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Damian al Ghul’s wings are adorned with silver curlicues inlaid upon a translucent backdrop of shimmering ebony, much like his mother’s. Talia trains him in the way of the sword, gifts him with deadly knowledge of how to incapacitate and rend. His grandfather is pleased with his progress, and under his tutelage Damian is taught honor, loyalty, and how to lead his future kingdom.
Talia tells him sparse details of his father who lives across the sea. He flies on heavy wings that are powerful and reminiscent of bats, protecting a city that spawns both good and evil alike to engage in combat for all eternity. Damian, instilled with a child’s curiosity and a brilliant intellect, imagines his father, surely tall and proud, laying waste to adversaries of the fae kingdoms in brutal combat. He asks if he will meet him one day. Talia smiles secretively and strokes his hair. “One day, habibi. It is not time yet.”
He is only informed later that the Bat-king of Gotham and the Demon’s Head are generally not on good terms after he’s interrogated a few servant ninjas before his amused grandfather catches and chastises him, but he decides that this information is largely unimportant. He will become someone worthy of his heritage, someone to be proud of. If the Bat-king were truly unworthy and truly disliked, Damian’s grandfather would have crushed him aeons ago. Damian senses that the relationship between the two rulers is based on mutual respect and honor, codes he has been taught to follow all his life. Above that, the mysterious Bat-king is family and blood.
The fae prince of Nanda Parbat asks Talia if she thinks his father a fool for pouring his soul and love and everything he is into a thankless city threatened by those who would raze it to the ground. She only smiles and tells him that he should be honing his skills as befitting of an assassin and sends him on his way to the next lesson on toxins.
Then disaster strikes. His grandfather disappears. Their enemies surround them. Their bases are burned. Damian is still young by faerie standards. Talia strokes his cheek even as they flee on black and silver wings from the wreckage of Nanda Parbat. Damian feels indignant, forced to retreat like a refugee, but he knows that tactically this is their best course of action for the time being.
“It is time, habibi. You must go to Gotham to fight alongside your father.”
“What about you, mother?”
“Your father will be reluctant to search for the Demon’s Head, my child. I must go alone. But first, we must convince the Bat-King of a mutual alliance. And that is where you, Damian, must come in.”
Bat-King Bruce Wayne is shorter than he had imagined, a little less fear and awe-inspiring than he expected. It crushes a few of Damian’s childhood imaginations, but he valiantly tries not to let it show. They were naive things, of unimportance, and this was reality. He would move on and past it.
His childish hopes sink even further when he realizes that the Bat-King was unaware of his existence. They are irreparably crushed when he realizes the Dark King of Gotham has three sons. He is enraged. These sons may be older than him, but he learned long ago that age does not equate to experience nor to skill. He will prove to his father that the rest are unworthy of his pride, of his love and affection. That only Damian al Ghul, the true bloodson, could sit at his father’s right hand.
He is further infuriated when his father tells him to discard the sword. We do not kill. It is an iron clad law that Damian cannot even pretend to comprehend. He hadn’t imagined that his father was so aggravatingly stubborn, although he supposes he should have. Still, the rule violates everything he has ever been taught, everything that he has trained for. He knows a thousand ways to kill a fae soundlessly, how to rip bones and wings in the cleanest way possible without leaving a trace. He is forbidden from using these skills that took weeks and months to perfect. Talia had abhorred imperfection.
He learns that his father’s chosen ones don the armor and title of Robin. It is a ridiculous title, one that hardly inspires fear and terror, and the outfit is far too colourful and outlandish for his tastes. He tells the Bat-king as such. Yet when he mouths the word silently when no one is looking he realizes it tastes of respect, of courage, and unwavering pride. Things he can relate to. Above all else, it means his father’s approval.
He wants it. He wants it enough to fall back on his weaponless training. He will put aside the sword for now. Not permanently, of course, but simply because it is his primary weapon does not mean he does not have a massive array of combat skills in his arsenal.
The eldest son, the first knight who had sworn himself to the Bat-king has long since left the title of Robin, to transform himself into something else entirely. Something that laughed joyfully, a bit too loudly, something that flew through night skies on striking electric blue wings. Damian challenges him to combat and suffers a humiliating and bruising defeat.
“I am not a child!,” he roared, fighting against the armlock the man had him in. The man only snorted and tightened his grip.
“No child would wield a sword with such deadliness, it is true. But you are still a fledgling compared to me.”
