Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s hard to accept - the realisation that your parents aren’t inherently good. After all, in the mind of a child, that’s how it should be.

It’s hard to acknowledge that they are people, too, with faults and flaws. With biases and greed. With deep-seated hatred hidden below the surface.

The same could be said for Mary and John Grayson, who weren’t good people. Not really.

Sure, they were great parents. Loving, attentive, protective, and so forth, providing Dick with everything he needed growing up. They were good friends, too. Polite to others - kind, caring, and courteous. No one disliked the Grayson parents, not even their direct competition.

But, at the end of the day, they were human, and so very few humans are completely good.

Dick knew this.

Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson was a lot smarter than a lot of people gave him credit for. You would have to be intelligent to fluently learn several different languages by age nine.

Thus, it was no wonder that he knew Haly’s circus was like no other. He knew something dark hid behind the clowns’ painted smiles and the fortune teller’s glassy eyes. He knew his family wasn’t made up of good people - his parents and Pop Haly included. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Call him young and naive, but the nine-year-old was sharp as an assassin’s blade. He was a quick-witted, brilliant child with compassion that matched his talents. The type of child most parents dreamed of having.

However, he was also nosy and had trouble sleeping when the nights were cold and silent.

That night, the wind blew naught, and the skies remained clear of fog or cloud. Bugs were scarce, and no parties filled the tents and trailers, warned off by the chill. He hated the chill.

So, Dick found himself lying awake, brilliant blue eyes staring into the ceiling above his small, cosy cot.

His Tati lay asleep on the bed a few feet away, just as he had been for quite some time. John had always been an easy sleeper. Dick’s Mami, however, was not.

Dick watched in muted confusion as his mother sat up from the bed, leaving her spot at her husband’s side. Her motions were soft and deliberate as she stepped forward, careful not to make too much noise. A pool of dull moonlight shone on her face as she elegantly crept towards their trailer door, pointing out the fear spread across her features. 

Soft footsteps could also be heard outside the trailer, causing Mary to hurry, opening the door and stepping out. She closed it behind her, mindful of her child and partner.

Dick remained in bed, knowing better than to follow her. Instead, he gazed out of the ajar window at his feet, peering through the thin curtains to see his Mami stop beside Ringmaster Haly. 

“Haly,” Mary greeted softly, pulling her dressing gown closer in the chilly air.

Haly stayed silent for a long moment, dusting off the shoulders of his ruby red coat, then turned her way. “Mary, my dear.”

“Have they…” the acrobat trailed off, her eyes flickering across Haly’s face.

Even in the pale light, Dick could see the concern plastered across her expression. This worried him. His mother was a powerful woman who took flack from no one. She was never afraid. Not like this.

“They have decided, yes. Their answer is also yes. He is to be a Talon,” Haly replied sternly, face more stoic than Dick had ever seen it.

The little acrobat knew he shouldn’t have been listening. He knew that if this truly concerned him, his mother would let him know. However, Dick couldn’t help but feel a trickle of dread fill his stomach.

He didn’t know what a Talon was, other than the appendage of a bird, but it couldn’t be good. Not if Haly and his Mami were reacting like this.

Mary let out a light whimper, hand lifting to her face, covering her mouth. “No….”

“He won’t be like the others,” Haly added quickly, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Mary’s eyebrows creased together in mild confusion, hand dropping from her lips. “What do you mean?”

“They don’t plan to make him the same, my dear. They have bigger plans for him. Better plans,” Haly explained soothingly.

She took a step backwards, out of Haly’s grasp. Her worry melted away into an expression of disgruntled anger. “They want to experiment on him.”

The Ringmaster shook his head, greying hair shaking left to right. “No. The Serum is long since perfected; there is no experimentation needed. He will be given the same dose as his great-grandfather.”

“But why?” Mary demanded, running her fingertips through her hair. “Why him? This can’t just be Cobbs’ doing, that good for no-”

“Ears, Mary,” Haly said sternly, looking around for any signs of life. “But I suspect he is mainly to blame for this push, yes. I had hoped he would get to live more freely, like John.”

“They want him to be a replication of that monster,” Mary spat, arms crossing.

“Exactly,” he agreed, sending her a dark look at the word ‘monster’.

“But… but isn’t that worse? To have some awareness of what you’re doing, deep down? How will that affect him? He’s my baby, Haly! He’s not even ten! I don’t want him to live a life full of pain, regret, and… and fear.”

