DP x DC Writing Prompt #5
Damian does not glance back at Bruce when he knocks on the door. Instead they both wait in silence.
After a moment, the door opens.
"Hello," Jasmine, Jazz, Fenton greets politely, unsurprised to find the Waynes on her doorstep. Damian's expression grows ever darker at this revelation.
"Hello Ms. Fenton, are your parents home?" Bruce asks, placing a firm hand on Damian's shoulder, to ground as much as to restrain. To his credit he does not shake it off.
"No, they're out of town for a conference," the eighteen year-old says, opening the door wider. "But I think you'd better come in."
Bruce would normally decline, but Ms. Fenton is a legal adult and he has already, even unknowingly, waited 16 years. Damian makes the choice for him, striding past the threshold.
"Please take a seat," Jazz says as she leads them to the living room. She ignores Damian's swinging head as he takes in the home. It is deceptively large, a 90s style house filled with modern furniture. The walls are bright, with purple and green accents that would normally feel garish but somehow work. The stairs leading to the second floor are lined with family photos that Bruce yearns to take a closer look at. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"
"No, that's alright, thank you," Bruce says, taking a seat on the long plush couch. A men's windbreaker lies haphazardly thrown across one of the arms. A closed container of Oreo cookies sit on the coffee table next to a physics textbook open to chapter 16, half covered in highlighter and filled with sticky notes. There's a child's painting framed next to the tv, a handprint made to look like a thanksgiving turkey in bright blue.
For the home of experimental scientists, it is cozy and well lived-in.
Damian repeatedly glances at the stairs through the doorway.
Bruce clears his throat. "We were hoping to--"
"I've texted--oh, I'm sorry," Jazz says, having spoken at the same time. Bruce gestures for her to go on.
"I've contacted Danny, he should be here soon. He was out with some friends." Jazz explains. As she hadn't pulled out a phone in their presence, Bruce can only deduce they have some sort of camera at their front door. This also explains Ms. Fenton's complete lack of surprise at their appearance.
"So you know who we are." Damian says, the first words he's spoken since they arrived at the house and the longest sentence he's spoken since they arrived in Amity Park.
"I do," Jazz says, calm in the face of Damian's clearly simmering anger. Bruce trusts him not to attack Ms. Fenton, but he still watches him carefully.
"He told you about me," Damian says. It is the same question, but it is also not.
"He did," Jazz says.
Damian swallows. "I see," he grits out.
Jazz's neutrality slips and her face softens in sympathy. "Damian," she starts hesitantly, but before she can say anything else the front door opens.
A moment later Bruce's son walks through the doorway, and Damian is on him.
This is what Bruce hoped to prevent, but despite his numerous checks of Damian's luggage his son has still managed to smuggle a small dagger, which he now produces and swings in a calculated arc at Daniel Fenton's jugular.
Danny dodges cleanly, and dodges every swipe thereafter in a manner that speaks to continued practice long after his time at the League. Damian is a perfect product of his training, but it is up against Danny his flaws come to light. He is just as good as he always was, but Danny is better.
In a matter of seconds Damian grows frustrated and sloppy in his attacks, completely atypical for him. Danny takes Damian out at the knees and pins him down with one arm, pressing his face into the carpet.
"Calm down," he orders. His voice is deeper than Damian's at sixteen to his twelve, the accent that still traces Damian's words completely gone from his speech. Damian growls and thrusts his head back into Danny's face, meeting it with a sharp thunk. He rolls up as Danny recoils, putting distance between them. Danny glares at him from several steps away, hand to his forehead. Damian tosses the dagger into his other hand as he charges, and to Bruce's surprise Danny does nothing more than turn his face to the side, allowing Damian to draw a sharp line down his cheek.
Damian stops dead in his tracks.
"Are you done?" Danny asks, blood beginning to pool at the seam of the cut.
Damian's expression is stricken, eyes stuck on the blood starting to drip down his brother's face.
