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Since the day he was born, Damian was destined to become the next Demon's Head. Groomed his entire life for the purpose, it was meant to be a day of triumph when he took his rightful place. What he found instead was a profound emptiness.
For a long time, Ra's Al Ghul had been deteriorating both in body and mind. No one, not even his own daughter had learned the extent of it until Damian was summoned before him.
A shell of a man, Damian could still recall the disgust he felt both at himself and his grandfather when he learned how he intended to hold onto his power. He remembered the rare moment of fear he felt when a foreign presence invaded his body. He recalled the bitter emptiness he felt when it was his soul that emerged victorious rather than his grandfather's.
Looking back, Damian had no real ambition of taking his grandfather's place. As a goal, it had motivated him, but as a reality, it bored him. His grandfather's mission was not his own, but Damian had no great love for chaos and the League of Assassins was not an organization that could quietly disappear in a moment's notice. Besides, he knew little else.
So he led. He trained his assassins, he collected contracts, he did what was required to keep everything moving as it should. Rarely, he even designed to handle a situation himself.
The name of the Demon's Head held just as much weight when Damian wielded it as when his grandfather had. Those skeptical of his abilities had met a swift end, which always made it strange when he was approached without fear. Typically, arrogance and stupidity fueled brazenness, today his guests seemed filled to the brim with both.
Two men and what seemed to be their bodyguard had personally come to negotiate with the Demon's Head. The guard had a large crate with him.
"Great one," One of them began. "We appreciate you taking your precious time to meet with us-"
"I don't care for pleasantries."
"Of course, I'll cut to the chase. We require use of your... assets. With elections nearing, we need a subtle way to quiet descent. We would of course be grateful for your assistance and as a show of good faith," The man motioned to his guard. "We have a rare good to offer."
Inside the crate the guard carried was a small figure. Damian scowled at the sight of him.
"We don't involve ourselves with human trafficking."
"We know he may not look like much, but this child is a Talon," Once again, he motioned to his guard. The man pulled the child out of the crate, revealing his deathly pale skin. Black veins were visible beneath his skin and his eyes were a luminescent gold. He did not complain as he was set down, nor did he try to run. He simply stood at attention was a stare that was both unnervingly intense and strangely devoid of any emotion. "The last remnant of the Court of Owls. An elite assassin to add to your own ranks."
Damian had heard the name before in passing. For years they had pulled the strings in Gotham City, until his father ruthlessly uprooted them. It was something that had happened before he was born and served as somewhat of a marker in Batman's behavior. The aggression he showed afterwards to criminals of any kind, but especially those who were similar to the Court, had seen a sharp increase.
"If he were really so skilled, the Owls would still exist."
And you would keep him went unsaid. Still, the man grinned.
"This one is still young. You have plenty of time to refine him," Damian held back a scoff. The Talon was a child, no older than ten by the looks of it. Either he wasn't what they claimed or he would remain young for as long as his approximation of a life continued. "Or, if you'd prefer, you can simply scrap him for parts," The Talon did not react to such a casual mention of his own discarding. "I've heard his blood is interesting."
Damian watched the child and still found no reaction. Part of him was curious, though he had no great need for more numbers in his ranks. Still, the idea of sending him away, likely to be disposed of, didn't sit right with him. There was no point in wasting a potential resource without a proper assessment, even if his clients seemed to see little value in it.
"Fine," Damian approached the client. "I'll accept your Talon as goodwill. As for terms, we can have a more in depth discussion."
Damian snapped his fingers, summoning two assassins who took the Talon away.
The Talon stood perfectly still, his hands held behind his back as instructed. Damian occasionally glanced at him as he listened to a subordinate's report. She held a vial of black blood.
"It's called electrum from what we could find. It works as a replacement for the Talon's blood and provides the body with enhancements," The woman pushed the Talon forward. Despite the force, he maintained his balance. He held out his arm when prompted and did not flinch when a knife sliced through the length of it. Black blood oozed out with little urgency. "It takes anywhere from ten to thirty minutes for a wound of this size to disappear entirely. A broken bone took less than two hours. Tests have indicated that physically, the Talon is as old as it looks."
"Then the electrum has stopped his aging."
"We can't be sure that's the only cause, but we suspect it has slowed it down to an extent," The woman stepped forward while the Talon remained in place. His arm was still out as blood dropped onto the floor. "We believe if we were given time, we could recreate the electrum-"
"To what end?"
"Our forces would be greatly enhanced with the immortality it can provide."
