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Gotham Forest was the Dark Wizard’s domain. Right in the heart of the dense trees and winding rivers sat a tall, isolated tower. Ivy and other creeping flora and fauna had long climbed up the sides of it. Its dark bricks, sharp windows and triangular rooftop towered imposingly over the Gotham’s skyline. Townsfolk whispered about the Wizard residing in such a place, tales of a man more shadow than human showing up at the edge of gruesome crime scenes and leading lonely, orphaned children away into the dark night had surfaced many a time. Parents used him as a warning, chiding their children with an 'eat your vegetables, or the Dark Wizard will take you to his tower to eat you!' here and a 'go to sleep, of the Dark Wizard will get you!' there. He was a figure as shrouded in mystery as his massive, enigmatic tower, isolated in the woods.
On the very top floor of said tower, the aforementioned Dark Wizard of Gotham stood in his study, surrounded by shadows, a slowly simmering cauldron on low heat and shelves upon shelves of magical ingredients—the eyes of newts, the hair of the sídhe, the legs of spiders. Messy papers of created spells and sigils stay littered over many a table top as Bruce stoicly takes a silver dagger out of its holster. The weapon is heavy in his hands and cool to the touch. He closes his eyes, taking a deep, calming breath before taking the dagger to his arm and slicing across the flesh with surgical precision. Hissing ever-so-slightly at the barely there sting, he mutters a spell to make the blood flow quicker, watching as the red, red drops gush and flow into the ceramic bowl placed strategically on the table below.
The red liquid glistens as it ripples within the bowl.
Bruce waits until it fills up a satisfactory amount before patting the gash with an anointed cloth to stop the bleeding. The ointment on it was a healing salve, the wound would be fully healed within the next ten minutes or so. Carefully, he pours a ladle of the slowly simmering herbs—along with the eyelash of a Sphinx, and other more mystical ingredients—into the ceramic bowl, watching as the concoction glows a violent red when the blood and the other ingredients begin to mix.
Behind him, a dire wolf lets out a warning chuff. Bruce drops the ladle back into the cauldron and turns around instantly, only to see his Familiar attempt to nudge his Damian away from the hot base of the cauldron. His baby who had apparently climbed out of the playpen set up for him in the corner of the room. The infant babbles something in response, trying to reach his hands out in curiousity and a desire to touch the burning hot cauldron base with his tiny, fragile baby hands. Bruce swoops in, picking his boy up and settling him into his arms, uncaring of his fussing. Damian quickly forgets his frustration as shadowy tendrils curl and coil around him. He giggles—a sound more precious and beautiful than life itself—before beginning to playfully bat at the dark curls of Bruce's shadow magic wrapping protectively around him.
"I looked away for all of five seconds." The Wizard sighed fondly, pressing a kiss to his son's forehead. Damian looks up at him with a gummy smile, emerald green eyes glowing in the dimmed light of the study—a sure sign of strong magic to come, whether it would imitate the al Ghul's control over nature or the Wayne's control of shadows, only time would tell. It didn't even matter right now, seeing as Damian would be a vulnerable little baby either way. Bruce straightens up the folds of the teensy imitation of a wizard's robe that his son was wearing. "And you're already getting into trouble, huh?"
Darkness creeps across his tiny body, covering him up in a protective aura. Damian just smiles, attention captured by the flickering shadows. Anyone else would find them intimidating. Bruce's ability to command darkness and shadows had been the source of many ghost stories and urban legends over the years. Townsfolk trembled at the sight of such 'malevolent darkness'—as they'd put it, at least. They were Bruce's best, most terrifying feature. What a shame (it really wasn't a shame at all) it was that his baby boy seemed determined to undermine that fearsome reputation by nuzzling into the dark, sinister tendrils whilst giggling. But, Damian would not be fearless for long.
It was such a shame, what would have to happen to the boy.
"Ba!" Damian shouts in glee.
Bruce pinches his chubby cheeks with a grin on his impossibly pale and death-like face. He didn't want to have to see that innocent, loving smile degrade into pure fear. But it had to be done. "Ba yourself, you little escape artist."
