Chapter Text
The Talon woke in darkness. It held itself carefully still. It was lying on something soft, which meant it wasn’t in its coffin. There were no sounds around it. The air was still and slightly warm. Something smelled faintly of lavender. Something smelled strongly of dried blood and viscera.
The darkness was not absolute. There was a window to its left draped in a heavy curtain. The white light—moonlight?—that seeped around its edges was probably too dim for a human to see by. The Talon moved nothing but its eyes as it looked around. It was in the center of a moderately large room with heavy, ornate furniture along one wall and a large painting on another. It was too dark to make out more than outlines, but this seemed to be a bedroom. Not one the Talon recognized.
And Talon was on the bed.
The Talon’s mouth went dry. It forced its breaths to stay deep and even. Talons were not permitted on furniture except by express order. Why had it been placed here? Why had it been left here?
The Talon strained its ears. There was a hum at the edge of its hearing. There were electronics nearby, possibly even in the room. Perhaps it was being monitored remotely. Perhaps this was a test.
The Talon closed its eyes. Its heartbeat was speeding up despite the careful steadiness of its breathing. It had to remember how it had come to be here. It had to remember—
Gauntleted fists coming down on its face, cracking the mask, driving the jagged edges into its skin. Broken legs crushed beneath a collapsed bookshelf. Broken fingers jabbing desperately at unyielding armor. Blood on its tongue. Blood on its face. Blood gushing from its side, thick and viscous. Merciless white eyes in a black mask.
But Batman hadn’t killed the Talon. He had withdrawn, leaving Talon to writhe and scrabble at the heavy bookshelf pinning it in place. And then he had hunted down the Master.
Sick dread swooped in the Talon’s stomach at the memory. It had dragged itself free of the bookshelf, choking sobs rasping in its throat as agony lanced through it with every breath. It had crawled out of the grand library that had been chosen as the stage for Batman’s death. It had staggered down the long hallways, blood and worse spurting fitfully from its slowly healing stomach, following the trail of Batman’s bloody footprints. It had reached the surveillance room just in time to see Batman lunge toward the Master. Just in time to see the Master and the other Talon, the one sent to guard the Master, disappear in a flash of blinding light.
Everything after that was a panicked blur. The Master had left it behind. The Master had left it in another world.
Its breaths were growing swift and shallow. Talon clenched its jaw and forced its limbs not to tremble. Talon had failed, and failures were unneeded. Unwanted. Unworthy. Talon had been discarded like the broken tool it was. It was no more than it deserved.
But then why was it still alive?
Batman hadn’t killed it. Batman had the Talon completely at his mercy, and the Talon wasn’t dead.
Light, suddenly, sharp and golden, spilling under a door in the wall to Talon’s right. Talon stopped breathing. Every muscle tensed, taut as a strung bow. Footsteps approached the door, so quiet the Talon might not have heard them at all if it hadn’t been straining every sense to the breaking point.
The door opened.
Talon squeezed its eyes shut. Which was cowardly, and stupid, but Talon was already broken and unworthy. It might as well be cowardly too. Its heart was pounding fast and hard and desperate against its shaking ribs.
A voice, female and uncertain. “Hey. Are you awake in there?”
Talon made a split-second decision. It might be a failure, but it didn’t want to die. Batman hadn’t killed it yet. Maybe Batman wouldn’t kill it at all if it could prove it could still be useful.
Talon rolled off the bed to the floor—or tried to. Even this, it couldn’t do right. Halfway through the movement, it realized its wrists and ankles were bound in thick cuffs, and what should have been a graceful roll became a barely-controlled fall. It couldn’t suppress its panicked shivers as it scrambled to its knees and bowed its head low, projecting submission with every line of its body.
“Right,” said the voice at the door. “I guess that’s a yes.”
Footsteps again, still far quieter than any Master. Perhaps this was a Talon of Batman’s Court? It spoke more freely than any Talon in the Court of Owls, but then, Talon was less than nothing here. There was no disrespect in speaking freely in front of it.
Feet, just inside Talon’s field of vision. Purple socks with stylized animal designs in bright colors. Not anything a Talon would wear. This was a member of the Court. Talon cringed lower as the woman—as the Master approached. It tried desperately to keep its shuddering breaths silent.
The Master crouched a few steps away. “Hey there,” she said softly. “Are you hungry? I brought you some food.”