"Tt. Immortality," Damian began, bitterly. "Is not a gift. False immortality would only breed recklessness. There's a reason only one Talon remains."
The woman looked as though she wanted to argue, but ultimately bit her tongue. If there was anyone that understood the dangers of toying with life and death, it was an Al Ghul. His grandfather had desperately run from his own death and all it had led to was desperation and madness, the echoes of which Damian was forced to contend with in his weaker moments.
"I have no use for electrum," He glanced at the Talon, still dutifully awaiting his next orders. "Consider your study concluded."
On a whim, Damian found himself visiting the main training grounds on the compound. He watched several sparring matches, his presence alone causing more bloodshed than was strictly necessary. It wasn't long before he found his way to the Talon.
He sat on his knees on the ground, remaining perfectly still, even as he noticed Damian's approach. He did not flinch when a blade was swung at him, nor when it cut a thin line cross his neck. He simply allowed black blood to ooze from the shallow cut.
"I can see why he was pawned on us," Damian said, announcing his presence to the instructor. He quickly turned and kneeled, only getting up when Damian motioned for him to do so. "His instincts are abysmal."
"Its reflexes are impressive when it uses them, but whatever happened made it more of a tool than a person," He crossed his arms. "It listens to commands well enough but is otherwise incapable of acting on its own."
"Hm," Damian watched the Talon who stared ahead, expression blank. Part of him wondered if his young age was the reason for his behavior, or, lack thereof. "So he's useless."
The Talon's eyes flicked to Damian then straight ahead again. Damian raised an eyebrow but got no further reaction.
"As I said before, it's skilled when in action."
"I'll be the judge of that," Damian waved off the instructor as he approached the Talon. "We're going to spar," He told him.
The Talon was quick to stand. He readied himself in a practiced stance as he awaited Damian's next command. His stance was solid, obviously practiced as expected of what was meant to be an elite assassin. Yet, something felt off about it in a way that Damian couldn't quite put his finger on.
"Come at me as though you intend to kill. Do not stop until I tell you," The boy gave a slight nod. "Begin."
Immediately, he darted forward. His every move was graceful with absolutely none of the clumsiness you'd expect from a child of his size. He was quick to avoid a kick from Damian, as he flipped out of the way in a brazen display of acrobatic ability. It was certainly distracting, but not nearly distracting enough for the Talon's attack to land. Damian twisted out of the way of a blade that seemed to have been produced from thin air.
The Talon managed to slice the back of Damian's leg, making a cut too shallow to cause any real damage. That was all the damage he managed to inflict, but he still had to admit that it was somewhat impressive that he was able to land anything at all.
Unfortunately for the Talon, as he attempted another attack, Damian seized his wrist. He twisted his arm back and forced a muscle spasm which caused him to drop the blade. Then, he pinned him to the ground with his knee pressed against his back. The Talon struggled fiercely to escape, but it was no use.
"Concede."
In an instant, all the fight drained from the Talon. He laid limp on the ground, now that the spar was over. He didn't stand when Damian stood either.
How disappointing.
That the Talon had been reduced to a tool was not an understatement. With no apparent will of his own, he might make for a good assassin, but raw skill was not all the Demon Head expected of his subordinates.
Still, maybe what was done could be undone somehow. If not completely, then at least enough to make the Talon viable.
"To your feet," Damian ordered. The Talon scrambled to follow it. Then, as expected, he waited for his next command. Plans began to form in his mind. "We'll start again."
The Talon became something of a project. A way to ease his boredom if nothing else. Damian found himself spending an increasing amount of time with him beyond sparring sessions.
Tonight, he had ordered the boy to accompany him for dinner which he took in his private quarters. The Talon sat, his feet just barely touching the floor, and stared at the food in front of him. At first, Damian assumed that the Talon was meant to allow his master to begin eating before him, but the boy did not move even after Damian's first bite.
Halfway through the meal, the Talon still had not moved. Finally, Damian found himself getting frustrated.
"Eat," He ordered. Immediately, the Talon did as he was told. His movements were just as fluid as when he fought and just as lifeless. He gave no indication as to whether he enjoyed the food or not, though that was to be expected. "It is a requirement of mine that you eat when you're hungry."
"I do not feel hunger."
Damian was momentarily taken aback by the rough voice. Less so by its quality, he didn't get the impression that the boy would have been allowed to speak in his previous environments, and more so by the fact that he heard it at all.
"I wasn't aware you knew how to speak."
"This Talon is fluent in seven languages. I can use another if Master wishes-"
"English is fine."
