in his ear or floats through his hair. The smell of an open field warps into something else. His surroundings smelt as if he was someplace damp and earthy. His senses pick up that he wasn’t where he had been just a few seconds ago, and so he cracks open an eyelid to seek the reaction of his grandmother. He only faces disappointment when he finds out that she was no longer sitting near him.

Both of his eyes are wide open by the time he moves his chin about sharply. He searches for his grandmother and takes in the place around him while doing so.

A cave. Damian can tell at first glance that he was in a cave. There was a large spring tucked in the back of the cave. Damian notices that the pool of water was completely clear. He could see the bottom even though he wasn’t next to the spring’s edge. The spring, though the most interesting part of the scenery, was not the only thing that caught his interest. There was a large group of bats hanging upside down above him quietly chittering about. Most of the bats seemed to be asleep, tucked within their wings, but there were rebellious troublemakers moving around to their heart’s content.

“Good to see you sport.”

Damian’s eyes dart back to the spring’s edge. Damian had mapped out the place in his head with one sweep-through of his eyes, but how had he failed to see the figure of a man in his company? Damian can only see the man’s backside since the stranger was facing the spring. He had a head of black hair and his clothes looked to be the back-view of a traditional black suit.

“Never been too good with family reunions,” the man says. He turns and gives Damian a full look at the black mustache placed under his nose, his square jaw, and his wrinkled eyes.

“How are we related?” Damian asks him even though he already has his suspicions.

“You can call me grandpap,” the man laughs good-naturedly, “but you might know me as Thomas Wayne.”

“You’re here, too?” Damian questions in his disbelief.

“I’m here too,” Thomas affirms, nodding his head. “I’m glad your grandmother was able to send you over here. Although we are many, we are spread far apart, so I represent the good-will of all those who wish to bestow their blessings upon you.”

“I thought they wanted to meet me?”

“They do,” Thomas says, “but we’re running short on time. I’d love to keep you here longer but that just might give my shaken son a heart-attack.”

“Father?”

“My energy is always with him,” Thomas informs Damian, “so I have the vaguest of ideas on how he’s feeling right now.”

Damian picks himself up from the ground and stands up.

“How long do I have?” Damian asks.

“Not long,” Thomas replies. “The full-moon won’t last forever.”

Damian sighs.

Thomas turns his whole body so that he can take a few steps closer to his grandson. Thomas grows close enough that Damian has to raise his head slightly just to have eye-contact with him. It only occurs to him now that his ‘grandpap’ was his father’s height.

Damian’s insecurities begin to fester. He grumbles, “Do you not fear that I of all people am your grandson? I am the son of a man who has taken away your people’s future.” He found it rather foolish that his grandmother had accepted him so readily. She had found him through his blight of darkness with a steady faith in him. A part of his heart hurts when he thinks of how warm her hands were and how she seemed to accept him so easily.

“Nonsense.” Thomas places a large hand on his grandson's shoulder. “You are not your grandfather.”

Damian’s father had said the exact same thing. Damian believes that the phrase, ‘like father like son,’ truly fit in this situation.

“And I’m proud of how far you’ve come. You’re here now, aren’t you?” Thomas’ voice lowers into a softer tone.

Damian hates how he begins to feel too emotional after hearing Thomas’ statement.

Thomas looks up as if new knowledge had suddenly been inserted into his brain. He then looks back down at his grandson and smiles bitterly. “I’m afraid its already time. Leave it to your grandmother to hog all the family time with you.”

“I won’t see you again, will I?” Damian whispers. He wanted to talk to his family more. He wanted to learn their stories.

“Not unless you take an early dive to death,” Thomas jokes. His humor slowly fades away from his eyes as he considers his grandson in a serious manner. “We love you, Damian. Take our blessing and remember that you have a family to fall back upon.” The man leans down to place a kiss in the waves of Damian’s hair. He then removes himself and uses the hand that had been resting on Damian’s shoulder to give his grandson’s hair a rough ruffle.

“Make sure your father knows that too.”

Damian feels himself lose his balance and he tilts backward.

Then he falls.

Chapter Text

Too bright.

‘Where is that light coming from?’

Damian’s body shutters.

‘I didn’t hit the ground?’

He had fallen back into the living world, right?

Damian felt two hands keep him from hitting the ground. Damian slowly opens his eyes, first seeing the cracked lines of the magic circle before him, and then seeing several people staring at him in the purest form of wonder. He knew all the faces in front of him. All of his brothers, Cassandra, Barbara, and Alfred were looking at him as if he had just spitted out a line of filthy curse words.

His pact, due to Grayson (no doubt), was flaring to life. He felt all kinds of worry, anxiousness, and confusion. Grayson really did not hold back on his feelings. Damian almost thought that his brother’s feelings had been his feelings, but Damian is not nearly as confused. He also had a basic understanding of what was going on.

"Damian?” A voice, hoarse, calls out his name.

His father holds onto him like a lifeline.

The area around him looked like ten-thousand flashlights had been strung up on the walls, or maybe it was just a giant spotlight lighting up a single room. Damian could find no source at the supposedly blinding light, and it only left him with questions. Firstly, why did he not feel pain at looking into the brightest of lights? Secondly, how was he not blind already? When science fails to answer Damian looks to magic for the cause. Could it have been some spell? What did they do to his body while he was out?

“Your eyes,” Tim is the first to point out that something is wrong.

Damian removes himself from his father’s hold and sits up in the middle of the destroyed magical circle. He brings up a hand only to find that it was no longer covered in shadows.

“My eyes?” Damian repeats.

“They’re shining,” Tim says.

‘Is that why everything looks obnoxiously bright?’

Grayson holds himself back no longer. Like the overgrown puppy he is, he rushes to Damian’s side. He plops down on his knees so that he can poke and prod Damian for any injuries. Damian was predictably annoyed by this. He shoves at Grayson lightly with a scowl plastered on his face, but he makes certain not to use too much force. His action was half-hearted at best. He knew it wouldn’t stop Grayson.

“What happened?” Damian asks while ignoring his brother.

His father, who had been settled behind him, replies, “You were completely covered in shadows. No one could approach you without them lashing out on us.”

Grayson stops checking Damian for possible injuries and completes the rest of the explanation by saying, “The shadows practically exploded when your whole body began to light up. Then you woke up and…” Grayson pauses as he peers into Damian’s eyes before continuing, “then we noticed that your eyes have lost their previous color.”

‘You mean they aren’t dark pits anymore?’ Damian thinks to himself sarcastically.

“How do you feel?” His father asks gently.

“I feel…” Damian flexes his fingers in front of his vision. “Good. ”

His father lets out a huge sigh of relief, “You gave us a scare.”

“Well as you can see,” Damian tells him smugly, “I’m fine.”

“So, uh,” Jason inserts, “when are your eyes going to stop shining like torches? It’s not exactly pleasing to look at.”

Cassandra elbows Jason in the rib and the zombie looks at her with an unimpressed look. She returns his look with a glare of her own.

Damian stays stubbornly silent.

He didn’t know. How was he supposed to know? This was the first time this happened to him. It’s not like he wanted the room to look like it was situated right next to the sun. All he knows now is that he didn’t want to have everyone looking at him like he was the centerpiece of an art gallery. He also wanted to know how he was going to go about controlling this new power of his. It is strange to say, but Damian could feel it in his veins.

It felt like it was going to explode.

That was not a good thing.

Damian looks around at everyone in the room quickly.

They can’t be there when it happens. They’ll get hurt.

It is safe to say that Damian no longer feels ‘good.’ It was surprising at how quick his body had gone from feeling great to feeling absolutely terrified. He felt like a living, ticking bomb. The only problem is that there was no countdown. He didn’t know when he was going to ignite like a firework. All he knew was that he had to get out before everyone else suffered the brunt of his power.

His father may be able to handle it, but everyone else? Damian didn’t know and he didn’t want to find out.

Grayson literally senses Damian’s anxiety and reaches out a hand to comfort him.

Damian flinches back violently. “No!” He shouts.

Grayson freezes.

Damian feels Grayson’s rejection swirl in his chest, but he doesn’t have time to feel sorry. Damian stumbles up on his feet and glances at the door.

Some part of him cries out for him to retreat into someplace dark. Damian did not ignore his body’s pleas. He thinks of the cave that resides underneath the manor immediately.

“I can’t-” Damian looks around nervously. “I need to go.”

Damian rushes for the door. Someone’s hand reaches out for him, Jason, but they narrowly miss the edge of his collar. Damian escapes the only force that tries to keep him back and heads straight for the cave. He could feel his body fill up with pressure like a water balloon.

How could he stop this?

Light. There was too much light.

He remembers his grandmother’s words. “ You may have some trouble creating a balance between light and dark,” she had told him. Damian focuses on a singular word. Balance. He needed to create a balance so that one part of him didn’t overpower the other.

But the Al Ghul side of him feels cold and dark. It was nothing compared to the light. The light was the most addicting thing that Damian had ever witnessed. It made him feel powerful, pure, and better than before. He did not feel as rotten as he did when he called upon the shadows. It also didn’t help that mere thought of his Al Ghul abilities reminded him of Ra’s. His own disgust of the head of the League of Assassins kept him back from calling upon his powers again even though it had come to him naturally not too long before the ritual.

Damian enters the cave with a gasp of breath. He had run nonstop.

And of course, his father had followed him.

Damian looks over his shoulder to see the solemn expression on his father’s face. No one else had followed them but Damian had a feeling that his father had something to do with that. Maybe he gave them some words along the lines of, ‘let me handle this.’

“If you get hurt,” Damian growls, “it is your own fault.”

“Why would I get hurt?”

“You followed me. I don’t know how much longer I can keep all of this contained.”

“Keep what contained?”

The questions. Curse the questions.

Damian says through gritted teeth, “My new powers. Is that not obvious?”

His father slowly approaches him. He looks like a person approaching a scared, timid, animal.

Damian takes a step back. It’ll come on any second now. The light will escape him and he’ll ruin the whole cave.

“Don’t get near me!” Damian barks at his father. The man was too stupid to even consider what being in close proximity with him could mean to his safety!

His father ignores his warning even as Damian backs himself into a wall.

“What if I hurt you!?” Damian cries out, pained.

Two hands carefully tuck Damian’s form against his father’s larger one. Damian’s fighting spirit completely diminishes once his father gathers him up in his embrace, but that did not stop the energy inside him from building up. The pressure was so bad that Damian knew he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

His whole body begins to glow like a glowstick.

“You won’t hurt me,” his father assures him. “I trust you.”

Damian’s eyes widen.

Stupid, stupid, stupid man.

Damian makes a last minute effort to call on the shadows. Maybe it was because of his father or maybe it was because he was tired of not being in control. Yes. One of those two.

His mother’s words, as they did often when he struggled, ring in his mind, “The shadows do not come to those who hesitate.”

Damian doesn’t hesitate.

'Come on, come on.’ He thinks to himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

The blinding light that follows him dies down somewhat. It does not obstruct his view as bad as before. That must mean that this is working. If he can just-

'You are apart of me. I will not reject you.’

The shadows seem to squirm around his being in delight in the simple idea that they had not been forgotten. It isn’t until a cold feeling washes down his burning blaze of light that Damian can finally understand how to create a ‘balance.’

This is his power. This was not his grandfather’s power. This was not his mother’s power. This is his power and there was no point in denying it. He accepts that the shadows are apart of him, just like the elvish light, and he pushes past his Al Ghul history to reach such a conclusion. He was not his past. He was not his family. He is Damian Wayne. No one else could tell him otherwise. Not anymore. 

Damian opens his eyes and sees his father looking at him in slight wonder.

His father’s smile flips his stomach.

“Your eyes,” he observes aloud.

Damian looks away. “I know. Black. Right?” He says, expecting them to have returned to their usual state.

His father doesn’t say anything. He simply tugs Damian right back into a firm, celebratory, embrace.

“They’re blue."

Chapter Text

Damian looks into his reflection’s appearance with great fascination. His eyes were not a new addition to his face, but it sure felt like it. The white of his eyes, his blue irises, and his black pupils were alien to him. Damian is rightly puzzled on his new state. Why did his eyes change like this? Could his new features be the result of a so-called ‘balance?’ Would his eyes always change when favors one side of himself over the other?

Damian recalls the fresh words his father had spoken to him when Damian had been trapped in his arms. Damian had been confused at his father’s observation (of his eyes), and he insisted to be released from his unbreakable hold. Alongside a desire to see exactly what his father was talking about, Damian kept down an awful, embarrassing, blush of scarlet. The fact that he had instantly surrendered to his father’s hug was not lost on him. It had been mortifying at how quick he had given in. Regardless, his ultimate want to examine his own appearance competed with a few thoughts that were fighting to enter the front of his mind. One thought had been on how no one had dared hug him except for his mother. The Wayne family were the second to openly show their affection for him even if they didn’t know him as intimately as his mother knew him.

A knock on the bathroom door bounces off the walls and snaps Damian’s thinking stupor.

A hesitant voice rings, “You ok, Dami?”

Damian extracts multiple things from that sentence alone. Firstly, Grayson had absolutely no idea about Damian’s recent change. If he did that would be because his father had alerted everyone to what had happened in the cave. Damian would like to give his father trust in the lonely idea that he would not share such private information openly. Secondly, Grayson went to seek him out regarding Damian’s condition despite having been victim to rejection. Lastly, Grayson had called him Dami as if trying to call out to his weaker side.

Well, it worked, and Damian feels a wave of guilt upon remembering how he treated his elder brother. Granted, at the time, he had feared for Grayson’s safety…

Damian takes a shaky breath and readies himself to face his brother.

“I’m… okay…” Damian assures, slowly, as he cracks open the door.

Better now than never.

He braces himself mentally. He ignores the part of his brain that yells to him, ‘This is a mistake!’

Damian feels like he’s revealing a big part of himself to Grayson right then and there.

He hears a hitch in his brother’s breathing.

Was he that unsightly?

Damian was not one to avoid eye-contact, but an invisible force pulled his chin downward. His eyes lay on the ground.

“What happened?” Grayson asks.

Damian answers, all while not looking at his brother, “I had some trouble with my new power. Father and I got it under control.”

He purposely avoids mentioning his eyes even though the hidden question hangs in the air.

“Your eyes…” Grayson finally pulls out.

Damian squeezes his eyes shut.

Ugly. Gross. Disgusting.

His father accepted them quickly but his father is not his brother.

“Can I see them?” Grayson’s voice is gentle. Damian cannot hear any sort of repulsion even though that had been what he had expected. Then again, why was that something he had expected? Had his brother ever treated him in such a way? Had he ever looked at him as if he were some abomination?

Why was he hesitating? This should be easier. His rationality said so.

A warm hand tilts his chin up.

“Please?”

The insecurity festers, not unlike the light that had threatened to explode a few hours ago.

Damian knows he can’t keep himself blind forever. He would have to face Grayson eventually. He might as well do it now.

Damian’s releases the pressure of his squeezing eyelids and allows them to flutter back into place.

He never noticed that Grayson has blue eyes too.

“They’re wonderful.”

All the tension that had built up in Damian’s shoulders seem to leave him the minute Grayson speaks his opinion. Damian then has a stray thought that reminds him that Grayson can literally feel the strong emotions he pushes through their pact. That would mean that his brother might have just felt his feelings of shame, insecurity, and… and… ugh. How humiliating. Had he just said such a thing because he knew how Damian felt? Did he just want to comfort him?

“No,” Damian tells him, “they’re terrible.”

Grayson’s hand leaves Damian’s chin.

“Why would you think that?”

“They’re unnatural,” Damian claims, defiantly, “How can you not be revolted?”

“They’re a part of you,” Grayson says as if Damian’s words have offended him even though it is Damian’s eyes that are the subject matter, “and I think that’s wonderful.”

Damian sees the resolute confidence in his brother’s face.

Damian hesitates. Again.

So far, everyone else had dared to hug him. Was it okay for him to hugs others?

He’d never initiated one before but… he just…

It must be a silly sounding thing. He is an assassin-bred child that hated touch of any kind. There was a time where he couldn’t stop trying to throw people over his shoulder when they tapped him, and that was when he was six. It hadn’t been too long ago. Now he wanted to be the one to try contact. It was a complete change from who he once was.

“I’m sorry,” Damian blurts out suddenly, “for earlier. I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” Grayson interrupts. He repeats, again, softer, “I know.”

Damian takes a step forward.

This was not something he did often. How was he supposed to even do this?

He reaches out his arms, like a novice, not knowing how to proceed from there.

Grayson chuckles. Grayson chuckles and Damian feels immediate shame. He was about to have his arms shoot back to his side until his elder brother finishes half of what Damian started. Grayson sweeps Damian into his arms and cuddles him into his own body. He does this all with a giant smile plastered on his face.

Damian’s face heats up. He tries to hide it by smothering his face in Grayson’s black shirt.

Damian feels Grayson’s chest rumble when he says, “I love you, Dami.”

Damian stiffens.

Grayson senses something is wrong he pulls back slightly. He looks down at Damian, who was currently refusing to remove his buried face from Grayson’s chest.

“I’m sorry- I didn’t think- I…” Grayson can’t seem to get his words together.

Damian saves him with, “I find you tolerable as well.”

A chuckle. Grayson’s chest rumbles again. The vibrations of his laugh is probably the most soothing thing that Damian has ever felt.

Chapter Text

Four days.

Four days since his ritual had been completed. Four days since the release of his seal. Damian struggles to now summon his new power even though he could barely contain it a few days ago. This brings about a predictable frustration. He does not try to conceal his feelings from the rest of his family as he had no energy to spare for a petty attempt to hide his emotions. He is irritated and he didn’t care if the whole family knew. He was far too focused on his current dilemma to give any thought to how his mood would affect those around him.

His father tries to give him advice. He had said, unhelpfully, “You have the habit of summoning shadows. You were born in such a way that the manipulation of your Al Ghul bloodline comes to you naturally. Perhaps, you must teach yourself to not fall back on the knowledge of your darker side when reaching out to that which is lighter.”

Damian did not receive his father’s counsel well. He may have appreciated, and listened, to his father’s advice if he did not hear it after hours of trying to get the light inside of him to respond. He had ultimately snapped at his father and stormed off to his room to sleep on it. He had been seething when his head hit his pillow. The opposite proved to be true when he picked his head up from a thirty-minute catnap. He felt a tinge of shame that he had let his anger get the best of him. That he felt any shame was a ridiculous notion all by itself, but it was there nonetheless.

That is how he comes to stand in front of his father’s office. He does not move to knock nor to walk away. His eyes are trained on the door, but his mind was going through potential scenarios of his encounter with his dad. The only thing that causes him to make any move is the appearance of his third-eldest brother.

“Oh. Hey!” Tim greets Damian. “You going to knock?”

Damian stares at Tim dumbly

Damian does not stay dumbfounded for long. A large frown weighs down on the corner of his lips.

Tim sees this and gives his youngest brother a clueless smile, unaware that Damian’s frown was for his interference. Tim simply thought that this was how Damian always acted. Their relationship was not a close one. It was unlikely that he’d understand Damian’s reason for his expressions when they didn’t have any bonding experiences to fall back upon. (Excluding the time they sat in silence, but Tim wouldn’t really call it ‘bonding.’)

When Damian makes no reply, Tim takes the initiative to knock on the door for him. He reaches over Damian’s still figure and knocks just a few heads above him.

“Yes?”

“Can we come in?” Tim raises his voice slightly so that he can be heard through the door.

A muffled grunt resounds from the other side of the door. Tim straightens himself in confidence and gives Damian a look. This was Tim’s way of saying, “You can go in now,” but Damian was still glued to his spot. He stares at the door, not unlike how one would look at a strange anomaly. Tim raises a brow, clearly questioning Damian’s stillness. Damian stands rooted in his spot long enough to bother the one behind the door. Damian holds his breath when he sees the turning of the doorknob that was neither turned by Tim or himself.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce says, opening the door so that both boys can see his full form. “Aren’t you going to come in?”

“That’s what we were planning to do,” Tim replies, eyeing the back of Damian’s head. Damian still doesn’t move even when his brother moves to the side so that he and his brother could squeeze past him. It isn’t until Tim places his hand on Damian’s back, pushing him forward gently, that Damian finally takes a few steps into the interior of the office. “I had wanted to talk about the wards we were working on for the house. I just need your magical signature to get them up and running.” Tim lifts his hand from Damian’s back and looks over at his adopted father. “But that can wait. I think Damian has something he wants to say to you.”

