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You could be lost but you belong to the world.
Damian couldn’t recall where he had first heard those words. However, this phrase had been parroted back to him numerous times. The wording was always a little different, and the situation drastically so, but it always carried the same message.
Nobody truly knew the fearsome Demon's Head beyond his reputation. Even the assassins who tirelessly trained under his guidance knew very little about their leader. They knew the basics which everyone knew; Ra's al Ghul had children, the most notable being Talia, and grandchildren, once again, the most notable being Damian (son of Talia). Being an assassin wasn’t a terribly creative job. They were taught to be clean, cutthroat, and - most importantly of all - to mind their own business. Do as their superiors bid and survive the day, or fall victim to the toxic world of hired killings.
Damian had always been a step above these rigid rules, but that did not mean he had none of his own. He knew to never mention Bruce Wayne - or ‘Detective’ as Ra's called him, half scathing and half fond - around his grandfather, and to let his mother do the talking if Ra's left eye twitched twice in a row. It was a tell, she had told him.
A tell for what exactly… he would never be sure on that.
With the League of Assassins, he was Damian al Ghul. Raised in the heart of jungles and deserts, he knew that his purpose, his very existence, was greater than most others. The sun blessed him with golden skin, and the moon blessed him with sharp eyes. He could co-exist in multiple worlds as he had been created to do. Nocturnal like his father, thriving in the shrouds of darkness and the sly slivers of moonlight. Diurnal like his mother, praising the harsh heat and the passionate patterns of the sunlight.
There were instances where he lost himself, though. Being ripped away from his mother, adjusting to dreary Gotham, realising father had died, and then having to work with Grayson, and then having to stomach that Bruce Wayne was alive—
Everybody loved to talk about Tim Drake-Wayne's spiralling mental state during that time. Nobody paid much attention to Damian.
(Other than Grayson. And Pennyworth.)
“Damian,” His favourite brother had once addressed him, softly. He had only hummed in response, trying to soften his viper's tongue; it had been something he'd been exceedingly proud of, until it came close to making Grayson cry. The man ultimately hadn’t, he'd been raised by the fearsome Bat himself, but it had been too much of a close call for his liking.
“Even if you lose yourself, you'll find yourself right here.” Upon saying ‘here’, Grayson had vigorously patted the earth they both sat on. Damian's confusion must have been obvious, for the elder chuckled and continued explaining.
“I belong to the sky, you know? I love to fly. And you belong to the earth. You keep that in mind, and you and me will always be connected.”
The smile that had followed the entire tirade had been blinding. And Damian was so touched that he almost swallowed back a biting correction. Almost.
(“It’s supposed to be ‘you and I’, Grayson.”
“Sure is, kid.”)
Grayson had sounded so confident — and so ancient. Damian had found it borderline ridiculous because he, of all people, should know the definition of the word ‘ancient’. His grandfather was over seven hundred years old. Ra's may not have been the type to bounce his grandchild on his knee as he told them stories of the glory days, but he'd shared enough to make Damian feel oddly superior.
Sometimes, he saw a little bit of that everlasting wisdom in Grayson. It was a strange parallel, for most people tended to dismiss the man for his bright personality. Many a time, people had pestered the fun-loving, happy-go-lucky Dick Grayson, asking him if he was really sure he'd been raised in a dreadful, crime-ridden, place such as Gotham. Damian was, surprisingly, used to dismissal too. It had been scarce back when he was with the League because everybody knew that the al Ghuls were dangerous, but all Gotham saw was a prickly pre-teen.
His brother's wisdom ran deeper than his grandfather's. Dick Grayson knew people instinctively. He could connect Damian to the earth, and Jason Todd to fire, and Tim Drake to—
The sewers, probably.
Grayson knew so much about love, fear, and everything that fell in between the two extremes. Ra's could only understand one side at a time, a weakness that Damian thought the man didn’t mind having.
He had once confronted Richard Grayson over his emotional intelligence, lightly berating him for keeping it hidden. The elder man had merely smiled, and insisted that it was better for less people to recognise it. Damian hadn’t understood at the time, and still wholly didn’t. But, now, he was a lot closer to some semblance of answer.
For Ra's, his entire life had been a seminal age. The world rotated around him, twisting and turning on its sphere, and moved forward constantly. Lazarus water had turned the dull, red, blood in his veins to a venomous, glowing, green. He moved with the world, for the Demon's Head could never stomach being left behind. He was not the centrepiece, like Damian had once believed.
For Richard, this was the only life he had been given, and he would live it to the fullest. The man didn’t hunger for immortality like how many did. The world did not pause for Grayson but it cherished him greatly. Whatever spiritualistic mentality his brother had adopted seemed to be working, as Damian had never witnessed a tormented man being able to find peace amongst nature.
Sometimes, he thought Richard lived in the space between the stars and the sky.
“Don’t you find it cool? Our ancestors had to fight to survive.” Grayson had once gushed after completing a book on the history of elephants. Damian had scowled fiercely, and his brother had winced at his uncharacteristic lack of tact.
Ra's al Ghul wasn’t dying anytime soon, nor was he struggling to survive.
They had brushed over the conversation quickly but the remnants of guilt still lingered in the elder's eye whenever the current topic veered too close to ancestry. Damian didn’t truly care but, at times, his lack of true maternal ancestry nagged at him. It was another thing that he would struggle to understand, and come to terms with, for a very long time.
If Grayson was one with the world, then his grandfather ruled it.
He hid behind a door, one day, as children usually do in films when they want to eavesdrop. He had seen his father and eldest brother convene in a room together, and wanted to know what they were talking about. Talia had scolded him over the impoliteness of inviting himself to another's private conversation, but the elder Bats didn’t necessarily have to know Damian was there.
They talked about Richard's rich ancestry; the heroic legends he was related to through his mother, and the fearsome immortal men he was linked to through his father. Despite himself, Damian found his lip curling in jealousy, and disgust, and want. He periodically went through phases of cherishing and abhorring being an al Ghul, through and through. At times, the connection stung deeper than Ivy's venom ever could.
Damian Wayne was one of many who adored Richard Grayson, and he was also one of many who despised Ra's al Ghul. Yet, he owed his grandfather everything. He could not exist without Ra's, but it was Richard who had taught him how to live. How to truly embrace the world surrounding him, and how to truly express himself in his own way.
Ra's or Richard? Richard or Ra's?
Damian feared he would never know the true answer.
But he was content enough to wait. At the mere age of twelve, he was not arrogant enough to assume that he had life sorted out. There were so many people, so many different experiences, and not even someone who had been born to conquer could fathom all of that. His upbringing had been vicious but decidedly sheltered, and his current reality was daunting but also filled with freedom. Alfred Pennyworth was a decent example of age benefitting experience. It did not always have to be this way, but Damian had no intention of making his mind up now.
He would share these thoughts with Bruce, someday. If anyone could understand the struggle of choosing, then it would be his— their father.