The Talon nodded, then returned to his food. He quietly continued eating until Damian's curiosity began to burn too brightly to ignore.
"You don't feel hunger."
"I do not."
"Then do you not require food to sustain yourself?"
"I do."
"Tt. What a ridiculous design. What other modifications were made to you?"
"I do not feel pain," The Talon looked up at Damian, the slightest hint of emotion showing in his eyes too fast to be identified. "Would Master enjoy a demonstration?"
"No," Damian thought for a moment, then added, "Do not cause unnecessary damage to your body."
The Talon nodded, then returned to his meal. Damian watched him as another question came to mind.
"Do you understand who I am?"
"You are this Talon's Master."
"Beyond that."
"You are this Talon's Master. There is no more."
Damian let out a small huff. "And your previous masters?"
"You are this-"
"Enough. I understand."
The Talon nodded and returned to his meal for a final time. He was sent away after dinner, but he did not leave Damian's thoughts.
When Damian was a child, if he ever really was one, his teachers struck to kill. It was a brutal, yet efficient way to teach him a lesson that would serve him well.
Kill or be killed.
The Talon, though talented in combat, was not the same as Damian. Though he was clearly sculpted for killing, it was hard to look at him and not see the eyes of a child watching his every move. In spite of that, Damian countered an attempted nerve strike by grabbing then striking his arm. It was only years of training that stopped him from cringing when he heard the familiar yes sickening snap of a bone.
Damian quickly let go of the talon's arm. He moved back, then readied himself to strike again despite his arm hanging limply at his side.
"That's enough for today," Damian announced, causing the boy to stop mid-strike. He diverted his momentum into a sort of somersault to stop himself from falling, then stood at attention awaiting his next orders.
In theory, he was perfect for the League's purposes. Were he a normal recruit, a broken arm would not have been an excuse to stop training. As it was, however, Damian felt the slightest twinge of emotion as he looked at the small boy. Mercy, perhaps, something which he hadn't felt for another human being since before his mother had been slain.
"Follow me," Damian ordered. The Talon followed dutifully behind. He remained silent in both his breathing (if he even did so) and his footsteps. Eventually, they returned to Damian's personal quarters. Without a word, he broke into his first aid supplies and gathered the materials to make a splint. By the time he turned back to the Talon, he noticed his arm had already begun to heal.
"Are you in pain?"
The boy answered quickly, "I do not feel pain."
Damian grimaced, remembering their previous conversation on the topic, and began work on the boy's arm. Curious eyes watched him, which was the closest thing to emotion he'd ever seen the boy openly display. The way the Talon leaned into the touch did not escape his notice.
Interesting.
"You will not be returning to the training grounds today," Damian informed once he finished working on the boy's arm. It was likely a waste of materials, but the practice in rendering aid was useful all the same. Or so he told himself. "You may-"
The boy watched him expectantly. He had few responsibilities, with training being the main and frankly only one. He could dismiss him for the day, but given the level of independence the boy possessed (or, more accurately, lack thereof) he would likely waste the day simply standing or sitting in his room.
"You may accompany me for the rest of the day," Is what he eventually settled on. The Talon gave a curt nod, then stood to trail Damian.
For the rest of the day, he had a small shadow. The presence of which felt strangely... nice.
The Talon was like a shadow. His footsteps were silent as he walked alongside Damian, even when his strides were unnaturally large to keep pace. He did not complain, nor did he acknowledge when Damian slowed slightly to accommodate his smaller legs.
As they went, Damian noticed something peculiar. Every so often, faster than most would be able to notice, the Talon's eyes flicked to Damian's hands. It was never for more than a fraction of a second, but it was frequent enough to catch Damian's notice.
Though he was content to leave it alone, the Talon did not stop his habit once they reached their destination. Rather than putting his focus on the large training arena overlooked by the balcony they'd walked to, his eyes kept flicking to Damian's hands. His near blank expression held the slightest hint of... longing, perhaps? Damian thought back to the night before and, without overthinking his next movement, placed a gentle hand on the Talon's head. Immediately he looked slightly less tense, maybe even happy if he was still capable of such a thing.
"Talon," The boy instantly tensed once again. He stood up as straight as his spine would allow and looked Damian in the eyes. "Answer honestly, is this what you wanted?"