Damian doesn’t look at his father but he can feel the weight of his father’s stare on the back of his head.

“Do you?” His father directs his question at Damian.

Damian does not look, even now, but he gives all occupants in the room a slight nod of his head.

“I’ll come back later,” Tim says, “I still have to catch up with a batch of blood-vials for Steph.”

Tim’s exit is made clear to Damian at the sound of the door shutting. He mentally wishes that Tim did not leave him alone with his father, but Damian knew he’d have to confront this sooner or later. It shouldn’t be this hard. Really. Why did the prospect of apologizing seem to make him freeze, lose confidence, and make him temporarily mute? It came naturally to him when he was talking to Grayson, but this was his father.

“Damian?”

His father sits back down at his desk.

Damian doesn’t even know where to start.

His father starts for him. “How is the cultivation of your skills coming along?”

Damian shifts from one foot to the other.

“What’s wrong?” His father is not blind to Damian’s actions.

“I have realized that I have been particularly… moody… of late,” Damian struggles to continue, “and I lashed out on you due to my anger. I am… sorry… for my poor behavior.”

His father’s eyes soften. “I understand. You’ve been having a difficult time.”

Damian doesn’t know what it was in his father’s voice that provoked him to spill all of his concerns right then and there. He blurts out, “You’re right. Summoning shadows comes naturally to me. I kept trying to will the light to come to my assistance as I do for the shadows. It’s… not the same. I’ve come to learn that.”

His father looks at his son with affection. He offers, in his wish to aid his son, “Have you ever tried comparing how you feel when you summon the shadows to how you felt after the ritual?”

Damian could not forget even if he wanted to. The light had been addicting, powerful, and most importantly, warm. It was soothing. It felt like someone’s embrace, comparable to that of his father’s, except it was never-ending. His shadows, on the other hand, were cold. The darkness that festered within him was an endless abyss and it listened to him like that of a servant. That is his relationship with the shadows. He is the master. They are the servants.

“No,” Damian admits.

“Maybe you can begin there,” his father says. He then gestures to the chair across from his desk. “Why don’t we try to figure it out together?”

Damian looks at the chair for one, long moment. His father’s suggestion was too good to resist. Damian didn’t want to go through all of this alone anyway. It seemed like he was going nowhere by himself. There was no harm in accepting the help of others. It just took him some time to learn such.

“Okay.”

Damian plops himself down on the chair.

“Remember the origins of our power?” His father asks.

“The Earth,” Damian immediately replies, “and the energies of our ancestors.”

“Do you know what we have in common with both of those things?”

Damian shakes his head.

“Our powers are original, yes, but they are also borrowed. We must consider what both of what we draw upon means to us as individuals.”

‘The Earth,’ Damian ponders, ‘and my ancestors. What do they mean to me?’

Damian remembers that he’s always had an affinity for animals. It had been strange to him, at first, at how easily they had come to him. He viewed them in an empathetic manner. Sunset is one example that tortures his thoughts when he dares to think back at how he’s failed her.

He loves Sunset.

He also remembers how his ancestors love him. His grandparents had used their face-to-face interactions to give affection to him. They had made him feel loved. Warm. They made him feel warm. They were soothing. Their affection was addicting. He wanted more of it.

The revelation hits him.

Family. How had he not considered it before? Why would the elves not fall back on a sentiment so deeply buried in their history? They have always been family-orientated. That much could be evident simply by the way his father had grown increasingly possessive over the discovery that he had a living heir and in the way his father spoke fondly of all of those that came before him. He clearly treasured those he shared a familial bond with. Even those who did not share his blood, like Damian’s siblings, were given places in his life.

“I have an idea,” Damian tells his father.

His father says nothing but his expressions says everything. Go on.

Damian closes his eyes and recounts all of his recent experiences with his family.

His grandparents’ fleeting kisses. His father’s embrace. Grayson’s hug, his fast acceptance.

The motherly, adoration, his mother held for him. The nicknames she gives him. Adored. Beloved. Her pride.

“Damian,” his father calls.

“I’m concentrating,” Damian tells him.

“You may want to open your eyes.”

Damian begrudgingly opens his eyes and looks at the hands in his lap. The light is unmistakable. It is his light.

Damian’s excitement is quick. It hits him like a tidal wave, sudden, with no warning. He feels absolute elation at the light glow that outlines the shape of his hands. Such joy causes him to lift his hands and wave them around to test the light’s resilience. He is pleasantly surprised when the glow follows everywhere his hand goes. It is this discovery that has him exclaiming, with childish delight, “I did it!”

He waves his hands for a few seconds more before lowering them, ever so slightly, to view his father’s reaction.

His father shows heavy amusement on his face. 

Damian clears his throat and lowers his hands back down. “I believe I have made an adequate demonstration of the grasp of my new abilities.”

“That you have,” his father agrees with no falter. “You have done well.”

Damian blinks and fully considers the previous events that had led him into grabbing a better understanding of his new power. He humbles himself in that minute as he stares at his father’s form. The pride escapes him as he realizes that his father was the guiding hand that led him to this point. He would not have made the connection of his light and his family so easily had it not been for his father’s words. It made him feel rather foolish to have neglected the advice he had received far earlier.

“Thank you,” Damian says, sincerely.

Two words. He rarely offers them to anyone.

“You must give yourself some credit,” his father deflects.

“I could say the same for you,” Damian returns.

They both share a smile.

Chapter Text

“Are those eye-contacts?”

Everyone had become aware of Damian’s eye-change except for Jason. Jason had left the manor to, according to Grayson, meet up with a few of his friends. He had stayed away for a few days and returned to check up on Barbara. Why else would he rudely interrupt a conversation held between both Damian and Barbara with a blunt question?

Barbara answers for Damian with a raised brow, “Must you have no class? We were having a discussion.”

“Last I knew of,” Jason says, glancing around the room, “the kitchen has always been a no-law zone. You shouldn’t be in here anyway. You should be resting.”

“I needed to get out. Damian helped me go downstairs.”

“Eh?” Jason says, voice signifying that he wasn’t too interested in hearing about how she had gotten to the kitchen. Still, he continues, “I didn’t know the brat cared about you enough to help you.”

“I am not a brat,” Damian barks. He would no longer tolerate Jason’s half-hearted insults.

“You sure look like one,” Jason quips. “I’ll stop calling you a brat when you at least grow as tall as me, if not taller.”

Damian prepares to retort until Jason gives him a teasing ruffle of his hair. Damian settles for a scowl instead and swats Jason’s hand away.

“I’d prefer you to keep your hands to yourself.”

“Hey.” Jason feigns anger, pointing his finger an accusatory manner, “I have big brother privileges.”

‘What the hell is big brother privileges?’

“Okay, you’ve had your fun,” Barbara chuckles, “Give Damian some space.”

Jason looks at Barbara, shrugs, and then hops to sit on one of the counters. He and Damian both watch Barbara rip open a packet of hot cocoa and pour it into a light blue mug. She then looks around the room and then sighs, “Forgot the marshmallows.” She grumbles to herself, steering her wheelchair out of the kitchen. Both brothers left behind assume she would be back because of the mug she left on the counter.

“So…” Jason starts.

Damian clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth in obvious irritation. That does not deter Jason’s blubbering mouth.

“Have any questions for me?”

That sentence alone gives Damian pause. Jason’s question seemed to have come from nowhere, but Damian would be lying if he claimed he wasn’t interested. There was one thing that had bothered him for quite some time.

“Those words you said when we first met…” Damian looks down at his hands. “Dnib taht sdrow. What do those words mean?”

“You mean your mother never told you?” Jason asks with genuine curiosity.

“We spoke of you,” Damian grunts, “but I did not ask her about your chant.”

Jason stares at Damian for a long second before breaking out into heavy laughter. He hunches over, gripping his stomach to keep it from aching. “My chant?” He laughs, “That is an Al Ghul spell. I learned it from Talia.”

Damian swallows the air trapped in his mouth. It was unthinkable for an Al Ghul to hand out family secrets to those who shared no relation. It seemed that while Damian had been the only follower of the rules they set, it was his mother and grandfather that brandished the title of hypocrites.

“Dnib taht sdrow,” Jason chuckles while wiping away a stray tear from the corner of his left eye, “is a spell used to return a shadow to its original owner.”

Damian shot up from his chair. He growls, “What.”

Shadows could be returned to their owners? How had he never heard of such a thing? All this time…

“Dnib taht sdrow is a spell that makes a shadow return to its owner,” Jason repeats, “and it has a spell that opposes it. Saying words that bind glues your shadow, or part of your shadow, to another person.”

It takes a minute for Damian to digest this information. His mother had explained why she had given him part of her shadow, when she had done it, but she never told him how. Damian was disappointed that he heard the answer from Jason rather than his mother. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t asked her the right questions, or maybe it was because she didn’t want to share the details of an Al Ghul secret.

“How can you even cast a spell when you are not an Al Ghul?”

“Uh - hello - raised from the dead by the Lazarus Pit?”

Hm. The Lazarus Pit did have some magical properties. It was unpredictable.

Damian was glad that Jason understood what his question meant. If it was an Al Ghul spell then that meant it could only be cast by the Al Ghuls. Yet, that brought up another question. “But why would my mother teach you such a thing? What use could you have for it?”

‘You are unable to manipulate shadows,’ is the unheard addition to his words.

“She thought it might come in handy if your old man took my shadow from me. Had quite the liking for me back in the day. She thought I was going to be on her side or something. She thought I was going to be thankful that I had a rather painful resurrection.”

Damian frowns.

“You are saying that you did not wish to be revived?”

Damian knows of many who would readily accept such an honor.

“Sometimes,” Jason inhales a deep breath before continuing, a far off look blurring over his eyes, “I’d rather still be ten feet under the ground.”

Damian didn’t like the sound of that, but he decides to dig deeper anyway.

“How did you die?”

Jason chuckles darkly, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Okay. Nothing there. Let’s try something else.

“You would be missed,” Damian tries.

“What? By you ?”

“Barbara would be alone,” Damian deflects.

“I’m not the only one who looks out for her,” Jason grumbles. Jason averts his eyes from Damian and then Damian has a lightbulb light up in his head. Ah. This was about that. “She’d be fine,” Jason spits out spitefully.

“Barbara would not be happy to learn of how you view her.”

“What? No. She’s not a crutch-”

“Sounds like it,” Damian grounds out. “She’s the one who accepts you easily. You use her to feel better about yourself, to feel useful, and you grow jealous when she relies on anyone else.”

“You, ” Jason barks, “do not know what you’re talking about.”

“And you use her as a reason to keep going,” Damian says, ignoring his brother’s claim.

The sound of a plastic bag hitting the tile, filled to the brim with marshmallows, catches both boy’s attention. They look over to where Barbara sits at the entrance of the kitchen. She has a surprised look about her face but it is quickly exchanged for an expression of severity. “Is that how you feel, Jason?”

Jason stays silent.

Barbara rolls forward, ignoring the marshmallows she had dropped on the floor. She wheels herself next to Jason and looks him straight in the eyes. He purposely avoids her gaze.

“Jason. Is that how you really feel?” She tries once more.

Jason’s voice comes out brokenly, “I’m not like you guys. I don’t have magic, any special qualities, and there’s nothing I can do that the others can’t.”

Damian was wise not to open his mouth at that. He realizes the situation is more important than his desire to disprove Jason’s statement. This is Barbara’s moment. Not his.

“Jason. Look at me.”

Jason does. No one can ignore the tone she uses against him.

“You are wanted. You are needed. You are loved. ” She raises a hand to rest over one of Jason’s. He was gripping the counter underneath him so hard that his knuckles were turning white. “You are a gift to me and to the rest of this family. Don’t you ever dare think otherwise. You’re Jason. That’s all that matters to us.”

Barbara finishes and Jason stays quiet. His eyes are glassy but no tears leave. He’s probably keeping them all bottled up.

Jason glances at Damian.

Damian has no idea as to why Jason would look over at him when this seemed to be a moment solely between him and his heart-sister. Jason’s eyes don’t linger on Damian for long though as he finally croaks out, “Yeah. Okay. I get it.”

Barbara smiles.

“Good.” She pats his hand. “The same goes for Damian.”

"I am not sure how any of this applies to me,” Damian deadpans.

“He’s still a brat,” Jason adds in.

“Jason!” Barbara chides.

“You didn’t even let me finish,” Jason sighs. “The whole blue eye thing? I think it’s nice.”

Damian blinks in confusion. 

“Thanks…?” Was that supposed to be a compliment?

Jason slips on a growing, teasing, smile. “Thanks,” he mocks, then adds, “Lil’ bro.”

Chapter Text

Damian finds his father in a most curious place.

The cave.

Damian retreats to the cave to practice the control of his light. The easiest comparison to his current problem with his abilities was to that of a diver in training. Just as how a diver must train their lungs to hold in oxygen for an extended amount of time, Damian was training his light to stay out for longer than just a minute. He had found out that his body would get hit by a wave of fatigue should he draw on his powers for too long which was unlike the calling of his shadows. Manipulating the darkness came easily to Damian. It was like breathing. It was only in the light where he would have to learn how to hold his breath.

Damian had originally intended to train once more. He had wrongly assumed that no one would be in the cave. His father did not venture down there often nor did any of his siblings (or guest of the Wayne household). What’s more, is that he definitely could not have expected his father to be drawing up a spell circle. When Damian’s eyes gaze around the area, he spots Tim not too far off at the side with his nose stuck in a book. His brother murmurs to himself as he scans the book for whatever piece of information he was looking for.

Strange.

“What are you doing?” Damian asks to satisfy his curiosity. 

His father does not look up from his drawing on the ground, but he does answer, “We are preparing for the counterspell we must use on the day your grandfather attempts to siege Gotham.”

That alarmed Damian greatly. “Is he on the move?”

Bruce stops and looks up to his son from the spot he kneels upon. He informs, “The Patrol has spotted League of Shadow activity on the edge of Gotham. We do not know when he will strike but we know that it will be soon. ”

Damian felt time slow down as he truly considered the weight of the situation. The approaching problem seemed so unreal to him. Its troublesome nature was a stark contrast to the lighthearted moments he spent with his blood-father and adopted siblings. It only takes a few seconds for all of his past worries to weigh down upon his shoulders.

“Do the others know?” Damian looks over at Tim. “Aside from Tim?”

“Not yet,” his father says. “I will tell them this evening.”

Good. That means his father was not intentionally withholding information from him. Damian would have been incredibly disappointed should he have been the last to learn of the hovering danger that prepares itself on Gotham’s border.

“How does the counterspell work?” Damian asks.

His father looks back down at the spell circle and sighs. “It works through me. It counts on the chance that my power will overwhelm your grandfather’s.”

“Will you need to use it?”

“Yes. There are two ways this can work. I can use the counterspell to battle against Ra’s own. If eternal darkness is no longer a threat, then I can use the spell to, instead, mass-exorcise Ra’s shadows.”

‘Which is where Cass comes in,’ Damian thinks to himself.

Bruce does not seem to mind Damian’s quiet pondering. He simply continues the creation of his spell until Damian assures, “It is certain that you’d overpower my grandfather’s eternal darkness should he somehow successfully cast it without the need of my body.”

“Why do you think that?”

Damian’s thoughts turn toward his time in the realm of his ancestors.

He’ll be blunt. “It was grandmother who told me of the large energy-reserves of our blood because of those who are deceased.”

His father pauses once more to give Damian a look of confusion. “Grandmother?” He repeats.

“Yes. I met her on my journey to have my ancestor’s blessings.”

“You mean…?” His father looked as if he had been struck a fatal blow. He continues, weakly, “You met… my mother…?”

“I did.” Damian nods. “She is beautiful.”

His father fixes his stare on Damian. He searches his youngest’s expression before glancing at Tim to see if the teenager was also paying attention to their conversation. Tim did not make any effort to put in a listening ear, and was still sticking his nose in the book within his hands.

His father says, with a dry mouth, “I never asked you about your journey, now that I think about it. What exactly happened?”

Damian feels slightly amused over his father’s adopted dumbstruck expression. Had his father never considered that Damian would meet his own mother and father? Then again, Damian supposes that his father might have thought that both of his parents would have left to their ‘paradise’ rather than linger behind to support the last of those who were amongst the living.

Damian’s humor vanishes when he remembers the absolute nightmare that he had to go through in order to reach his grandparents. Had his grandmother not went searching for him… what would have happened to him? Would he forever wander in a horror-version of his past and all the fears that accompanied it? Would his body stay in a vegetable state? Damian decided then and there that he would not relay that part of his journey to his father. He’ll just skip to the end.

“Grandfather,” Damian corrects himself quickly, “ grandpap…” The nickname is a ridiculous one but it is the only way he can make clear that he was not talking about Ra’s Al Ghul. Damian continues, “Grandpap told me to remind you that you have a family to fall back upon.”

“He talked about me?” Bruce asks in wonder.

“Yes,” Damian replies. ‘Though not too extensively,’ is the hidden words that linger in the air.

His father continues to look like the stars got knocked out of him until something registers on his face. Something flashes over his eyes before he gives a small smirk, very different from the expression he had just seconds before. “So… did they say they hated you?”

“What?” Damian narrows his brows. What kind of question was that?

“Did you not say to me, that day I took you to their graves, that you were certain your grandparents would hate you?”

Damian recalls immediately. Yes. He did say that. It was after his moment of weakness that his father had assured him that his grandparents wouldn’t utterly loathe him because of his Al Ghul blood. Damian realizes that such a statement may never have been proven correct if he had not actually gone to the realm of his ancestors to meet the people they were both talking about.

“I did,” Damian agrees.

His father hums in the acceptance of his youngest son’s confirmation and returns to the magic circle once more. He picks up the chalk he had dropped, pretending that he had not dropped it to begin with, and then he continues to etch straight lines around his drawn creation.

He says while concentrating, “I know that if it had been me instead of them, lingering in the realm of the dead, they’d still do everything in their power to protect you.”

Damian grunts in acknowledgment until another voice brings up, “That’s what we were missing! We forgot to inscribe runes!”

Tim’s delight is quickly replaced by confusion as he looks up from his book. He looks at Damian with wide, owlish, eyes. “Uh, when did you get here?”

“I’ve been here for five minutes,” Damian claims monotonously.

“Ah - um - right,” Tim stutters over his words. He closes the book in his hands shut, not before folding the corner of the page that he had been on, and then moves to stand near Bruce’s side. “Sorry I didn’t notice you earlier. I was kind of... distracted?”

“I need not of your apologies,” Damian huffs. “It is no concern of mine that you did not notice my arrival. It should be no concern of yours either.”

“ Right, but I still ignored you and-”

“Tim,” Bruce interrupts, “That’s Damian’s way of saying he forgives you.”

Damian ignores how his father correctly identifies his behavior as his mind trails off to what is to come. He hears the faint conversation of his father and his brother in the background, but he pays their words no mind. His thoughts pull him to his prideful grandfather. Damian hoped that he would not have to encounter Ra’s, but it was unlikely that he would avoid him. Damian, after all, is his target.

Ra’s had many skills that could slam Damian into the dirt. He had mastered many forms of martial arts, defensive magicks, and of the like. He was a determined man. What he wanted, he would get at the cost of everything.

But Damian had something that Ra’s Al Ghul did not.

A real family. Comrades.

"What were you going to do in the cave anyway?" Tim's voice brings him out of his thoughts.

Damian moves his gaze to Tim and considers the question for a few seconds. Once Damian rationalizes that there would be no harm in telling others what he was intending to do, he informs, "I was to practice my power here. I have encountered some difficulties, but none that would bring about an alarm."

Damian turns to his father, asking, "That reminds me that I've had a question lingering in my mind for quite some time. Might I learn of the answer?"

"What is your question?" His father humors him, correctly deducing that Damian was speaking to him while his eyes had been downcast.

"The day I was teleported here," Damian begins, "before I jumped through the portal, I engaged in battle with my grandfather's servants. It was during that time when my sword had been encased in light. I now know what that light is, but I cannot understand how it came to be when my powers were supposedly sealed."

His father replies, with a surety, "There have been cases where light escapes a seal in times of pressure. A life-threatening, desperate, situation for example."

"Is that all?" Damian felt a bit disappointed.

"To my knowledge? Yes."

Bruce does not see the features of his youngest son as he is focused on his drawing, but Tims' next sentence gives him a good picture of what it was. 