Hope sank its claws into Talon’s chest. Food meant they wanted it alive, food meant it would have a chance to prove its value. It bowed a little lower and waited with bated breath to hear what it had to do to earn a meal. It would pass any test, obey any order, it would do anything to prove it was worth keeping.
The Master placed a paper plate on the floor and pushed it forward. There was a sandwich on it, soft-looking bread with the crusts cut off, and Talon stared in blank incomprehension. This wasn’t—this was food for people. Talons didn’t get sandwiches. Not even when—
Talon’s heart sank. There was one occasion on which a Talon might get real food. Not sandwiches—it was always something that could be licked from a Master’s hand, and usually something sweet and sticky that the Master could taste on the Talon’s lips. It didn’t happen often, only when a Talon was assigned to a single Master’s side for a long period, but maybe the rules here were different. Or maybe a failed Talon just wasn’t good for anything else.
Talon had hoped to be a weapon for Batman’s Court, not a—But it was better than dying. It would be obedient and good, it would show it was trustworthy, and then it would beg to be allowed to prove it could still fight.
“You can eat if you’re hungry,” the Master said gently. Talon swallowed painfully. It had been fed before the mission; it wouldn’t be truly hungry for another several hours at least. But it might not be fed again until much, much later than that if it refused food now. Which it was going to do, because it was better to starve than to have the Master think it was needy or didn’t know its place. Food had to be earned. Talon shook its head slightly.
“Okay,” the Master said, still gentle. “Maybe later, then.” She didn’t withdraw the sandwich. “Now, I’m going to ask you a few questions, okay? I want you to tell me the truth, even if you don’t think I’ll like hearing it. I promise we’re not going to hurt you no matter what you say. So long as you don’t attack anyone or try to escape, you’re safe here.”
Talon gasped in spite of itself. It would never, it would never attack a Master, it would never run from the Court—but of course, she might not realize that Talon wanted to belong to her Court. She might think it was still loyal to its old Court, and it was, it would never be disloyal, but…it had been discarded. It wanted to live.
The Master was silent. She didn’t punish Talon for making an unseemly sound. Talon screwed up its nerve and rasped, “I will obey.”
“That’s great,” the Master said after a moment. “Okay, first question: what’s your name?”
That was easy. “A Talon has no name.”
The Master paused, and her voice was not quite even as she said, “Right. Sure. But what should I call you?”
Talon almost frowned, perplexed, before catching itself and smoothing the expression away. “I am a Talon.”
“Alright. Talon it is.” The Master’s voice was low and soothing. Carefully so, like she was modulating her tone, and Talon wondered if this was her first time speaking to a Talon. Or perhaps she thought Talon was unstable enough to need soothing. Shame burned in its chest. It ducked its head a little lower.
“Second question,” the Master said. “Are you injured?”
Talon shook its head quickly. Its wounds had all healed while it was unconscious.
“Okay. You’re doing great,” she praised, and Talon’s breath caught in its throat. It didn’t understand what it had done to earn praise—it had barely done anything at all!—but it needed to find out so it could keep doing exactly that forever.
“Third question,” the Master said, “and this is the big one.” Talon braced, all but vibrating with the need to answer well enough that she would praise it again. “Why were you trying to kill Batman?”
The Talon cringed so hard its head almost touched the floor. Terror stole its tongue. There was no point to this fear, it was hardly surprising that she’d ask, but if they decided it needed to be punished—It was less than nothing already, it could hardly be lowered any further. All that was left was pain. Its punishment would hurt so much as to be nearly unbearable—but it would bear it, it would, anything to prove it was worth keeping alive.
It wanted to beg for mercy, swear it would always obey, always be good, but first it had to answer her question. First it had to find its voice.
“The Court of Owls sentenced him to die,” it finally whispered.
“The Court of Owls was destroyed six years ago,” the Master said. Her tone was no longer gentle.
The Talon shook its head. Its hands were in fists against the floor, but that wasn’t enough to stop their trembling. “Not of this world. The Court came to find Batman’s weaknesses.”
“You’re from another dimension?” Not quite shock in the question; she was confirming something she already knew. Talon nodded, relieved it wouldn’t have to find a way to convince her.
“So this was a trial run,” the Master said. “Kill him here where he wasn’t expecting it, and then go back to your universe and try the same tactics there.” Talon nodded again. She snorted. “Didn’t go quite how you thought it would, huh?”
Vindictive smugness in her voice, and Talon couldn’t help the tiny flinch. She noticed. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad. Well, not at you. Just a few more questions, okay?”
