Work Text:
The Talon was thawing. The Batman had removed it from his freezer and methodically strapped it down to a gurney before turning on a large lamp. The light and heat from the lamp were like from intense sunlight. It worked to melt the frozen blood in the Talon faster than the cool cave.
The Batman sat in a chair beside the gurney. In his lap was a weapon made of steel and blue glass that pulsed faintly with light. He watched the Talon, his finger on the trigger.
“Are you conscious?” He asked. He could only be addressing the Talon.
The Talon was always conscious when frozen.
It was aware that it had failed in its mission. It was supposed to kill the Batman, to catch him unaware and deliver the judgement of the Court.
The Talon had been able to wound him but he had been stronger than expected. He fought back though like any target he had begged the Talon not to attack him. Then he had forced the Talon into his freezer.
The intense cold had frozen the Talon, the one weakness to its powerful healing factor. It had remained in the freezer for only twenty four hours.
Usually it was condemned for much longer after a failure. But it had never been… prevented from returning to the Court before.
The Batman leaned closer. “The other talons are dead. Are you under orders to kill yourself when captured?”
The Talon flexed its fingers. Movement was returning. It could still complete its mission. It struggled against the bonds.
The Batman moved back, aiming the barrel of his weapon at it. The Talon knew it now from the briefing- a freeze gun developed by Victor Fries. The Batman must have used it to subdue the other talons.
The Talon was stronger than an ordinary human. Stronger than its size would suggest. But it could not break loose from the restraints.
Cold ran through it. It had failed. It was a disappointment. It had been captured.
The Batman leaned closer again as its body went limp. It could neither kill him nor decommission itself.
It was a useless weapon.
“Listen to me,” The Batman said. “I want to help you. I can help you. You just have to promise you won’t hurt me or yourself.”
“The Talon cannot disobey it’s Masters.”
The Batman flinched at the sound of its voice. He drew in a breath.
“So you can understand me. The Court is done. Gone. You don’t need to obey them anymore.”
“The Talon Serves the Court. The Talon Belongs to the Court. The Talon exists only for the Court.”
The Batman stared with his whited out eyes, mouth twisting.
“Well, you’re not with the Court anymore, are you? Your masters aren’t here, are they?”
“The Talon must Serve until it is no longer able to Serve.”
The mouth grew pinched. “You can’t Serve. They’re not here to give you orders.”
The Talon looked on mutely, uncomprehending.
The Batman looked back.
“Here, think about this, how did you come to be with the Court?”
The Talon thought. It did not remember well. The Court had made it. To make a Talon was to kill a person, take their materials and forge them into a weapon, a Talon. The Talon could not recall the process first hand but it knew.
“The Talon was found and taken to the Court. Made a Talon. Given orders.”
The Batman nodded. He turned his head away. Looking into the dark around him. The Talon waited.
The Batman took a deep breath, let it out. He turned back to face the Talon, to fix it with his eyes.
“I’ve taken you. You are now in my possession. That’s fair and square. I have you, ergo, you have to listen to me now.”
The Talon’s heart stuttered to a halt. Was that so? It was not allowed to question. It was not allowed to contradict. But the logic was sound.
The Batman leaned forward.
“Does that make sense?”
The Talon looked at him.
“You can nod if you understand. I want you to answer.”
The Talon nodded.
Something like a smile formed on the Batman’s face.
“Okay, good. We can work with that.”
The Talon quickly learned that having been captured by the Batman, it now belonged to the Batman. And there were several new rules.
1) The Batman was his new master. His new master wanted to be addressed as Bruce. The Talon was to call him Bruce.
Alfred, who worked for Bruce, which meant he was paid to be there, called him Master Bruce. But this was only because he liked to. Because the Talon did not like to do anything, he was to use Bruce only. Unless he wore the cowl, which was when he was known as Batman.
2) The Talon was now known as Dick. This was his name. Bruce told him that it had always been his name. Dick may have forgotten but Bruce had found it out and now would remind him. He was only to answer to Dick and only to refer to himself as Dick.
Alfred had attempted to call him Master Dick but Dick had dropped the plate he was carrying on the floor and disappeared to a cold, dark place for over a day and Alfred had not tried it again once he had been found.
3) Dick was not allowed to hide in cold, dark places and not answer when his name was called. If he had to hide, he could hide under his bed in his room and he should answer when called for.
4) Dick had a room. It was where he was supposed to sleep. Bruce would not be putting him back in the cold storage. Instead, Dick was to lay in the bed with the warm blankets and try to turn his brain off. He struggled with that one. Usually he just lay with his eyes closed until morning.
5) Dick had to eat, every day, three times a day. It did not matter that he wasn’t hungry. Being able to feel hunger would hopefully come back soon.
6) Dick could help Alfred with chores but it wasn’t his job. Bruce had not given him a job or a purpose. Yet.
Dick sat still at attention. Bruce was giving him an injection. Dick was used to injections from back when he was one of many Talons. This- Bruce told him- was in the past. Dick still felt like a Talon but Bruce said he wasn’t, so he couldn’t be.