"Are you pouting?"  Tim asks, flabbergasted.

"I am not pouting," Damian denies.

"You were! You were pouting! What had you been expecting that would cause such a reaction?"

"I do not see that being any of your business."

Bruce listens to his two boys go back and forth in both accusations and denial. Their interaction may have spoiled the ears of all those who listened, prompting others to leave the two boys to their own devices, but Bruce was a different case. It was the trivial things that gave him great joy. The fact that his two sons were comfortable enough to argue at all gave him the reassurance that Damian had his brothers to fall back on should any tragedy occur. Ah, but of course, as if Bruce would allow tragedy to come. He was tired of fate having her way with his boys. Bruce would protect them with all that he had and more. He would not allow the spirit of the future to dictate what can and cannot be done. None of his sons would have to hurt anymore. 

'Wish you guys were here,' Bruce directs his thoughts to his parents. 'I'm certain you'd feel the same way.'

His heart warms in reply

Chapter Text

The air is heavy.

Damian does not bother to inquire as to why his wolfish brother was glued to his side nor does he feel like asking why Jason had thought to do the same. They were simply doing as what was intended for them in his father’s plan. He was to have his brothers stay by his side when the time of Ra’s Al Ghul’s vengeance came down upon Gotham. They had only determined to stay at his side when members of The Patrol began to appear at the Wayne Manor, signifying that something big was going to happen. Soon.

Clark Kent is the first. Damian does not recognize the others.

His eyes observe the form of a  green man with red eyes. The only thing that makes him different from the others is the odd shape of his cranium, but that is not the strangest thing that Damian notices in The Patrol’s group of misfits. 

There were two women that had come to attend his father’s summons. One, the most noticeable of the two, had giant winds arching from her back. Damian would have thought angel if he had not thought to consider the lack of her ‘pure glow’ as some called it. Her skin was that of mortal design. She could not be an angel. Yet, if that were the case, then what is she? He’s never seen anything like her.

The other woman would look average if not for her stunning features. There was something oddly… youthful… about her appearance. She was also taller than was typical for a human woman with a fit shape that suggested she had more muscles than the eye could see.

“Diana, Shayera, J’onn,” Bruce greets with the nod of his head.

Apparently, his father uses the cave more often than Damian originally thought. They were all in the cave where a completed spell circle sat a few feet away from them. Despite the cave having a large, spacious, area… everyone seemed intent on being within close proximity of one another. Cassandra is the only one that decides to stand off to the side. Her eyes are closed as she leans against the natural bumps of the nearest wall.

“The others are on watch,” Diana explains for the lack of all the members within their company. “The shadows have become restless. The accursed creatures prepare to strike.”

“I’m aware,” Bruce tells her, “which is why we need to go over our plan one more time.”

Shayera scoffs, “What is there to go over? We beat up some shadows, stop Ra’s, and then we’re done.”

“There is more to it than that,” J’onn says, wisely, glancing over at Damian.

Damian does not miss the green man's look.

“Correct,” Bruce affirms. He then introduces, gesturing over to Damian, “This is my son. Damian. He is the one Ra’s is after.”

Damian folds his arms across his chest and scowls. He did not like how everyone was looking at him, but he couldn’t exactly change that with two of his brothers basically pinning him to his spot. He was stuck between them like a piece of tape sticking two papers together.

“He looks like you, Bruce,” Diana notes, fondly.

The way she addresses Damian’s father gives Damian the inclination that they had a close relationship. In fact, with how everyone was acting, it seemed that all those in the cave trusted Bruce. They were trusting him to come up with a plan, to put it through, and to achieve desirable results. There was no discord amongst any of them. They all seemed confident in his father’s ability to get things done.

“Hm,” his father grunts in acknowledgment. He then moves on to say, “We’ve set up wards around the manor to protect us from outside forces. Ra’s will come for us. I guarantee it.”

“Not if I can help it,” Shayera growls out.

“There is only so much The Patrol can do,” Bruce counters. “Leave the protection of the manor to my…” he pauses, if only for a brief second, and his gaze flicks over all those who were family to him, “my children.”

“Are you sure they’re capable?” J’onn asks.

“More than so.”

Damian feels Grayson crumble at his side as if his father had just said some life-changing words in the way he expressed his belief in his children. Damian dares to send a glance to his older brother but sees that his face had not changed in the slightest. He still held onto his features of indifference, but his body language seemed to be telling a different story.

“We’ll be counting on The Patrol to protect Gotham. I know that not many of us are fighters-” Damian watches his father glance at Clark. Interesting. “But we’ve all had experience in the supernatural spectrum. There is no one else more suitable for this than The Patrol. Also, not many can stand up to Ra’s League. We’ve had sightings of his assassins scouting the border.”

Cassandra looks up. Whatever was in Bruce’s words caught her attention.

“Mighty foes,” Diana states gravely.

Clark, who had been silent for most of the discussion, speaks up, “We will do our best. It would be preferable if we could thwart their invasion all by ourselves, but I understand that might not be the case. We’ll be counting on you to back us up.”

“I will not fail,” Bruce assures his friend.

Damian hears the resolute sound in his father’s voice. 

Of course, he can’t fail. If they fail everything, everyone, is doomed.

All members of The Patrol nod in agreement before bidding their farewells. It is upon their leave that Bruce finally addresses his children, “Are you ready?”

“To bash some heads? You bet,” Jason says from his position next to Damian. Damian can hear him bring up his knuckles and crack them. It is only the harsh stare from Damian’s father that makes Jason reconsider his words, “Or, you know, protecting Damian? Yeah. That too.”

“We’ll be fine,” Grayson assure their father.

“Hm,” Cassandra agrees. 

Tim, who stands closer to their father’s side, also agrees, saying, “We won’t let Ra’s get what he wants.”

Bruce heaves a sigh. “Thank you,” he tells all those within his presence. “I am comforted to know that I have the aid of my children.”

“We’re family,” Grayson says. He puts a hand on Damian’s shoulder just to emphasize his point. “We stick together through thick and thin.”

“ Most of the time, ” Jason huffs. Damian can sense he says such words pulling from his own experiences, but Damian has no idea what the hidden meaning of such a statement was. His father seemed to understand though, and considers Jason heavily with his eyes.

Wisely, Bruce decides to say nothing on the manner. Who knew what trouble such a conversation would bring?

“Dick,” he tries instead.

Grayson looks at his father inquisitively. “Yes?”

“I request that you patrol the perimeter of the manor until you see Ra’s’ shadows. Only your howl can be heard throughout the entire grounds. That’ll give us the sign to begin.”

Grayson nods. “Okay. I can do that. Then go back to Damian’s side, right?”

“Correct.”

“Can do,” Grayson says, giving his father an ‘ok’ sign with his free hand.

“Excellent,” Bruce says with the incline of his head, “Now all we have to do is wait.”

Chapter Text

The room Damian finds himself in is one of the many rooms he hadn’t bothered to explore. Damian supposes one could call it a waiting room because that is exactly what he is doing within it. Waiting.

Mentally noting the black chic furniture in the room several times was not particularly entertaining. His observation game was no time-killer. He could talk to Jason as an alternative, but Damian was not one who strikes up friendly conversations. Jason didn’t look like he wanted to talk either. He was posing in an aloof manner as he was looking out the window. His eyes seemed to be glued to a singular spot which gave Damian the kindling that Jason was lost within how own thoughts.

Damian didn’t know how long he’d have to wait until Grayson’s warning howl, but he had a good idea of when his grandfather might begin his ridiculous plan. Ra’s, along with the other assassins, preferred to work at night. Although a surprise attack was possible, Damian did not think his grandfather would throw away his nightly habits.

The light beaming through the window cast the waiting room into an orange glow. Damian didn’t have to look out the window to tell that the sun was setting. Should the sun vanish completely, Damian will know that his first assumption of his grandfather’s time of attack to be true.

Jason moves away from the window and settles in an arm-chair. He grabs a pistol from the holster hanging lowly at his belt and begins to inspect it. He holds his pistol to his eye-level, the silver-colored coat glistening in the sun’s low rays as he does so. Damian gets a better view of the sigils engraved on the pistol’s side. He had no idea what they meant but he knew that the sigils enhanced Jason’s guns on the magical spectrum.

“You done staring?” His brother asks without looking away from his pistol.

Damian scoffs. “I was merely observing your gun.”

Jason smiles, proudly. “A beauty, isn’t she?”

“I suppose,” Damian says, though he’d prefer a sword over a gun any day. He’d rather not use a mini cannon that could be held in his hand.

“Got her when I came back to Gotham from Arabia.”

Damian knows what that sentence implies, but he asks anyway, “What were you doing in Arabia?”

Jason lowers his gun to look Damian in the eyes. “Your mother and I did some missions together. We hunted down an Al Ghul traitor.”

“And that was…?” Damian asks, his attention never leaving Jason. He had never heard of this.

“Nyssa al Ghul.”

Now that is something that he has heard of. After a sharp intake of breath, Damian breathes out, “My aunt?”

“Yup,” Jason responds, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

“What happened to her?”

The last Damian had heard of his mother’s younger sister, she was still alive. His grandfather spoke of her poorly because of the traitorous path that led her to places other than home. Damian had adopted his grandfather’s view of the woman as well, never questioning why his aunt would leave in the first place, but now he felt he could relate to her decision.

“Found her in Riyadh. We battled. She got wounded. Don’t know where she went after that. All I know is that I was done following Talia’s orders around. We separated on bad ground after I took something from her.”

“What did you take?” Damian asks.

“Words of power,” Jason tells him.

“Words that bind?”

“That’s the one,” Jason hums in agreement.

“How?”

Jason stares at Damian as if contemplating whether or not he should really share how he took what he took. Finally, he speaks, “She stole my shadow from me, if only momentarily, and then she used those words to give me my shadow back. She was using it as leverage against me so that I wouldn’t leave her. I convinced her to give me my shadow back anyway. That is how I learned of those words.”

Damian leans forward, genuinely curious. “What was it like without your shadow?”

Jason frowns. “Weird. My memories were everywhere. I couldn’t hold information for long. I even had a few hallucinations. I don’t know if it’s the same for everyone.” Jason then questions, “What about you? You don’t have a shadow. What’s it like for you?”

No one knew that Damian had been born without a shadow. Damian wasn’t about to just tell Jason about it either. He felt it safe to assume that Jason thought that Damian’s shadow had also been taken even though such a thing was an impossibility of an Al Ghul.

“I suffer no drawbacks,” Damian answers honestly.

Jason looks at him with interest and opens his mouth for another question. He stops himself when he hears a howl, loud enough to sound like it was in the room with them.

Jason leaps up and goes back to the window. He scans their surroundings with an adopted tense posture.

Damian looks out the window too from where he sits and sees that the sky is no longer a fading red. The moon was out with only the company of a few lonely clouds. The sky was too smoggy for any stars to shine through, but the moon was all the light that the shadows of an Al Ghul needed.

Jason draws the curtain over the window roughly. 

“The wards will hold them off for a while, but we don’t know how long,” Jason quickly explains. “I’m assuming Ra’s has assassins accompanying him. Those immune to the wards will most likely locate them all and burn them.”

The wards Jason refers to were pieces of paper posted across the perimeter of the manor. They all had scribbles of defensive symbols that would only stop working should they be burned, torn, or destroyed in any other way. The wards were a quick defense because carving symbols in various locations would take far too long. They did not have the time to grab a hammer, rasp, and chisel to pound into every stone pillar, tree, or brick that they found.

Damian and Jason wait in silence. Damian is tense in this waiting period. His shoulders are stiff, his fingers flexing to grab hold of a summoned sword. The only distraction that pulls his attention away from the growing pressure of their situation is the sudden knowledge that it has been several minutes. His eldest brother still had yet to return. 

Jason must have noticed too because he looked torn between leaving the room and staying to protect Damian. He paces about the room in his anticipation for action.

The curtains flutter slightly as if tossed by a gentle breeze. It would not be strange if the window had not been closed. The problem was that the window was indeed, closed. 

Jason did not notice it, but Damian did.

He jumps up.

Jason looks over at him with a cautious expression.

“What is it?”

Damian doesn’t have to say anything. Jason follows his line of sight and settles on the creeping shadow that crawls downward from the windowsill.

They couldn’t have broken through this soon. They’d come in swarms.

Because shadows acted like a swarm. They had one collective desire to follow their master’s command.

Jason holds up his gun and shoots.

The shadow becomes much quicker than it’s slow, sluggish movement it had been displaying earlier. It zooms across the floor. It shimmers out of the ground, form faltering like a liquid trying to stand up without a glass to hold it, and Jason shoots again. He is determined to destroy the damn thing.

Damian looks down at his hand and is vaguely surprised to see his sword within his hold. He hadn’t even tried to summon it…

The shadow avoids the bullet by changing its shape. A giant hole forms in the middle of its deformed body and it closes up only after Jason’s bullet embeds itself in the wall behind it.

Damian hears Jason curse but he’s not paying attention to Jason anymore.

He knew this shadow.

No. He knew this person.

“Are you screwing with me?” Jason vents out in his displeasure.

“Jason,” a voice wobbles. 

Damian closes his eyes and mentally braces himself.

When he opens his eyes, his mother is there.

“I must relieve you of my son. He is to come with me from this moment forward.”

“Why the hell are you here, huh!?” Jason ignores her statement, moving slightly to the side so that he stands in front of Damian. It was a clear way of saying ‘ to get him you must go through me.’ Damian appreciated the sentiment even if he believed he could take care of himself against his own mother. “And now of all times?” Jason laughs, bitterly, “We all know you’re conspiring with Ra’s now. Cheshire’s good with not mincing out information.”

“Cheshire, yes, that little devil,” Talia spits out, unkindly. “She knows not what is best for our family.”

Damian felt a stab in his heart.

What?

“Mother you-”

Did his mother not help him escape? Did she not try to save him from the wrath of his grandfather? What was going on here?

“Damian.” Her eyes soften once she looks upon him. “You are the most treasured of what is to come. You will be worshipped for what you shall do this night. Is that not a worthy fate of an Al Ghul?”

Something’s wrong. That’s not his mother. It can’t be. It can’t.

“I am not an Al Ghul!” Damian shouts.

His mother’s eyes narrow.

“An Al Ghul does not joke.”

“I’m not joking,” Damian returns.

His mother sighs in exasperation. Clearly tired of this little conversation of theirs, she sweeps forward with a hand outstretched as if to grab Damian. Jason shoots, once, twice, several times, only for all of his shots to go right through her wavy personage. 

It is horrifying to see her walk right through Jason.

Damian holds out his sword and readies himself to attack.

He does not get the chance. A howl kicks out into their room and Talia is tossed aside by a large swipe of a pale, clawed, hand.

Damian stares, dumbfounded.

Grayson huffs in front of Damian. Grayson’s hair is a mess, his eyes a bright yellow, and there was something animalistic in the way he was acting.

Damian quickly darts his eyes to his fallen mother. Her form nearly collapses at the sudden surprise. The woman obviously struggles to regain her proper person as she looks up at Grayson with dangerous eyes. “What might have you done to be able to touch me?”

A memory sparks in Damian’s mind.

Talia looks between Grayson and Damian. Then in realization, she utters, “Ah… The pact… Yes. I know now.”

Damian remembers when he had formed a shadow sword, knowing full well that it would pass through others that tried to grab hold of it. It was Grayson that had surprised him in the small confines of his bedroom. He had grabbed hold of Damian’s sword without phasing through immediately after Damian had attacked him in anger and frustration. 

“ Mine, ” Grayson growls.

Talia rolls her eyes. “Werewolves. Territorial nature is not healthy for any person except for the esteemed Demon.”

Damian knows she refers to his grandfather. He also knows that she had never called her father ‘esteemed Demon’  before.

“Dick,” Jason warns, eyes filled with worry. This clearly was not a regular occurrence for their eldest brother.

“What a bothersome creature. The pact he shares with you only hinders you.”

Talia gets up, gracefully, as if she had never gotten knocked down in the first place.

“I shall remedy this.”

Grayson barks in anger, charging forward to swipe at Talia. He seemed to have lost all awareness of his own abilities because he charged headfirst into the wall after she dodges to the side. Deadly claw marks tear deep into the wall, showing all those in the room what Grayson was capable of, but that wasn’t enough. He turns sharply to lunge for Talia once more.

Damian did not know his mother’s plan was.

But he wished he did.

“I suppose there is one thing your brothers have not told you about the nature of a pact. It can be removed but only by something stronger. Blood. ”

Damian swings at his mother and he draws black ooze that escapes his mother’s skin.

His mother ducks as he slices over her head. She then, in a low crouch, jumps forward to wrap her arms around his waist.

“Pact that has been performed,” his mother chants.

Damian nearly drops his sword once something vibrates in his body. He’s not even aware of the blood that she smears over his fallen wrist because something resonates so deeply within him that it stops all of his movements. It even causes his rampaging brother to stop dead in his tracks too. His angry yellow eyes were now faltering, glazing over with something else.

“No, you don’t!” Jason yells out hopelessly. He tries to grab at Talia but his hand goes right through her. His curses are ten-fold. He then tries to do something else, grabbing at Damian instead, but Talia’s weight keeps him rooted to his spot.

“May you be reformed!”

The pain is immeasurable.

Damian has never felt anything like-

Anything like-

It hurts.

He can’t feel - he can’t -

Where’s Grayson?

He’s right in front of him but he’s not there anymore - he’s not - he’s not…

Damian stumbles forward into his mother’s embrace. He grits his teeth in an attempt to stop a scream of pain. He clenches them so hard that his jaw begins to ache, and he is only vaguely aware of his mother petting at his head in false soothing comfort. She whispers in Arabic, covering him with her cold body, but he doesn’t hear any of it. He doesn’t even feel how her shadow begins to wrap around him in an attempt to merge him with the floor. 

Damian feels like he’s just had heart had just been pulled out of his chest. The only thing that reminds him that was not the case was the harsh pounding of the muscle hidden in his body. It knew something was wrong, just as his brain did as it hits him with a hard headache. 

It was like he was suffering an intense version of withdrawal.

Grayson snaps out of it. He aims for Talia but this time it is Jason who pulls him back. 

Grayson snarls, lashing out at his brother for stopping him, but Jason quickly says, “You can’t! You’ll hit Damian!” Because Jason is aware that Grayson no longer shares the thing that connected both he and his smallest brother.

Damian sags against his mother.

He ignores the tears of pain that leak out of his eyes. 

His mother is twisted in the way she interprets his tears. She rejoices, “Yes! Be happy! For you will be used for the highest of purposes!”

Damian weakly holds up his hand. If he could just-

The shadows around him barely respond to his call.

“No longer shall it be only I that adores you, beloved son,” Talia cheers. “All of history shall know of your heroic participation!”

“Mother,” he rasps, “you shame me. ”

If she heard, he hears nothing like that of acknowledgment. All he knows is the darkness that falls over his vision.

And then? And then nothing.

Chapter Text

Traveling through the means of shadow was not usually so disorientating. This was not his first time melting into someone else’s shadow and using it to get somewhere fast. His mother used such methods to escort him to places when he was younger and had little control over his power. This time, however? He was no child. He needn’t be escorted like a mother holding her child’s hand to make sure they crossed the street safely. What’s more is that he had even less need for the same mother that holds her child’s hand to pick up her child, throw it into the middle of the road, and rejoice in his ultimate demise. That is what his mother plans to do. She no longer has his welfare in mind.

Damian can only see darkness but he can feel the wind. They’re both outside now. Damian has no idea on how Grayson or Jason are feeling about this, but Damian knows how he feels about this. He feels a deep, aching, pain. An empty hole drills into his chest and fills up with a void matter in an attempt to cover the missing pact. It had stayed with him so long that it had, at one point, become a part of him. Now that it was gone, his body was trying to compensate. Damian doesn’t know if his mother truly understood the implications of tearing away a bond so forcefully and drastically. It was an invasive move that left Damian feeling like he was left stripped of his strength.

Damian feels an abrupt stop. 

He feared that when he was to be released to the chills of Gotham air, he would face his grandfather.

He was wrong.

Damian is thrown out of the shadow like a stomach full of food. He gasps for air, clutching at where his heart laid, and he slightly curls on the cold concrete of wherever this place was. It takes a moment for the static in his hearing to disappear and then he hears his mother growling like a rabid animal. She’s upset and Damian thinks, ‘ good.’ He was upset too. She might as well suffer with him.

