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“Look me in the eyes when I’m speaking to you.”
Damian had heard the phrase whispered, shouted, and sternly spoken many times growing up. His mother was the loudest voice, reminding him to follow this rule or else there would be consequences. And so he did as he was told, even though it felt wrong. His mother sat him down one day and explained it was considered a sign of respect, of facing your superior and accepting any orders given.
He didn’t understand completely, as he could completely understand what was being said without looking. But in the League, you do not disobey.
There were a few people he didn’t have to worry about.
He rarely had to speak with Grandfather, but the few times he did, the man barely paid attention to him. He mostly spoke to his mother, who asked him to demonstrate some of his training.
A few times Aunt Nyssa came to see him, but he was young enough that she didn’t seem keen on holding a conversation with him.
In his mind, he called her Aunt Shiva, despite being unrelated. She, as well as her daughter, didn’t care about looking him in the eye. For them, it was mostly silence, and they taught him a lot about talking without talking. Damian liked it. He preferred it much more than the loud, repetitive training in the courtyard. His mother explained that it was important that people could lie with their mouth, but less so with their body. He never asked why she looked like she was always lying.
Aunt Shiva’s daughter was quiet. He knew that she was raised not to talk, and that she would someday be a wonderful guard for Grandfather. When she was there, he would sneak in the room and sit with her. She was likely meditating, but he just wanted the quiet. She was nice. She would sometimes tap the ground, not making noise or any pattern, just tapping. One night, while he was lying in bed, he tapped the wall just like she would. It was nice. It reminded him of the bounces, taps, and little sounds he used to make before his mother made him stop. This was quiet, and he couldn’t be scolded if she didn’t know. When he saw the girl again, she taught him to rock while meditating. They would always be alone, and he felt happy he could do what he wanted. It was like stretching out after being stuck in a loose sock. He didn’t see the girl again for a while, but he always remembered the things he learned in private.
There was another person who didn’t care about eye contact. He wasn’t supposed to know his name, but he had known him practically since he was a baby. His mother called him many names while talking to Grandfather, but Damian came to know him as Birdie. Like Aunt Shiva and her daughter, he rarely spoke. It wasn’t until he was older he did, and even then it was short conversations. But that was okay; they didn’t need to speak for hours every night. Birdie made him feel safe. He eventually called him Ahki, but only when nobody else was around. His mother loved Birdie, but Damian got the feeling she didn’t like when he did his own thing.
It was likely a situation like Shiva’s girl; he was supposed to be a guard, he wasn’t supposed to get attached. He wasn’t supposed to have his own opinions and disobey orders. And he did, all the time. It started with small acts of rebellion; stealing fruit (which he later gave to Damian), then sneaking out to bring back books of all kinds. One night, when Damian was attacked in his sleep for training, he took the men down and refused to leave the room.
He had an extremely croaky voice when he spoke, like a teenager and an old man at the same time. That night, he said to Damian,
“I don’t care if it’s supposed to make you strong. You don’t have to be strong. You’re a kid.”
Granted, at the time Damian wasn’t too experienced with English, but he got the sentiment all the same.
Birdie got in trouble a lot, mostly defending Damian. Although, sometimes he just got mad. Damian understood. He felt the same when he heard swords clinking together too much, along with yelling from superiors, grunts of pain, and the hum of electricity in certain parts of the fortress. Sometimes he would lead his Ahki into the room the girl once was, sitting criss crossed on the floor. It helped him calm down, surely it would help his Ahki. However, this had mixed results. Sometimes they would both sit there, Damian sometimes rocking, and Birdie eventually lying on his back, taking deep breaths. Other times, Birdie would get worse. He would start talking to the room like people were there. Damian didn’t know what to do. His comfort wouldn’t, or couldn’t fix this. His mother would end up scolding him for leading him away from his post, job, or whatever it was that got him upset in the first place, only to look him in the eye and calm her tirade.
“Jason, medicine time. Now.”
And it would work. He would follow her, and be perfectly fine the next time he saw him.
He asked him before what his medicine was, and he always just shrugged.
“Pit sucks. Don’t try it kid.”
“I’m calling you Birdie.” Damian said one night, reading one of the books his Ahki had brought him.
“What was that kid?” The young man had been laying on the floor, cushioned by thin blankets he had brought from empty chambers in the fortress. Damian had no idea how he could do this without complaining about his back hurting in the morning.
“I don’t like your name. So I’m calling you what I call you in my head. Birdie.”
“Whatever you say, Baby Bat.” The young man rolled his arsenic green eyes and rolled over to face him.
“Why do you call me that?”
“Your family literally calls you Son of the Bat, figure it out yourself.”
“Who is ‘the bat’ anyway? Everyone calls me that but nobody explains.” The kid huffed, bookmarking his page and sitting up.
“I guess mama never told you about her baby daddy, huh?”
“My father is an honorable man and I shall inherit his mantle once I am of age. He is not a ‘baby daddy’’.
Birdie nearly choked on air hearing the kid’s reply.
“I guess I could tell you about him. We are brothers, after all.”
“I was told I was the firstborn? Mother and Grandfather said I am the heir, after all.”
“Firstborn, not first. You have an older brother besides me.”
“So, my mother did not adopt you, my father did?”
“Yup. He seems to have a habit. Heard he's got another since I’ve been gone.”
Damian took a second to process the fact his whole preconception of his family had been wildly inaccurate.
“You know, I think that’s enough mind-blowing for one night. Little bats gotta get some shut eye.” Birdie got up and went over to Damian’s bedside. Damian had no clue what he was doing when he was little, but now he knows it’s called being tucked in.
“Night, Ahki.”
“Night, Baby bat,” said Jason Todd as he blew out the candle on the dresser and went to bed.