Raw and disgruntled rage gnaws at him for losing, but he cannot deny the man’s skill. His fighting style was vastly different from Damian’s, so fluid but exuberant and flamboyant, that Damian had been caught by surprise. Regardless, he internally knows that the man by far outclasses him in skills and experience, though it would tarnish the al Ghul name to say such blasphemy aloud.
The black sheep son of Gotham’s king eventually becomes a negligible blip on Damian’s radar once he learns that Jason Todd died wearing the robin symbol. He had proven himself unworthy, and Damian privately suspected that the Bat-king would have agreed with him on this assessment. Yet as he gleamed flecks of information about the second interloper, he could distantly understand why Jason Todd had abandoned the family. The al Ghuls in their prime had ruled with an iron fist, disposing of those that opposed them or harmed their kin. The Bat-King would sacrifice everything if it meant his unbending law stayed unbroken, even at the cost of his patchwork family. He can relate to this Jason Todd’s anger and methods more so than his father’s. Killing was necessary for culling herds, for burning away poison like wildfire so that weeds could make way for the good. Death and life were intertwined that way. He learns that his grandfather had engineered this son’s resurrection from the dead, and he wishes he had the true answers of Ra’s original intentions.
He briefly wonders if Ra’s, if he were even still alive, would do the same for him.
The one he despises most is Timothy Drake, the one currently donning his birthright mantle. Damian spews vitriol at him, taking out all his resentment onto this unwanted brother, and Drake responds in kind. Jason Todd may have been the one to die, but it is truly astounding how Drake has survived to this point. He had all but thrown himself at the Bat-king and demanded the title, with no talent whatsoever. Even now, his “brother” was laughable. Timothy Drake flies on powdery black tipped wings of red, so collapsible and fragile it was a wonder that no one had torn them to shreds yet. Damian certainly tries, whenever Grayson isn’t looking.
“How dare you steal what is rightfully mine!” he snarls, teeth bared as he launches towards the one he considers the biggest threat. Richard Grayson and Jason Todd were merely wards of the Bat-king, but this Timothy Drake had the gall to take the Bat-king’s surname, and Damian will not stand for this.
“I never stole anything,” Drake spits, extending his bo staff. “I earned it!” Their animosity frustrates everyone around them, but nothing frustrates Damian more than this pretender.
The Bat-king learns that their enemies have amassed, intent on destroying both fae kingdoms. The dread fae Deathstroke has captured his mother to find the secret earth magic the al Ghuls utilize, and Damian is livid. Once knowledge of the alliance between the al Ghuls and the Waynes surfaces, the Bat-King’s most notorious arch nemesis, the Joker, joins the ranks of their enemies. Jason Todd is called back, and to everyone’s surprise, the mercenary appears, a cocky attitude complete with a calculated swagger in his step to intentionally frustrate those around him. Nevertheless, the man grudgingly accepts the Bat-king’s inviolable terms. When he passes Damian, he notes the hint of green in Jason’s eyes and white fringe of his hair, evidence of his submergence in the Lazarus pit.
Damian is grudgingly impressed Jason Todd didn’t fall to the effects of the pit. He can somewhat appreciate the idea of a man returning as the newest incarnation of the Bat-King’s nemesis’ origins, hurt and angered that he had not been avenged. Had Jason’s experience occurred in the al Ghuls, Damian is certain that the al Ghuls would have repaid the blood spilled a hundredfold.
Again he wonders if following his father is truly the right way.
His father disappears abruptly in search of Talia, forcibly prohibiting Damian from joining him and appointing him as Grayson’s charge, to both their annoyances. They lose contact for six weeks after the second week.
Then a message comes in the shape of bloody torn bat wings. A gift from Deathstroke, the Joker claims, laughing maniacally. His scar-puckered wings of green vibrate with his excitement and he does backflips and somersaults in the air in psychotic glee.
To ensure that the evil fae who would see them fall do not take advantage of this, Dick Grayson takes up the cowl. Jason snorts and says Grayson’s a paltry imitation of the real thing, his wings are fucking blue and aren’t batty enough, but otherwise doesn’t object. A glamour charm rectifies that issue. To Damian’s pleasure, Grayson strips Drake of the Robin mantle, giving it to its true wearer. Damian revels in Drake’s pathetic expression on his face. Robin was never meant to be his. It was Damian’s now, and would continue to be until he was worthy of taking over his father’s reign.