Damian thinks of moving but his muscles were aching as if he’d just gone through a nonstop thirty-minute exercise without stretching. Everything was stiff and cramped up. It was amazing what a stupid, broken pact could do to a person. Damian wasn’t sure he’d ever want to make a pact with anyone after this, not that he’d ever considered it (but still…). It was jarring that his mother had broken something that was apart of him so quickly, effortlessly, with no hesitation. Now Damian couldn’t feel what Grayson was feeling, which was something that had come so naturally to him that he hadn’t even thought about not understanding how his brother was feeling. He was also used to having his emotions laid bare to his older brother, but now the pact that they had built up was gone. Gone in a second.

“You vile being!” His mother’s shout snaps him out of his painful thinking. He tries to move his head but his stiff neck makes it nearly impossible. He feels like a wooden puppet with limited movement and joints that needed improving. “You interrupt the good future for all! Including lowly beings such as you!”

One thing brings him hope. He’s not with his grandfather. If he was, his mother would be speaking very differently. He is thankful to whoever had managed to stop his mother from traveling straight to his grandfather. Otherwise, he’d have no doubt that he’d end up a wandering spirit with no body to possess. He’d have to watch vengefully from beyond the grave as his grandfather paraded around in his body as if it were his own. Just like how it was in the realm of his ancestors with that scene he had witnessed of his grandfather peering down a Gotham building to see all those that littered the streets. That might just actually become reality now, with how Damian could barely defend himself, and with how his mother was eager to hand him over.

“What kind of mother offers their son freely to die?”

Cheshire. What was she doing here…? How did she…?

“What do you know of motherhood, filthy succubus?!”

“More than you,” Cheshire taunts.

“How about we don’t provoke the scary shadow-lady?” Another voice appears, teasing.

“Another germ to be wiped,” Talia’s voice is dipped in distaste as she verbally notes whoever the extra voice belonged to.

Damian doesn’t know what happens next. His mother must have attacked them because he hears grunts and his mother’s shriek. He also hears the sound of shoes on concrete, fists meeting skin, and bodies hitting the ground only to get back up to continue whatever it is they were doing. Damian would just give about anything (except for his body!) to see what was going on, but for now, he was victim to the after-effects of a ruined pact.

Damian settles for squeezing his eyes shut.

“You aren’t the only one who can use the shadows!” The extra voice cries out.

“Your control over the shadows is pathetic. All you can do is use them to phase from one place to another!” Talia seethes.

Someone grabs him.

Damian’s eyes shoot open as someone turns him over.

Cheshire hovers over him. She checks  him for any visible injuries before settling on his face. She smiles, and says reassuringly, “I knew something might go wrong. Guess it’s a good thing I listen to my instincts. Don’t you agree, little prince?”

Damian moves his lips, struggling to muster any words. Once Cheshire gets the gist of Damian’s inability to speak, she nods briefly and looks over to her companion’s battle with his mother.

Damian wanted to ask, ‘ Why are you helping me?’ because she owes him nothing. What was she to lose if an eternal night were to cover the world? She was a creature of the night too.

“Okay. Well, I’m going to carry you now.”

Damian feels himself being lifted up off of the ground by Cheshire. It was not an ideal position for him to be in, but he couldn’t exactly complain. He’d have time to complain when he could move and act for himself. Right now? Right now he was quite vulnerable and dependent. He was relying on Cheshire.

“You really think you can fight me?” Damian hears the other voice ring out in mockery. “You’re not exactly in optimal form. Where’s the real Talia? That’s a real fight.”

Damian’s mind goes blank. Real Talia? He had the nudge earlier that this person wasn’t his mother, but now that Damian thought about it… His mother had never been able to become a shadow. Why hadn’t that been the first thing that popped up in his head? The Al Ghuls couldn’t become shadows. Yes, they could command them as servants, and yes they could travel through them. (In Damian’s special case, create objects out of them) Either this shadow was merely imitating his mother or… or something else entirely. It acted too much like his mother even if it wasn’t her. 

Oh.

Oh.

Revelation dawns upon him.

It was when he first met Jason. It was that day that Damian had learned that his shadow had not been his own. Later, from his mother, he would learn that the shadow that had been acting as his was merely a fragment his mother fused with him upon birth. Could that mean that the shadow that was fighting their mysterious companion was the same shadow that had left him that day that Jason cast it out of him? Even so, shouldn’t it have gone straight back to his mother? 

Ah. But Damian recalls his mother never mentioned the return of her shadow. All she did was explain its purpose to him.

His mother’s shadow screeches angrily like a harpy. Damian feels the shadows around him tremble in anticipation before something bursts inside of him. Damian is so shocked that a little gasp escapes his mouth because he had no idea why the hell he’d feel like a connection had been snapped.

“Finished her off,” the voice says proudly.

“Good work,” Cheshire praises.

Had his mother’s shadow not been cast out of him that day? He was certain it had been! Why did he feel as if though a lingering wisp of his mother had still been within him, only snapping once the shadow was gone? 

That would explain how his mother’s shadow was able to slip through the wards though. If it still was connected to him, if he still owned it in some way, that would have given the shadow the perfect opportunity to track him down just as his mother claimed she could do when he still had her shadow.

“So this is the little guy, huh?”

A face appears in view. Damian sees a round face with blonde hair bundled up in a purple hood. When she notices him staring at her features, she gives him the smallest of grins. Damian’s eyes narrow on her fangs and then he begins to have a good guess of the person who had defeated his mother’s shadow.

Wait a second… How? How did she defeat his mother’s shadow?

Damian didn’t know much about vampires. He knew that they lurked in the shadows, that they were creatures of the night, and that they were blood-suckers. He had never learned anything beyond that. Vampires were secretive creatures because of how shunned they were by modern society. It also didn’t help that they couldn’t exactly wander around in the sun without wearing hooded, dark, clothes.

“The name is Stephenie. Maybe you’ve heard of me?” She asks, hopefully.

Yes. He had.

Stephanie waits for an answer but she does not receive one. She looks up to Cheshire for her input in the manner and the former assassin shrugs. “He can’t exactly move. I don’t think he can talk.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” Cheshire tells her honestly.

Stephanie tries a different approach. “Well, what next?”

Cheshire falls silent in her sudden mulling. Once it seems that she has gathered her thoughts, she says carefully, “I think I can help Damian get some of his strength back, so that we can hear what’s happened to him. That, though, would require a transfer of energy.”

“How can you even transfer energy?” Stephanie asks, perplexed.

“I’m a half-succubus,” Cheshire answers as if that is all that Stephanie needs to hear. She tops her point by continuing, “We excel at exchanging energy, or uh… well… mostly taking it… but still. It’s possible.”

Stephanie gives Cheshire a skeptical look.

“It’ll be temporary. I think it’ll only last for an hour or two at most.”

“I’m not sure about this…” Stephanie expresses her doubts.

“It’ll be fine, ” Cheshire assures with a giant grin. She then looks down at Damian, concentrating. Damian knows that he’s in for it once a deep red starts escaping the prison of her skin. The energy shoots at him in straight lines and then tie around him like a rope. He can feel their constricting pressure like a snake wrapped around its prey until the energy squeeze through the protection of his skin. Damian can feel the hole in his body, that had been formed from the cutting of his shared pact with Grayson, being filled up with Cheshire’s borrowed energy.

His first words are, as expected, “Put me down!”

Cheshire smiles in her humor and gives in to his demand. She lowers him to the ground where he jumps out of her arms eagerly. He hoped that he would not have to repeat such an experience in the near future. Regardless, Damian starts explaining the situation to the two staring at him immediately, saying, “I was kidnapped from the manor. I was to be taken to my grandfather to be sacrificed.”

“Hmm,” Cheshire hums thoughtfully, “I thought as much.”

“It’s a good thing we were here then,” Stephanie says in her relief. “We spotted Ra’s not too long ago on the roof of the nearby hospital. It’s not too far from here.”

Damian turns his eyes to Cheshire. His eyes alone seem to communicate the silent words that flow between them. Cheshire only returns his stare ten-fold, not blinking once until she heaves out a sigh. “You’re not exactly in the ideal form for fighting right now. Besides, if Ra’s gets his hands on you, it’s all over.”

“I must put an end to this once and for all,” Damian tells her.

He wants to do this.

He didn’t want his family to worry about him anymore. He also didn’t want to worry about Ra’s either. He didn’t want Ra’s to involve any of his siblings in his evil doings, and Damian knew that the only way to do that was to end his grandfather once and for all. Damian didn’t know how he was going to do it. All he knew that he was going to get rid of his grandfather and ultimately stop this nefarious plot.

“Wait a second,” Stephanie says, catching on quickly, “you need to go back to the manor. Let The Patrol handle Ra’s.”

Damian furrows his brows. “You think any of them can have any kind of success when they can’t even touch what they fight?” His mind lingers on how his brother’s bullets went right through his mother’s shadow and how Grayson could no longer harm the shadows once his pact with Damian had been broken. The only ones who ever seemed to be able to harm the shadows were Tim and Cheshire. Cheshire's energy had only temporarily dispersed the shadows she fought, and Tim's magical energy (whatever that was) had caused the shadows around him to quiver in fear. Damian only knows this because he had seen them both fight when they had rescued him from his grandfather's league headquarters. 

There was one thing he knew even after considering the two others that had the potential to do any damage.

He was the only one who could do this.

“That still doesn’t mean you should throw yourself in harm's way , ” Stephanie stresses.

“He will not have me,” Damian says with certainty.

Cheshire is silent in her contemplation. Those around her wait patiently for her input until she says, “Well, little prince, if you really think you can take him on…”

“What!? Don’t encourage him!” Stephanie disagrees with Cheshire’s assessment entirely. It was clear that the vampire thought that this was some cruel version of a joke. “Ra’s is highly skilled! Even Bruce has had trouble fighting him!”

Cheshire regards Stephanie cooly. “Bruce could fight Ra’s because of the abilities of his people. Damian shares those same abilities.”

“But he does not share the experience,” Stephanie points out.

Cheshire blinks. “But yet he knows Ra’s fighting style better than any of those who stand here among us. He’s grown up with him.”

“He’s a child!”

“You were one too,” Cheshire teases.

“Yes! And I was a rather foolish one at that!”

“And you would falsely assume the same in Damian’s case? He is not you. ”

Stephanie’s shoulders slump once she realizes that she won’t be able to get through Cheshire. She then reluctantly turns to where she believes Damian to be standing only to stumble back in surprise.  He wasn’t there.

“Looks like he got a head start,” Cheshire laughs.

Stephanie can hardly breathe. This was no laughing matter.

“I’d suggest you go ahead and warn the others in the manor. I’ll follow the little prince.”

Chapter Text

It only occurs to Damian of how stupid of an idea it is to confront Ra’s head on after he sees his grandfather on the hospital’s rooftop. His old man directs all the shadows strictly, unaware of Damian’s hiding place behind the stairwell that led up to the roof. Damian was currently peering over the edge of the wall he was pressed against in the cautious watch of the man who would prove to be his doom should he get what he wants.

The situation doesn’t hit Damian until he’s actually there. That’s why he decides that he should just turn back and make an actual plan. Damian didn’t have any doubts in his skills in improv, but it was still an incredibly foolish idea to go at this alone. That’s why Damian starts to carefully sneak his way back downstairs until something catches his eye. Something important enough to him that it makes him freeze in his retreat.

“Yes, that is the one,” he hears his grandfather say.

A shadow approaches him with a creature in hand. He holds the creature by the scruff of its neck, and Damian can no longer bring himself to leave.

Sunset.

He finds something swell up in his chest. ‘She’s alive!’ he thinks joyously to himself, glad that his neglectful behavior had not brought about her death. Judging from her appearance, she was a bit older too! It’s amazing how much an animal could grow through the short time they were away. Nevertheless, Damian finds his happiness to be short-lived as he considers why his grandfather might have Sunset in his possession, to begin with. Knowing his grandfather, he would have straight up killed anything he considered to be a pest. Why was she here? What purpose did Ra’s have for her?

Damian didn’t want to find out. He just wanted to scoop Sunset up in his arms and hide her away from his grandfather.

He would not let go of her. Never again.

The only thing that keeps him from leaving is Sunset, but then his reasons for staying multiplies.

He hears a snort.

It’s the kind of noise that comes from an animal, and Damian slowly turns to face whatever creature was within his vicinity. His eyes slowly drift upward to where a beast of a creature, a youngling of its kind, flies pathetically with a tiny pair of bat wings. Its red fur reminded Damian of the guardians that Ra’s had placed within his service to protect a few family relics.

Damian feels dread flow through his veins. Yes. They worked under Ra’s.

“Don’t,” Damian tries, too slowly.

The bat creature screeches. The call it makes effectively alerts everyone to Damian’s presence.

The shadows all swerve to check on the noise. The only reason Damian is not immediately caught is because he is still somewhat hidden by one of the walls surrounding the stairwell that led downward.

“Foolish beast!” Damian whispers harshly at the bat demon. He leaps at the youngling and catches it out of the air. He tugs it close to his chest with his hand firmly held over the red animal’s mouth so that it would not try such a thing again. The bat demon doesn’t struggle, too weak to fight against Damian’s arm strength, and it looks up at Damian curiously. Damian sees the creature’s innocent eyes and thought that those eyes were the reason he hadn’t immediately thought to kill the living enemy siren. If he killed it, he wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. Yet, instead, he brings it close to his chest not unlike the way he used to hold Sunset. Carefully.

“What are you standing around for! Check for the source!” His grandfather’s loud voice demands. It leaves no question for the shadows that served underneath him. They heed their master’s command and set out to do his word obediently.

Damian inwardly panics thinking that this is how he will be found. All of the shadows, steadily creeping toward him, will find him and reveal his location to his grandfather. Then he will be forced to face all of them, single-handedly, while dealing with his grandfather. The odds didn’t look to be in his favor. He was a single person against more than enough shadows to give him a rough time. Add his grandfather on top of it all, and Damian knew he was thoroughly outmatched. How could he come here ? What was he thinking when he came here? This clearly wasn’t worth the trouble!

The shadows cannot speak but Damian can feel it when they send out a warning signal out to all the others. Fearing that he may just have been caught, Damian looks around for any potential shadows in his view. He is confused when he sees none, but then he gains an understanding of what had happened when a voice appears, saying, “Alright, you caught me.”

Cheshire walks out from the side of the stairwell, hands raised up in the air in mock surrender, and all of the shadows still at her arrival. They all look toward Ra’s for their next set of instructions. Ra’s, on the other hand, looks at Cheshire inquisitively.

Cheshire was giving Damian the perfect opportunity to leave.

But Sunset…

“Cheshire,” Ra’s greets unhappily. “Have you come to die?”

“Not really in my plan,” Cheshire tells him.

“Then what is it you hope to gain?”

“Oh a little bit of this, a little bit of that,” Cheshire reflects easily.

Ra’s has no patience for the former assassin’s games. He simply turns, his back now facing her in clear disregard. “You think me a fool? You are hiding something from me. I will find it.” Ra’s raises a hand into the air and makes a short snap. “Guardians! Search the roof!”

The shadows make no move because Ra’s did not call upon them. He called upon the red-furred guardians that rise up from the perimeter of the hospital to scan the rooftops. Damian knew he would not be able to escape their aerial gaze, so he can’t bother to hide anymore. Not when one of the heavy, large, creatures sees him and swoops down to attack him. It yowls and Damian quickly summons his shadow sword on the borrowed energy he uses from Cheshire. He didn’t know how long he’d have, but he’d make the most of his time-limit for the energy he had swirling around in his body. It was a foreign entity that his body was now relying on ever since his pact had been snapped. Damian thinks that he’d fall back into a vegetable like state should the energy wear off by itself.

Ah, but was it not Cheshire who told him he had about an hour or two?

Hm. He can work with that.

Damian keeps the tiny bat demon under one arm as he the older version sweeps down with a giant claw. Damian ducks underneath the poor attack and runs underneath the beast’s belly for the few seconds that it hovers over where he once was. He grabs hold of his shadow sword, pitying the poor beast for being under the rule of his grandfather, and then runs the sword along the underbelly of the guardian with no mercy. The guardian would have kept trying to attack him if he did not injure it, mortally or not. Damian could not have that. Its mobility in the air would have made it very hard for him to escape.

But since he was now revealed to all, Damian’s eyes dart to Sunset.

Her eyes connect with his and she mewls.

Yeah. He definitely couldn’t leave anymore.

The shadow that holds Sunset is no longer looking for Damian. No. Instead, it pawns off Sunset to Ra’s Al Ghul and his grandfather smirks smugly.

So that’s what it was. He wanted to use her as a hostage.

But how did he even find out that Sunset was his kitten?

“Damian,” he laughs, coldly. “I knew you would come to me.”

‘ Then why send shadows to attack the manor?’ Damian thinks bitterly.

“You should have run while you had the chance, Damian!” Cheshire says.

“Your attachment to the pathetic life forms of this planet has always been your weakness. I am eager to exploit it.”

“You resort to underhanded tricks,” Damian growls out.

Ra’s eyes the bat demon that Damian holds under his arm. “I will do what I must.”

Damian looks down at the bat demon that catches Ra’s attention and realizes he must put it down sooner or later. He had no doubt he would have to go through some complicated maneuvers to catch his grandfather off guard.   He’d have to use all he knew to disarm him of his little, orange, companion.

Damian crouches to plop the bat demon on the ground.

The bat demon only looks back up at him in questioning.

“Might I depend on you to watch my back?” Damian directs his question to Cheshire.

She sighs but nods, regardless of how she felt. “I can handle that. My powers will only distract them though. Won’t do much.”

“I know,” he says.

“This is your final chance, Damian. Come to me willingly. We can put an end to this old charade and begin on the path to a bright future," Ra's rudely interjects. 

Damian grits his teeth in silent rejection. Once Ra’s realizes that he will not get an answer out of his grandson, he holds Sunset up in the air with a hand around her tiny neck. Damian finds a shiver run down his spine at the sight.

“A bright future!?” Damian barks in a mocking laugh. “Is that what you call it?”

He stalls.

It hadn’t escaped Damian’s sight when he sees a shadow rise from the ground, right behind his grandfather.

It smiles at him from over his grandfather’s shoulder.

It was the strange shadow that had bothered him in his room, helped give him the key to escape his cell, and had the weirdest facial expression he’d ever seen on a shadow. He didn’t know what it was and he didn’t know what it would do. He had the smallest of feelings that it might do something to his grandfather. He was willing to wait to see what it would do because Damian currently couldn’t do anything without provoking his grandfather into killing his kitten friend.

“You would be known for your service. You would become a legend. Your story heard throughout all ages!” Ra’s tries to tempt him.

Damian narrows his eyes. “I think not.”

Ra’s own eyes darken and Damian knows that he readies himself to end the kitten’s life. Damian can’t help himself. He stretches out a hand, yelling, “Don’t!”

The shadow that had been lingering behind his grandfather wraps two, wispy, arms around his figure.

Ra’s eyes widen in shock. He is forced to drop Sunset to flip the shadow over him so that he is no longer within the dark servant’s grip. Damian hears him ask, “Sensei?”

Sensei?? Who was that?

Cheshire yells, “Do not dally!”

Her words spring Damian into action. He charges, his legs pumping as he reaches out for Sunset. The kitten that had been dropped is sprawled on the ground, not knowing what to do for it was not an intelligent animal. Damian’s hand barely touches the edge of her fur, but Ra’s kicks his wrist away in prevention.

“I did not raise a fool!” Ra’s claims. 

He prepares for a fight.

Damian glowers. If it is a fight his grandfather wants, it is a fight he will get.

The shadows around him bristle about lively. Cheshire steps in to assist him, sending waves of energy to prevent the shadows from defending their master. Damian himself uses the shadow sword he holds within one hand to cut through the air at his grandfather’s person.

“You did not raise me! My mother did!”

His grandfather steps to the side.

“You would not exist if I were not here!” His grandfather claims, pulling out the sword that had been hanging at his side. Damian was not surprised. His grandfather never went anywhere without his sword.

Damian’s sword clashes against his grandfather’s in an instant. His grandfather’s strength causes Damian to jump back, fearing that he would be overwhelmed quickly, but Damian can’t afford to stop there. He wouldn’t allow his grandfather to go on the attack, otherwise, Damian would have much trouble staying on the defensive. That is why Damian jumps back on his grandfather eagerly, swinging at his midriff, only to have each of his swings deflected easily. 