"Yes," The Talon bowed his head, ashamed. "I ap-"
"Do not apologize," The boy snapped his mouth shut. His expression was grim resignation at his fate. Not for the first time, Damian couldn't help but be outraged on his behalf. The Court of Owls were lucky that Batman was the one to dismantle them, whatever he did would pale in comparison to the pain that Damian would have inflicted on them. "In the future, if you desire-" He paused for a moment, forcing the word affection back down his throat lest he scare the boy. "Contact, then tell me. I won't deny you."
He paused for a moment to gauge the Talon's reaction. Then, "That's an order."
"Yes, Master," The boy gave a curt nod, remaining in place until Damian drew him closer. His hand moved to his shoulder until they moved on to the sight of their next inspection.
Slowly, steadily, communication from the small Talon became more frequent. The boy's voice grew softer around the edges as he got used to using it.
"Master, please?" He would call, quiet so that only Damian could hear. In response, Damian always placed a hand on his head or shoulder, or whatever else would soothe the boy. Once, he'd attempted to grab the Talon's hand only to quickly shift his touch somewhere else when it looked like the boy desperately wanted to flee.
The Talon's favorite form of contact, as Damian would learn, was gentle fingers carded through his hair as the boy laid his head on his lap. The motions soothed him like nothing else, not quite lulling him to sleep (if that was even possible for him) but allowing him to go limp in some semblance of relaxation.
Such intimate moments only were permitted in the isolation of Damian's private quarters. And it was in one such moment where Damian found himself periodically looking down at the Talon on his lap. Some part of him got stuck on just how small he was. His true age was uncertain, an existence which Damian was painfully familiar with, and yet, he was still undeniably a child. Not a harmless nor innocent one, yet a child all the same.
Had anyone ever seen him this way? Was there a single person who saw him for what he was, and objected to what would happen? Maybe, maybe not.
Maybe Damian would have to be the first.
At some point, Damian realized he'd created a routine for the Talon. Every morning, as Damian rose with the sun, the boy would immediately report to his side for the day. Sparring had slowly fallen out of their schedule as the idea of damaging the boy grew more intolerable. Still, he hadn't quite realized the extent of everything until he found the boy at his side as he prepared to board one of the League's more discreet planes.
The Talon looked up at him, ready for orders, as the sun rose in the distance.
"Talon," Damian opened his mouth to dismiss him only to suddenly falter. The boy watched him with unblinking gold eyes. "Prepare a travel bag, we'll be gone for three days."
The Talon nodded, then hesitated for just a moment. "Master, please?"
Damian automatically went to pat the boy on the head. He saw the slightest hint of a smile on his face before he ran to gather his things. As soon as he was gone, Damian made arrangements for a different plane, one that would fit two.
The plane ride, as it turned out, was the most enjoyable part of the trip. The Talon spent the entire time pressed against Damian's side as he flew the plane towards their destination. Once they arrived in some nowhere village in France, it was all negotiations with some arrogant man who thought he could use the League as his personal army. In the end, Damian concluded the trip was a waste as he scrubbed blood from his face to make himself presentable.
As terrible a client as the man had been, the resources he offered were useful. Maybe a deal could have been struck if not for-
"That's an adorable pet you have. I'll throw in extra if you'll sell him to me."
Damian closed his eyes. He took a deep breath to calm himself. It didn't work as well as he would have liked until he felt the Talon step beside him.
"...Please?"
Damian placed a hand on his shoulder. He smiled at the child, earning a similar expression in return.
The way back to the plane was more leisurely. Damian walked at a slow pace so that the boy could easily keep up. Everything was calm until the boy suddenly stopped.
Damian noticed the difference immediately despite his silent footsteps. He looked down at the Talon, then followed his gaze to a faded poster for a circus. The show dates had already passed nearly a month ago.
"Talon," Strangely, he didn't respond. Damian dropped to one knee and grabbed his shoulder. "Talon."
The boy's attention immediately snapped to Damian. Without missing a beat, he fell to his knees and bowed his head.
"I'm sorry-"
"Do not apologize," Damian tried his best to soothe the boy, but he remained on edge even with gentle touches. "Are you interested in attending a performance?"
He did not answer, though he looked like he wanted to.
"Talon-"
"...No," The word was so soft it could barely be heard. He looked up at Damian with open terror. "No circus. Not again."
Damian didn't think before he pulled the Talon against his chest. The boy very deliberately did not move, remaining deathly still for a full minute before slowly wrapping his arms around Damian to return the awkward hug.
"I won't force you to return," He held the boy tighter. The degree of protectiveness he felt for him was almost frightening in its intensity. He barely knew anything about this boy despite their wealth of time together. And yet. "You never have to go back."
