Chapter Text
Damian watched every guest enter the show from his chair in the corner. Mama had left him a while ago so she could accomplish her mission. He knew not what it was, only that it was unconnected from his own. The mission she had given him was to watch the crowd and try to piece out which person was the Batman–which one was his father. If he could pick out the right man, Mama said he could meet him. Even without his training, Damian knew in his heart that this was a mission he could never fail at. In this room was the man who walked away from the League to find his own path, yet still held the respect of Grandfather and Mama. He wanted to meet this great warrior who shadowed his life.
For close to an hour, Damian diligently cataloged the reception area with no luck. The men at this party were all schmoozers and weaklings. He found it hard to believe that his brave, kind, and strong father could put up with them, even for just a night, even for his cover. If he wasn’t here for such an important reason himself, he would have wanted to ask to return to their room. He was growing more and more fed up until he heard a crashing noise from deeper into the gallery. It might have been a waiter dropping a plate, but Damian rather didn’t think so. No, he was fairly certain that it was a window breaking. Someone should go investigate to be certain, he thought, but none of the empty-headed partygoers even seemed to notice. That left one choice, and Damian disliked it enormously.
Well, he supposed, he had two choices. He simply did not like considering inaction a choice. He could pick it however. He could stay, complete his mission, and meet his father. In all likelihood, nothing bad would happen. There were many non-nefarious reasons for glass breaking–if that was even what the noise had been. Damian knew this and still couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut that someone needed to go check. Maybe it wasn’t what he wanted, and maybe not what his mother wanted, but it was certainly what his father would want him to do. For all that he had never met the man, Damian knew all about the Batman. Mama had told him of his feats, his desire to never kill even as he fought for second chances; for his city, for people the world had given up on, even for those who purposefully hurt others. How would the Batman look at his son if he found out he valued his own wants over the needs of the people? With scorn and disappointment, Damian was sure. He would want a son worthy of his legacy, and so Damian would be.
He crept out the guarded corner he had been left in, and headed off in the direction he had heard the noise come from. He stuck to the shadows, and easily snuck by the partiers. He sincerely doubted they would have even noticed if he walked straight through the middle of the room, with their raucous laughter and litres of champagne, but Mother would as would her agents. The closer he got to the noise’s origin point, the more the buzz of the party faded. By the point he made it to a blank white hall, marked only by empty hooks for frames, he was in complete silence. He found it unnerving and suspicion confirming. At the end of the hall, Damian knew from studying the building schematics, was a small room. Once it had been a staff room. Now, following minor renovations, it served as a private breastfeeding space for gallery guests. Tonight, Damian thought it would be a crime scene.
Unfortunately, he was right. Surrounded by the smashed glass of sunlight, a crow lay bleeding. He picked his little head up weakly every so often and tugged at the wire wrapped around its neck. How right he was to come. If he hadn’t this bird would have died painfully, frightened and alone. Now at least, someone could try to help him. If he still died, there would be someone to know and to remember.
Slowly, to show he meant no harm, walked over to the crow. It began squawking and trying to shove away from him. Damian tried to soothe it and reassure the poor creature, but nothing he did did anything to gain its trust. A hand going to the wire only got pecked or scratched. Damian needed a new plan of action. He ran as quickly as he could to a supply closet and found some rags. He gave a quick sniff-lavender scented-to make as sure as he could that they were clean. He thought about taking some of the anti septic but left it in the end since he wasn’t sure if it was safe for use on crows. He returned, rags in hand, to find a man crouched over his crow.
“What are you doing?” He demanded. If this man thought to hurt an injured and defenseless bird, he would swiftly learn how the League of Assassins trained its members.
“I’m just trying to help him, son. Don’t worry.” The man said, with his back still to Damian.
“Yes. That’s why I’m here. You may leave now.” Damian informed him. He was perfectly capable of rescuing the creature on his own. Likely more so than this man, who must have been one of the insipid party guests going by his copious hairgel and well made suit.
The man spun on the balls of his feet to face Damian. When he caught sight of him, the man blinked. He breathed out something that Damian couldn’t entirely hear, but he thought might have been looks just like her. Any shock or surprise in him was quickly brushed away for a more business like attitude. Damian’s opinion of him slowly rose. He gestured at the rags in Damian’s hands.
“We’ll do it together, how about that. Give me the towel and I’ll hold his head and feet and you get the wire. Sound good?”
The suggestion was the best one that would get the crow help in time, so Damian agreed. In one great, gentle hand the man cupped the bird’s head and in the other held his clawed feet in place. Damian went around the other side and leaned over top of the bird. He unwound the wire as carefully as not to cut himself or the bird anymore. When he finished, he pulled the hateful thing back towards himself. He felt like he hadn’t breathed in ages. Seemingly satisfied that the bird was freed, the man let go of his hold on it. The crow rolled back onto its feet and took a few halting hops before flapping its wings and flying back out of the sunlight. The man began to pick up some of the bigger pieces of glass and wrap them in the rags.
“Shouldn’t we go after him?” Damian cried, outraged, “He’s still injured!”
The man set down his glass-filled rag and moved to look Damian in the eye. He placed one heavy hand on his bicep. “Son, I know it can be upsetting, but this is what we can do. We helped him out of the worst of it–the rest is up to him. The most good is done like that.”
Damian did not think he agreed with that. Couldn’t hard work set the world right? Everyone could be saved, couldn’t they? He might have argued the point, if he had had the chance.
“Damian!” His mother gasped, as she rushed into the room and pulled him into her arms. She whispered more harshly into his ear, “Don’t scare me like that! Do you know what types of people are here tonight?”
The man cleared his throat. Mother looked up. “Beloved?”
Mama sounded surprised. Never in his entire life had he ever heard her sound as if she wasn’t in complete control of every possibility. Something had raddled her. That worried him.
“Talia?” The man, and he would remain the man until he was certain, said. There was shock in his voice too, if perhaps to a lesser degree, and it sounded just as uncanny on him as it did his mother.
“I’m sorry, Bruce. This was not the way I meant to introduce you to our son.”
Before the man, Bruce, his father, the bat, could reply, Damian blurted out, “You’re my father? I thought you’d be taller!”
*
Early the next morning, Damian found himself sitting in a cafe with his mother. Any minute now his Father would come and pick him up. They would go to Gotham, away from all and everyone that Damian had ever known, and his father would train him. Mother had said that she had seen the error in her ways of keeping him a secret. She had believed that having her and Damian would ultimately lead to the end of the Bat. A boy needed his father, she claimed, and she had seen that Batman could be that. Signal–Duke Thomas–had proven the concept to her, that Batman could be a protector without giving it all up.
“I’m not giving you away, my love,” she was reassuring him now, “but I had you for nine good years. It’s only fair you can learn from him as well. And you contact me the second you think anything is wrong, and I’ll come for you. Whatever you need.”
“Yes, Mama.” He said. He knew not what he felt. He wanted this. He was frightened. His mother would know what was best for him.
In short order, Father swooped in with an old man in tow. Alfred, he learned. He greeted them warmly and sat for a coffee while Alfred started packing Damian’s bags into the car. What he had brought with him to Paris would go with them, and the rest of his things would be shipped over to the US or be bought new for him. Actually faced with his father, Damian warmed more to the idea of going with him. His life was to become the Bat, and this was his next step.
“Talia, you can still come with us.” Father said to Mother as they all prepared to leave. She only smiled sadly, and by Father’s face, he knew the question would always be answered in vain.
“Be good to our boy, Beloved.” She said.
“He’ll be the happiest boy in the world, I promise.” Father promised her back.
Mother hugged him one last time, and Damian walked out into a new world with his father beside him.