The interloper tries to distract Grayson from the fact that he is having Robin stripped from him by claiming Bruce Wayne is alive, but Grayson isn’t having any of it. Drake disappears from Gotham in search of Bruce; there have been no messages from him whatsoever. He leaves in a flurry of red and a fury of controlled resentment, leaving Damian to gloat. Neither Grayson nor Jason can stop him. They are far too busy trying to contain the uprisings in this kingdom of fae resentful towards the Bat-king. Green Witch Pamela claims territory that belongs to the Bat-king. Disfigured Harvey Dent who can no longer fly, one wing physically ripped out of his back, joins forces with Scarecrow, whose fear magic very nearly contaminates the entire kingdom. Grayson smiles less; Damian notes. Black dulls his vibrant blue zest for life, for laughter. Damian comes to understand what it really means to be Robin.
It means to be hope for those who stubbornly fight for air in a filthy city. It’s not only a part his father’s legacy, but his predecessors as well. It means sacrificing yourself for an ideal you may never know is right or wrong, but forging forward because you didn’t want to be the alternative.
Then Talia al Ghul reappears, Ra’s at her side. Nanda Parbat has been restored; a Lazarus pit has returned his grandfather to his prime and together, the al Ghuls and the children of the Bat-king unite to take down their enemies.. “It is time to come home, habibi,” she says. “You have grown. It is time to take your birthright in the League.”
“But what of Father?” Damian asks. “He searched for you - what has become of him?”
“I am sorry Damian,” she says. “I have not seen him since I last parted ways with you. Come. We must rebuild our kingdom and restore its glory.”
Grayson says nothing, an eerie silence that Damian doesn’t like. Suddenly Damian cannot breathe, his two heritages clawing for dominance inside him. The fiery blood of the al Ghuls counters the selfless, uncompromising compassion of the Wayne’s inside him.
His black and silver wings flutter in agitation; a spasm he has not had since he was truly a child.
“I am sorry, Mother. Gotham needs me.” He renounces the sword and the way of the assassin; he sees the betrayal in his mother’s eyes.
“You’re wrong, habibi,” she says, her hand stretching towards him. “We need you. Return to your grandfather’s side. Our side.”
“We have forged an alliance,” Damian responds. “It would be wrong of me to turn my back on them when Father died looking for you.”
“Perhaps, habibi,” replies Talia evenly. “But although you have grown, your skills have rusted. You no longer move like one of us.” She strikes like a snake, her wings a shimmering blur as she flies at breakneck speed towards him. He’s already in a defensive position; it is Grayson who blocks her blow.
“You are no longer welcome in Gotham, Talia al Ghul. Leave us.” Grayson’s growl has never so closely emulated the former Bat-king’s. Talia’s eyes narrow shrewdly. Eventually, she sheathes the knife in her hand, feet delicately landing on the ground.
“You will come back to us one day, my son. Do not ever doubt that.”
It is with a heavy heart that Damian returns home, and wonders when it was that Nanda Parbat no longer meant that to him. But Grayson only smiles and gently strokes his wings. He wonders when it was he called this man his brother, his mentor, and his comrade.
The few ninjas who remain loyal to him and not to his Grandfather bring him reports. If Grayson is aware of them, he makes no comment. Someone is blowing up his grandfather’s bases, wreaking havoc upon the Demon Head’s empire. Someone called Red Robin, a fae with those disgustingly powdered black tipped red wings. Someone whom Ra’s is disturbingly fascinated with.
Damian occasionally entertains the wild notion of the chance to have his own identity, one that is free of the burdens that come with heavy legacies, one to build from the bottom up. He envies Drake just a tiny bit, in this respect, but he wouldn’t trade Robin’s legacy for anything.
He informs Grayson immediately. Grayson looks sad, no doubt mourning the newest estranged family member, and tells him that Drake has cut nearly all ties to Gotham.
Damian doesn’t entirely understand, but scoffs loudly anyway. More importantly, he is confused as to why his grandfather has found the interloper so incredible. When he does his own digging he is particularly incensed at the fact that Drake has him on some sort of watchlist, which is preposterous and highly insulting. He has taught himself to curb his innate abilities like a dog, and yet Drake still distrusts him? He is bitter, and only more so when the ninjas inform him that Ra’s offered Tim a place in the League.
He doesn’t understand what makes his predecessor so special. Damian doesn’t enjoy the unfamiliar feeling of inferiority, and he makes it his goal to find out more about Drake. He learns that Timothy Drake is an absolute dork, what with his Super shirts, and admittedly might have done well with the League, considering the ever vigilant Bat-king had never noticed a tiny fae tracking red wing powder behind him following his patrols. He learns more, but keeps these little odds and ends of facts tucked away in his head.
