Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

DAMIAN AL GHULS FIRST MEMORY is pain. All he remembers is his Mothers face, a whip, his Grandfathers disappointment, and lots of pain.

He was familiar with pain, it was something he (at times) missed. Pain was an anchor for him, it was his home more than any place he ever lived.

Pain was all he knew.

At ten years old Damian Al Ghul became Damian Wayne. 

A lot happened after that.

He met his Father whom he had longed to meet since he was aware that he had one. He was a bit disappointed upon meeting him. Never meet your heroes they always said. Damian thinks they should say ‘never meet your fathers’ instead. 

He met Drake shortly after. Drake was many things but Damian only knew him as a placeholder and his predecessor as Robin and the title of CEO in Wayne Enterprises. He didn’t really want to know more than that.

He met Todd, an angry man who’d died and decided to make it his personality (even though death is common). Damian could’ve met him in the league but he didn’t. Distantly he wonders if that would’ve changed anything.

Then he met Grayson. A person he truly had no interest in at the beginning. He had been Fathers first. His first Robin. His first protégé. His first child.

He had done what Damian should’ve done from birth. He had been the first to take Damian’s spot.

Lastly, he met Pennyworth. Pennyworth was a servant at the manor, he thought, upon first glance. Nothing more, nothing less.

Damian was there a total of twelve days before Father decided to die and everything changed again.

Grayson became Batman and Damian became Robin. The Pretender went elsewhere—Damian truly didn’t care. And Todd…he was just Todd. Evil, bad, Red Hood, that Damian and Grayson worked very hard to take down on several occasions.

Damian didn’t really mourn Fathers death. Death was a natural and necessary evil that Father had succumbed to too soon. He supposed he wished Father had trained him a bit more, but he was dead and his mother had always said hope and wishes were for children in fairy tales.

Damian was not a child nor was he in a fairy tale, so he moved on.

Damian knew this place—Wayne Manor—was different than the league. Though, he’ll admit it, he never truly realized just how much.

It happened on his fifty-sixth patrol as Robin with Grayson as Batman. Damian had nearly killed someone. He hadn’t meant to, though he saw nothing wrong with it if he had. He knew the rule. The one rule Father had made sure he knew before Fathers untimely death.

One cannot kill. If he was to be with his Fathers family he couldn’t kill. But this monster was abusing dogs, pitting them against each other in underground fighting pits. Damian got angry and suddenly a sword was at the man’s neck.

In Damian’s opinion, he deserved a fate much worse than death.

Grayson, however, did not agree.

Grayson saved the man (the monster) and disarmed Damian. They called the cops for the man and then Grayson brought him to the Batcave where he could properly scold him for attempting to kill and for leaving his side during patrol.

“Damian you can’t just try to kill everyone committing a crime!” Grayson argued.

“Obviously, but a crime to this extent is worthy of death by my hand.” Damian pointed out. 

“You have one big rule, Damian. One rule that you have to follow.” Grayson looks tired and annoyed. Grayson didn’t love Damian, Damian wasn’t foolish enough to believe that. The only reason Robin was given to him was to keep him from returning to Mother and his murderer tendencies.

“Tt, I’m aware of the idiotic rule, Grayson.” Damian took off his domino mask. “I simply do not think that man’s life should be spared.”

“Damian, we don’t get to choose whether or not someone lives or dies.”

“Why not? We already choose who goes to jail and who does not.” He remembers watching from afar as Grayson let a child get away with petty theft. He had told them ‘next time this happens, I won’t be so nice’ Damian doesn’t believe him. “We have the ability to stop a man from ever committing a crime again, we should use that to our advantage.”

“No,” Grayson jaw tightens a bit. “No, Damian. That’s like saying if a two year old accidentally steals we should kill them right away. That’s stupid, there’s room for redemption. Some people regret what they do immediately after it happens. Others need a few years in jail to feel that kind of regret and guilt. We don’t have the right to take away someone’s life, no one does, only the law. We cannot be judge, jury, and executioner. We do have the right to present a chance for rehabilitation and redemption. Okay?”

Damian thinks it over. He’s not sure if he won’t kill again but he supposed he can refrain from doing it in front of Grayson. “Understood.”

“Good.” Grayson nodded as he took off the cowl in favor of running a hand through his hair. “Good. I’m glad you understand.”

Damian nodded and went towards the locker room to undress and prepare for bed. “Damian? Hold on.” Damian turned towards Grayson.