"I said, are you done, Damian?" Danny asks. His voice is cold.
Damian hears him this time, and he flushes red. "I--you--"
Danny sighs. He looks at Jazz, whose expression is back to carefully controlled.
"Are you alright?" he asks her. She nods.
"You left me," Damian accuses, standing there holding his bloody dagger limply.
Danny turns back to him, raising an eyebrow.
"You left me," Damian repeats louder, rapidly blinking.
"Yes. I did." Danny provides no excuse nor any explanation. His stance is unyielding.
Damian's eyes bounce wildly, shifting to Jazz and Danny slides smoothly in front of her, protectively. He looks at Damian warily, not as if he is his brother, but as if he is a danger. Damian flinches.
Hope is the last to die, Bruce thinks, watching as that last bit of hope Damian had is extinguished, the knowledge working its way through every inch of his body like ice in his veins. His eyes darken. He turns and runs from the room, the front door slamming shut not a moment later.
Jazz stands up, pulling a few tissues from the box on the coffee table. She presses them to Danny's face, cupping his cheek until he holds it himself. "I'm going to go get the first aid kit," she says gently. It is a thinly veiled excuse to leave them alone, and Bruce is grateful for it as she heads for the stairs.
They both wait until her footsteps have faded, taking each other in. Bruce looks at his mother's eyes and the sharp turn of Talia's nose. Damian's everything, four years older.
"You shouldn't have come here," Danny says, throwing himself on the armchair Jazz has just vacated.
"You know who I am," Bruce says carefully.
Danny glares. "I've kept your secret. She nor my parents know."
"I know," Bruce says. "That's not what I meant. You know who I am. And who I pretend to be. So you know I am familiar with masks."
"And?" Danny asks, looking vaguely bored.
"And so I can recognize when someone is wearing one. Damian will too, once he's calmed down."
Danny's expression sharpens. "No, he won't. Because you are going to go to back to whatever bed and breakfast you're staying in, pack up, hop in your private jet and fly him back to Gotham immediately before the League realizes you've gone. If they haven't already," he mutters.
"This is about the League then," Bruce says. "Do you not believe I can protect you?"
"I don't need your protection," Danny snaps, and watches Bruce actively extrapolate with a dawning resignation. "So this is the World's Greatest Detective at work," he says, slumping bonelessly into his chair, the first teenager-y thing he's done.
"Damian's in danger from the League," Bruce says. Danny glares from his slump. It's almost cute. "And as long as the League doesn't know about you, he's safe."
"Draw your own conclusions," Danny says, baring his teeth. Damian often makes the same face. "As long as you leave."
"I can protect him. I can protect you both," Bruce says. "Let me help you."
Danny closes his eyes. He centers his breathing in an exercise someone has clearly walked him through in the past. Bruce would bet money on the adoptive sister waiting patiently upstairs.
"Mr. Wayne. You are not my father," he says. "My trust in you extends to the point that I left Damian in your care, but that is where it ends. And that was when it was sanctioned by the League. By coming here you have endangered those sanctions."
Bruce disregards the sting, doubling down on his analysis. Talia had left Damian with Bruce well after Danny had left the League. But Danny speaks as if the decision had been his.
Or perhaps, Bruce realizes, it is not that Danny decided upon it, but that Danny allowed it to continue.
Bruce takes a second to review what Oracle had gone over with him before they left for Amity. Daniel Fenton had by all accounts, since leaving the League, lived a fairly normal life. His adoptive parents were eccentric scientists dabbling in the occult but their findings that bordered pseudoscience circulated a very niche community of like-minded eccentrics. The bulk of their income came from alternative energy, a more viable source of study that they'd veered harder into in the past year or so, a government contract with the EPA currently in the works. This had in part funded a vacation to an all-inclusive resort the family had taken that past summer.