Okay, perhaps this was about him, after all.

Even in the dark, Dick could see how thinly Haly narrowed his eyes at this response. “You had your chance to run, Mary. Instead, you chose to stay.”

“If I had left, I would have had to leave John,” she hissed back.

“You and I both know you stayed for more than John,” Haly snarled, voice as soft as a whisper. “You love the power and fame of being a Flying Grayson just as much as you love him. I do not judge you for this, but there is no need to kid yourself. You have no choice on the matter, my dear.”

Mary shifted, sniffling, shoulders tensing and nose raising into the air. “Then we’ll leave - all three of us.”

“Watch your words, Mary. Should the wrong person hear, your head will be on the line. Return inside at once,” Haly demanded, looking around for listening ears.

“But Ha-” Mary tried to interject.

Haly simply shook his head. “Go, Mary.”

Dick closed his eyes as the light creek of the trailer door assaulted his ears. He steadied his breathing, chest rising and falling at a believable ‘sleep’ pace. He listened as the door closed and Haly’s footsteps softened into the night, but he did not open his eyes.

His mother crept towards his side, tracing her fingertips across his cheek. Dick could feel her sad gaze boring into his face.

“No one will hurt you, my darling. Not while we live,” she whispered softly before pulling away, tiptoeing back to bed.

One month later, his tenth birthday arrived, and everyone began acting differently. They would watch him with sad eyes, whispering between themselves, making sure he knew he was adored.

Two months later, Mary and John began plotting their escapes, not being nearly careful enough to hide their plans. They should have known that Anathema, the snake charmer, liked to listen in before acts.

Three months later, Mary and John fell to their deaths, leaving young Richard all alone in a world of men and money.

A world that snapped him up in an instant.

There was a man sitting at the end of his bed when Dick awoke.

Was it his bed? It felt wrong - too large to be the one in his trailer, too sturdy to be the one at the youth detention centre. It was hard, too. Uncomfortable. And cold. So very cold.

He knew this man. He knew his face, from his translucent skin to his golden eyes. He’d met him. Seen him. Ate and played with him. Perhaps he even loved him.

This was his great-grandfather. William Cobb.

“Why? “Dick rasped, vision a blurred slit of what it should be.

Every inch of his body felt like it was on fire - coursing heat flooding thick through his veins. His hands and feet tingled while his mind throbbed, begging for something to soothe the pain.

“You should feel lucky,” William said eventually, not a tinge of sympathy showing itself on his face. “The others don’t get to transition in their own room. They may never even get one. Not like you, my Gray Son. You should feel so proud.”

The ten-year-old simply let out a whimpered sob, a single gold tear rolling down his cheek. “I want to go home.”

“You are home,” Cobb replied, rising to his feet. “Your place is here - as a servant to the Gotham Court. A warrior of the Parliament of Owls. You will learn to love this place far more than that circus - it will simply take time. Do you understand me?”

Dick nodded slowly, eyes scrunching shut to keep a steady stream of golden tears at bay, silent sobs racking his chest. He didn’t respond vocally - daring not to scream or whimper from the steadily increasing agony of the Talon Serum.

Cobb headed towards the door, pausing at the frame. “We will begin training tomorrow - as soon as you awaken. I expect great things of you, Gray Son. Don’t disappoint me.”

Richard Grayson died that night, only to be brought back by the blue blood in his veins. A poison that would threaten to consume him every day for the rest of his life.

Dick Grayson, or Talon as he was now mostly referred to, tried to escape at eleven.

He’d gotten close, too. Well, close in the mind of a child.

Talon had been caught wandering through the training maze, metres from the emergency escape hatch. The same hatch that naught but a trap - a reason to punish idiotic Talons who thought they could be free. It was the last time he ever trusted the drunken ramblings of an Owl.

It was also the first time he was locked in the freezer - three months of constant, endless suffering. A minor sentence, as Cobb was able to talk down his punishment from immediate death.

Cobb tore him apart three times in a row in retribution, watching as the pre-teen re-knit himself together with the morbid curiosity of a monster. He looked almost apologetic every now and again, but it might have just been the light.

Dick was quiet from then on.

By the age of twelve, Dick was easily considered one of the best Talons in the game.