His Familiar—resolutely pleased with the situation—circles around before plopping himself on the ground. Ace was a massive wolf, bigger than any could grow in the wild, and pitch black. He was the picture of intimidation, with sharp teeth, calculating eyes, and an alarming physique. He pauses, ears prickling up before leaning forwards and picking up something fuzzy and black gently within his jaws, From there, the tiniest baby fruit bat climbs to rest on his furry head, it's black coat camouflaging completely with Ace's fur. Damian's Familiar—whom he'd get to name once he grew a little older— was impossibly small in comparison to Bruce's own. Bruce grimaces and coos simultaneously at the sight, despite his aversion to bats—borne of a childhood experience and subsequent fear—their association with his youngest baby made them impossible to not think somewhat fondly of.
Bruce turns away from the sight, adjusting Damian so he could hold the boy one handed. He grabs an ox-tail brush and dips in into the glowing concoction, before beginning to map out a complex sigil in the very middle of the room. His penmanship was steady and precise. Damian babbled, resting his tiny head on his Father's broad shoulder and watching on in fascination. Bruce leaves a small circle clear within the very centre of the sigil and places black and white candles around it. Damian gets set gently into the centre next.
With a flick of his wrists, the candles light. Damian gasps, mouth gaping as tiny hands attempt to touch the flames. Bruce's shadows reach out and gently stop him, holding him in place before the infant tries to crawl away. Damian pouts, chubby cheeks puffing out adorably in betrayal. Bruce grips onto the flowing sleeves of his wizard robes. Memories of Dick, of Cass, of his other children going through the same ritual and being terrified of what was about to happen, even if it was for the greater good. And his other children were much, much older than the small, vulnerable little baby in front of him, how was an infant going to handle this in comparison??
He didn't want his precious baby boy to fear him. To feel the raw, primal fear that others had felt around him.
Yet, it had to be done.
With a deep breath, the Dark Wizard closes his blue eyes and begins. The temperature in the room drops. A floating orb of pure blackness sucks all of the light—sans the flickering candles—from the room. Damian watches on in fascination, glowing green eyes wide as his Daddy begins to levitate. Thick tendrils of imposing, jet-black shadows curl and weave around the sigil, coiling around the small boy like a monster from the Depths. Bruce speaks in the old tongue, well aware of the hellish whispers reverberating his every word. They sound like the screeches of the Damned.
Blue eyes turn a glowing white as his voice takes on a deep, shadowy tone. "I b̴i̶nd you to me, D̶am̷i̷an..."
The shadows whisper in a sickening echo.
...Dam̷ian.
...D̸a̵m̸i̶a̷n̷.
...D̵̢͍̥͎̞̤͎̼͕̾͠a̶̟̠̥̩̼̻͖̘̒͐̾̾̔͒̅͠͠ḿ̵̹̜̓͆̆͊̈̚͘͝ì̶̢̦̩̹͖̮̼͔̊͌̅̇a̵̢̳̿͋̅̈́͆̇̌n̵̨̢͚̮͒̏̔͜.
Ace howls a bone-chilling howl.
Damian wriggles as the tendrils of pitch-black shadows wrap tighter around him, looking rather uncomfortable and trying to bite the dark bindings, pouting when his gums phase through them. Darkness envelops both Father and Son.
"I bind you to me, with my f̷̹͛lesh and with my blood, within my domain of Shadoẁ̷̝ş̴͝...." The Wizard speaks sharply, voice low and intimidating, like a guttural growl in his throat. His shadowy black hair floats around his face, as if he were underwater. "I bind myself to you, as a Prot̶ector, as a Fa̷̮̐ther."
The shadows bounce off of the walls in lurid imitations of human speech.
P̷r̶ote̴c̸t̷o̴r...
...Fa̵̻̚ṯ̴̓h̶̬̄é̶r̶̀...
P̵r̸o̵̰͋t̶̤̐ẹ̴́c̶̛̼t̴͉̾o̷̗͐r̴̛...
...F̸̋̒͝͝ȁ̴̺̲̗̑t̵͙͌h̵̀̈́̈ẻ̶̥r̴̡̞̳̝͋͒...
...P̶̤̱̠͈͂̑̽r̸̢̜͇̫͔̥̮̈́͐ǒ̴̠͚̙̝͖̦͙t̸̳̟̅̈́͛ȇ̴̙̈́̋̐̾̚̕ć̴̨̭͖͍̺͋́̑̈́̈́͑͜ͅt̸̹͖͎͚́̍ő̷̩̤͕̚ͅr̸̛͎̓͋̏͗̔̊ͅ
...