Damian tries not to think how his grandfather’s deflections seem to be of no concern on Ra’s part.

His grandfather turns the tides in one move. He spins his sword around, twisting his body alongside his weapon, and sends Damian spiraling back after a flimsy attempt at blocking the move.

“You could not hope to compare to me,” his grandfather says, “I would have you down on your knees in an instant. Can you not see how my strength is greater than yours?”

Damian regains his balance and holds up his sword once more.

“Words that mean nothing to me,” Damian snarls.

He charges forward, swinging lowly. Ra’s counters it, quickly adjusting himself to block off Damian’s high-kick aiming for Ra’s’ neck.

“You battle a master!” Ra’s tells him, slashing down his weapon heavily upon his grandson. Damian avoids it only by rolling to the side. “How do you hope to even out such odds!?”

A shattering howl interrupts Ra’s’ prideful words.

All the shadows that Cheshire had been keeping off of Damian begin to wobble, similar to the day that Damian had escaped through the portal. Had his brother not also, at that time, used such a howl?

A gunshot sounds through the air right after the unexpected howl. Ra’s ducks as the bullet barely misses the top of his head.

Damian doesn’t try to think much about how his brothers had apparently come to his aid. His eyes search desperately for Sunset who was no longer in the spot she had originally been sitting in. He eyes roam the rooftop until they narrow onto the tiny bat demon, who now held Sunset within his hold.

It looks at him in determination.

Did it think it could protect Sunset?

The idea was ridiculous.

“I do not have time to deal with the fools who come to your aid,” Ra’s flicks a hand in the air. It was not a snap so Damian thought he could safely assume that his grandfather was not trying to summon one of the guardians again, even if many of them were still available. (Damian, after all, had only incapacitated one )

“ My baby… where is my baby…”

Damian almost groans.

Lady Shiva. Of course. The very woman his father and mother struggled against just had to be here.

“Cassandra!” A voice calls out, Tim’s.

“On it,” her stoic voice replies.

Damian hadn’t even been aware of Cassandra’s arrival until Tim had pointed it out. Had the whole family come for him?

Damian does not dare to glance over his shoulder to see all those who were there behind him. Ra’s would take any lack of attention as an opportunity to attack.

“Looks like the Damian protection brigade has arrived!” Cheshire teases.

How Cheshire can keep up such good humor even in such a heavy time was unknown to all those who were on the rooftop with her.

Damian is vaguely aware of how Lady Shiva climbs up on to the rooftop from the edge of the building. He also sees Cassandra’s form dart out to attack the martial artist in which Lady Shiva counters easily. The woman only falters when she sees Cassandra’s face, stuttering, “My… my baby? ”

Cass responds, apathetically, “It is time for you to sleep, mother.”

The two exchange blows. Cass is unforgiving though her mother is reluctant to return her daughter’s passion in their battle.

Damian’s eyes quickly dart back to his grandfather. 

“No one said you had to do this alone.”

Damian doesn’t need to look to his side to know who speaks to him.

“I was not thinking straight,” Damian replies honestly.

A grunt. That is his father’s way of speaking, much like Damian’s own.

“Ah, Bruce,” Ra’s acknowledges. “The only one worth mentioning among all those here. It pleases me to see you again. It seems you’ve brought along a few interesting people as well.”

Ra’s looks over at Tim and Jason.

“They’re off limits. All of my sons are.”

“We shall see,” Ra’s regards, indifferent to Bruce’s statement. “How long do you think they can keep up with my shadows?”

Bruce glances over his shoulder to where he sees Tim chanting out a long spell. Tim's brothers protect them as they ward off what shadows they can. It is mostly Cheshire doing all the work while Grayson lets out ear-crushing barks.

“Long enough,” Bruce claims.

The three stand still. The world around them seems to pause as they all wait for one to make the first move.

None of them move, for the longest moment in Damian’s life.

Then the opposite happens. Then they all move at the same time. Son and father against grandfather. 

Their battle begins.

Chapter Text

Damian jabs his sword forward.

His grandfather parries Damian’s stab and more as Damian continues to attack relentlessly. The second Damian is pushed back by another defensive blow, his father jumps in with a kick intent to hit Ra’s in the gut. The heel of Bruce’s shoe narrowly skims the front of Ra’s’ shirt as Ra’s takes a single calculated step backward. That is when Damian jumps back in, sending a fury of clashes at his grandfather’s person. His father does not waste the opportunity of Ra’s quick distraction to aim another kick for the side of Ra’s head. Ra’s must adjust himself quickly to avoid damage to his skull. Then he follows up with a quick spin of his body to block Damian’s attack to his exposed left.

“Shadows, fall!”

A bright blue light shines in the corner of Damian’s eye. Tim’s voice and the light made him assume that the spell was successful. He had little time to observe what was happening behind him though- as he could not afford to take his eyes off of his grandfather.

“You think your spell enough to stop my shadows?” Ra’s laughs as he avoids Bruce’s attempt to disarm him of his sword. “I have more!” 

Damian doesn’t have to move his head to see that his grandfather spoke the truth. At the sound of such a statement, he sees more than several hands grip at the ledge behind his grandfather. The bodies of shadows followed not long after as they all pulled themselves up. Ra’s position, as a man who stood before his servants, looked as if he was the general of an army. It didn’t help that the shadows were multiplying by the second.

There is only one way to remedy this situation. Ra’s must fall. That is why Damian charges for his grandfather while releasing a roar comparable to that of a war-cry. He and his grandfather engage in an intense bout of swordplay. His father does his best with only his fists, but Ra’s has centuries of experience over both of them. He dodges every blow, every slash, until he decides that he’s had enough of being defensive. Ra’s skill is put on full display as he turns the tides on Damian’s assault in a second. Damian realizes his situation is a dangerous one when Damian blocks one of his grandfather’s moves. Damian’s arms stutter in the air under his grandfather’s strength. It is only when Ra’s pulls back and strikes again that Damian finds himself falling back on a single knee. He is quick to counter another one of his grandfather's attacks when he raises his sword above his head.

“Stay away from my son!”

Damian’s jaw almost drops as a light-fused kick lands on his grandfather’s back. Damian is quick to get out of the falling man’s way, but Ra’s is not one to be surprised for long. The elderly man rolls to recover and shoots to his feet. He is barely given any chance to get his wits about him as Bruce descends on his defenses. Ra’s hisses in pain when one of Bruce’s fists graze his right cheek. Damian immediately notices how a faint burn mark took form on his grandfather’s cheek. Had his father’s light done that?

“Must you continue this stupidity?” Ra’s ignores the new wound on his cheek and slices at the elf right above the head. Bruce had to duck to avoid it.

Ra’s then slices down in a traditional - katana-cutting - movement. Bruce had his hands prepared, one underneath Ra’s wrists, while the other falls down and inward at Ra’s grip. Ra’s falls down upon his knees, sword still within one hand in on the ground as his other is tightly held in Bruce’s grip. Bruce then harshly steps on Ra’s fallen wrist to prevent his opponent from getting back up.

“I will do what is necessary to keep my family safe,” Damian listens to his father counter.

Damian could not lie to himself. He was in awe at his father’s fighting abilities.

Damian pulls himself off the ground as he watches his father utter a few words to Ra’s. Damian can barely hear what his father is saying and he definitely can’t hear him when he sees a shadow creep up on his father behind.

“Behind you!” Damian shouts out.

His father moves quickly. He releases his foot from pinning Ra’s hand to the ground and turns sharply with a spinning, hand-glowing, chop at the stupid shadow that had decided to get the drop on him. The shadow had given Ra’s enough time to jump back up and slice at Bruce’s back.

Damian watches in horror as his grandfather inflicts a nasty, long, cut on his father’s back.

“Bruce!” Damian recognizes one of his brothers yelling. He looks over to Grayson where he was trying to get to them through a large group of shadows rather unsuccessfully.

Bruce falls forward in his sudden pain.

Ra’s raises his sword above his head.

No. It can’t be that easy. He can’t just-!

Damian runs for his father’s defense, but a pair of flying shurikens stop him in his tracks.

Ra’s’ arms falter as multiple shurikens are embedded in his arm.

“Talia!” He roars out, without even looking at who had sent the shurikens.

Damian’s head flips over to his right. His mother stands there and Damian would have rejoiced if he did not see the bruises and wounds she sported. It’s as if she had already gone through a large fight before she had come to their rescue.

Bruce slides his leg across the ground to trip Ra’s.

Ra’s is not nearly distracted enough to miss this. He hops back to avoid the desperate move.

“Father,” Damian watches his mother say, wheezing through injuries, “you cannot continue this.”

Ra’s turns to face his daughter in utter disappointment. “Do not call me father. You are no daughter, of mine.”

Something flashes in his mother’s eyes, but it’s gone as quick as it comes. 

“So be it,” she whispers.

Talia runs for her father, quickly pulling out a knife from her belt. It was far from an ideal weapon to be used in a swordfight, but Damian would agree that it was better than nothing. 

Damian watches as his mother and grandfather dance a deadly game of blows. He watches as his mother is pushed back. He watches his grandfather use her injuries to his advantage. He purposefully aims at places where his mother is hurt as if he had a map of her injuries within his mind.

He watches as a sword stabs through his mother’s shoulder.

She shouts in pain, hand flying to her new stab wound, and that small moment of pain proves to be her undoing. Talia is kicked down onto the ground, knife flying away from her free hand.

“You will not be known in history. If you are, it is because you will be known as a traitor to the glorious Al Ghul bloodline!”

Damian doesn’t move. He didn’t have to.

Bruce grapples Ra’s into a chokehold, preventing him from potentially killing his own daughter.

Damian sees as his father struggles to keep Ra’s in his hold and he also sees his father get flipped over Ra’s in one smooth action. His father gets slammed into the ground next to his former-lover and then Ra’s shoe falls down upon his father’s stunned body with enough force for a noticeable crack to be heard. 

That had to be his ribs-

Damian can bear to look at this scene no longer. 

Ra’s blocks one of Damian’s angry attacks. A hint of exasperation can be seen in the old man’s face.

“Must you all hinder my plans!?”

Damian does not answer his grandfather.

He’s just focused on protecting the fallen forms of the people behind him.

The shadows around sweep around Damian.

“I will have you, Damian,” Ra’s says.

The shadows sweep for him. The only thing that stops them is a sudden light that bursts from Damian’s sword. It outlines his sword not unlike how it did once before, and it seemed to cause great hesitation to the shadows around him.

“Prepare to be disappointed,” Damian snarks back with a heavy scowl.

Damian allows himself to quickly glance at his parents over his shoulder. His grandfather doesn’t try to move against him, not with the new power presented in their fight, and the shadows don’t know how to proceed. Once Damian is satisfied with his parent’s state, he turns back to his grandfather in anticipation for what might come next.

“I have learned something recently, grandfather,” Damian remarks, eyes shifting to all the shadows around him.

His grandfather does not bother to ask what it might have been that Damian learned. The head of the Al Ghuls was too busy focusing on what his grandson had planned. Damian can just imagine the cogs and wheels turning in his grandfather’s head.

“I learned a phrase you may recognize.”

Damian scowl slips away only to be replaced by the smallest of smirks.

“Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

Of course he has.

“Dnib taht sdrow!”

The shadows ripple like a wave across the rooftop. All of the background fightings stops to observe the effects of Damian’s words on his grandfather’s servants. The shadows, collectively, begin to lose their form. When one drops onto the ground to form a shadowy puddle, all follow after it. Then something equally as amazing happens. The puddle of shadow disperses abruptly, shooting off into every direction. Damian can only guess that this was their way of returning to their true owners.

The shadows that linger are only a mild concern. Damian only thinks that they leave to go nowhere because their original owners were deceased in some way.

“You fool!” Ra’s roars but he makes no move to hurt his grandson. It might be because his hand is clutching at where his cold heart was hiding. Ra’s’ twitching expression left Damian remembering his own pact and how it had been cut off quickly, forcefully. Could the same be happening to Ra’s? Damian had cut off the hundreds of contracts he held with all of the shadows he summoned on the roof. Damian had no doubt that his grandfather had more, but the shadows that had been severed from his grandfather’s rule were enough to give Ra’s temporary weakness.

Damian wastes no time.

Damian’s whole body begins to glow as he throws himself on his grandfather. His grandfather seems to have no strength to defend against his grandson’s advances as his sword falters under Damian’s strength.

Damian can barely comprehend that he manages to wound his grandfather several times. He cuts across Ra’s chest when his grandfather’s blocks only helped prevent mortal, life-threatening injuries. Alongside cuts, there were obvious burns because of the light that he had inherited from his ancestors. The light by itself seemed to weaken Ra’s significantly, too. This all adds up until the hilt of Damian’s sword bashes against his grandfather’s skull.

Ra’s slumps to the ground.

Damian breathes heavily, his sword hanging limply at his side.

He was so tired.

Yes. He was tired. Yet, that didn’t stop him from feeling absolutely powerful in the way he stood over his grandfather’s fallen form. He had done it- He had...

Damian turns to look at his parents once more.

His mother stares at him with a sort of acknowledgment in her eyes. He would have to ask her later.

His father? Damian can’t read his father’s features.

Damian’s eyes dart over to the side where he observes that a different battle had finished as well. Lady Shiva laid on the ground as her daughter held tightly onto one of her deathly pale hands. He ignores the single tear that rolls down Cassandra’s cheek as he decides to look over to his brothers.

All of them were returning his stare ten-fold.

And then he returns to his father. 

‘I did it,’ he communicates to his father with his eyes.

His father’s eyes widen. It takes Damian only a few seconds to realize that it is not a way of responding to their silent conversation.

“Damian!” He cries out. His voice is nearly on the edge of a shriek, but his father didn’t shriek. Why’d he need to do that…?

Damian looks down and sees black ooze falling from his stomach. 

All of the Al Ghul’s blood looked like black ooze.

The sword that was sticking out on the other side, must have been the problem.

Damian hears his grandfather’s slurring words, “If I fall, you must too.”

It’s silly, probably, to think back on Barbara’s words in the moment of his potential death.

"I've had a repeating vision that has been bothering me during your stay. I can never remember much of what I see, but I remember the raw feeling that comes with my dreams. I feel determined, courageous, and powerful. These feelings last until the end. Then I'm suddenly thrown into a miserable pain. The pain is so great that it wakes me up."

He hears everything at once. 

He hears, voices sounding like echoes, “Brat!” and three others yell out, “Damian!”

They’re all worried about him. Strange. He’s never had so many people care about him before. He had been a lonely child since his infanthood. The only one he had ever been allowed to rely on was his mother. It was too bad he’d have to disappoint them.

Damian’s hand slowly rises to the sword stabbed through his stomach. He can feel the grip of his grandfather’s hand fall from the sword as the man falls back onto the ground. It isn’t until a few seconds later, after the shocks wear off, that he feels a severe piercing pain. A cough rattles his body, black ooze spitting out of his mouth, as the strength leaves his body.

Cheshire’s energy had worn off too. Great.

The pain was crippling.

‘Miserable pain, right,’ Damian thinks deliriously, ‘this had been what Barbara felt? No wonder…’

Damian feels hands on the side of his arms. Damian looks up to see his older brother looking back down at him. Grayson's eyes were full of an anguish that Damian thought didn’t belong there. His older brother deserved to be happy. Safe. He could be now that Ra’s was gone. As long as his family was safe… it’d all be okay. All of his efforts would not fall flat. His family would have the happy ending they deserve. 

“Don’t you close your eyes on me, Dami!” Grayson demands, desperately.

Damian feels a sigh shutter his body and rattle his bones. 

The cold he was feeling right now was a different cold. It’s not like the kind he knew that came from the shadows.

“I’m tired…” Damian tells Grayson. His older brother’s face grows blurry. What a strange look for him.

Damian is only vaguely aware of his brother’s shouts and words when his eyes begin to close.

He thinks, exhausted, ‘I hope they’ll take care of Sunset.’

No more.

Chapter Text

“Really didn’t think I’d see you this soon, sport.”

Damian can’t see the person who speaks to him. 

Damian floats in a black abyss. He can’t feel anything. He can’t move his body. His limbs feel nonexistent as if he had no body, to begin with. It’s just, somehow, him floating in nothingness while listening to the man who was talking to him. Damian distantly notes that he recognizes the voice, but he couldn’t pinpoint the person it belonged to.

“What do you mean?” Damian asks though he doesn't feel his mouth following his words. He doesn’t feel his mouth moving at all.

“I mean that it’s not your time yet. Remember what I told you?”

No.

“I said you wouldn’t see me again unless you took an early dive to death. That sword to your stomach was fatal, you know? Wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“Grandpa…?”

“That’s me,” the voice echoes through the dark space. “It’s nice to know that you haven’t forgotten me.”

“How could I forget…?” Damian rasps. He is aware that, in some way, he is searching through the space for his grandpa. He can’t find the man who was talking to him. There was nothing to see in this space. How was it that his grandpa could see him? “Why can’t I see you?” Damian finally asks.

“Hmm,” Thomas’ voice hums, vibrating throughout the abyss, “How should I put this? You’re in a state between life and death.

“I died?”

His grandpa laughs. “ No. I just said that you’re in a state between life in death. It all depends on how you want to proceed from here.”

“Oh,” Damian says, simply, unsure as for how he was to take in this information. He had been stabbed by his grandfather through the stomach but he had also defeated his grandfather. Ra’s wasn’t dead. No. Damian didn’t think so. Sure, he had a bunch of cuts, bruises, and burns, but all Damian did was knock his grandfather out. Damian had hoped that he could leave the judgment of his grandfather’s fate to his father. Ra’s had, after all, slaughtered all of the elves. His father deserved to decide the fate of his kinslayer. 

“So what’s it going to be, kid?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to live or not?”

“I don’t know,” Damian admits, “It’s a lot more peaceful here… and I don’t think I’d mind seeing grandmother again…”

A large, exasperated, sigh shakes Damian’s surroundings.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up?”

Something sparks in Damian.

“I’m not giving up, ” he huffs.

“Sure sounds like it to me. I know it’s your choice and all, but if you do come over to this side, I’m going to kick you out right away! You’ve got a life left to live. It’d also be nice if you didn’t give your father any more grief. He’s pretty worried, you know. I’m sure your siblings are too.”

“You think they wouldn't be mad at me?” Damian asks.

“Why’d they be mad at you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe for getting stabbed in the stomach?”

“Now that wasn’t exactly your fault.”

“How would I face them?” Damian ignores his grandpa’s previous words. It was shameful that his insecurity was festering in such a way that caused him to lay his worries bare to his deceased grandpa. Yet, even so, it needed to get out. He needed to hear an answer from someone. “They’ve done a lot for me. I only dragged them into this huge mess.”

“Damian,” his grandpa’s voice was covered in a no-nonsense tone. “That can’t honestly be what you think, can it?”

“And if it is?”

“Then you’re wrong. Family sticks together. Haven’t you learned that by now?”

“I just don’t want to see their disappointed-”

“They won’t be disappointed. If anything, they’ll be happy to have you back. Trust me on this. Is it not the duty of the younger generations to respect and honor their ancestors? Honor my words. I will know it when you open your eyes to the waking world.”

“I guess I can do that,” Damian relents. 

“Good,” Thomas says. Damian can hear his voice become lighter after hearing Damian’s reluctant agreement. “I’m going to give you a little push this time.”

“What?” Damian’s voice cracks in questioning. Thomas ignores him as Damian’s black abyss slowly begins to fill with light. The lights start out as little specks until they grow larger and larger to the point that they were nearly engulfing all of the darkness around him. It took Damian only a few seconds to recognize this scene as the one in his dreams, except Ra's had usually been there. 

Multiple things hit him at once. Aches. Feelings. Pains.

The soreness of his muscles is another waking factor. They twitch as he tries to lift his heavy eyelids. It felt as if his eyelashes were being held down by ten-pound weights, but that was not enough to deter Damian. He puts all of the little energy he has to open up his eyes. His success is quick and also blinding. The light that lingered on the ceiling turned out to be too much for him. That is why he immediately closed his eyes after, clenching his hands into fists in reaction to the sudden strain. Except, only one hand becomes a fist because the other seemed to be trapped into some sort of tight prison.

Something else in the room with him stirs once he twitches.