In the weeks following their trip, Damian found himself reluctant to allow the Talon out of his sight. The boy never seemed to mind, and in fact, looked almost happy more often than not.
There were hiccups, naturally. One particularly notable instance had the Talon leaping into action in an attempt to save Damian from a would-be assassin that he happened to spot first. The whole thing left him so stunned that he didn't even think to scold the boy for putting himself in unnecessary danger, not because Damian couldn't have handled the assassin (he was sloppy and the Demon's Head would not fall so easily) but because it was the first time the Talon showed the capacity to attack without an order to do so.
Damian had treated the boy to a warm bath that night. He'd noted that the Talon enjoyed warmth almost as much as he seemed to despise the cold. As Damian massaged soap into the boy's scalp, he couldn't help but wonder if he was happy. The thought of a smile on his face was a charming one indeed.
The Talon had been bundled with a towel once his bath was finished which was replaced with a light blanket once he was dressed. He laid his head in Damian's lap as he carded through the boy's hair. He fought admirably to remain conscious, but it was a clear struggle for him to keep his eyes open. The sight was a stark contrast from when he was first presented, awareness had been carved into the boy's bones and his guard was never down.
"Rest, child," Damian brushed a gentle hand along his cheek. "You have my permission."
The boy mumbled something, another sign that his guard was down. The Talon never spoke out of turn, but now, in a quiet moment between the two of them, Damian smiled until he heard a name fall from the boy's lips.
"G'nght Br'ce..."
"Bruce?"
Immediately, the boy tensed beneath him. Without warning, he practically threw himself at Damian's feet.
"I'm sorry," He babbled, sounding more scared than he ever had before. "I'm sorry Master. I'm sorry. I'm sorry Master. I'm sorry-"
"Do not apologize," The Talon seemed reluctant to bite his tongue. He managed to stop himself from speaking anymore by covering his mouth. His nails dug into the flesh on his cheeks, not quite drawing blood but getting worryingly near to it.
Gently, Damian pulled the boy's hands away. He saw him suppress a flinch at Damian's touch which inexplicably made his heart ache.
"Who is Bruce?" Damian asked calmly. The Talon did not answer. So he clarified, "You are not in trouble."
That didn't soothe the boy's worries. If anything, it only made him more tense.
"Talon-"
"Please," He all but whimpered. The boy looked at the floor, unable to meet Damian's eye. "I'm sorry."
"You are not in trouble," Damian placed his hand lightly on the Talon's head. He leaned into the touch but still did not answer. After several minutes of silence, Damian sighed. He pulled the Talon up onto his lap, then against his chest.
The silence continued, but slowly, the child relaxed in his arms where he remained for the rest of the night.
Something Damian had come to learn was that only a fool believed in coincidence. The Talon had mentioned Bruce. The Talon had come from the Court of Owls. The Court of Owls had been most active in Gotham, where one Bruce Wayne resided. The same Bruce Wayne who acted as Batman.
His father.
For the first time in a long time, Damian found himself without his small shadow. The boy was still shaken from the night before, and leaving him in isolation for too long would likely make things worse. Still, he couldn't let this thread go unexamined.
"Find all available information on Bruce Wayne," Damian instructed. If there was even the slightest chance of discovering his Talon's past, he would take it. The boy deserved to know whatever he could about himself.
Damian sat beside his Talon as he used a whetstone to sharpen Damian's blades. He was quite efficient and clearly practiced. Likely, Talons were tasked with maintaining their own weapons just as he had been as a child.
It was a mundane task, but one that allowed Damian to clear his head. His Talon, perhaps burdened with his own troublesome thoughts, seemed to enjoy those sorts of tasks to an extent. So Damian let him sharpen to his heart's desire as he sketched anything within sight.
"Master, please?" The boy presented a sharpened sword for inspection. Damian took it as he ruffled his Talon's hair then set it aside with the others. In the past two hours he'd gotten through three swords and five daggers. Every time, he'd present them while asking for affection. It was a relief to see him lowering his guard once again.
It was quite endearing except-
"Master-"
"Talon," The word came out much sharper than intended. Immediately, the boy froze. "You do not need to call me by a title when we're alone... I would prefer if you called me by my name."
The Talon tilted his head in a show of confusion. "Master has not given his name."
Damian quickly suppressed the sharp sting of embarrassment. He sat up straight as he was taught and did treated his name with the pride he'd always been told it deserved. "I am Damian Al-Ghul, the Demon's Head."
The Talon nodded. "Damian Al-Ghul, the Demon's Head."