He had only two years of training but could already take down people four times his size, eliminating them in record time. Language after language had also successfully been drilled into his head. Though, this was just in case his occasional Owl master didn’t know how to give demands in English, as Talons weren’t supposed to speak unless instructed to.

He was an emotionless war machine, or so it seemed. Brutal and vicious; capable of committing any monstrous crime that the Owls desired but didn’t want to sully their souls by actually doing. He looked to be the perfect little super-soldier.

In reality, Dick Grayson was just a compelling actor. Deep down, he was still himself, and no amount of brainwashing or violence could ever change that. His personality threatened to shine through at every moment, but the acrobat kept it contained.

If he ever hoped to escape the Court, he would need to be alive and in a high position to do so. As long as he did what they asked, playing the part of their devoted pet, he would survive in the catacombs they inhibited.

So he did whatever it took - falling into instinct and an intrinsic need to stay alive. He did world-class mental gymnastics to make men, women, and people alike seem like monsters. Killing bad people was a lot easier than good ones, after all. He never whimpered or sobbed, refusing to show weakness, just as the Court demanded.

“Again,” Cobb demanded, lips curled in visible anger.

The first blade had lodged into the border of the target’s centre. A near-perfect shot, especially considering the long distance between the target and the thrower. Dick didn’t reply, flinging another knife towards the target - hitting the bullseye with a loud thud.

“Better,” the older Talon said, pulling his great-grandson away after a moment of consideration. “Come, you will be training with the older Talons from now on.”

Externally, Dick showed no emotion. Internally, the twelve-year-old was terrified.

Until then, he’d only ever spent time with the teenage Talons - mainly because he was the youngest Talon in the Gotham Court. Sure, he’d met the adult Talons - fought with them, proved himself more capable than them - but Cobb wasn’t talking about the next level up.

That ‘older Talons’ referred to the oldest tear of Talons in the Gotham Court. A group passed between other Courts frequently as they were the Parliament’s most loyal puppets. The most brainwashed, too.

Cobb was technically a part of this group, despite being the Court’s favourite. Unluckily for Dick, however, only Cobb felt a familial attachment to him. These Talons didn’t and wouldn’t hesitate to tear him apart.

“Maybe I should remain where I am,” Dick whispered, building up the nerve to drag his feet.

The head Talon narrowed his eyes, pausing in the middle of the large corridor, passing Owls turning to look at the pair. “Speaking back, Gray Son?”

“No, sir,” the acrobat said quickly, lowering his eyes.

“I thought not.”

The older Talons were a brutal group, of which the twelve-year-old felt the full brunt of their callousness.

Nepotism is a funny thing, isn’t it?

One would assume that being the descendant of the Parliament’s favourite Talon would result in a little bit of favouritism. And it did, but not in the way Dick had hoped.

The punishments were still brutal - leaving invisible scars zig-zagging across his skin. He knew they were there. His masters knew they were there. But anyone else - no matter how excellent their sight was - would not see the silver scars. Would not know what he had gone through.

He was still never fed - unlike the gluttonous Owls who devoured feasts daily like starved animals. He might have had his own room, but it was cold and hard. More like a cellar than anything a teen should have to sleep within.

No, the nepotism only truly reared its head when he was fourteen - four years into his seemingly life-long sentence as a monster. Cobb had pulled a few strings. Strings that Dick really didn’t want to know he even existed.

That’s how Dick, alongside four other Talons, found themselves standing before the throne of the one and only Ra’s al Ghul.

The Parliament had partnered with the League of Assassins in hopes of producing a cure for mortality. Sure, both groups technically did have one - the League with its Lazarus water and the Parliament’s Talon Serum. However, both had frightening consequences for users.

A dunk in the Lazarus pit ate away at a person’s mind until little was left. The Talon Serum had more physical results - the blue blood and golden tears for two. Not things you could really keep hidden. A combination of the two, altered dramatically, would ideally result in a cure void of such consequences. A cure they had to find.

“I assume you have been instructed of your task,” the leader of the League of Assassins stated more than asked, raising an eyebrow at the group.

“Yes, Master,” the five Talons chorused.

“Good,” Ra’s replied, opening his mouth to continue, but was quickly cut off by one of his daughters.

Talia stalked forward, coming to a stop in front of Dick. “Why would they send a child when we requested the academically gifted?”