“Yes, Grayson?”

“You snuck off during patrol, that’s disobeying a direct order. You know that’s cause for punishment.”

Punishment. Something he hadn’t properly received since two weeks before his tenth birthday with Mother and Grandfather.

He missed it.

Punishment, not Grandfather. Though he supposed (read: knew) he missed mother as well.

“I understand.” Damian nodded at Grayson. When Grayson didn’t move and appeared to be in deep thought, Damian had realized that Grayson had probably never delivered a punishment before. He wondered if Grayson could even do it properly. How disappointing. With a sigh, Damian decided to offer his assistance. “Shall I get the whip? Or will we stand here in silence like imbeciles?”

Damians not sure what he expected from that. A nod, perhaps, maybe a scolding for suggesting that Grayson didn’t know how to properly punish him. He wasn’t expecting the look on Grayson face. He couldn’t quite describe it. It was the kind seen on victims. Or, better put, the victims who weren’t injured. The ones who simply watched as others were injured. Something about that look told him that whatever he had said was the wrong thing to say.

Damian went over the sentence ten times, trying to think what was wrong with it. Whip. Silence. Imbeciles. Perhaps he shouldn’t have called Grayson and himself imbeciles? No, he’d done that on multiple occasions and it had never directly led to silence.

Damian brought his eyes to Grayson face. Nothing he said should’ve caused that reaction. Grayson looked shocked, perhaps a bit concerned as well. He just wants to understand what he did wrong g. Whip. Silence. Imbeciles. What was wrong about that? Mother would scold him for his tone, Grandfather for his words. Grayson was all about second chances, he wouldn’t react badly simply because of words.

It isn’t until Grayson lets out a “What?” in a cracked voice that Damian gets what he did wrong.

“Apologies,” Damian says quickly. “I believe I misunderstood the type of punishment.”

Grayson takes a minute for recover, then looks at Damian with sad pitiful eyes. “You know I’d never hurt you, right?” Grayson clears his throat as if he realized that type of vulnerability was not Damian’s forte. “When you’re not with the league no type of..physical punishment will ever be required, okay? None of us will ever lay a hand on you outside of training.”

“I understand.” Damian was an idiot. He should’ve known the difference between the league and the manor. He would not make this mistake again in Graysons presence. Clearly the thought of Damian getting a physical beating as a punishment troubled him.

Grayson swallows. “Good. Uhm,” he hesitated. “go to your room, we’ll discuss as proper punishment later.”

Damian nodded. “Very well.” Then, because he’s sure Grayson needs to hear it. “I know this isn’t the league? I know you wouldn’t intentionally bring my harm, I was simply confused and in the wrong headset. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Without another word Damian left.

Damian hoped that eventually Grayson would love him as Mother loved him, only so he could receive the punishment he wanted.

Because clearly to cause someone that type of pain you need to love them first.

Grayson did not love him but judging by his reaction, Damian was sure that Grayson cared for him. He supposed that was enough—he could make it enough.

Chapter Text

IN THE TEN MONTHS THAT Damian had worked beside Grayson's Batman as Robin a lot had changed.

The biggest change being that Grayson was no longer Grayson but instead, Richard. Damian and Richard had grown closer and Damian supposed he should start addressing him by his birth name.

Another note worthy change is that Damian can now patrol alone. He does solo patrol every Friday and Saturday night, so long as he agrees to using the comms and communicating with Oracle (Barbara Gordon) at the very least.

Damian normally followed that rule. Only, this Friday he was going on a stealth mission and having the comms on (listening to Richard and Gordon flirt) was impractical.

Of course, that reasoning wasn't enough for Richard. They were in the cave with Damian sitting on the bed in the medical room. Pennyworth was tending to the small gash on the side of his arm while Richard scolded him.

Damian, not Pennyworth, obviously. Damian would love to see Richard attempt to scold Pennyworth.

"You disobeyed the one order you have while on a solo patrol." Richard pointed out. "How am I supposed to trust you to patrol alone when you can't even do this one thing?"

"Tt, it's more than one rule." Damian nodded at Pennyworth as he finished with his wound, the butler making his way up the stairs without a word leaving them in privacy.

"But it's the most important rule."

"I thought not murdering someone was the most important rule?" Damian raised a brow at Richard. "Or have our priorities changed?"