“Dami?” A voice, hoarse, whispers tiredly with only a glimmer of hope.

Grayson. Oh. What would he think? Damian couldn’t feel what Grayson was feeling anymore.

Damian cracks open his eyes once more.

His eyes shift to the body next to his bed.

Yes. He’s in a bed. The room looks to be his from a single glance. He didn’t know how he had come to be transported to this place from the top of a hospital’s rooftop but- wait a second… he was on a hospital’s rooftop… he probably had the quickest emergency care known to man. His father seemed to be a powerful man, so Damian wouldn’t put it past him to pull a few strings in regards to his privacy. It would do no good if everyone found out he was the heir to the man who had been attacking Gotham.

Damian moves to get up but immediately has his head fall back on his pillow.

His stomach was an absolute nightmare. The nerves there were screaming at him to get some damn rest. He could not afford to move. Not with the bandaged wound on his stomach crying out at him.

“Damian!” Grayson shouts out in his joy.

Damian flinches at the sound.

Grayson sees this and instantly quiets down, “Sorry. It’s just- you’re awake!”

Damian grunts in affirmation. Yes. He was awake now.

Grayson then frowns. “You shouldn't move!” (a little too late for that) “And do you know how much trouble you’ve put us all through!? Do you know how much I worried about you? It wasn’t fun wondering if you’d wake up or not!”

Grayson goes on and on but he never lets go of Damian’s hand the entire time.

Damian turns his head away, not caring to keep eye contact with his brother. All the things he was saying were enough to inflict a sharp feeling within his chest. He really wished he hadn’t put his family through so many problems. It seemed his almost-death gave them problems too.

“Damian,” his brother’s jabbering stops in stating Damian’s name. “You belong with us. Don’t go leaving us anytime soon, okay?”

Damian looks back at his brother hesitantly. The raw emotion on his brother’s face gave Damian a startling realization. He didn’t need the pact to understand how Grayson was feeling right now.

“I’m sorry,” Damian whispers.

Grayson’s shoulders slump. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t looking for an apology. I’m the one who should be sorry with running my mouth off like that. Just… just tell me that you’re okay?”

Well, his injury like hell, but his snapped connection with Grayson isn't hurting anymore. Speaking of, why hadn’t the pact’s broken state seem to affect his older brother? Damian doesn’t recall Grayson ever seeming weakened or anything of the like.

“I’m okay,” Damian grunts as he shifts ever so slightly. The smallest movement causes his injury to flare up in pain which gives him a good idea on how long he’s going to be staying in bed. He could use some pain killers. Those would really help. Honestly.

His wounds are not the only thing he is painfully aware of. Damian can feel Grayson’s thumb run across his knuckles in a hypnotizing movement. Damian is unsure if such a gesture if for his comfort or for his older brother’s.

“What happened to my grandfather?” Damian asks.

Grayson looked like he knew such a question was coming. He smiles, nervously, “Well, he’s in the custody of The Patrol.”

“You mean he isn’t dead?”

He was so certain that his father would have had his revenge-killing by now. Then again, he had never seen his father kill anyone nor mention the want to do so. Damian knows that, unlike his father, he would have ended his grandfather without a second thought. The man was too dangerous to be left alive.

“Well, I suppose, in a way,” Grayson says.

What did that mean?

“He’s aging pretty quickly. We think it’s because he hasn’t used the Lazarus Pit in some time.”

“You are suggesting he may die of old age?” Damian asks. What a dishonor for his grandfather. The man had always expressed his wish to die in glorious battle rather than to the natural aging of all creatures. Damian would not have to worry about such a thing as the elves seemed to have long lifespans. The Al Ghuls, the shadow walkers, on the other hand… they only lived slightly longer than a human.

“Yeah. It’s a possibility.”

“Hmm,” Damian hums, no longer disappointed in the lack of action of those around him.

Their conversation is cut short when the door opens after two quick knocks. Tim enters, opening his mouth as if to say something. He stops quickly when he sees Damian awake.

“Damian! You’re awake!” He says.

“I’ve noticed,” Damian growls. The noise. Why’d everyone have to be so loud ?

“Stay right there! I’m getting everyone else!”

Well, he couldn’t exactly move anywhere.

Tim, in his excitement, jets out of the room like a pony being released into a pasture. Tim is true to his word when he says that he will bring in everyone else. The whole family ends up filtering within his room one by one. Damian watches Jason arrive first, his father following, and then both Barbara and Cassandra squeeze in as best they can. Alfred and Stephanie come last.

Cassandra speaks first, “I have something of yours.”

Damian notices that she has an armful of something. The item within her arms is only revealed to him when she plops down an orange ball of fluff on his chest. Cass is careful not to place the kitten on Damian’s stomach. He secretly thanks her for her consideration.

“ Sunset, ” he stresses the name out. She’s okay. She’s here. She’s here!

The kitten mewls in response. Happy. Warm.

“Thank you,” Damian chokes on his words. He tried to sound normal, but his emotions were getting the best of him again. 

He raises a hand to gently pat his animal friend on the head. Sunset pushes her head into the palm of his head in loving reply.

“Brat,” Jason huffs. “Thought you were going to die there.”

“It’ll take more to kill me,” Damian tells Jason.

“Obviously,” Jason is quick to say.

Damian pretends he doesn’t see the small smile on Jason’s lips. He doesn’t see that expression on his brother’s face often. It’s so weird that he’d do it now.

Damian looks sideways where his father stands right behind Grayson. Sunset, at that moment, was curling up in a ball on Damian’s chest. He tries to pay the weight of her body on his chest no mind as he focuses on his father’s unchanging gaze.

Damian knew he was going to get a scolding. Grayson did it. His father would too.

His father proves him wrong. “It’s over now, Damian. You did it. We’re safe.”

He didn’t think the words would be so impactful. The tears that form in the corner of his eyes are absolutely shameful and Damian tries to hide them by bringing his wrist up to cover his eyes.

How could he even dare to think he could just die and leave all these people behind?

“We’re all happy that you’re here, Damian,” Barbara adds in her own thoughts.

Damian looks over them. One by one.

He’ll never say this again for the rest of his life, or at least that is what he tells himself. He thinks that it is acceptable to allow himself this one weak moment in front of his family.

“I’m happy too.”

Chapter Text

The following days are peaceful and uneventful.

Everyone visits him at one point or another. The visits from his family are the only things that prevent his boredom. Alfred had retrieved a few books from the Wayne library for Damian to read to combat his restless mind all the while grounding it in his head that he should not move around. Everyone was determined to make sure that Damian did not jostle his injury in any way even though all he wanted to do was get up and stretch his limbs.

Sometimes he gets distractions in the form of long conversations. All those who lived in the Wayne manor took turns to give him some company and he'd find himself having lengthy discussions with what usually started out as small-talk. 

Sunset is a constant companion. She rarely leaves his side unless Alfred thinks it’s best to pick her up and take her to the bathroom. A litter box was there now. Damian has no idea who bought it, for he’s only heard of its existence just recently, but he was satisfied as long as Sunset didn't do her business on his blankets.

It is during the night when he gets another visitor. 

“Mother.”

She hops through his window. Damian knew she’d come sooner or later. That is why he asked Alfred to keep the window unlocked after he had closed in the early afternoon.

Damian sits up, hand on his stomach in an attempt to lessen the pain from moving around.

Damian sees his mother’s shadowy figure and the bundle of fur within her arms. She plops down a red creature on his lap. Damian looks closer at the creature and recognizes it as the bat-demon that had alerted everything to his presence. 

Damian glances over at Sunset who curls up in a ball next to his side.

Hm.

“He is a traitor to the guardians,” Talia says, quietly, as to not alert anyone else of her presence. “It seems it is because he has attached himself to you.”

“What?” Damian looks at the bat demon in confusion.

“I spoke all that you needed to know,” Talia says as she settles herself on the end of Damian’s mattress. He can feel the springs dip at her weight until she got comfortable. “He is loyal only to you.”

Damian makes a noise of irritation as he observes the supernatural being on his lap. He may be small now but he would get much bigger in the future. What was he supposed to do with it then? Keep the bat demon in the cave?

“You should name it,” Talia says.

“If I were not to?”

“Then he would have no place to go,” Talia is quick in reply.

Damian grumbles. This whole situation was stupid. Still, it wasn’t bad.

“Goliath.”

His mother stares at him as if trying to search out his reasoning. Damian answers her searching eyes by explaining, “For what he can, and will, become.”

“Hmm,” his mother hums as she nods her head in her agreement. “Good name.”

The two look at each other in silence. Damian is aware of Goliath’s eyes trained on his own, but he ignores it in favor of keeping eye contact with his mother. 

“Why did you leave?” He finally asks.

His mother looks away.

“I thought I could convince him.”

“And then he hurt you,” Damian guesses.

“Yes,” she flicks her eyes back to her son’s before standing up once more. She shifts herself so that she can sit by Damian’s side this time. Damian does not struggle as she slowly pulls him into a careful embrace. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I knew you’d be safe here. I was also foolish to cling to the past version of my father.”

“Past version?”

“He was once a kind man,” she tells him.

Damian pulls back from his mother as an expression of disbelief crosses over his face. “You cannot be serious?”

“Al Ghuls do not joke.”

The way his mother said that reminded him of the shadow he had seen not too long ago. Ah - speaking of shadows. “I have another question.”

“Yes, adored?”

“That shadow. The one that smiles. You remember?”

“Ah. I do.”

“Grandfather called him Sensei. ”

His mother stiffens at the new knowledge. Seeing that her son was expecting a proper answer, and not just a long moment of silence, she says, “Sensei is the name of your great-grandfather. I did not think that your grandfather would have kept his father’s shadow around… quite peculiar.”

“He helped me,” Damian says.

“There are some mysteries that even I do not understand,” Talia admits.

Damian watches as his mother rests a hand on his cheek. She runs her thumb smoothly over her skin before she leans forward to press a kiss on his forehead filled with motherly affection. “Your eyes. They look like your father’s.”

She pulls back and Damian looks into his mother’s black-colored eyes. He comes to the remembrance that she had not seen his recent change until she came to defend him on the roof. What had gone through her head at that time?

“Perhaps you were always meant to look this way,” she says, eyes taking in her son’s appearance. “Oh, Damian, when was it that you grew older? I was not gone long. It feels as if you’re already grown up.”

Damian just looks longingly at his mother because he knew that this wasn’t going to last forever. Both of them were communicating something through their eyes and they both just understood what was going to happen to them. His mother would go off on her own way, as she always did. Damian? Damian would stay here. That is his desire.

“You must visit me often,” Damian demands.

“I will,” she promises.

A knock on the door catches both of their attention. One moment, Damian is looking over at the door. The next, he turns to search for his mother on the side of the bed only to see that she had already slipped out of the window with the stealth of a shadow.

“Come in,” he says.

Grayson peers through the door and then looks around the room.

Damian raises a brow as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“I thought I heard you talking to someone?”

“At this time of night?” Damian huffs.

Grayson’s eyes travel down Damian’s form and to Goliath who sits on his lap. Damian looks at Grayson as if Goliath was a completely, normal, addition to his room. Grayson opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but then he closes it shut in favor of fully entering into the room instead. He pulls up Damian’s chair from his desk and then drags it to his bed where he settles himself.

“Thought you might be awake.”

“Do you require something?”

“Only your company,” is his brother’s honest words.

“And why is that?”

Grayson looks over to the open window. He doesn’t say anything about it, but Damian has a suspicion that his older brother was already putting together the dots. Thankfully, the werewolf says nothing on the matter. He simply replies, “I’m just so used to having a constant presence with me.”

“The pact,” Damian remarks.

“Yeah…”

Both of them look at each other already knowing what was going to come up next.

“I don’t think we need the pact,” Grayson suddenly says, surprising Damian. After all, he had thought that his brother would be upset at the broken connection. “I mean, well, I think I already get you, you know? I don’t need the pact to tell me what I already know.”

“It would be preferable if we didn’t make another pact,” Damian agrees, remembering how much pain he was in the last time that it had been broken. No way would he do it again. It was unlikely his mother would force a broken pact again, but that didn’t mean it was impossible. Damian didn’t want to feel that weak anymore.

“I think you’re right,” Grayson agrees. “It’s just - um - I was wondering if you’d maybe… join my pack? It’s mostly a symbolic thing and… uh… man this is harder than I thought.”

Damian blinks.

“Join your pack ?” His eyes are wide and round.

“It’d make me feel better,” Grayson admits. “The pact let me know you were alive. Now sometimes I wake up thinking that you’ve died and it hits me really hard. If we made a pack bond - I’d be able to sense you if you’re in my territory- and - um- yeah...”

The two fall in silence and Damian watches his brother shift uncomfortably on his chair. It was clear that Damian’s lack of answer was giving his brother some unease. Apparently, he took too long thinking about what he was going to say to this as his brother quickly stands up. Grayson rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and then he stumbles over his words clumsily, “W-Well, I don’t have to get an answer now. I… will just… lead myself out?”

His brother turns and then Damian calls out, steadily, “Wait.”

He stops in his tracks.

“I already know my answer.”

His brother swallows the air trapped in his mouth.

“Yeah?”

“I would not decline.”

His brother stares at him. One blink. Two.

“Are you serious?”

“I will not repeat myself,” Damian states stubbornly.

The biggest, silliest, grin breaks out on Grayson’s face. The fool sits back down with a heavy plop, and then he leans forward in his excitement to adopt Damian into his ‘pack’ or whatever it was. 

“Oh, okay. Okay. This is good- no this is great.”

“Could you get this over with already?” Damian mumbles.

“Ah, well, it’s not a quick process.”

“What do you mean?”

“You need to wear something of mine for a week or so. I’d have to do the same.”

Uh. What.

“Why?” Damian asks with the most stunned expression on his face. What kind of ritual was this?

“How do I put this? I need you to smell like me? Then you’ll be marked as part of my pack.”

Damian mutters under his breath, “This is stupid, ” but then he reluctantly says, “Fine.”

His brother’s bright grin fades away. He then gets up but this time he does not try to go for the door. He goes to the window and shuts it close. “It’s not a good idea to let cold air in at night,” Grayson tells him as he closes the latches to keep the window locked.

Damian grunts.

They both didn’t have to say anything for Damian to know that his brother already had an idea that someone was in the room with him. It also didn’t help that he had that whole ‘territory’ thing so that he could tell when a stranger was intruding.

After Grayson finishes, Damian expects his brother to finally leave.

Nope. Expectations wrong. He decides to squeeze himself on Damian’s bed instead.

“What are you doing?” Damian has no idea how his older brother could do such things so easily. 

“Sleeping,” Grayson answers.

“Not in my bed,” Damian returns.

A fake snore flies from Grayson’s person.

Damian rolls his eyes and gives his brother’s shoulder a light punch.

Grayson whines, “Ouch! Don’t hit a man when he’s down!”

“I don’t think that statement is applicable to this situation.”

“You’re going to have to pay for my hospital bills now.”

“What, for a bruised ego?”

“No. My shoulder is dislocated now. Pay up.”

“ Pfft, ” Damian chuckles, lightly, “with what? I owe you nothing.”

“With a nap on your bed. Good night!”

“Grayson,” Damian warns, “I will kick you out of this bed and throw you out the window.”

The two know it’s both an empty threat. Still, Grayson says, smugly, “I’d like to see you try.”

Damian’s shoulders slump.

“You’re a pain.”

“The best kind,” his brother laughs.

Chapter Text

Damian sits in the shade of a large oak tree in the garden outside. Damian had the hardest of times going downstairs. He had to take the slowest steps possible because every single move made his stomach ache horribly. Maybe the effort had been worth it, though, because now he was finally free from his room. He didn’t even need to use the wheelchair that Alfred had offered him earlier.

“Just don’t accidentally exorcize me?”

“It doesn’t work like that. You aren’t a demon.”

“Yes but I’m still, technically, a creature from hell.”

“No. You are a supernatural phenomenon.”

Cassandra and Stephanie were the two that accompanied him outside. They were currently bickering with one another as they settled into battle stances. The two assess each other with their eyes before charging for one another. Damian simply sits back and watches the two spar in silence while imagining the day he would be able to finally pick up his sword again without the worry of crippling pain. Stupid body. Why must you heal so slow?

“How do you like the garden, Master Damian?” 

Damian shifts his eyes over this his side where Alfred stands loyally. Alfred, as the butler, was the one who attended to him the most. Damian had thought that it was because it was his job at first. It turns out that Alfred was simply fond of the youngest Wayne and wanted to help in the ways he could. This involved Alfred checking in on Damian almost every hour. Damian might have thought it irritating if he did not think fondly of Alfred as well. Alfred is good company.

“Someone puts a lot of time in this garden,” Damian observes aloud.

“Why, yes. I do.”

“Hmm,” Damian replies. He had already suspected that Alfred may be the one who tended to the garden. That is why he is not surprised by Alfred's admittance. Besides, keeping the garden in such shape was, probably, a time-consuming task. It would explain why Alfred would disappear for hours at a time. “These plants look healthier than typical. Either you take really good care of them or…”

“My mother is a descendant of nymphs,” Alfred tells Damian.

“I thought nymphs rarely consider reproducing.”

“They are a secretive people,” Alfred agrees. “It was my fifth great-grandmother that fell in love with a wandering human. They had a child and now I am here.”

“The powers did not fade through the generations of your bloodline?” Damian asks.

“No,” Alfred answers. “It is typically the women of my family who inherit a strength in their powers. The men have their own faint abilities.”

Damian is silent for only a second before asking, carefully, “Do you have any family?”

Alfred peers down at Damian with a sparkle in his eyes. “Yes.”

“Do you not miss them?”

“How can I miss them if they’re always around me?”

Damian raises a brow. “I don’t recall ever seeing anyone of relation visiting you of late.”

“One such family member,” Alfred smiles teasingly, “happens to be sitting right next to me.”

Damian knew what such words hinted at. He can’t even be angry at Alfred.

“You think me as family?” Damian questions.

“You and all those that live here.”

Damian looks at Alfred for a few moments longer before turning his eyes once more to Stephanie and Cassandra. He had missed the majority of their fight and now they were both panting in exhaustion. Stephanie holds out her hand as if to pause their fight as she attempts to regain her breath.

“I see.”

Stephanie looks up over at Damian and gives him a lopsided smile. Damian does not return the expression, but he does nod his head slightly. Perhaps, in some way, Stephanie had interpreted his gesture as an invitation to approach him. She jogs over to him stopping only when she felt herself close enough to talk to him. “You’d think being a vampire would make my stamina linger in the infinity range.”

“That only works for the undead kind of vampires,” Cassandra alerts everyone to her presence as she takes her place by Stephanie’s side. 

“I know how it works,” Stephanie huffs in false annoyance. “I’m a vampire. I had all of the information of my race crammed into my brain the minute I was turned.”

Their bickering continues back and forth. Alfred smiles contently at the scene while Damian rolls his eyes. He hadn’t come out for a breath of fresh air just to listen to his semi-sisters (because they might as well be his sisters) argue with each other. Still, this was the most he’d ever hear come out of Cassandra’s mouth. Stephanie may have a role in Cass’ talkative mood.

“You okay?” Cass asks.

Damian finds out that she’s asking him that question. She and Stephanie had both stopped at some point. How had he missed it?

“I will be. My wound is healing slowly, but it will get better.”

“After plenty of rest,” Alfred puts in. “Doctor’s orders.”

Damian shifts in place and grumbles.

“I see,” Cass says simply. Her eyes stay on Damian’s, searching for something that he wasn’t aware of. When she is finished, she continues, “I apologize for not being able to assist you during your battle. I was… occupied.”

“Oh yeah…” Stephanie adds in sadly, “That must have been hard… facing your mother.”

“I did what had to be done,” she assures, “and I hope that my actions finally put her to rest.”

“Did you exorcize your mother?” Damian asks.

“No. I purified her.”

“Ah,” Damian says even though he doesn’t really know the details on purifying anything. “My condolences.”

Cass shakes her head. “No. What I did is something I don’t regret. I was the only one who could defeat her, and she knew. Our battle was fated since my birth. That’s why she was always calling out for me. She wanted me to end her.

“My… baby…” Damian hears the ghoul’s voice echoing in his mind. So that was her calling out for Cassandra? It seemed she hadn’t been in her right mind, but maybe there was still some Lady Shiva in the woman Cass called her mother?