Danny received average grades in school, above average in science and mathematics, declining sharply in his freshman year and sophomore year before evening out around the second semester. He had gotten into fights repeatedly with one student in particular, suspended for two weeks following an incident that resulted in a the student receiving a black eye. Teachers reported him to be highly intelligent but distracted and removed. They had recommended he be evaluated for an attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. He had no social media. He had missed multiple picture days. The ones he had attended he was sneezing, or a blur of movement, even going so far as to fall off his stool, legs flailing. Bruce had drank up every last one as Barbara had waited patiently.
A normal life. A family vacation to Bermuda. Average grades.
His freshman year, distracted and removed. The same year Damian had arrived at Bruce's home. Masks upon masks.
"You have informants within the League," Bruce says. Danny, to his credit, has no discernible tell. But there is no other explanation. "What will you do, if they find out you are alive?"
"That is none of your concern," Danny says, but he might as well be saying whatever I have to.
He never stopped practicing, after all.
"If they go after Damian, it is my concern."
"And that is why you need to take Damian back to Gotham before they do." Danny says. "I will take care of it."
Damian had barely spoken since he had realized Danyal was alive. But Bruce had seen the reverence in his eyes as he looked at the file.
"الوريث الصحيح" he had murmured. The rightful heir.
"You are proposing going after the entirety of the League with no backup," Bruce says. "Even if you think they won't kill you, you won't win either."
"Maybe they will," Danny says lightly. "Kill me. That would also work."
Bruce inhales sharply. "Danny," he starts.
"Go home, Mr. Wayne," Danny says, pushing himself up with one hand. The other still clutches the wad of tissue to his cheek, partially soaked with blood. "Go take care of your son."
"I'll go," Bruce says, "I'll take him to the Watchtower. And then I'll come back."
"Mr. Wayne-"
"I should've come for you," Bruce interrupts. "Sixteen years ago. I should've come for you."
Danny's brow furrows. "You had no idea I existed."
"But if I had. I would've come. I never would've left you there. And now that I know, I am not leaving you now."
For the first time Bruce watches Danny be completely caught off guard. He openly gapes at Bruce.
"You would've died," Danny lands on, voice thin. "They would've killed you."
"Unlike you, I would've brought backup." Bruce says, mimicking Danny's lightness.
He's lying. Sixteen years ago he would've thrown himself at the League to save his newborn son without a plan, without a thought beyond rescuing his baby.
Danny barks out a laugh. "You would've laid siege to Nanda Parbat with The Big Blue Boy Scout?" he looks wistful. "That would've been rad."
Bruce sees his opening. "Danny," he stands, eye to eye with his son. "Let me help you."
Danny evaluates him. "The Batman," he says softly. "I didn't want you to come, then. I didn't need one more person I had to prove myself to. All I wanted was to live amongst the stars, in the quiet of the cosmos."
"You want to be an astronaut," Bruce says. At Danny's cocked head, he says without shame, "I read your essay on personal heroes. You wrote about Edward White. Ad Astra Per Aspera."
Danny smiles slightly, sadly. "It is a rough road."
"You can be whatever you want to be," Bruce says. "I won't stand in your way."
"Even if I want to be Danny Fenton?" he asks.
"Even then."
Danny sighs. "I don't need your help Bruce," he says. "No," he says as Bruce opens his mouth. He pulls the wad of tissues away from his cheek. Underneath the splotches of dried blood the gash in his face has cleanly knit itself together, a faint white line now all that remains.
"I don't need your help," he says clearly. He holds a palm forward, and a green fire grows from its center, until the flames are licking delicately up his fingers.
"I know The Batman does not kill. But I am not a Robin. I am something else entirely," Danny says, his eyes reflecting the green of the flames. Or not, as he looks up at Bruce, his eyes green all on their own. They are sad. This is why he stayed away, Bruce realizes. Not out of fear. Danny is not afraid. Danny is tired.
But for his brother, Danny will wake up.
"And If the League takes one step towards Damian, I will raze them to the ground."
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Call to My Bedside
When Danny wakes up with shackles around his wrists and chains pinning him to the wall, he’s not all that surprised to see his mother in front of him.