Richard sighed. "Fine. The second most important rule. Either way it's a rule you shouldn't have broken."

Damian rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to argue but saw something behind Richard. For a moment, his hand gripped his katana but then he dropped it.

Black Bat was standing there behind Richard listening to their private conversation. Whenever Richard punished him or scolded him (or fathered him) it was always meant to be private to spare the both of them the embarrassment. 

One time, Red Hood had caught Richard lecturing Damian as Batman and Robin, Red Hood had told him he was turning out "Just like dear old dad." Since then Richard has refrained from doing it in public.

Richard turned around and his annoyed look faded into a smile. "Hey Cass! I didn't know you were back from patrol yet." Cassandra didn't say anything and kept her masked eyes on Damian. "How long have you been there?"

"Long." Cain answered once she finished analyzing Damian. Her voice came out robotic. While they all had voice modulators, none of them had them to the extent that Cain or Todd did. 

Damian had never formally met Cain. He had heard of her when he was in the League. The child destined for great things. One of the only children raised properly with knowing how to read body language instead of speaking. Mother had said it was admirable of David Cain to teach his daughter that way but it also presented a weakness in his daughter, as she wouldn't be able to communicate as well as others.

Damian had heard of her again from Richard briefly. Richard loved talking about the family and Damian had wanted to assess every member and their weaknesses. It was only right that he listened to Richard's ranting on the family.

Still, even if Damian had heard of her he never truly wanted to meet her. He didn't like the fact that she could read his every thought and predict his every move just by the way he breathed. It made him feel vulnerable, like his weakness was on display for everyone to see.

Cain slipped off her mask. "What is wrong?" She asks Richard. Much like Damian, she does not use a lot of contractions while speaking aloud. 

"Damian broke a rule, I'm trying to tell him that it was stupid and careless of him." Richard turns to Damian with a pointed look.

"And I'm trying to tell you that this is futile. I will simply agree to obey your rule and then break it whenever I deem it necessary. Aren't we past the point of pretending I'll do otherwise?"

"No Damian," Richard is more than annoyed, he's mad. "We're not!" His hands are moving dramatically to get his point across. "It was careless, you could've died!"

"But I did not die." Damian counters.

"That's not the fucking point!" Richard's face flashes with anger and his hand slams down against the bed beside Damian.

Damian didn't fear that Richard would hit him, he knew he wouldn't, but part of him wanted it. He wanted that sting against his skin, perhaps against his fresh cut. 

Anyone could say what they wanted about the League of Assassins methods but it was nothing if not efficient. Their methods worked like a charm. Fifteen hits of the whip from one of Mothers servants and Damian was sure to never make that mistake again.

Damian recovered from his disappointment at not being hit, hiding his expression with an annoyed look. 

"Break." Damian looks over at Cain, he had honestly forgotten she was there. Her voice without the modulator was softer than he expected. "Big brother needs break." With a sigh Richard nods. He looks ashamed and Damian can only wonder why. 

Richard glances at Damian then at Cain. "Watch him for me, yeah?" Cain nods at Richard's words. Damian watched as Richard heads off to the locker room with his head down.

Cain stared at him and Damian stared back. He could see the scar against her neck, he had no idea how she'd acquired it and frankly didn't care. Her hair was black and short and her brown fox eyes held some emotion that was blocked off from him. 

In foresight he should've gotten along with Cain. They're backgrounds were similar, they both had been judged by the internet for something they couldn't control (their descent, their skin tones, etc), and they were both taught to fight before they were taught to love.

He supposed that was also why they weren't as close. Too similar. He wondered if Cain saw herself in him—or what she could've become. 

"Cass." Cain held out her hand, Damian stared at it (distantly he can hear Tim's voice "here on my world, we call the gesture a handshake."). Still, Damian stared at her outstretched left hand. 

Left hand. He hated when people did that.

Cain goes to retract her hand but Damian doesn't allow her. She could read his weaknesses, his wants, and desires. That's how she knew to pull away her hand. He couldn't confirm her suspicion. "Damian." He replied out of politeness (yes he has that).

They sit in silence as Cain continues to observe him. "Stop searching me, Cain. It's impolite to stare." Damian glares.

"Not Cain." Cass corrects. "Cass."

"Your last name is Cain correct? Derived from your father?" He says because that fact is a rather obvious one she should know.