Not at you. Talon latched onto that like a lifeline. She understood that it was only a tool, had only done as it was ordered. It nodded fervently. It wasn’t entirely clear on what it was agreeing to, but it would agree to anything she wanted. I’m not mad. It wasn’t going to be punished. It still had a chance.
“Will the Court of Owls come back to try again? Or to get you back?”
Talon hesitated, but shook its head. “Only a few trips. Not…not worth failure.”
“They only have the juice to make a few interdimensional trips?” Talon nodded. “So they’ll try again, but not here.” Talon nodded again.
“Will they come back for you?”
This time Talon didn’t hesitate. It had failed. It had been discarded. The Court wouldn’t waste any resources on a broken tool.
“Right. Okay, next question. How much do you know about Batman?”
A report. Talon could report. It straightened a little, though it kept its head bowed low. “Batman is a skilled fighter who controls Gotham’s criminal underworld through fear. Extensive training in varied martial arts. Preferred weapons are customized throwing stars; in close combat, hand to hand. Prefers ambush and aerial assault. Strong alliances with metahumans outside of Gotham, but they do not enter city limits. No close allies in Gotham. Primarily targets high-profile criminals, but has recently begun moving against the Court of Owls.”
“I see,” the Master said slowly. “What about his private life? Do you know his name? His face?”
Talon shook its head, praying that she wouldn’t count its ignorance a failure. “I was not told.”
“Does the Court knows who he is?”
“I was not told,” it repeated helplessly. The Court only told it as much as it needed to know for the mission.
The Master was silent, weighing its answer. Talon forced itself not to flinch as the silence lengthened. It fixed its eyes on its trembling hands, clenched against the floor. If she thought it was lying—Or maybe she’d realized it didn’t know enough to be useful, that it was too stupid to figure out what the Court knew, too stupid to learn Batman’s identity, too stupid to be worth keeping alive. Talon’s breaths were going swift and shallow again. It tried to keep them quiet.
When she finally spoke, what she said was, “Okay, last question. Are you still planning to kill Batman?”
“No!” it cried, rearing back in horror. “I will serve,” it promised, bound hands reaching out in supplication before it yanked them back. “I swear, I swear, please, please, I will serve—”
“You’ll…serve? You serve the Court of Owls,” the Master said uncertainly.
Talon shook its head. “I am—I have been—” It hesitated, almost unable to say the words out loud, but it wasn’t like she didn’t know of its failure. “I have been discarded. A failed Talon is—is unneeded. But please, please, I can still serve, I have never failed a mission, I will never fail again, I swear—”
“It’s okay,” the Master said, “it’s okay, you don’t have to serve anyone—”
“No, please—” Talon lunged forward in mindless desperation and the Master lurched to her feet. Horror swept through it as it realized what it had done. They would think it was disobedient, they would think it had attacked a Master. It pressed its face to the floor and choked out tangled pleas and apologies that kept strangling into sobs. It couldn’t stop shaking.
A hand on its shoulder. Talon shuddered and fell silent, or tried to. Its breaths were wet gasps, ragged and stuttering. It pressed its hands over its mouth to try to stifle the noise. Cold tears trickled down its cheeks. The Master’s hand smoothed down its back, and then again, a gentle stroke. Almost a caress. The Master was crooning soft reassurances—“You’re okay, you’re safe, no one’s going to hurt you, you’re okay.”
The Talon burned with shame at its weakness, but it wasn’t enough to supplant the terror. The Master kept stroking its back and murmuring soft promises as it struggled to master its breathing and stop trembling. No Master had ever been so patient with it before. Guilt and gratitude clumped in its throat. Each gasping breath scraped painfully against them.
The Talon’s sobs faded eventually to mere shuddering inhales. The Master’s assurances faded too, though her hand continued to stroke evenly down Talon’s back. Her hand was small. Her voice was young, too—she was younger than Talon had initially assumed. Perhaps she was an heir of the Court. Talon hoped she was heir to someone important enough that she’d merit a Talon for a bodyguard. Normally it hated being assigned a single Master to obey and protect, but it found itself hoping it would be assigned to her. It would be worth it even if she pulled it into her bed, even if her punishments were cruel and creative, if only she would also be gentle like this from time to time.
“Are you back with me, sweetheart?” she asked after a while. Talon flinched at the pet name, but nodded hastily. It hadn’t drifted away, but it wasn’t about to voice a protest out loud. “That’s great,” she praised, and warmth bloomed in Talon’s chest in spite of everything. “Do you think you can sit up for me?”