One day, Tim reappears, exhausted and tired and trailing powder everywhere, flinging a flash drive at Damian’s mentor.
“That should be enough evidence,” he says abruptly. He turns away again.
“What is this?” asks Grayson, examining it cautiously. “Tim, you should stay -”
“I can’t. And you’ll know when you read it. And read it soon. It’s important.”
This is the first time Damian Wayne (no longer al Ghul) is a primary witness to Tim’s incredible skills as a detective. He cannot imagine the months of work and preparation a lone person must have poured into this, all to find his father. Their father, he unwillingly concedes. The ninjas update him that Tim has survived several run-ins with the Demon’s head, emerging victorious for the most part. Damian feels distantly disturbed that he is actually impressed with Drake and that he does not feel animosity towards him for causing mayhem for his grandfather and the League.
With enough help, with enough time the Bat-king is returned to his rightful throne in Gotham. Although everyone knows at this point the “alliance” between the al Ghuls and the Waynes is over, Damian continues to stay in Gotham.
On a lone patrol of the kingdom, Damian stumbles across Red Robin who is heavily bleeding out. Damian tuts and scowls condescendingly at him and Drake snaps back wearily and hazily. Drake is being stubborn as usual and refuses to return to the family home, and Damian is forced to drag the bleeding fae on foot because Tim’s weight is too heavy for him to fly with to a nearby bolt hole to patch up.
“Don’t tell them I’m here,” rasps Drake.
“Don’t be stupid, as if I would,” retorts Damian. For the first time ever he sees Drake’s wings up close; they are iridescent with needle fine arabesque patterns etched onto them that are barely visible. They faintly remind Damian of the room he grew up in as a child.
“Your grandfather stares at them like that, too,” mumbles Drake, high on poppy to numb the pain.
“I’m not staring,” snaps Damian, turning red. “Simply observing that you are clearly in a poor state of health if they’re trailing that much powder all over the place.” He carefully runs a hand over the edge of one; Drake shivers at the touch. The wing tremors delicately and powder slides off its surface like sand.
“He said that too,” slurs Drake drowsily. “Wanted to keep me as a pretty treasure...the nerve.” The older fae passes out, and Damian shakes his head and leaves the bolthole, flying home. He resolves to make sure his grandfather can never lay a hand on his predecessor. Age means little to fae who are immortal unless killed in combat, but the idea of Timothy Drake becoming his ...grandmother-in-law? is extremely nauseating. His grandfather is a man accustomed to rare beauties and unaccustomed to not getting his way. Damian vows to subvert his grandfather in any way, shape, or form known to man to stop this atrocity from occurring.
Damian hunts down Drake the next time his ninjas inform him Red Robin is in town. He has his family's backup in this. He attempts forces Drake to eat properly, to sleep properly, which Drake rudely spurns and dismisses as an attempt to mock him, and then Red Hood ruins it by showing up to sedate him, carrying Tim’s limp body back to Bruce.
“Stop hindering me, Todd,” he bites out aggravatedly, but Jason only snorts.
“What? You suddenly gone soft on the babybird, demonspawn? I didn’t see you having much luck.”
“Tt. I am simply making sure he does not dishonor or burden the family. If he collapses in some ditch during his patrol, as he is likely to, we will all be the worse for wear,” sniffs Damian, flying away disdainfully.
It’s a paper thin excuse and everyone knows it, but no one says anything. They all want Tim back.
Tim is agitated, to say the least, that suddenly people who had ignored him are suddenly paying copious amounts of unwanted attention to him. He switches safehouses frequently to throw Grayson off his tail. Damian has actually been tolerable to work with, busting Harley when the ditzy jester fae tries to free her lover. However, his sudden and inexplicable attention to Tim’s daily habits is absurd, though Tim chalks it up to Damian having bizarre mutations in his genes from being the Demon’s Head’s spawn. Tim generously tries to forgive Damian for this flaw. Jason has shown some mild success by plying him with the occasional “chili dog date.” Damian scoffs at this, but Jason only grins and snarks, “don’t be jealous that Babybird’s okay with spending time with me and not you.”
Ludicrous. Damian is certainly not jealous. He happens to irately mention this to a ninja in passing, who only looks at him impassively. However, Damian is skilled enough in reading his followers to know that the ninja is secretly judging him and dismisses him with an angry wave of his hand. Tim is unaware of these exchanges, which leads to him getting into a tangled flurry of ninjas and open warfare of thrashing fae.