"Just Damian will suffice."
Again, the boy nodded. "Damian."
"Yes," Damian felt a small smile pull at his lips. "Very good," He paused for a moment. The Talon watched him, subtly moving closer as he did. "And, do you have a name?"
Immediately, the Talon grew tense. He looked down to the floor. "This Talon has not earned his name."
"And what name would that be?"
The Talon did not answer. Instead, his hands balled into fists so tight, Damian grew worried his nails might break the skin on his hands. Hesitantly, Damian grabbed one of his hands.
"You're under no obligation to answer if it's causing you distress."
After a curt nod, the boy released the tension in his hands, but nowhere else. Mechanically, he grabbed another blade to polish. An uncomfortable silence fell between them as he worked on the weapon.
Eventually, he handed it to Damian for inspection as he had been. When Damian accepted it, the boy reached for another, only to stop himself.
"Damian," He said in a quiet voice. "...Please?"
Relief forced a gentle smile on his face as he ruffled the boy's hair, happy to oblige him.
Of the three agents Damian sent to Gotham, only one stood in front of him. It seemed Batman did not take lightly to assassins in "his" city. Damian couldn't find it in him to care as he looked through newspaper articles about Bruce Wayne and Batman. He stopped when he found a photo with a familiar face.
Bright blue eyes complimented sun kissed skin. It was undeniably his Talon, side by side with Bruce Wayne wearing the brightest smile he'd ever seen. Certainly, it was larger than anything he'd managed to coax out of the child in his time with the League.
Damian spent the morning reading about Richard and his past. An acrobat who had been taken in by Bruce Wayne. By night, he flew at Batman's side under the name Robin until both tragically disappeared. Bruce Wayne mourned, Batman tore through the Court of Owls with extreme prejudice, though was apparently too late to rescue his stolen ward before he ended up in another's possession.
It seemed his mourning didn't last as accounts of Richard slowly faded. The final public memorial held for the boy took place shortly after the adoption of a new child, Jason Todd.
Damian carefully gathered all the information he could find about Richard. Armed with a name and second hand accounts, he went to visit his Talon who he found sitting in his room.
He subtly perked up when he saw Damian. Immediately, Richard jumped to his feet looking somewhat like an eager puppy.
"Damian," He tilted his head forward and looked up through his hair. It was longer than it had been in the photo. Perhaps a haircut would be in order soon. "Please?"
Damian obliged his Talon. He ruffled his hair, causing the boy to lean in further.
"Talon," Damian carefully began as he continued to card through the child's hair. "Do you know who Richard Grayson is?"
Richard immediately tensed, as he always did when (as he now knew) an element of his past was mentioned. He considered pulling his hand away before ultimately deciding to place a steady hand on his shoulder to ground him. Then, he lowered himself to one knee so that he was roughly eye level with Richard.
"Richard Grayson is dead," The Talon answered mechanically. It spoke of an idea that had been forcefully drilled into his head many times. "He was dispatched by the Gray Son."
"He's not dead," Damian argued. Richard looked at him, a flash of fear ripping through his expression before he could stop it.
"Richard Grayson is-"
"Richard," For the first time since he'd been gifted his Talon, he flinched.
"Richard Grayson is dead," He repeated, this time with more force. "He was dispatched by the Gray Son."
"Is that what you were told?"
Richard did not answer.
"And what about Robin?"
The boy froze when he heard the name.
"What happened to him?"
"Robin is dead. He was dispatched by-"
"No, he was not. Richard-"
"Richard Grayson-"
"Stop."
Richard quickly clamped his mouth shut. He looked like a wounded animal ready to flee.
"Do you remember anything of your life before the Court?"
"This Talon has always belonged to the Court of Owls," Once again, another idea drilled into him. Before Damian could contradict it, Richard quietly added, "...Even when he was stolen by Bruce Wayne."
"Do you remember that time?"
Richard refused to look at Damian as he answered, "This Talon is not permitted to think about... Before. There is no Before."
"So you do remember."
Richard did not answer, which was a confirmation in itself. He attempted a different approach.
"You told me once that you hadn't earned your name, but I disagree," Richard stayed very still as Damian spoke. "I'd like to address you by name, Richard-"
"This Talon's name is the Gray Son," Richard's breaths began to grow fast and shallow. "Richard Grayson is dead. He was dispatched by the Gray Son."