There was a mumble of agreement from the crowd of others present - guards, higher assassins, and the assortment of other al Ghuls present. It was less about the prospect of Dick being a brainwashed child and more about the fact that the Court thought a teen was equal to the League’s top scientists. They had the same history of unethical viciousness, after all.

Dick awaited verbal permission to speak before replying, keeping his tone completely neutral. “I was selected based on the Court’s measures of proficiency. I was named team leader based on the same measures, Mistress.”

“Interesting,” Sensei inserted, tilting his head to the side as he visually analysed the teen.

“Absolutely,” Ra’s said, sounding completely uninterested. “Now, you will be led to your quarters by one of our guards. You will stay with these guards at all times for safety purposes. Understood?”

Not their safety, Dick mentally added. The guards were only there to make sure the Talons were going around snooping. Or worse, trying to eliminate the al Ghuls.

“Understood.”

Life with the League of Assassins wasn’t all that bad. They were rarely punished - though that was mainly because no one really kept tabs on the experiment. Some of the al Ghuls had even begun visiting him after a while. Nyssa, Sensei, and Talia, for the most part, but Dusan did, too, every once in a while. Ra’s didn’t find him all that interesting, however, which Dick was more than happy about. The man was kind of a creep.

“The guards say you have discovered something,” Talia announced, gliding into the lab. “What is it?”

Dick stayed quiet, allowing one of the other scientists to take the spotlight. 

“We came across an interesting phenomenon,” the scientist said, holding out a small grey vial. “When this liquid comes in contact with a person’s skin, it forces that person to tell the truth.”

“Truth serum?” Talia asked, looking more than slightly annoyed. “You called me away from my son for this?”

The scientist stuttered lightly, shaking his head. One of the female scientists looked ready to knock him unconscious, taking the position of the main speaker. “No, uh… kind of. It’s different. This Serum will force the person to reveal the full and relevant truth by inflicting pain on the person, it seems.”

The villain smiled, appearing rather taken by the concept. However, her expression fell soon enough, being replaced by suspicion. “You said ‘we’. Who actually discovered this Serum?”

“Talon,” the scientist said, specifying by pointing towards Dick. “The young one. He discovered it.”

Talia hummed, turning to look at the quiet teen. “Intriguing indeed. I shall inform father of the finding. Now, get back to the task at hand.”

She swept from the room, leaving the ten scientists to their experimenting. Well, nine scientists and a child who should be out living and experiencing life, not trapped inside some stuffy lab.

A lab that would never succeed in producing a cure for mortality. Not by that group, anyway. Months of tests and attempting had led to nothing of use - only several new poisons and minor antidotes, most of which were dreamt up by Gotham’s Gray Son alone. A fact that no one had overlooked, not even Ra’s.

The young Talon paused before boarding the plane - where a needle was awaiting him, allowing the crew put him on ice until their arrival back in Gotham. He felt almost melancholic about leaving. Disheartened.

Perhaps the League of Assassins wasn’t all that bad compared to the Court. Not when he was treated like a helpful subject rather than a simple puppet.

Dick almost wished he could stay there forever. But Fate wasn’t so kind.

Chapter Text

“You have surpassed me.”

Four words that Dick had hoped he’d never hear. Prayed would never come true.

William Cobb was an odd character. He was contradiction in human form, torn between emotions and mentalities. He was more devoted to the Parliament than anything else in the world, just as he was supposed to be. Only, despite his internalised hatred over this fact, he loved the idea of family far more than gaining the Court’s adoration. It was instinctive, completely involuntary, and he hated it. Hated that he was still human, deep down - just like Dick was.

So there was no saying what he’d do if Dick truly did surpass him. He could tear the teen apart in the blink of an eye like he’d done years prior, and Dick would happily accept it, not putting up a fight. If he did try to fight back, perhaps Cobb would fail, but Dick wouldn’t want to test his luck. Not against his great-grandfather. Not when death was a reasonable solution to his captivity.

“They have named you as the Parliament’s favourite,” Cobb continued, watching as Dick remained still as a statue, internally shaking in fear.

“Then they have made a mistake,” the fifteen-year-old said eventually, taking an unnecessary breath.

He awaited something. Anything. A hand around his throat, Cobb’s eyes to go golden in anger, a coursing pain in his chest. And yet, there was nothing. Nothing at all.