...F̶̥͉̽͑̃̇̏̀̾͗̈̃̒̍̀̇͂͐̋̔̕̕͝Ą̵̥̩͓̺̥͈̭̖̱̙̬́̈́͐̅͒͐̐̎͘̕͝ͅͅṪ̴̨̘̙̼̮̱͑́̈͂̃̎͊͊̏͒͌̔͗̃͗̄̑̄̈́͑̓̅͘͜H̴̡͖̰̲̝̫̞̫̎Ę̵̦̟̟͉̲͇̣̲͇͚͚͎̯̯̰͚̣̟̟̫̰̅̿̉͑̊̎͌̈́́͌͋̍́͊́̅̔̋̊͘̚̕͜͝R̵̡̬͕͙̜͕̞͓̙̯̗͔̖̾͗̀͆̄̓̌̽
"I bind you to me by the Light of Da̸̼͘y and the Da̸̼͘rknes̴s̶ of Night, under my domain and under my prote̴ctioǹ̶̬͊." Bruce whispers, watching as his shadows lift his baby into the air and anoint him in the Darkness. Damian babbles something as the murky blackness whispers in the background. "I bind you to me, body and soul, just as I b̴i̶nd my covenant to you, hea̸̼͘rt and hea̸̼͘ling."
A small tendril of the dark reaches into the baby's chest, touching his small, beating heart. Damian looks up curiously from where he had began to gnaw on his little fingers—half out of boredom, half because he was teething, and Bruce's spell to soothe his gums was probably beginning to wear off.
The Dark Wizard continues, already having passed the Rubicon. "You are mine, Da̷̮̐mia̷n. Mine to prote̴ct, to nurture, to gua̷rd and to love. A promise has been passed down, Pa̷̮̐rent to Child. It shall be f̷̹͛uf̷illed for as long as I am able."
...M̷i̵n̶e̵
...Ḿ̷̨̢̯̠̓ī̶̾̓̚ǹ̸͘͠e̴
...M̷̠̋̾i̵̘̕n̵̰̈́ͅe̷̜͒͝
....Ḿ̷̨̢̯̠̓ī̶̠̾̓̚ǹ̸͘͠e̴
M̴̳͆̆̾Ì̵͔̫̖̙͕͓̟̀̇ͅÑ̶̛͖̱͙͕̩̈̈́̀̽͘͜͝Ę̸̨̣̥̠̺̤͑
The ritual ends, Bruce's feet meet the ground, he blinks and the blue irises return to his eyes, his hair falls flat, tousled by wind. Slowly, he reaches out to his baby boy, who must've been so scared. Damian goes into his arms shockingly easily, attempting to gnaw on his shoulder. Bruce could weep in joy. There was not an ounce of terror in those gorgeous green eyes. The infant blinks up at him innocently as Bruce fixes his ringlet curls, slightly frayed from his shadowy levitation.
His brave, brave boy.
"Da!" Damian grumbles as Bruce pulls his tiny jaws away from his shoulder and hands him the teether sitting on his desk.
A tiny baby bat flutters to the top of Bruce's head. The Dark Wizard flinches minutely.
Satisfied, Bruce grins, pulling his son into a tighter cuddle. "Shall we go see what your siblings are doing in the woods now, Dami?"
With that, Bruce begins his descent of the tower's staircases, passing through floors full of bedrooms and libraries and other amenities. He makes sure to tilt his head in greeting to Alfred—the North English Brownie who had resided in the Dark Wizard's tower for generations—to show his respect. Damian nuzzles into his chest contentedly as Ace circles around them.
Ace tracks the scent trails of his older children to a clearing in the woods close to the tower. Stephanie Brown—the Baker's daughter who Bruce was sure was currently supposed to be foraging berries for her mother—was currently standing on Tim's shoulders, as he, she and Cass—who was balancing on the branches—were currently trying to tie a long rope to a high up branch and make a swing. It didn't exactly seem to be working, and Bruce was sure his blood pressure was heightening rapidly at the sight of them being so reckless, and their swing being so structurally unsound. (They were not using a good enough style of knot for the rope.) Tim's barn owl Familiar hoots in trepidation, as Stephanie's fox and Cass's calico cat—respectively—circle around the base of the tree on the prowl.
Ace pads away from the drama, instead deciding to flop down beside a nearly-sleeping Dick and his dozing American Robin. The teenager groans, but quickly takes to using the dire wolf as a pillow for his power nap. Jason sits quietly beside him, dividing his attention between the spell book in front of him, his almost-adolescent greyhound Familiar, and snickering anytime Duke's orbs of light shine in Dick's face and wake him up just as he starts to doze off, or just as Duke's still-just-about-a-puppy wolf familiar lets out a startling bark or yowl to wake him up again. Bruce's eldest son grumbles, and buries his face into Ace's fur.