“Well, I’ll be here for you if you need someone to talk to,” Stephanie puts in, voice gentle and caring. “That goes for Damian and Alfred too. We’ve got to stick together, right?”

“Wise words,” Alfred agrees.

Cass nods briskly before allowing a small smile to appear on her lips. Stephanie returns her smile tenfold, slinging an arm around her sister’s shoulder in her happiness. It was a heart-warming scene, to be sure.

“I believe we’ve spent enough time outside,” Alfred says.

“What?” Damian protests, “No!”

“You need rest, Master Damian.”

“Can’t I stay out a little longer?” Damian sounds like a child begging his parent for some more time at the playground.

“I’m afraid not,” Alfred says.

Damian frowns. “I’m not going to move. I’m staying here.”

“Then I’m afraid I will have to call for Master Dick.”

“No. You don’t have to call for him ,” Damian stresses. Please don’t. He knew what his brother would do. He’d sweep Damian up in a princess carry and walk around with Damian in an utterly mortifying position. That is what inspires Damian to move to stand up, one hand on his stomach to keep it from falling apart. He winces as he stands up in his spot and he barely notices the tender touch of Alfred’s hand on his shoulder.

“Eh, it’ll be fine,” Stephanie tells him. “We’ll give you some company.”

“And then make me victim to your bickering?”

“Hey! It was some friendly chatter. That’s all,” Stephanie defends.

“It was bickering,” Cass says apathetically.

“Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Cass smiles.

Chapter Text

“What are you wearing?”

The shirt that Damian was wearing was far too big for him, but this was what he had to wear if he wanted to participate in Grayson’s strange ritual. He wasn’t too fond of this arrangement. He was neither fond of the questions he knew he'd receive from the rest of his family. 

“Clothes.”

Damian folds his arm against his chest as he leans against the headboard of his bed. He was starting to get better now. Getting up didn’t hurt as much as it did at the beginning of his recovery process. Walking, though, gave him a hard challenge. That much could be evident by his previous outing outside.

“You know what I mean , ” Tim says, the latest brother to keep Damian company in his room. “It looks like you’re wearing a shirt that’s too big for you.”

“Astute observation,” Damian comments.

“It’s Dick’s, isn’t it?”

This time, Damian does not comment.

“I’m right!”

“ No, ” Damian lies.

“That means you’re joining his pack!” Tim points out. “It’s been a very long time since he’s ever accepted anyone else besides… well… us. I guess that, in a sense, makes us packmates?”

“It would if I were a werewolf,” Damian grumbles.

Tim laughs and it attracts more unwanted attention. Jason peeks his head through the door at the sound, probably having heard it while passing by, and then his eyes narrow on both Tim and Damian. He looks over Tim for only a second, but his eyes stay glued to Damian.

Jason opens the door and asks,  “What are you wearing ?”

“That is none of your bussin-”

“Dick’s shirt!” Tim answers for Damian.

Damian gives his brother a harsh glare.

“Huh. Thought he’d refuse a pack bond,” Jason says.

“Wait. You knew?” Tim questions.

"I didn’t know. I only suspected,” Jason says after approaching Damian’s bed. He stands next to where Tim sits and folds his arm across his chest. His actions mimicked Damian’s, and Tim glances between the two with a small smile. Jason, seeing this, asks, “What’s up with you?”

“Oh, nothing,” Tim laughs, “Just noticed that you guys aren’t blood-related in any way, but you still have some of the same behavior.”

“Folding my arms does not make our behavior the same,” Jason points out with a raised brow.

“You two also make the same faces!”

“What? When!?” Jason shouts.

“Now!”

Jason shifts his eyes to Damian and leans forward to get a good look at his younger brother’s expression. Damian, in turn, examines his older brother’s expression in his own interest as well. The two hold a long staring contest as Tim keeps himself from erupting in even more laughter.

“I don’t appreciate being compared to Jason,” Damian huffs, finally breaking off the battle of their eyes. “He’s an idiot. I’m not an idiot.”

“Ha…?! You’re calling me an idiot?”

If you asked Jason, Damian asked for it. That’s why Jason leans over and hooks his arm around Damian’s neck. He then pulls his brother closer so that he can rub his knuckles against Damian’s head. The harsh grind of Jason’s knuckles causes Damian to sputter out in indecipherable sounds as he struggles against his brother’s grip.

“Who’s an idiot now?” Jason grins.

“You intend to convince me through force!?”

“He’s an injured person, Jason,” Tim plays the peacemaker with just a few words.

Jason barely gives Tim any attention.

“Ah. He can handle it. Right, Damian?”

“Rig- Wait!”

Jason pauses in the noogie he was inflicting upon Damian and his grip lightens. That is enough for Damian to tug his head out of the crook of Jason’s arm, and to shift as far away from him as possible. He is only allowed to do this because Jason throws himself into a fit of gut-busting laughter. Jason doubles over, holding onto his stomach, and he laughs so hard that he can’t keep any of it contained. Damian wishes he would. He’d rather not be witness to this event.

“He agreed with me!” Jason says, finally, in between laughs. He slaps a hand over Tim’s shoulder to steady himself. He seriously was about to fall over.

Damian scowls.

“Have you come only to laugh at me?” Damian huffs.

“Of course not,” Tim offers for Jason since his brother was crippling himself with laughter. “This is just his way of showing affection!”

That stops Jason.

“I don’t show affection, ” Jason insists. He’s folding his arms again. It’s amazing how quickly he can compose himself if something concerns him. “I’m just doing my duty as a brother. That’s all.”

“Rightttt… ” Tim says skeptically. “That’s why you patrol around Damian’s room all night?”

“W-What?” Jason stutters in his shock. He looks at Tim with wide eyes. Something in them says, ‘how did you figure it out!?’

“Ever since you heard from Dick that someone entered Damian’s room in the middle of the night-”

“Stop!” Jason holds out his hand. “Okay. I get it. Sheesh. Just have to say all this crap in front of Damian, huh?”

Damian frowns.

He hadn’t been aware that Jason had apparently been protecting him at night. Sure, zombies didn’t necessarily sleep (since they didn’t need it), but still. Jason could surely be doing something else with his time. This whole thing just made Damian want to recover faster. He wanted everyone to stop… well… coddling him. They were all treating him like he was fragile cargo. It didn’t help that he had gone several days without training. His arms were just itching to practice sword-swinging again.

“You okay, Damian?” Tim asks. 

Damian hadn’t even noticed he spaced out until now.

“I’m fine.”

“Everyone knows ‘fine’ means ‘not fine,’” Jason says. His eyes were a lot more observant now. It was like he was looking for a visible cause for Damian’s spacey state.

“It’s nothing ,” Damian grumbles. “Just tired of staying in bed, I guess.”

His brothers fall quiet.

Damian stills.

Did he say something wrong?

Finally, Tim breaks the silence by telling Damian, “Just give your body some time. You’ll be up and running around the mansion before you know it.”

Damian returns, “I would not run around the mansion. It is unbecoming of me.”

“That’s your concern?” Jason snorts.

“ Anyhow, ” Tim says, thinking a subject change would be best for those in the room, “I know you’ve been bored out of your mind lately. I was wondering whether you’d like to research some of the magical grimoires I’ve found in the library?”

Tim directs this question at Damian. Jason has the gall to look offended that this was something that Tim wasn’t asking him, instead, even though Jason was fully aware that his magical affinity was at zero percent.

It sparks Damian’s interest regardless of how those around him felt about Tim’s offer of learning.

“You’d allow me to study with you?”

“Well, it’s about the elves’ lost magic, so… thought you might be interested.”

“And father permitted you to look through these grimoires?”

“Yeah. He did,” Tim affirms.

“Then… I’d like that,” Damian says as he thinks of his grandmother and grandpa’s faces within his mind. He wanted to find a way to respect them in the living world. Researching how they practiced their magic would be a perfect first step to learning more about them and his race as a whole.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jason cuts into the conversation. “I was gonna’ invite the brat to work on my motorcycle with me!”

“That’s not something he can do without walking around,” Tim deadpans. Tim then lightens his features by adding, “Besides. He’s not going to be bored with the stuff we’ll go through. He can help you after he’s recovered. I understand that you just want to help him out but-”

“Okay! No more! Please stop talking,” Jason waves his hands in the air as if his gestures would slice through Tim’s intent to continue. “I get the picture. We’ll do it after he’s recovered, that is, if you want to? How about it Damian?”

Damian closes his eyes in thought.

“I guess someone needs to teach you how it’s done correctly,” Damian says. He hides a smile.

“Why you-” Jason reaches out for Damian again to give him a second round.

Tim laughs at their exchange as Jason manages to grab Damian into another headlock.

He hopes that they would have more moments like this in the future.

Chapter Text

He knew that there would be a lecture waiting for him once Alfred realized that Damian wasn’t in bed. He’d most likely guide Damian straight back to his room if he saw how Damian was using the wall in the hallway as a support for his weight, but there was something that Damian knew he had to do.

It was not too long ago that his mother had communicated to him that she was going to go off on her own. He, in turn, told her that he would be staying here. Now all he needed to do was tell his father that he was absolutely going to stay here and Damian wouldn’t take no for an answer. It’s not as if Damian had any doubts that his father would reject his determination to stay, but that didn’t stop the irrational anxiety from springing up in his chest. If there was even the slightest chance that his father didn’t want him to stay… well…

Well, nothing.

He’ll stay regardless of what his father thinks. He was too attached at this point to even consider going off on his own.

Damian is not a forgetful person. He remembers, quite clearly, of all of the moments he’s shared with his father up to this point. There had been that event in which his father had asked for a second chance, when his father assured him that his ancestors wouldn’t hate him, and that moment when he had chased after Damian to the cave in order to help lift the burden of his overspilling light. There’s no way that such actions can come from someone who didn’t want Damian to stay.

Still. It was better to be safe than sorry.

“Come in,” Damian hears his father’s muffled voice invite him after Damian knocked on his office’s door.

Damian watches as his father sets aside the pen he had been using to scribble something down on paper. With one last look over of his recent work, his father finally looks up from his desk to address whoever had entered. Damian had to give it to his father. The man had a carefully formed expression that made it difficult for Damian to learn of his father’s feelings on Damian’s surprise visit. Damian would love to have that sort of control.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” his father states. 

Damian glances at the chair next to his father’s desk and debates sitting down. He quickly discards such a thought and decides to stay standing in the middle of the room. He would show his father his resolve through action.

“Damian?” His father asks after receiving no response.

Damian takes a deep breath.

“I’m not leaving.”

“What?” His father asks, not understanding where such words had come from. He didn’t understand the context behind them either.

“I don’t care if you, or anyone else in this house, thinks I should leave. I’m going to stay here.”

“Did… someone ask you to leave?” His father asks, carefully.

“No.”

Damian sees his father’s muscles relax ever so slightly. Damian hadn’t even been aware that his father had been tense, to begin with.

“Then where is this coming from?”

“I’m just telling you that you won’t be able to kick me out.”

His father returns, quickly, “I would never kick you out. What would make you think that I would?”

“In the case of the slightest possibility that you doubt my desire to stay here and decide to send me elsewhere.”

Damian observes his father lean back in his chair and throw a hand through the ruffles of his hair. It quickly makes a mess of his well-groomed hair, but his father didn’t seem to mind it too much. Whatever was going on in his head was more of a concern than the state of his appearance.

“Have some faith in me. I want you to stay. I’d never think of directing you anywhere else.”

His father’s declaration alone calms Damian. It also brings his attention back to the fact that he was wounded and had stood in the same spot for about two minutes without moving. His stomach wound was throbbing unhappily. Damian knew he shouldn’t stay here for much longer.

“Good.” Damian nods shortly, lips in a tight thin line.

His father doesn’t make any change in his expression. It was in the same state it had been when Damian first entered into the room. Controlled. Damian, however, sees much more emotion in his father’s eyes. The two hold each other’s gazes with their equally blue eyes.

“Do you have any doubts now?” His father questions.

“I never did,” Damian says.

His father raises a skeptical brow. The first break in his expression. “Then why else would you come here if not for reassurance?”

“To tell you of my position on this topic,” Damian claims.

“I see…” his father says, though there is still a disbelieving tone in his voice.

A silence falls between them again and Damian decides that he’s had enough of standing around in his father’s office. He turns, hand stretching out for the doorknob, but he pauses when his father calls for his attention again.

“Damian?”

He looks over his shoulder.

“I love you.”

The muscles in his neck freeze and he can’t seem to turn his head away from his father’s unwavering eyes. His father didn’t look hesitant at all. He had said those words with confidence. He meant what he said. Damian can see that.

Damian finally reels his surprise back within himself and turns away from his father. He realizes that his father isn’t expecting a response. Damian can hear the sounds of his father’s writing. He had picked his pen back up and was continuing in his work.

Damian turns the doorknob.

He mutters, knowing that not many would be able to hear his words unless they had sharp hearing, “ Love you, too.”

The door closes behind him.

Chapter Text

Something warm wakes him up.

It’s warm at first, and then it’s wet.

Damian’s eyes shoot open and he sees a giant, black, nose rubbing at his cheeks.

“You can’t stay here anymore,” Damian decides right then and there, aloud so that Goliath could hear him.

Goliath sits back from his owner and pouts like an overgrown puppy. He might as well be an overgrown puppy. Goliath was getting big. Too big. Damian feared that he could no longer keep Goliath in his room. It was enough trouble just to get him through the damn door.

A mewl catches his attention next. His eyes shift to a white and orange cat stretching out at his side. Sunset was now at the peak of her growth. Though being the size of a full-grown cat, Damian knew that she was still just a kitten. He’d never see her otherwise. She’d always be the kitten he snatched up from the street.

Damian would have continued admiring his feline friend if a loud noise had not made Damian jump up from his bed. 

He holds out his hand. The shadows heed his call. They all rush up his legs, swirling around his arm, and then start to form within the grip of his hand.

Another noise. Damian braces himself.

The door flies open.

“Happy birthday!”

The form of his sword stutters until it breaks apart in his hold. All the shadows surge back to their rightful places when they all realize that the person who had basically kicked the door open was not a threat. Their master knew this person.

Damian sighs. His shoulders slump and he pulls an exhausted hand down his face.

“Oh. It's you.”

“Sorry! I was excited!” His brother laughs.

“I thought you were an enemy,” Damian tells him bluntly.

“Man, you sure are paranoid even after staying here for eight months, huh?” Dick observes.

That’s right. Damian can still hardly believe that’s he been in one place for so long. He was used to traveling with his mother. They never stayed in one place.

Grayson smiles at him as if they hadn’t just been standing there in silence for a few seconds too long. “How’s the scar?” He questions.

Damian looks down to where his stomach was.

He had been stabbed several months ago. He had a hard time getting out of bed not too long ago, but now he didn’t have much of a problem doing so anymore. Now, all that was left was an ugly scar on his stomach. It was fine aside from the itchiness that would pop out of nowhere from time to time. Alfred had told him it wasn’t an out of the ordinary thing.

“Better,” Damian answers. “What was it that Jason said? Women like a man with scars?”

His brother snorts, “Sounds like something he’d say. You’re not exactly a man though.”

Damian snarls, “I am a man!”

“No. You’re my cute, little, baby brother!”

“Don’t make me cut out your tongue!”

“Oh?” Dick sticks out his tongue, his voice muffled when he continues, “go ahead!”

Damian scowls. Dick knew his words were just an empty threat, but he didn’t have to go rubbing it in.

“Not now. I don’t feel like it.”

“Right. You have stuff to do right now,” his brother agrees with him.

Damian raises a brow. “Stuff? Like what?”

“Like…” Dick digs through his pockets until he finds what he wants. He quickly pulls out a strip of fabric and holds it out proudly. “Like putting on this blindfold!”

Damian narrows his eyes, “Is this some kind of training?”

His answer comes first in the form of a few chuckles, “ Pfft. I guess. If you want to put it that way? I just need you to put it on. Then I’ll guide you down the stairs.”

Damian gives his brother the most doubtful look he can manage. Dick is not deterred. He continues to hold out the blindfold, waving it around a bit for extra emphasis on the object in his hand, and he gives Damian a toothy grin. Damian sighs, “Is this truly necessary?”

That was the closest to a ‘ yes’ that Grayson was going to get.

Eventually, the blindfold ends up wrapped around Damian’s eyes. Dick guides him by the elbow through the hallway and then downstairs. Damian can already guess where they’re going because he’s walked this way to the kitchen, many, many times throughout his stay here. The only thing lacking in this experience is that this time, he has no idea why he’s going to the kitchen. What could possibly cause his older brother to blindfold him and then escort him to another room?

He gets his answer when the blindfold is torn from his face.

“Happy birthday!”

Damian takes in a lot at once. He sees his whole family with smiles on their faces, big and small. They look at him in eager anticipation whilst surrounding the center island of the kitchen. Settled before them was a cake with nine candles lining the edge. 

Damian must have been in silent shock for too long because Jason drawls out, “You going to stand there all day, or can we dig in?”

“We need to sing him a happy birthday first,” Barbara says.

“I’m hungry,” Jason pouts.

Tim pulls Jason’s grabby hands away from the cake, saying, “You can’t eat that! It’ll take forever to get it out of you!”

“Just one bite!” Jason claims.

“One bite of rotting cake to sit in your stomach for months!” Tim tells him, exasperated.

“Tim is right, Jason,” Barbara enters herself into their argument.

Only one thing stops them.

“Can Damian even eat cake?” Cassandra asks.

Everyone falls quiet.

Alfred, who had been standing aside during this joyous moment, has a frown due to his deep contemplation on this matter. He finally says, after a few seconds of going over it, “I believe that I did not consider Master Damian’s diet. A birthday cake on a birthday is a tradition. I hadn’t thought to not prepare one.”

“Guess we’ve got three people that can’t eat then,” Dick says while scanning the room. His eyes hover over Jason, Stephanie, and then Damian. “Ah, by the way, where’s the old man?”

“Bruce?” Jason scoffs, “Who knows? Said he had something to do.”

“That is correct,” Damian hears his father say upon entering the room. “I just had to meet up with someone.”

Dick rubs his hands together in anticipation. “We can still sing Damian a happy birthday!”

Despite Damian’s protest the whole family eventually does sing him a happy birthday. It is an embarrassing occasion that makes him victim to the joyful stares of his family. He had almost turned around and walked out the door with cheeks tinted red.

The song passes by quickly and the rest of the family falls into chatter with one another. Damian’s father, at some point in the middle of the small party, pulls Damian over to the side where they could have a slight increase in privacy. His father digs into his pant’s pocket before pulling out a small envelope. He hands it to Damian. Damian receives it cautiously.

“And this is…?” Damian asks, flipping the envelope over to see who it was from. His father didn’t need to answer his question. Damian could tell who this letter was from just by the handwriting alone.

His mother.

Dearest Damian,

Much has happened. I have been appointed the leader of the League of Assassins by default. That is why I have been spending much time in the reorganization of your grandfather’s group with the intent on pursuing higher interests. I assure you that these ‘interests’ are nothing of the world-threatening kind. Regardless, I write this letter to remind you that you still have a place by my side. You are now a true heir to the Al Ghul throne. Your grandfather will not stand in your way this time. Should you wish for the position of the head of the Al Ghul household, it will always be open to you, as will the arms of all of the shadows who serve under me. They would welcome you into their embrace.

It is difficult to believe that you are nine years old now. I am truly proud of what you have become.

Happy birthday.

Sincerely,

Your Mother, Talia al Ghul.

Damian tucks the letter back in the envelope.

“What did she say?” His father asks.

Damian decides to skip the first half of his mother’s letter and tells his father, “She wishes me a happy birthday.”

“That’s nice of her,” his father remarks.

“I suppose,” Damian returns.

The two look at each other for a moment longer before a rustling noise catches their attention. Alfred disappears from the room quickly and then returns with a box. He places the box on the counter and then looks at Damian expectantly. “A present from your father, Master Damian,” Alfred explains.

Damian glances back at his father.

His father quirks a smile in return.

Damian approaches the box and immediately notices the holes poked into it. Breathing holes, Damian becomes aware of the purpose of such strange decoration. He already had a feeling he knew what sort of thing was hiding inside, and his feeling only increases when the box starts to shuffle across the counter. It was as if something living was in it.

Seeing that his whole family was eager for him to open up his present, Damian presses on by unwrapping the paper on the box’s lid. He then opens the box, slightly, so that only he can see what is inside. He peers into the crack he had created and then he pulls back with the frown on his face.