"Not father." Cain points at a Batman suit in the corner. "That is father." Damian had just gotten used to accepting Richard as his family, now he was expected to accept Cain too? He supposed it wasn't too bad. Richard had said he needed to learn how to accept people more.

"Very well." Damian nods. "I shall call you Cassandra instead." Cassandra nods at that, seeming to not mind it.

They're silent again. "Don't like handshakes." Cassandra points at him so he knows she's talking about him. "Why?"

"I don't dislike handshakes. You simply shook with your left hand." Cassandra tilts her head in confusion at his words and Damian sighs. "The left hand is considered..." He struggled with how to word it in English. "..impolite in my culture. You always shake with your right hand."

Cassandra nodded taking note of that. "Okay. I will remember." Damian stayed quiet after that. Cassandra didn't. "You like pain." She changed the topic entirely.

"For someone who does not typically talk you seem to be doing a lot of that right now." Damian points at. Cassandra gives him a look making Damian sigh again. "I do not like pain."

"Then why?" Cassandra gave him a curious look. 

"Why what?" He asked, exasperated and annoyed. Why on earth did this woman speak so much? He remembered Richard saying she didn't talk enough. 

"Disappointment when not hit." Cassandra pointed at him. "Why?"

"None of your business."

"All of my business." Cassandra counters. "You are my little brother."

"Only in law." Damian argued. They don't talk enough to be considered siblings, in fact this was their first conversation.

"Law is enough." She nods then points between them. "We are same. We are used to pain."

Damian looks away to the locker room where Richard had disappeared into to make sure he wasn't lurking. 

"Big brother is gone. Just us." 

"I..do not enjoy it, I do not think. I merely..miss it, I suppose. The Leagues way of discipline was concerning but sufficient and constructive. It never failed my Mother."

Mother. Something else he missed.

"It is okay to miss it." Cassandra points to his small wound. "Not okay to search." 

"I'm not searching for it." He argued and it was the truth. He wasn't looking to hurt himself. He didn't want to, this was a pure coincidence.

"Okay. Just saying." Cassandra shrugs. "Meditate. It helps." Cassandra suggested.

"That sounds idiotic." Damian pauses briefly. "How do you know it helps?"

"Experience. Don't hurt yourself." Before Damian could argue again that he wouldn't harm himself purposefully. "I know. And I trust you." 

"How can you trust me, we've just met. It's illogical to trust someone when you know nothing about them."

"Know more than you think." Cassandra smirks lightly and Richard exits the locker room. "Goodbye, little brother."

"Goodbye, big sister." he muttered in a mocking tone and Cassandra let out a small laugh. 

"All yours, Big Brother." Cassandra told Richard as she passed him. Richard nodded politely at her.

That night Damian went to bed wanting to be chained to it like he had been in the league, but not once did he reach for his own sword and turn it on himself.

It would be dishonorable. Instead, when he feels he needs more of a punishment Damian meditates. Admittedly it helps to clear his head.

Damian Wayne and Cassandra Wayne were similar in many ways. He supposed that was why they got along so well.

Chapter Text

SINCE FATHER HAD BEEN DEAD, Todd frequented the Manor more often. He came in to get gear as well as greet Pennyworth (and absolutely no one else). Once he wasn’t the most wanted criminal in Gotham, he only came to the Manor more often.

Luckily, Damian had never run into him. Damian found Todd a bit annoying. Always angry, always making Richard feel bad, always bringing up his death, always blaming everything on father (an actual currently deceased man).

Damian had been banned from patrol because he had skipped school. What was the point of school when he had already learned everything at the age of seven?

While Richard was patrolling alone as Batman, Damian had woken up from a dream (nightmare?). In the dream Damian was back at the league.

His mother had taken him and told him how weak he had gotten, how months without punishment had shaped him into a weak heir. How he was not welcome to return home anymore. 

Damian had woken up sweaty and in need of hitting something, so he found himself in front of the punching bags down stairs. He was hitting them roughly, so rough it hurt his hands. The pain was welcome. It’s not as though he had forgotten his conversation with Cassandra, but it had been a month since then and the longing for a punishment didn’t disappear.

Damian only stopped temporarily when he heard a low whistle. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jason Todd in his Red Hood suit, minus the helmet. His hair was sweaty, clinging to his head, only getting unstuck when he ran his hand through it several times. “Someone’s pissed. What happened? Someone make fun of the baby bat at school?”