Duke pouts, jumping down from his vantage point on a hawthorne tree and instead climbing the oak that the others were trying to fix a swing onto, he scales the tree quickly and takes his big sister's outstretched hands, letting Cass pull him up to the not-so-easily accessible branch that she was sitting on. Below them, the small grey wolf yips and burrows under Ace's chin. The older canine licks a stripe down the puppy's face, and he growls begrudgingly at the indignity of it
Barbara—the Commissioner's daughter and one of Bruce's most talented apprentices ever—suppresses a chuckle from her spot at the edge of the clearing. His eldest daughter Helena waves at him before leaning back against the ginger professional-witch-in-training's legs.
Then, Tim jerks backwards suddenly. Stephanie shrieks as she begins to wobble backwards on Tim's shoulders.
Bruce's heart lurches, and shadowy tendrils immediately shoot out towards the group of children. His children.
"Watch out!" Duke shouts, reaching downwards off of the branch to grab her hands as Cass wraps her arms around his waist to steady him. Stephanie thankfully re-balances herself a second later, looking down at Tim with narrowed eyes.
"I'm sorry!" The older boy huffs, "There was a wasp on my face!"
Bruce calls back the shadows, sighing.
The blonde sticks her tongue out at him. "Not an excuse, Butthead!"
Cass snickers at the childish insult, still keeping a steadying arm around Duke. She whispers a breathy 'Butthead' in between laughing.
Tim raises a brow, stepping backwards so Stephanie wobbles a little on his shoulders, his grip stays firmly on her ankles, however. "Butthead? Really, Steph? You're eleven whole years old and you're still calling people Butthead. Lame!"
"Well, I wanna call you something else, but there are little, seven-year-old ears present." Stephanie huffs as she tries once more to throw the end of the rope up to Cass and Duke.
"Hey!" Duke pouts. "Your ears are little, not mine!"
Steph, Cass and Tim share a look, as if they seemed any bigger than Duke in Bruce's eyes.
They continue to squabble.
"Guys!" He sighs, exasperatedly. "Be careful up there!" Gently Bruce sets Damian down onto the soft grass, before walking over to the trio before one of them gets seriously injured! The baby bat curled up tightly in the inner folds of Bruce's black robes, feeling at home in the darkness. He steadies Tim, knowing that if he did much else, all of his children—plus Stephanie—would whine at him for interfering.
Damian babbles, crawling over to Helena, who happens to be sitting a few feet away criss-cross-apple-sauce on the green grass as Barbara sits in her wheelchair and braids her wild black hair—just like Bruce's, it never seems to want to lay flat or be tamed—with precision. They pause their conversation, and Helena leans forward to pick her baby brother up. Her Familiar—a cat as black as night—lifts its head lazily from where it had been soaking up the sun and curls around the baby now resting in Helena's lap.
"Hey, Dami!" She says softly, letting Damian's tiny hands reach out and touch the—still-in-progress—plait in her hair curiously.
"Hah-Ba!" Was the baby's eloquent response.
"We'll do your hair next." She presses a kiss to her baby brother's tiny forehead, before returning to her prior conversation with Barbara, her voice as full of righteous anger as any thirteen-year-old's could be. "So anyway, he was being mean to the other girls and the teacher wasn't doing anything about it, so I punched him, and then his nose started bleeding and then Ms. Hawkthorne got mad at me!—"
"—That's so unfair, Helena." Barbara shakes her head in sympathy, eyes narrowed behind her glasses.
"Fa!" Damian shouts out with as much seriousness as his little body could muster before going back to gnawing on his teether. Poor baby, Bruce would have to wait a while after the ritual before doing another spell for his gums, so as not to overwhelm Damian with magic. Helena giggles.
Bruce glances back at them from his current stance of 'trying not to let my children fall from a tree and die because they won't let me help them with their swing'. He smiles softly. All of his babies—with so much magical potential, who he was so proud of—all of his babies safe and sound in the one place.
'M̴i̶̹̊ṇ̴̎ě̴͉.' whispers the shadowy part of his mind. Bruce finds himself contentedly agreeing, even as Steph throws the rope up to Cass again, and it gets caught in a different set of branches before falling on his head.
Their laughter was music to his ears, either way.