“For the last time, stop following me!” Tim’s patience is wearing thin, even as he fends off ninjas. “Are you sent by Ra’s? Or Damian? For the love of god, I can’t even tell anymore!”
It turns out there were ninjas representing both factions. In the confusion, Red Robin is able to beat a hasty retreat, and Damian finds him later to berate him for ignoring his health.
“Since when did you care?” growls Tim in vexation, massaging his scalp. “Did Dick put you up to this? I’m going to kill him.”
“Tt. Your cluelessness is getting on my nerves, Drake.” Damian clicks his tongue offhandedly. “No one put me up to anything. I simply see the way you fly yourself ragged and I find your lack of concern for yourself most galling.”
“The way you talk like you’re better than everyone else is what’s galling, you brat,” snaps Drake. “Don’t you have anything better to do than stalking me?”
“Obviously,” snorts Damian. “Do you realize that forcing you to fulfill your daily needs of food and rest is most taxing to everyone?”
Drake only rolls his eyes. “Leave me alone. I have a case to work on.”
Damian sometimes forgets that stubbornness runs in the family, but he relents for now to plan his next course of action.
Future plans are derailed when Ra’s makes an appearance in Gotham; things between him and Drake have taken a turn for the worse. Ra’s’ ninjas are lined up behind him and Red Robin defiantly glares at him.
“Timothy,” purrs Ra’s. “I’d like to know exactly why you’ve been ignoring my gifts.” Tim only snorts at that, but his response is interrupted when Damian lands in the center and puts himself between Tim and Ra’s.
“It is simple, Grandfather,” replies Damian evenly. “The only one whom Timothy will accept gifts from from here on out is me.”
Tim’s indignant splutter isn’t quite drowned out by Ra’s upturned eyebrow and amused smile. “Foolish grandson, are you truly going to oppose me on this?”
Damian growls possessively, wings fluttering in annoyance. “Jiddo, you are the foolish one. You do not realize that Timothy is not for the taking. He is mine.” Suddenly the full weight of his response knocks the breath out of him. His wings vibrate with embarrassment. Everything clicks into place; the anger, the protectiveness: it was all jealousy. His mouth moves to try and backtrack, but his throat is dry and Damian realizes that there’s no going back.
“Huh.” Damin carefully shifts so that he can glance behind at Tim while still keeping Ra’s and his ninja in his line of sight. Tim is blinking, and his face is scrunched up as if he’s only just solving the final pieces of a puzzle. Then Tim nods decisively. “Actually that makes a lot more sense now.” Amusement and smugness is slowly creeping into his voice. Ra’s and Damian are both focused on him now.
Damian has no time to react when Tim playfully plants a kiss on the corner of his mouth and Tim’s deft hands skim gently down his spine, perfectly between his wings. Damian shivers, eyes widening in shock and surprise. Tim smirks at him then turns to Ra’s.
“As you can see now, Ra’s, we have something good going on. Now, if you don’t mind…” Tim trails off and his hand strays to his bo staff.
Ra’s looks deeply affronted, but nodes stiffly. “I see. We shall be in touch, Timothy.” He disappears with the rest of his ninjas, leaving Tim and Damian alone in the Gotham night air.
Damian just feels like the air was suckerpunched out of him. He splutters, clearing his throat before daring to speak again.
“Wh-what was that?” he demands, eyes flashing angrily with confusion. Tim only touches a finger to his lips and smiles.
“Finally I get it. You’re attracted to me, aren’t you?” Damian opens his mouth to automatically refute, but there’s a bit of lingering self-doubt in Tim’s eyes that makes Damian remember that Tim is still on the crux of self-isolation.
“...Yes,” he admits, scowling and looking at his feet. An unwanted blush creeps up his cheeks. Tim only grins and pecks him on the nose. His smile and the second kiss makes Damian’s heart flip flop unsteadily in his chest.
“I wouldn’t say no to some food and a date,” he murmurs. Damian swallows around the lump in his throat and hopes that his stomach doesn’t try and leap out of his skin.
“That sounds good.” The prince of Gotham, no longer the prince of Nanda Parbat, kisses his predecessor back, running his fingers along the powdery black tips of Tim's wings.
Tim marks the first time he's had to truly work towards a concrete goal towards someone, even if he didn't realize it at first, and his success leaves him with a bone deep satisfaction and a happy thrumming in his wings.