Cobb shook his head. “There has been no mistake. You have made me proud, my child.”

Well, that was unexpected. “Proud?”

The head Talon nodded, laying a soft hand on his great-grandson’s shoulder. “You have proved yourself capable of upholding our family’s legacy. My legacy. I do not begrudge you for taking my title. Not when you will grow on to lead the next generation of Talons.”

Dick bit his tongue to hold back any physical display of horror. The next generation of Talons? He couldn’t allow that. Wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t let the Parliament continue destroying lives, tearing families apart. He wouldn’t let them continue to rule the world. They’d had their fun and games - using their positions and power for evil, not good. Enough was enough. 

“Why?” Dick asked eventually, looking up. “Why did they pick me?”

Cobb’s lips quirked into a sinister smirk - a chilling expression. “The League of Assassins is petitioning the Parliament to keep you.”

“What?”

The League wanted to keep him? Sure, they were a horrific organisation built on the suffering of others, but they were a step up from the Parliament, at least. Maybe they’d be easier to escape from, too. He could be free!

William didn’t explain further, simply disappearing from the training room, leaving Dick to his thoughts. This could be the first stage of the rest of his life. A free life.

Or not.

Six months - that’s how long Dick would stay with the League of Assassins. Six months away from the freezers. Six months away from the Court. Six months away from Cobb.

Dick could help but smile as he was led into his own bedroom - despite Its bareness. It wasn’t exactly what one would consider a reasonable guest room, mainly due to its lack of a bed, but it had something better.

A hammock took up about a quarter of the room, covered in various square pillows. It was raised decently above the ground and was the same shade of blue as his eyes - when they weren’t golden.

“You mentioned having an interest in being off the ground,” Talia stated, noticing the Talon’s questioning look. “Grandfather had it flown in - we hope it suits your needs.”

“Thank you,” Dick replied softly. Since his parents had died, no one had done something so sweet for him. Not even his great-grandfather.

Talia smiled, stepping back towards the door. “You will have the evening to explore; tomorrow, you will meet your student. Naturally, her training will be your utmost priority. Tonight, however, you are requested to join us for dinner as our guest.”

Their guest? Why was he being treated as a guest? He was a tool. A piece of machinery tradable amongst Owls and organisations alike. Not a guest.

He had no right to question an al Ghul, however, so he simply lowered his head. “Yes, Mistress.”

Dinner was odd. Not in a good ‘odd’ way either. It was a quiet, bitter occasion - clearly, something had gone down that Talon was privy to. He was served food that he picked at politely, unable to eat, and made small talk when appropriate in Arabic.

The only interesting aspect of dinner was meeting Talia’s 3-year-old son, who he somehow never got the name of. Well, interesting to him, at least. The al Ghuls all seemed more interested in what exactly made him him. Specifically, what the Parliament had put him through.

Training within the Gotham Court was brutal - a new skill to learn every day of the week, every hour of the day. The freezing was worse. Over and over and over again, they would try to scrub his brain clean of almost everything he loved. It never truly stuck, but the pain did.

And now, after six years of such training, the Owls thought he was a masterpiece. He was everything they had ever hoped of in a Talon. Strong, stealthy, compliant, beautiful, talented. He could accomplish any task, no matter the difficulty.

The League of Assassins, however, didn’t need to freeze and wipe the minds of their people. They had alternative methods. Awful methods that Dick hadn’t yet seen in person and hoped to never have to.

Methods that had resulted in the child that stood before him.

“What’s her name?” Dick asked, keeping his voice neutral, but he was fighting back fury on the inside.

“Cassandra,” a man replied almost pridefully. “My daughter - the future bodyguard of the great Ra’s al Ghul.”

Dick decided he hated David Cain that very moment. The only thing stopping the Talon from killing David right then and there was the little girl’s presence.

They made very little progress in their first month. She was clearly trained and capable of pretty much anything, but she just seemed to keep falling short. It was like she was pulling her punches - a realisation Dick made late one evening.

They were sat on the training room floor, Cassandra’s knuckles bleeding from a few too many blows to a boxing bag. He hummed softly, looking at the child he’d someone come to think of as his own, despite their short time together.

“Honey,” he said, wrapping her hand softly with a frantic bandage. “Listen, you’re going about this the wrong way. You’re fighting yourself, not them.”