"That's false. Your name is Richard-"
"No!" Richard screamed, his expression full of terror. It actually managed to startle Damian enough to pull away. That was apparently the incorrect thing to do as Richard immediately fell to his knees. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry-"
"Richard-"
"Richard Grayson is dead-"
"Talon," Richard stopped his babbling. He was hardly breathing when Damian pulled him close, cursing himself for how he handled things. He shouldn't have pushed, he should have known this was a bad idea to simply jump into without preparation. He...
He wasn't prepared. He wasn't equipped to help a child like Richard.
"There's nothing to apologize for. You've done nothing wrong."
Richard did not say anything. He did not lean into him like he normally did. He just stood, frozen, scared.
Richard remained quiet and on edge, even (perhaps, especially) in Damian's presence. For his part, Damian did not speak to the boy more than necessary, concerned he might trigger another episode of sorts. After several tense days, Damian decided it would be best not to keep Richard as his shadow for the time being. While he did not lock him in his room, he might as well have. Even with the order that he should explore the base should he feel the urge, Damian knew that the Talon would not stray from him.
He hated it. Seeing Richard hurt, the feeling of walking on eggshells, the fear he might further damage what was already irrevocably broken, all of it.
Damian was not meant to fix things or help people. He was raised to kill, to be killed in all the ways that mattered. In his lowest moments, he wondered how things would have turned out if his grandfather had succeeded in forcing his soul from his body. A young vessel could have lasted him a millennia if he were cautious enough... It also would have allowed him access to Richard.
The thought of the boy under his grandfather's thumb was enough to make him nauseous. Ra's Al Ghul would not have had the care nor patience that Damian did for the boy. He would have either discarded him or ripped away even more of his humanity.
Damian pushed those thoughts away. That had not and could not come to pass, which meant there was no point in dwelling on it. The amount of self pitying he'd done the past several days was already unbecoming of the Demon's Head. Such weakness would surely be noticed by his subordinates which would only cause trouble.
And yet.
Damian found himself reaching for the file he'd put together on Richard and his past. He skimmed articles until he found a photograph of the boy, whole and healthy. His father stood next to him, wearing a vapid smile which did not match his mother's sparse descriptions of the man.
Looking at the photo, he couldn't help but wonder if the man could be of use. The thought of going to anyone for help felt unbearably bitter, but perfection had not been drilled so deeply into him that he was incapable of assessing his own weaknesses. At the same time, his father was the one who lost Richard in the first place. Had he been better, the boy's blinding smile would still be in place. Not to mention how triggering any reminders of his past were.
Still, the thought of Richard laying in his lap came to mind. At the point where he had felt most safe, it was not Damian's name that he uttered.
As he considered his options, he noticed movement from the corner of his eye. Damian readied himself for an attack, only to stand down when he saw two golden eyes looking up at him. Richard stood in the doorway, looking uncertain. It took Damian a moment to realize he should say something.
"You may enter... Talon."
Richard nodded and stepped into the room as Damian stowed the photo and file out of sight. He watched as Richard stopped in front of him, then looked up. Damian waited for the boy's next move.
After what felt like an eternity, Richard bowed his head. Damian mentally braced himself for another apology- "Damian, please?"
The relief he felt was palpable. Damian dropped to one knee and pulled Richard into a hug. The boy froze for a moment before slowly wrapping his arms around Damian's torso. After a few minutes, he buried his cold face in the crook of his neck.
As they remained, locked in a steadily tightening embrace, Damian couldn't stop thinking of the photo. He imagined Richard smiling so brightly at him, and found his resolve strengthening. He wanted to help the boy. He wanted to protect him from anything that would seek to harm him, even his own mind.
He cared for Richard to an extent far greater than what he thought he'd ever be capable of.
"Grayson," Damian despised the name, but Richard perked up every time he used it. It was safe to use, unlike Richard. It also was a name, unlike Talon. That didn't stop it from feeling like a compromise with the people who conditioned the boy so thoroughly that using his first name sent him into a mental spiral. "Pack a bag. We will be leaving this evening. I do not know when we'll return."
Richard nodded. Damian fought the urge to follow him as he went. He needed to make arrangements for a flight to Gotham. Loathe as he was to enter that cesspool of a city, Bruce Wayne seldom strayed far from home.
While it was... unpleasant to consider, Damian knew that he was not equipped to help Richard in the way he needed. Bruce Wayne would likely be similarly lost despite the several strays he'd nurtured since Richard's disappearance. Unfortunately for Damian, Bruce Wayne also had the advantage of being someone who Richard, on some level, felt safe with. After all, it wasn't Damian's name he'd said when his guard was lowest.