“What? What is it?” Dick asks, excited.

Damian sighs. “Do I not have enough animal companions?”

A low whine has him returning to the box once more.

Damian removes the lid completely and carefully lifts a black-fur covered puppy. The puppy eyes it gives is strong enough to compete with Dick’s.

“Aww!” Stephanie squeals. “He’s adorable! What will you call him, Damian?”

Damian grumbles, unhappy with this new development, but he answers Stephanie anyway, “I suppose if I must name him… it would be Titus.”

“Our family is expanding by the day,” Tim jokes.

“Yeah. It’s starting to get cramped!” Jason complains.

Everyone in the family ignores Jason as they continue to admire Damian’s new puppy.

Damian cuddles the puppy into his protective arms. He now had three animal companions. One was dropped off by his mother, the other given to him by his father, and then the last… plucked from the street. He hoped that he would not have any surprise animal companions from now on. The problem is that he’d probably keep whichever animal is given to him because he could not think to toss them away.

Damian feels a hand rest upon his shoulder. He turns his chin slightly to see his father gazing down at him with warm eyes.

“I’m glad you’ve decided to stay,” his father says.

Damian looks back at the rest of his family. All of them were laughing at a joke that had been made due to the courtesy of Jason.

“As am I.”

This moment, shared between both he and his father, is short and sweet. Damian notices that his father is quick to withdraw his hand from his shoulder to share a conversation with the quietest of them all, Cassandra, and that is when Dick thought it best to take his father’s place. Damian watches as his brother squeezes through the circle of his siblings to settle himself by his side. He then asks, curious, “How does it feel to be nine?”

Damian feels the puppy shift in his arms. He has to keep adjusting the way he holds the restless creature, but that does not keep him from answering his brother. He says, “I feel no different than before.”

“Did you ever celebrate birthdays on Infinity Island?”

Damian cocks a brow. “My grandfather is not one to celebrate birthdays. He only participated in coming of age ceremonies.”

“Well…” Damian watches as a smile tugs upward on the corner of his brother’s lips. “It’s a good thing he isn’t here to express his disapproval. I’m pretty sure we’re going to be doing this every year.”

“Hmm,” Damian hums his agreement.

It was still difficult to comprehend.

He was free.

“It’s finally over,” Damian finds himself saying, gazing upon the rest of his family with a slight hint of fondness swirling in his heart.

He wouldn’t mind seeing this sight every year.

His brother’s large hand drops onto his head.

“Yeah. It is.”

Chapter Text

“Will he like me?”

Damian regards the little boy clinging to his green robes, outlined in gold, and carefully examines his anxiety-stricken face. Damian offers him words of comfort, saying, “It is contrary to his personality to deny those as special as you.”

The boy’s face morphs into one of confusion as he tries to comprehend some of the words Damian had given him. It is a sore reminder that Damian doesn’t really understand how to talk to children. That is why Damian sighs and then simplifies so that his ward may understand, “Yes. He will like you.”

The boy’s grip lightens but he doesn’t let go of Damian’s clothing. Damian, not finding this particular weakness attractive in any way, scolds, “Do not cling to me, so. You will walk in with pride. I will not have you trail after me like a pitiful puppy.”

The boy let’s go of Damian’s robes, reluctantly, before turning to face the intimidating door in front of them. He puffs out his chest enough to make him look like he was doing a ridiculous impression of a penguin. Damian finds himself snorting at this display but his attention on his ward does not last long. He knocks on the door while the boy next to him shifts from side to side in anticipation. His puffed out chest had quickly disappeared. He was, once again, withdrawn in his posture.

“My word! Is that you, Master Damian?”

“Alfred.”

Alfred was still with shock as he gazed upon the man who had left their home in his late teens. He blinks a couple of times as if it would wipe his eyes clear from an impossible illusion. Alfred hardly had the capacity to register Damian’s appearance which is why he had almost missed the boy at his side. It is only after he gathered his wits about him, realizing that he was looking rather foolish with his mouth agape at the doorway, that he comes to understand that there is something that Damian had come for. Why else would he have brought someone with him? There was something about this situation that would have Damian coming back to the manor despite the other obligations he had to attend to.

“My boy,” Alfred says, “I have missed you, dearly!”

“And I, you,” Damian returns. The two stare at each other a little longer, eyes communicating something that no one else would be able to understand. It is only when Alfred steps aside, hand stretched out in gesture, that Damian knows he is welcomed within the manor.

“Come along, Terry,” Damian orders.

“Yes!” Terry is quick to please as he follows after Damian’s heels.

Only when they are inside does Damian ask, “Where is father?”

Alfred answers in one breath, “The cave.”

“Hm,” Damian hums in acknowledgment. He would not need Alfred to escort him there. He knew the halls of the manor by heart. That is why he leaves Alfred behind, knowing that the old man would follow them eventually, and heads toward where his father resided.

“Wow! This place is huge!” Terry exclaims as his eyes roam about the insides of the manor. He slows down enough so that he can get a full view of all that was around him. He is only startled from his admiration when he realizes that Damian was still walking away at a brisk pace. Terry has to jog to catch up to his mentor’s speed.

Damian stops after pulling himself into a stray room. Terry stops as well, wondering why the clock situated against the wall seemed to interest Damian enough to give him reason to cease walking. It is only when Damian turns the hands to a specific time, 10:48, does Terry know why Damian had given the clock his attention. The clock slides to the side and reveals a clever hidden entrance. Only two long poles could be seen within the revealed section of the wall.

“We’ll be sliding down,” Damian tells him.

“On the poles?” Terry asks, thinking this to be a rather strange way to go into a cave. Wasn’t this supposed to be some sort of firefighter thing? Why did they need it?

“Now.”

Terry hears Damian’s ‘don’t argue with me’ tone and relents to his decision. He copies his mentor as he reaches out for one pole.

“You won’t fall if you remember your training,” Damian tells him.

That was hardly any comfort to Terry.

In one minute, Terry is staring at the pole as if it was his death sentence. The next, he is clutching to the pole for his dear life as he shoots down the thing quicker than the badly-designed ones at a children’s playground. Terry almost kisses the ground when the plop onto another solid surface. His breathing is frantic, his heart beats faster than typical, but there’s a hand on his shoulder. One look is all Terry needs to know that Damian would not leave him in such a state. The man was giving him the silent support he needed to get his composure back.

“We must continue,” Damian tells him after they stand there for a long moment. 

Terry nods.

Damian slowly retrieves his hand and turns his head to look out at the cave. Terry notices the recognition in his mentor’s eyes as he follows Damian’s trail of sight. Terry is then bombarded with the scenery of the large space around him. It was amazing. He’d never seen anything like it. How could something so big be hiding underneath a manor? Was this a sight that Damian had seen every day when he once lived here?

Damian’s eyes narrow on a singular figure on the floor not too far away from them.

Terry's guess is correct.

‘That must be Bruce Wayne!’

Damian walks slowly forward. His steps make no noise in his approach of his father’s position, but Terry’s steps make all the noise needed for the man to look up from whatever he was doing.

Damian pauses in place.

Terry looks between father and son as they stare at each other. Neither move.

Finally, a break in the tight atmosphere, “ Damian?”

Damian doesn’t acknowledge the call of his name with any gesture, action, or word. He simply continues staring at his father as if he was a figure he thought he might never see again.

It turns out that Damian does not need to move. His father goes to him instead. He leaves his work behind to gather his youngest son within his arms with great vigor. It made a strange sight for Terry, who had never seen his mentor let someone embrace him so willingly, but that didn’t stop him from watching the heartwarming reunion.

Bruce pulls back and moves his hands to cup Damian’s face within his palms. He looks at him with fatherly love, then saying, “Welcome home.”

“Must you be so sentimental?” Damian asks jokingly.

“I have not seen you in a long time. I am allowed this,” Bruce returns seriously.

Bruce pulls away, eyes leaving his son’s face only to address Terry by saying, “Who is this?”

“My kin,” Damian informs.

Bruce raises a brow.

“Talia…?”

“No,” Damian corrects his father’s assumption.

Bruce stares at his son for a few seconds longer before all those around him see it register within his head. The man then turns away from Damian to approach Terry. He crouches, low, so that he is at eye-level with the boy. He then gently brushes back Terry’s untamed hair until he finds what it is that he is looking for.

“How?” Bruce asks, sounding crippled by this revelation.

“A clone. I found him on my infiltration of CADMUS. He was created through the magical signature you’ve left behind in Gotham.”

“How long?” Bruce breathes. 

“Four years,” Damian says.

“That was around the time…”

“Around the time I accepted the al Ghul throne, yes,” Damian affirms.

Bruce is silent long enough that it makes the object of his attention uncomfortable. Bruce remedies this by saying, “Hello.”

“Hello,” Terry returns shyly.

Bruce smiles at Terry. It is a short-lived smile, however, because then he turns to Damian once more and says, “Tell me everything.”

He does.

Two days they stay. Two days is the time given to Damian to think about the fate of his young ward. He knew that Terry would be better off staying within his father’s care than that of the League of Assassins. Damian could look out for him as much as he could, but there were still certain principles that the league believed in. He did not wish for Terry’s young, innocent, mind to be tainted by blood.

It is on the third day when he has hardly the time to think about Terry’s welfare. Damian is too concerned for his own welfare when he sees blue eyes look into his own. The owner stands with a motorbike helmet tucked underneath his arm, frozen upon the sight of Damian’s person.

His second eldest brother. Jason Todd. 

Jason drops the helmet on the floor and stomps toward Damian with a vengeance.

Damian braces himself. He deserved whatever was coming for him. He would endure it.

“You brat!” Jason barks, hooking Damian’s neck within the crook of his elbow. That is when knuckles grind into Damian’s head in the familiar greeting of a noogie. Damian knew it had been coming. He had years of such events occurring regularly in his life.

“Would you cease?” Damian yelps. He may be older, wiser, but he still couldn’t seem to handle Jason’s form of affections.

“You didn’t even say goodbye! Might as well have been dead!” Jason continues.

Jason looked the same. That was to be expected. Jason’s appearance never changed. That was due to being dumped into the Lazarus Pit after a state of death.

“I had duties to attend to,” Damian offers in explanation.

“Could have sent a postcard!” Jason tells him.

“As if I would be that tacky,” Damian snorts in return.

Jason lets go suddenly which in turn causes Damian to stumble slightly. He hadn’t expected Jason to let go as abruptly as he had, but he wasn’t complaining.

Jason turns back to his helmet and scoops it back within his right arm. He says, while doing so, “Well, don’t think I’m going to let you just walk away this time. You belong with us. Get it through your thick head!”

Damian sighs. This. This is why he did not tell his family (aside from his father) of his decision to take over the throne of the League of Shadows. They wouldn’t have let him go without kicking and screaming.

“Why’d you come back anyway? Forgot a katana?”

“No. I returned with a companion,” Damian informs him. Damian adjusts his posture so that returns to his reserved form. 

Damian didn’t have to explain any further because his said companion actually turns up at the mentioning of his name. Terry runs for Damian, little fingers curling around the edge of his robes, and then he looks up with a giant pair of doe-eyes. “There you are! You said you’d play catch with me and dad!”

Ah. Yes. There was that. Terry was calling Bruce his father. Bruce had made no suggestions that the child should do otherwise, so Damian supposes that he now has another unofficial brother. What would the others think of such development? Everyone in the Wayne family knew of their father’s empathy for parentless children, so perhaps they would reveal an accepting disposition.  

Jason looks perplexed at the boy’s appearance. 

“Who’s the squirt?” He asks.

“It is a long story,” Damian says.

Jason doesn’t look amused.

“I have time.”

Damian had come to learn rather quickly that the rest of his family were all out on adventures of their own. They would have all continued on their journeys had not Jason decided to contact them all behind Damian's back. A few could not return due to the nature of their situations. Barbara had work piled up for her in the GCPD. Stephanie was out hunting a vampire group that had alluded her for months, and she was finally on their trail. She couldn’t lose it now.

The rest?

Damian feels exhausted just thinking about it.

“Dick’s on his way from Bludhaven,” Jason tells him too cheerfully. It is unnerving. “Tim will be portalling in from San Fransico. Cass was in the area. She’s going to be here any minute now.”

Damian felt dread build up in his stomach.

“Was it necessary to do this?”

“I knew that you wouldn’t tell anyone. I wasn’t about to let everyone else go without knowing that you’re freaking alive.”

Damian leans back on the red couch located in the first study. Jason sits across from him looking like a smug peacock, but Damian chooses to ignore his brother completely to give other thoughts authority within his mind.

“That explains why he looks so much like him,” Jason says, suddenly.

“What?”

“Terry. It’s because he’s a clone. Of course, he’d look like him.”

“Ah… yes…” Damian trails off, having been reminded of the time that he first came across Terry. The boy’s body had been bound within the confines of a coffin, shaped like that of an Egyptian sarcophagus. Damian, at the time, had not taken Terry’s existence well. He had heavily contemplated killing him, but now he knows his mistake. “He was brought about by the knowledge that the al Ghuls are tasked to keep secret. It is through the lost magicks of the Doppelgangers that Terry came to be.”

“How’d they get their hands on that?”

Damian answers, “Through battle.”

Jason looks at him, eyes asking ‘ yeah, what else?’ but Damian did not expand upon his answer. That is when Jason senses that this is a sore subject for Damian. He decides to turn the conversation elsewhere. “Have you seen Cheshire lately?”

That was an odd person to bring up. It does well to distract Damian. “No. Why would I? She left the league years ago.”

“My old pal, Roy, was looking for her. They have a… uh… relationship.”

Damian deadpans, “Did she seduce another thrall?”

“No?” 

“You sound uncertain.”

“Well, I wanted to ask her in person,” Jason says.

“If it is any of comfort to you, I spotted traces of her in Romania a year ago.”

“Think she’d still be there?”

“I wouldn’t know. I did not stay there long,” Damian replies.

“Hrmm,” Jason mumbles in his deep thought.

Damian might have chosen to complete their discussion over Cheshire if he had not suffered a sudden spike of blood lust. His sword, within seconds, forms in his hand to block a strike to the back of his head. His whole body twists to get a good look at the person who had dared attack him, and then Damian tense face immediately falls flat.

“What did you hope to gain from this?”

“I was checking your skills,” Cass claims. 

Cass was different from when Damian last saw her. She looked older, obviously, and her hair was no longer in a traditional short cut. It seems that Cass had allowed her black hair to reach her shoulders.

Her eyes then soften as she withdraws the knife she had used to attack Damian. “It is good to see you.”

“Right…” Damian drawls skeptically. “Insomuch that you wished to kill me?”

“You would not die,” she states.

“You say this with surety?”

“I do.”

“Nice to see you Cass!” Jason interrupts the two. “Boy, do I have some news for you!”

Cass and Damian share one last look.

Cass smiles.

 Four.

Four books plop onto Damian’s lap. Damian pays them no mind. He is too busy having a staring contest with the brother closest in age with him, Tim. He only glances away briefly to see the books on his lap. He quickly catches the title of the book that sits atop the stack.

‘The Elusive Nature of Shadow Walkers and How to Keep Them in One Place.’

Damian finds confusion lurk in the depths of his mind. He is given a few minutes to truly understand the nature of the book sitting on his lap before comprehension dawns on him. He looks back up at Tim and says, “You aim to keep me here?”

“No,” Tim says.

“Then the purpose of these books are…?”

“A threat,” Tim offers.

“A threat, ” Damian repeats in his disbelief.

“Yeah. A threat. If you don’t keep in contact with your family, I’m going to use all the knowledge I’ve gained from these books to keep you here.”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“Then get one!” Tim throws his hands up in the air in his exclamation. He sounded absolutely done with Damian. He then adds, his voice only a tiny bit calmer, “ Please. I was really worried about you.”

Damian couldn’t say no to that.

He gets a phone the next day.

It happens without warning.

Damian should have expected something like this. He had gone four years without keeping up Dick’s pack bond. Dick was going to be clingy. It was a given.

Dick’s arms are wrapped tightly around Damian’s body. Damian knows this show of affection intimately. Dick had done this many time throughout the years because hugs, in a way, were a werewolf’s form of spreading their scent. Dick was essentially remarking Damian as a member of his pack. There was also the unmistakable sign of brotherly love in Dick’s tight embrace. 

The words, that are unsaid, were clear.

‘I missed you.’

“I am not a child anymore,” Damian complains. His words are ignored as Dick tucks Damian’s head underneath his chin.

“Doesn’t matter how old you get,” Dick returns, lovingly, “you’ll always be my little brother.”

“You are not angry?” Damian finally asks, tentatively.

“I was grieved,” Dick responds honestly.

The two fall silent as Dick continued to hold Damian within his arms. His arms gave Damian no question. There was simply no removing himself from this situation.

“I’m sorry,” Damian mumbles.

His response only comes in the form of his brother’s arms growing tighter around his body.

“Tell me about your life?” Dick asks, not moving away.

Damian complies.

“I love him!”

Damian watches in humor as Dick sends Terry flying up in the air once more. Terry squeals in delight as Dick catches him with his hands. The grin on his face was the brightest Damian had ever seen. Terry had never shown that face around him , but then when had Damian ever given him cause to do so? He was a serious person in nature.

“Do we get to keep him?”

“That is up to Damian,” Bruce replies, shifting his eyes to look at the silent form of his youngest son. Damian does not acknowledge his father’s gaze.

“I brought him here for a reason,” Damian tells them all.

That sentence alone wipes the smile off of Terry’s face. The boy did not have to understand the question to sense the sullen tone in Damian’s voice. It is this response alone that gives Dick reason to stop throwing the boy up in the air. He pauses, settling Terry comfortably against his side, before considering Damian carefully with his eyes.

“He is not safe in my line of work.”

“I understand,” his father claims. His voice is grave. “I will take him in.”

“Wait? Just like that?” Dick pipes in.

“But only under one condition,” his father continues.

Damian listens.

“You must visit us.”

That seemed to calm his eldest brother somewhat, but that condition only put Damian on alert.

“I cannot leave the league for long-”

“Then we will visit you,” his father says.

Damian looks at the determination in his father’s eyes.

“You cannot be serious?”

His father narrows his eyes.

Damian looks back at Terry once more and thinks of the possible future of the boy should he reject the terms his father had offered.

Damian’s shoulders slump in submission to his father’s will. 

“Fine,” he relents.

“Good.”

“I’m a bit disappointed in you.”

Damian stands underneath the shade of a grand oak tree as he watches his late ward stand next to his father. The two looked upon the graves of Damian’s deceased grandparents in respect and reverence.

“I expected as much,” Damian speaks.

His brother, Dick, stands next to him. They barely brush shoulders.

“I thought you would have learned by now.”

“I did learn,” Damian returns, knowing exactly what Dick was talking about.

Damian could never forget. He always had his family behind him. They would always be there for him when he pressed through tribulation. He could rely on them. They had made it clear, from previous experiences, that he would always find love in their home.

But Damian didn’t want them to get hurt.

The League of Shadows needed a leader. His mother was no longer competent to keep them under control. They did not recognize her as a leader, only as a follower, so they began to grow chaotic. It is then that Damian had to step in. He had to take the throne for himself to command the shadows and the assassins that once worked for his grandfather so that they would no longer commit evil. He had spent the remaining years… reforming them… so to say. They still had a long way to go. A long, long, way.

He did not wish such evil on his family.

“Are you going to leave soon?” His brother questions.

“Yes,” Damian does not bother to lie. He had a might organization to keep organized.

“Where are you going to go?” Dick asks.

He might as well tell him. “The Himalayas. That is where my base of operations resides.”

“The Himalayas... “ Dick repeats, “Okay. Got it.”

Damian quirks a brow. “Do you plan on visiting soon?”

“Naturally,” Dick answers, confidently.

Damian sighs, “And I suppose I cannot convince you to refrain from visiting?”

“Nope,” Dick says, popping the p, “and I’m going to bring Tim, Jason, and everyone else who wants to come with me too.”

Damian rolls his eyes. “You plan to bring a party to my doorstep?”

“A whole birthday bash,” Dick affirms.

Damian's eyes continue to linger on his father and the boy a little longer. Terry, feeling Damian’s eyes burning through the back of his skull, turns to encounter Damian’s stare head-on.

Terry looks back for a few seconds before giving him one giant grin.

It only reminds Damian of the one thing he once treasured most.

Family.