She tilted her head in confusion, frowning ever so lightly. Dick, however, knew her well enough to know that the puzzlement was feigned - she knew what she was doing.

“You don’t want to be here - you feel trapped and alone. I feel the same way with the Parliament. But being what they want you to be and giving in are different things,” he explained. “I’m what the Court wants me to be on the outside - I do what they want me to do unquestioningly. But on the inside, I will always be my mother’s Robin. I will always be Richard Grayson.”

“You’re not letting anyone - yourself especially - down by pretending to be the person they want you to be. You’re saving your own skin, which is ten times more important than anything else, do you understand me?”

She nodded, a ghost of a smile gracing her lips.

Dick held out his hand, helping her to her feet. “Good. Now, we’re going to prove to the League how amazing you can be, Cass. My little Owlet.”

Cassandra’s smile only widened at that. She snuggled into his side momentarily before racing towards the weaponry rack.

Dick followed after her, deciding then and there that he would beg Cobb to let him stay for a few more months. If not for himself, then for Cass - who needed an escape just as much as he did.

Except, the Parliament’s relationship with the League of Assassins had crumbled during his months away. Not even Dick’s poutiest beg had gotten his great-grandfather to even attempt to ask for such an extension.

So, the Gray Son of Gotham was dragged home once more, regretfully leaving Cassandra in the hands of her father. However, no amount of time or brainwashing could make either one forget about the other. Not while they maintained hope to someday finally be free. 

Talons weren’t allowed to know their ages or pretty much any indicator of how much time was passing. Months could feel like days in the tunnels, and years often seemed like decades. Time was a mess down there, and the Talons had no reason to need it.

And yet, a slip by Cobb revealed something that left Dick a teary, emotional mess. He was seventeen.

Seventeen.

Seventeen.

Seventeen.

Soon to be eighteen, at that!

Dick sat on the cold stone floor of his room, head resting against the side of his bed. Golden tears seeped into the linen - hidden by the darkness.

“Not fair,” he whispered, more childishly than he liked to admit. “It’s just not fair.”

Seventeen was an important age to him - not just concerning his Romani heritage, either. His parents had been seventeen when they had wed, nineteen when they had had him. They had spent their late teens in the circus, surrounded by loving family and friends, doing what they loved. Everything he yearned to have again. Yearned to do.

And yet, he was the same age his parents had been. He wouldn’t get to marry young, having or adopting children with the partner he dreamed of. Neither his father nor Haly would get to walk him down the aisle (if he chose to do so). His mother wouldn’t be there to dote over her grandchildren. He’d never have the family that he dreamed of having.

The thought only sent a devastating sting through his chest, fostering yet another tear to spill from the corner of his eye.

“Talon,” a voice called from outside his closed doors. “You are required in training room 8A.”

Dick rose to his feet in an instant, wiping away any trace of gold on his cheeks. He put on the mask of a perfect, emotionless soldier and reached for the handle.

Crying wasn’t going to do any good. Not while he remained trapped in the Court. Not when tears wouldn’t grow a family.

Dick Grayson had taught himself to give in to anything that was required. To push himself - mind, heart, and soul - away, allowing the trained killer in him to do what it needed.

He could complete any task - taking lives with swiftness and seemingly unquestioning loyalty to the Parliament.

Any task, except for one.

Kill Bruce Wayne.

The day was warm when the order came. Summer, perhaps. If his tallying of days was right, Spring had passed alongside his eighteenth birthday. Eighteen - he’d been in the Court for eight years.

“Should you not succeed, you will be on babysitting duty for a year,” the Gotham Court’s Master had stated, a cruel tilt to his lips. “But you wouldn’t know a year from ten, now would you?”

“No, Master.”

Babysitting duty was the worst.

He could deal with killing - pretending they were all monsters that deserved to be exterminated helped - but baby Talons? Not so easy.

They whined, and begged, and cried, and whimpered. They pleaded with him, asking for their families. Their freedom. For the pain to end. But Dick’s hands were tied; there was nothing he could do but make their transitions a little easier.

The younger ones - the teens - liked to hear his mother’s favourite lullaby when the Owls had all retired for the night. The older ones wanted to be lied to - told that their families were safe and sound. They weren’t.

“Kill Bruce Wayne. You have until the sun rises tomorrow morning.”