Richard returned with a packed bag full of essentials in record time. He carried it with little effort as he followed Damian to the waiting plane. Before they entered, Damian found himself stopping.
"Grayson," Richard turned to him. "Are you aware of where we're traveling?"
"No, Damian."
"We will be flying to Gotham," Damian carefully searched for a reaction. He did not find one. "When we land, you are to remain by my side and in my sight unless I order otherwise. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Damian."
"And-" Damian kneeled in front of Richard. He placed a hand on his shoulder which the boy leaned into. "I promise not to allow any harm to befall you. Do you understand?"
"...Yes, Damian."
"Very good," Damian let go, much to both of their disappointment. "Very good..."
Damian tried not to feel on edge as Richard waited in the shadows. He stood patiently in an alleyway awaiting the inevitable. It wasn't long after he arrived that a mass of shadow dropped down in front of him. Batman rose to his feet with a figure that might have been imposing to others. Damian knew better.
"For a supposed protector of this city, you're remarkably slow at gathering information."
"You're the one who's been sending assassins to my city," Batman growled. His voice was lower than Damian would have expected. "What happened to Ra's Al Ghul."
"Tt. Grandfather passed on years ago."
"Grandfather," Batman examined him a little more closely. "You're Talia's son."
"Correct. I am Damian Al Ghul, son of Talia Al Ghul... And Bruce Wayne. I wish I could say it's a pleasure to meet you Father, but the circumstances are far from ideal."
"Impossible-"
"I assure you, it's the truth. Mother went to great lengths to ensure I was born. You can run whatever tests will satisfy you once we return to your base."
"You seem confident I'll take you there."
"I am. I did not come here for a family reunion, I came seeking your assistance," Damian glanced at Richard's hiding spot. It was difficult to tell his reaction with how little he could see, leaving him to hope it was at least neutral. "Grayson, you may come out."
Batman tensed as Richard carefully stepped into the dim light. He found his way to Damian's side, then clasped his hands behind his back in a mirror of his pose.
"Dick-" Batman abruptly stepped forward, but Damian was between the two of them in an instant. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the way Richard stiffened.
"Grayson," Damian began before Richard could begin his morbid spiral. "Prefers not to go by his given name for the time being."
Batman looked between the two of them. Apparently, he didn't like what he saw. In a low growl, he demanded, "What did you do to him?"
"He was presented to me in this condition," Damian slowly relaxed his stance, though remained ready to jump between his father and the boy at a moment's notice. He placed a gentle hand on Richard's shoulder, hoping it served as some sort of assurance. "I have tried to help him, but I am only equipped to handle so much. For whatever reason, he still thinks fondly enough of you that I hoped you might succeed where I've found barriers."
Batman considered it for a long moment. "I can try. I'll take him to the Cave-"
"You're a fool if you believe I would leave Grayson in your sole care," Damian didn't realize as he pulled Richard towards him. "He is in my care and I take that responsibility very seriously. You've already failed him once, I will not tolerate a second time."
"He was my-"
"Your what?" The question came out with more venom than intended, but Damian didn't back down. Richard remained stoic as ever. "I don't care what relationship you had in the past, you lost the right to claim him when he came into my possession."
Eventually, Batman back down, his mouth downturned in a guilty grimace, "I won't stop you from being present while I confirm his identity, but I will not let a strange assassin into my home with my children."
"We have accommodations elsewhere. I do not need access to your home, merely yourself and your resources."
Batman did not respond. Damian waited a few seconds, but found his patience wearing thin when he felt Richard begin to tense.
"If you have no interest in offering assistance, I'll find other means-"
"I'll help," Batman took a step forward, causing Richard to tense further. "But once I do, I expect you out of my city."
"Naturally. I have no intention of remaining longer than necessary."
Batman let out an affirmative grunt. He began to walk away, only pausing to throw a terse "Follow me." over his shoulder.
Damian went to take a step but paused. He looked down at Richard, who was still anxious from the encounter and made a split second decision. Before he could think better of it, Richard was in arms being carried to Batman's vehicle.
Richard held on tight, eventually burying his face in his chest. Whether it was an unprecedented bout of shyness or heat seeking was almost impossible to tell. Damian couldn't resist the urge to stroke his hair.
Quietly, almost silently, Damian heard his name from Richard. He clung tighter after that.
"Don't be nervous, Grayson," Damian did his best to soothe the child. "I won't let anything happen to you."
He would not repeat his father's failures. It did not matter who they were, Damian would strike down anyone who dared to try and hurt his child.