Damian glares at him, turning back to the bag. He hits it again. And again. And again. He can feel Todd watching him, so with a sigh Damian stops punching the bag and grabs it with his hands. “Why are you still here Todd?” His voice is hoarse (from sleep he tells himself, not from his near silent crying).

“I’m pretty sure I have every right. Since daddy-bats isn’t around I think I should just trash the place. What do you think?”

“I think Father isn’t here to see your rebellious acts, therefore it is pointless and would only cause stress to Richard.”

“Isn’t that the point? And it’s the principle of the matter anyway. I want Bruce to roll in his grave.”

Damian’s jaw clenched and unclenched. Todd was trying to get a rise out of him, he couldn’t succumb to it, he wasn’t weak (“You’re weak!” Mother had yelled in the dream. “You are to never return. You are a disappointment.”) “It would also cause Pennyworth stress.”

Todd paused. “You are such a buzzkill.” Damian shrugged and went back to punching the bag. They were both silent for a couple minutes, the only sound being Damian’s fist hitting the bag repeatedly. 

Then, suddenly, Todd was holding the bag out of reach. “Okay, seriously Gremlin, what is wrong with you? Not that I care, it’s just the stupid sound is annoying.”

Damian glared at him. “It is none of your concern.”

“Probably not.” Todd shrugged then pointed to Damian’s fists. “Your knuckles are bleeding. Might want to get that looked at.”

Damian looked at his knuckles and saw blood. His blood. The pain had helped his breathing, he was more calm. It was like a punishment but delivered by himself. He looked at Todd. He had confided in Cassandra and she understood him slightly. She didn’t tell Richard, most importantly. 

That was what was important.

And Todd….Todd might tell Richard. The probability is high, he’d do it just to mess with him but also, Todd would relate to him more, wouldn’t he?

They had both actually been in the League (though Damian more, obviously) and had both met Talia. “Do you remember your time in the league?”

“Of Assassins?” Todd asked, confused.

“No. Of justice. Of course I am talking about the League of Assassins.” Damian gave him a look that he sincerely hoped conveyed ‘you are stupid’.

“Yeah. Bits and pieces.” Todd was tense. “Why?”

“Do you ever..miss it?” The words miss it felt too childish. Miss it. As if he was a child saying he missed his mommy. He wasn’t and he didn’t (he was and he did). 

“Miss it? What’s there to miss?” Todd asked incredulously. “I mean sure, Talia was nice and all, but it wasn’t exactly enjoyable. Plus I was brain dead for most of it, if you recall.”

“I don’t. We never met.” Damian pointed out and Todd shrugged it off.

“Doesn’t matter. Point is, all I really remember is the beatings and then Talia sending me on my trip ‘round the world and I got to say I definitely do not miss the feel of the whip, so I guess, no I don’t miss the League.” Todd replied heatedly , then he takes a breath and furrows his brows. “Oh, is that what this is about? You miss the League?”

Damian huffs. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous. I mean, I’m sure it wasn’t all-bad.” Todd shrugged. “Talia was nice enough and she was your mother so that’s got to mean something, huh?”

“Mother was..good.” Damian agreed. “The Leagues methods were questionable but efficient. It is different here.” Damian points out.

Todd shrugs and nods. “Yeah ‘suppose it is, huh? Culture shock and what not.” Damian nodded. “American customs are weird.”

“Yes, they’re very strange.” Damian agreed quickly. “Everyone uses their left hands. Richard leans on walls. Every. Single. Wall. Not to mention the public displays of affection are insulting.”

Todd snorted. “So you don’t miss the League? You just miss your home.” Todd suggests as he gets up to grab some wrapping for his knuckles.

Todd doesn’t understand as Damian originally assumed. The League is Damian’s home. Not wanting to admit that he misses the League of Assassins and the pain that they brought him, Damian nods. “I suppose.”

“Hm.” Todd returns and allows Damian to wrap his own knuckles. “Have you talked to your mom?”

Damian focused on his wounds and not his answer. “Briefly I believe, a couple months ago. Mother doesn’t deem it necessary to converse with me anymore now that I am with you guys. I have chosen not to kill and therefore I have chosen to cut ties with her.”

“She said that?” Todd raised a brown in suspicion.

“No but one can assume. No calls or visits. What am I supposed to think?” Then, thinking he sounds desperate, Damian shrugs. “It is of no importance to me. Mother will visit when she wishes. If that is tomorrow or years from now it should not impact me.” But it does.