With that, the Gray Son of Gotham was out on the streets - dressed in black streetwear, aiming to blend in. He did so with ease, but without a mask to cover his face, many Gothamites turned to stare.

A memorable assassin was a bad assassin, but the Grayson genes had no knowledge of his future status when designing his face. Otherwise, they might have chosen to tone down the unquestionable beauty he held.

It didn’t take that long for him to be pushed into an alleyway, just out of view of the passing crowds of the night. A woman stood before him with looks that would make many of his Owl Mistresses insanely jealous. Her stance was feline, head tilted to the side ever so slightly.

“A Talon, as I live and breathe,” she murmured, looking him up and down. “Why, aren’t you a gorgeous thing, kitten? Or birdie, should I say?”

Dick sent her a well-practised charming smile, analysing the woman in an instant. She was no Talon, Owl, or Bat, but a Cat - a little too far from the diamond district for comfort. “Thank you.”

Selina Kyle - Catwoman. The Court had a rather lengthy file on her. She’d stolen from a good number of Owls, after all. Admirable showmanship, even better stealth. The perfect thief.

“I suppose you’re out here looking for something,” she purred, smirking. “A target, perhaps? A Wayne?”

“Yes,” the Talon replied, actively keeping himself from tensing. “You wouldn’t know where I could find him, would you?”

Selina hummed, smiling, pulling a piece of paper and a pen out of her purse. She turned, writing something on the back before handing it over. “The address is on there. So’s my number, should you decide a career change is in order. I’m always looking for a new partner in crime.”

Dick smiled down at the directions, mentally memorising her phone number instantly. “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“See that you do,” she said, then turned serious. “But before you go taking out our resident billionaire, take a good think about the ramifications of your actions. Wouldn’t want to make a purr-fect mistake, now would you?”

The assassin watched as Catwoman disappeared into the night, a random street cat practically tripping over itself to go after her. He pursed his lips, attempting to push her words away - words that brought up his own morals and ethics.

He was only somewhat successful - a feeling of concern wedging its way into the back of his chest. Regardless, he had a mission to complete, and Wayne Manor wasn’t going to break into itself.

Though, oddly enough, it was surprisingly easy to do so. That or Dick didn’t give himself nearly enough credit when it came to breaking and entering.

Considering the property’s thirty-nine fully active security systems ready to go off at any moment, it was likely the latter. Though Fate had always found his life morbidly amusing, it wasn’t unthinkable that she had pulled a few strings, getting him inside with ease.

It didn’t take Talon long to realise that more than just Bruce inhabited the Wayne residence. There were two others, too.

A teenage boy - fourteen, maybe a little older, was pacing around the residence. He seemed nervous; like he was expecting to be kicked out at any moment. A new resident, then.

The elderly man, however, was a different story. Dick was trained to see past façades, and this man was an impressive specimen beneath the butler charade. He had the skill and expertise of a mercenary with the regal tranquillity of a scholar. A scary combination.

Dick made sure to avoid both non-Waynes, specifically the butler. He didn’t crave death, after all. However, the most surprising resident seemed to be Bruce Wayne himself.

Dick had seen Batman before. Fought against him. Analysed him. And there was no doubt in his mind that this billionaire was Gotham’s own cryptid vigilante. 

Bruce’s bedroom was dark, lit only by the slowly brightening world outside his window. Too dark to see much of anything for a non-Talon. Dick, however, had magnificent vision. Enough so that every little crease on Bruce’s face was easily seen. Creases that Batman shared, down to the t.

So, no. There was no questioning it. Bruce Wayne was Batman.

Batman, who the city needed like its citizens needed air. Batman, who had saved life after life while Talon had ended them. Batman, who was good, even if he didn’t seem to think it.

Selina’s words came back like a wrecking ball, shattering the small part of Dick’s mind that allowed him to kill innocents. There was no pretending that this man - this hero - was the monster Talon had wanted him to be. Needed him to be.

Dick crawled out of the billionaire’s window before he could so much as think through his choice, the morning sun just rising on the horizon.

His Master would be disappointed. Cobb, too. But neither looked all that surprised.

“Why didn’t you complete your mission?” His great-grandfather had asked later that evening, voice softer than usual.

Dick looked up at his far older relative, apprehension written across his face. “…a Cat got in the way.”

No one needed to know the whole truth. The real truth.

Years later, Dick would thank his lucky stars that he made the right decision that morning.