Talon pushed itself hurriedly up until it was kneeling properly once more. It kept its head bowed as low as it would go without ruining its posture. Its throat was raw, and ached with the effort of suppressing any further sobs. Its nose was filled with snot from all its useless crying, so it had to breathe through its mouth to avoid any gross sniffles. The Master kept one hand on its shoulder. Talon’s heart sang at the continued contact.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do, sweetheart.” This time Talon contained the flinch. “I’m going to lay out some ground rules. You’re going to tell me if you have a problem with any of them, and I do mean tell me. I can’t promise they’re all negotiable, but we’ll try to figure something out, okay?”
Talon wouldn’t have problems. Talon would follow any rule, no matter how strict or how difficult. Anything to convince the Master it was worth keeping.
“Once we’ve gone through the rules we’re going to get you a bath and some food, and then we’ll see if you’re up for meeting some more of the Bats. Sound good?”
The Talon held itself still and attentive to hear the rules. After a moment the Master said, “Alright, taking that as a go-ahead. Rule number one: no hurting anyone in this house. No exceptions. Got it?”
Despair was a weight anchored to its heart, sudden and crushing. She still didn’t believe it wanted to serve her Court. Its head dipped lower in futile deference. Or maybe she just thought it was too stupid to know better than to harm a Master. It had lunged at her, after all. Of course she didn't trust it. Maybe she never would.
“Rule number two: you don’t go anywhere without permission from someone in the household. Explicit, verbal permission. And you have to be supervised at all times outside of this room. Do you understand?”
Talon nodded listlessly. “Rule number three,” the Master continued. “No weapons. No using them, no squirreling them away for later, no going near them.”
Talon’s shoulders drooped, but it had already known its new Court—the Court of Bats?—didn’t plan to use it as a weapon. The sandwich was still on its paper plate, though the plate had been pushed aside at some point by Talon’s hysterics. Talon nodded without protest.
“I think that’s enough rules for now,” the Master decided. “We’ll deal with anything else as it comes up. Any questions, comments, or concerns?”
Talon shook its head.
“It’s okay if you have questions. We don’t expect you to understand everything right away, and we’d rather you ask than go around assuming the wrong things.”
Talon hunched in shame. We don’t expect you to understand. They did think it was stupid. They didn’t expect it to fight, they didn’t expect it to know anything, they didn’t even think it could understand the rules. Talon wished miserably for a mission, a task, anything to prove it was capable of following orders without failure.
The Master waited to see if Talon would ask any questions. It wondered if it should, just to please her. Maybe she wanted a pathetic Talon. It couldn’t imagine why, but sometimes its Masters enjoyed setting it tasks that it would fail no matter what it did, and it couldn’t understand that either. It wasn’t a Talon’s job to understand the Masters, only to obey.
There were worse things to be than pathetic, but it couldn’t bring itself to open its mouth. The Master stood. Her hand slid off its shoulder when she did. It carefully did not sway towards the lost contact. “Alright, in that case, it’s shower time. Let’s get you clean, how about it?”
Of course. Talon was still covered in dried blood and viscera. No one would want that in their bed. It was a miracle the Master had been willing to touch it at all. Talon swallowed down the dread at what was to come. It was better than dying. It would obey, it would be good, and it would earn the chance to prove its worth in other ways.
The Master unlocked the cuffs around Talon’s ankles. Talon stood to follow her, and realized for the first time that they weren’t alone. There was a dark figure just beside the doorway.
Talon’s heart rate skyrocketed. There were few people in the world who could sneak up on a Talon.
The figure was clad in black from head to toe like a void in the world. A tattered cape hung to its ankles. A mask covered its entire head, with black lenses for eyes and a row of stitches curving over its nose that somehow suggested an inhuman snarl. Two thin spikes jutted up from its head like ears, like Batman’s but taller and sharper.
It was as silent as a void, too, and as still. There was no way to know how long it had been standing there. It seemed ready to spring forward at any moment and unleash terrible violence. Talon shuddered in spite of itself. This, then, was a Talon of the Court of Bats.
Talon jerked a hasty bow before hurrying after the Master toward another door in the far wall. Cold fear shivered down its spine at turning its back on the silent Talon, but it would be no safer if it didn’t. Even if the other Talon attacked, Talon wasn’t allowed to fight back. Keeping one eye turned toward the threat would change nothing.
Still, the shivers multiplied.