Todd nods in understanding. “She’s about the only thing I miss from that hell hole. Some of the marks from the whip washed off in the Lazarus pit, but a couple are still there.”

Damian knew that the pit doesn’t wash them off. No matter how many dips one takes the marks would remain.

“Mother says one should not wish away scars. Those are the marks of a warrior.”

Todd scoffs. “The ones criminals gave me were marks of a warrior, those whip marks aren’t.”

“They’re marks of a warrior.” Damian corrects. “You have endured a punishment from the League and survived. They are proof that you are persistent. Scars should not be hidden nor should they be hated. They’re battle scars.”

“They’d be battle scars if I earned them in battle. I didn’t. I got them for not killing a little kid, not doing as the League ordered.” Todd argued. “That’s not the scars of a warrior, kid, it’s the scars of a victim. A survivor.”

Oh. He had never seen it that way.

Damian was no victim, in no way. He was a warrior through and through but perhaps he was also a survivor? 

“Nevertheless.” Damian shrugged and they fell into silence.

“Right, well I got to go. See you later, Gremlin.”

“I pray you don’t, Zombie.”

That night Damian’s phone rung. Damian’s phone rarely ever rang. He only had seven contacts saved and one of them belonged to a dead man.

Damian stared at the screen for a moment, attempting to recognize the number and failing miserably. With a sigh Damian answered it.

“As-salamu alaikum.” The voice greeted immediately after he picked up. Mentally, Damian translated it into English (his brain was unfortunately growing used to that, most of his thoughts are in English these days) to peace be upon you. 

Then Damian registered the voice. “Mother?” His words came out in rushed Arabic, he hadn’t spoken that language in a while. He missed it. 

“Yes. Hello Damian.” Mother greeted and Damian smiled, only because he was sure she couldn’t see him in the safety of his room. 

“Why have you called? Is something wrong?”

“I have spoken to Jason.” Talia responded and Damian stilled. That’s it? She had called him to tell him how disappointed she was in him for admitting a weakness to someone like Todd.

“Whatever it is that Todd said—“

“It is okay to miss your home, Damian. That is not a weakness. If you let it control you it is, but you haven’t, have you?”

“No.” He said even though it was a straight lie. “I would never, to do so would be a disgrace.”

“Good.” He could hear his Mother shuffling on her end of the phone. “I miss you too, my love. I wish I could visit but my hands are full. How are you liking Gotham?”

 Damian closes his black out curtains entirely. “Gotham is…confusing. I enjoy my time here as Robin and my life as Damian Wayne is decent, though the children at Gotham Academy are imbeciles, it is quite enjoyable to watch them fail at simple questions.”

“Ah, I do think it is idiotic that your father’s eldest is making you attend school. Especially when you are so far above it.”

“The League was different. More efficient.” He responds as he has many times. “Richard doesn’t punish me properly. All he does is take Robin away and put me in my room. He does not harm me.”

“Is that not a good thing?” How could mother, of all people, be asking him that? No! It wasn’t. Damian needed that sort of discipline to learn and until he got it, he wouldn’t learn properly, he was sure of it.

“No. How is the discipline supposed to stick?”

“Do you enjoy being Robin?” Mother asks.

“Yes.”

“Then it should work. You are allowing your want for the Leagues punishments to prevent Richard’s punishments from sinking in. You enjoy being Robin, but Robin is a…gift. You need to earn it. You need to deserve it.”

Damian hums in understanding. “But what if I want the Leagues punishments.”

“My love, you should not long for pain.” Damian is silent because just because he should not doesn’t mean he does not. “It is a weakness, longing for something.” 

And Damian had learned not to voice weaknesses. So clearly he shouldn’t be voicing his weaknesses for everyone to hear. “I understand now, Mother.”

“Good. Enough of this talk. Would you like to hear about what’s been happening back home?”

They talk in Arabic for the next hour or so. They speak of the different countries they’re in, the things happening around them.

They keep it vague because Damian is still Robin and Talia is still an assassin, but for now, it is enough.

In a way, Todd was right. Damian did miss home. He missed everything about it. He missed the way everyone worshipped the ground he walked on, he missed his mother training him in between lectures, he missed the challenge those lectures had brought, he missed the happy moments, the sad moments, the praising’s, the beating’s.

But out of all those things, he missed his mother most.