This injection didn’t burn like the ones in the Court. It did not light his veins up with cold fire until he was forced to scream. Bruce did not leave him in the dark on the hard floor while it worked through his system. He sat beside him under the bright lights on the soft medical cot.
“Is that alright?” Bruce asked, placing the syringe down. He smoothed a brightly colored adhesive bandage over the dot of black blood that broke the surface. It was not necessary. Dick healed quickly and his body was particularly immune to infection.
He looked up at his master, unsure how to answer.
“Does it hurt?” Bruce revised.
Dick shook his head. “The pain would have to surpass an extremely high level to register.”
Bruce looked displeased.
Dick ducked his head in submission. “I am sorry. It does not hurt.”
“Hey, chum.” Bruce touched his shoulder. He placed his palm lightly over the bone. Talon waited for him to grab and twist and snap. It wouldn’t hurt. Talon was used to his masters taking their frustration out on him.
“Don’t apologize. I’m not mad. I was just- curious.” Bruce’s voice turned lighter at the end. Something in Dick registered this as false. An attempt to lie. He did not understand why Bruce would want to hide his displeasure.
He nodded. “Understood.” If Bruce wanted to lie to him, he would accept it.
“Has the pain ever reached that level before?” Bruce asked. “That it’s bad enough that you feel it?”
“Yes.” Dick nodded. “It was important to find the upper limit of tolerance.” He thought, calling to mind the list of procedures that the surgeons had performed. The end result was to conclude it would take significant effort by an enemy to cause pain to the Talon or specialized equipment. “Cold causes greater vulnerability. Rapid temperature change. Dismemberment.”
Bruce took a sharp intake of breath. Dick’s mouth snapped closed. He looked up at his master, waiting for punishment, for direction on what he had done wrong.
Bruce closed his eyes. His mouth was a tense line.
“Let’s stop talking about that,” he said. He nodded to himself then looked down at Dick. “What is your favorite ice cream flavor?”
Dick wondered if this was a reference to putting him in the freezer. Sometimes the masters used turns of phrase that he did not understand. Usually it meant they would punish him or test him.
But no, Bruce had said Dick would not be put in the freezer. Not regularly. But maybe as a punishment and Dick had displeased him though he did not know how.
Bruce gave him a shake. “Hey, chum? You with me? It’s okay if you don’t know. We can find out together. I bought a lot.
Dick nodded. “Understood.”
Bruce liked him to verbally confirm that he understood what he was told. His old masters had simply expected it of him but Bruce required much more speaking.
Bruce stood and Dick took it as a cue to stand as well. Bruce kept the hand on his shoulder but he was smiling now. Dick wondered if the hand was not meant as a punishment or the threat of one. Bruce’s hand was warm. It felt good. Perhaps this was a reward?
Dick was not familiar with rewards having received them rarely. Often the reward was being unfrozen and sent on a mission. But Bruce did not keep him in cold storage and he let Dick see the sky every day. He could not imagine greater rewards and Dick had done little to earn them.
Upstairs, in the kitchen, Bruce got out ten tubs of ice cream and lined them up on the island. He retrieved ten spoons from the drawer and placed each on top of the tubs. Then he stepped back and looked at Dick expectantly. Dick stood with his hands behind his back, waiting for instructions.
Bruce cleared his throat. “You don’t know what your favorite flavor is?”
Dick nodded.
“Okay. So when you don’t know something just say ‘I don’t know’.”
“Understood.”
“Not knowing isn’t a bad thing. It just means we may have to find out. So I thought this could be… fun. We’ll test the flavors and you can rate them and decide which you like best.” He paused. “Let me know if it gets too cold. This can also be a test of your cold tolerance.”
“Understood.”
“Okay. Uh, let’s start with chocolate.”
Bruce picked up one of the tubs and scoop up some of the insides with the spoon which he held out to Dick. He took it, gingerly and placed the ice cream on his tongue. He could not recall ever eating ice cream before. As far as he understood it had very little nutritional value.
It was cold and very sweet. As it melted on his tongue he looked up at Bruce, expectant for further orders.
Bruce had been watching him, appraising his expression. There was a faint hint of disappointment in his posture.
But seeing Dick looking at him, he sprang into motion, grabbing a pad of paper and a pen.
“How would you rate it out of ten?”
“I don’t know,” Dick said, trying out this new answer he had been given.
Bruce did not react negatively. “Right. This is good practice. I want to know your judgement of things. Even subjective qualities. We can rate each flavor on a scale of one to ten and then compare. One on the scale would be the worst taste imaginable. Ten would be the best taste imaginable. Can you think of an example you would use for a one rating and a ten rating?”
“I don’t know,” Dick said again. When he had been with the Court, he had been mostly fed by IV drip. Only recently had he been able to actually ingest food.
He thought about what foods he had eaten before. First, he had started by drinking water. The water in the manor had a strong filtration system but he could still detect a taste in the water like the smell of the cave- like stone. Then he had tried Jello and yogurt. Both were very sweet. He had also eaten oatmeal and applesauce. They were less sweet.
Dick wondered if he did not have a strong sense of taste. It did not seem as refined as his sense of hearing or his ability to see in the dark.
“Okay.” Bruce nodded. “You have a limited experience. The sense of taste is very close to the sense of smell. They are connected. Many things smell how they taste. So something that smells bad can be our baseline of a one on our ranking system. Do you think the Gotham sewers smell bad?”
Dick had been in the sewers many times. The smell had never impeded Dick’s ability to perform as a talon. But Bruce said he wanted to know his judgement of subjective qualities. On a subjective, non-important, level the sewers did smell bad.
He nodded.
Bruce smiled which meant he was pleased.
“Great. Okay, now a ten out of ten smell. Can you think of an example?”
Dick thought. He needed to recall a ten out of ten smell which would presumably be better than the taste of the chocolate ice cream he had just eaten and be the opposite of the smell of the Gotham sewers. This was a more complicated challenge than the many physical feats Dick had ever performed.
Being Bruce’s talon was very demanding but he could not fail.
In the garden behind the manor, Alfred tended a collection of rose bushes. Dick had gone outside with him to assist in pruning them. On a subjective, non-important, level the roses smelled good.
“A rose,” he said. He waited to be told he had gotten the challenge wrong. He should have said he didn’t know. Bruce hadn’t been angry when Dick didn’t know.
“A rose?” Bruce asked. He paused, his eyebrows coming together for a moment. Then he nodded. “Okay. We can work with that. Good answer.”
He wrote the answers down on his note pad.
Dick felt something warm in his chest. He had been correct. His master was pleased.
“Now, keeping that ranking in mind. Where does the chocolate ice cream fall on the scale?”
Dick thought. The challenge was not over. But this was right and proper for a talon. He needed to be tested and to be brought to the standards that Bruce demanded.
“A six out of ten.”
Bruce wrote it down. “Okay, so probably not a favorite,” he murmured and Dick knew it was a comment to himself and he did not have the right to interpret it.
Following this process, they tested each of the ten tubs of ice cream. They were all, as far as Dick could tell, very similar. Each was cold, sweet, and creamy. Some of the flavors had solid ingredients mixed in. This change in texture was a difference but did not effect the taste much.
Dick was concentrating but he noticed that his master was growing disappointed with each ranking.
On a previous mission, Dick had once been shot with a Thompson gun in the neck, shoulder, and stomach and knocked from the roof of a moving vehicle, causing him to lose sight of a target. By the time the sun rose, he could still not locate the target and had been forced to return to the Court.
His masters had been displeased. He had disappointed them. They had prevented his wounds from healing for three days by reducing the temperature in the room to below freezing and running electricity through his limbs at half hour intervals.
After, they had given him an additional injection of electrum which made his bones feel like they were on fire before returning him to the freezer for several years.
Presumably, another talon had been sent to terminate the target.
Dick understood the consequences of being a disappointment.
It seemed it was not correct to rank each flavor as six out of ten.
He took longer to consider the strawberry ice cream which was the final of the ten tubs of ice cream. In color, it was more similar to a rose. Bruce had not said to consider sight as one of the senses for this test but he had said smell and taste were connected. If two senses could be connected, it was reasonable that all could be connected and therefore necessary to take into account in such a task. On a subjective level.
For the most part, the taste was similar to the other flavors. But it also had chunks of strawberry mixed in. Alfred had said that fruit was “good for you”. This was a ranking of bad to good. That should also be a factor to consider.
He placed down the spoon. After all the ice cream, his mouth felt numb. Bruce had said to inform him if it was too cold. However, Dick was still able to function at this level. He could even speak.
“Seven out of ten,” he said.
Bruce had been leaning toward him, watching intently. His eyebrows jumped.
“Seven?” He asked.
Dick nodded.
Bruce smiled broadly. He threw up his hands and made a sound. A loud “whoop!”
He did not seem to be angry.
“So you like it more than the others?”
Dick nodded.
Bruce kept grinning. “That’s great, chum! A favorite. Look at that. You have a favorite!”
Dick remembered that the purpose of this exercise was to discover what his favorite ice cream flavor was. Through this trial, it had been found to be strawberry. Now, if he was asked, he would have an answer.
Bruce seemed very satisfied with the outcome. He tousled Dick’s hair and patted him on the shoulder. It was a very gentle touch that he seemed to give when Dick had been a good talon.
“Good boy. I knew you could do it!”
He got out two bowls and he and Dick each ate a scoop of strawberry ice cream sitting at the small kitchen table.
Alfred entered the room and surveyed the tubs of ice cream.
“Running an experiment, are we?”
“Yes,” Bruce said. “We’ve uncovered Dick’s favorite flavor.”
Bruce was a scientist and a detective. He liked to know the answers to questions. Dick’s new task was to help him answer them. It was very different to his previous purpose but he would have to adapt. Bruce wanted him to.
“I trust you won’t only be feeding the boy ice cream. He’ll need real food if he means to grow up big and strong.”
“Like me,” Bruce said with a huff of laughter. “No, it’s just as a treat.” He glanced at Dick and translated. “A reward for good work.”
The warmth in Dick’s chest bloomed even larger. He was being rewarded. Bruce was a very generous master.