And no, he doesn’t mean Madeline Fenton, although he wonders if he’d be surprised by that either and really, what does that say about his life?
But no, he’s not all that surprised to be staring into the eyes of Talia Al Ghul right now.
Even if his heart stops at the sight of her.
Immediately, he tries to stand, shoulders pulled painfully behind him as he tries not to let her loom over him.
This is a woman he barely remembers, through no effort of her own, but that’s what happens when you left a kid to be trained by strangers before he’s whisked off to America against his will at age 5.
Really she was lucky he remembered her at all.
She crouches down slightly to make up for their height difference, face softening too quickly to be real, “I am Talia Al Ghul. Though you may not remember, you are my child-“
“I remember.” Danny cuts her off, trying to keep the anger from making his eyes glow. He does remember, he remembers enough to know that it would be dangerous for them to know he has powers.
He settles for glaring at her.
For a second it seems she just watches him, but the kindness drops from her face as she straightens.
The slap catches him hard enough to jerk his head to the side, chains rattling behind him as he unsuccessfully tries to catch himself.
Instead, they go taut behind him, leaving him to jerk sideways, breath rough by the surprise of the hit.
“Do not interrupt me, child.” Her voice rings cold in the air.
Danny doesn’t bother to lift his head, instead keeping his eyes pinned to the grimy floor. Had he forgotten how unforgiving this place was? What it was like?
“Look at me.”
Danny kept his eyes downwards. He didn’t want to look at her. He wanted to go home.
“Look at me, or suffer the punishment,” She said, voice steely.
He slowly lifted his head, eyes meeting hers.
“Good. You know who you are then, child? What place you are meant to hold in this world?”
Danny doesn’t answer, only glaring.
She barely blinks but her eyes sharpen in warning.
Danny grits his teeth, “I’m Danny al -Al Ghul, heir to the Demon’s head of the League of Assassins-“
The second hit is just as hard, but Danny is better braced for it.
“Your name is Danyal Al-Ghul, you are my blood and the blood of Batman, your heritage dictates a higher quality of discipline than this and you will show it.”
Everything in Danny’s being rebels against the name. He hasn’t been Danyal in years. And he refuses to go back to it.
He straightens his back, ignoring the ache of his shoulders as he snarls at her, “My name is Danny, Danny Fenton. I haven’t been your precious heir in years, and you can’t make me now.”
They couldn’t and he wouldn’t let them, not when he had the power to-
Talia idly pulls something from behind her and he feels the blood drain from his face.
It’s a picture of him, Tucker, and Sam, next to it is a larger grid of images, each making his heart drop further in his chest.
Sam. Tucker.
Jazz. Mom. Dad.
All of them in cells. Chained.
Hurt.
His family, his family-
“Did you think we would not know of your gifts? Would not know how you would think to leave us? You clearly do not remember as much as you think you do.”
Danny can barely hear her over the static rushing in his ears.
She grabs his face roughly, “We are the League, child, and you are one of us. You may have thought you were like them, but we are better. Meant for better, and you will not be allowed to squander the gifts bestowed on our bloodline through you. Until you can make the right choice yourself, as your blood, we will make them for you.”
Danny looks into her eyes, the certainty behind her words, and he feels a gaping emptiness open inside him. The kind that knows it’s not going away.
He wants to go home. He wants to see his family, and his friends. He doesn’t care that his parents don’t know his secret, that he’s just barely getting a handle on it himself, he just doesn’t want to be here. Not again. Please, not again.
Talia releases him, and he lets his body droop, sinking into himself as he crouches over the ground, the restriction of his arms keeping him from even fully curling around himself.
“Remove the chains, he will not be going anywhere,” Talia says, her shadow falling over him in the dim light of the doorway.
Danny barely moves as the cold metal falls away from his wrists.
And he knows she’s right.
He won’t be going anywhere. Not as long as his family is in danger.
—
The first months were hard. Harder than Danny remembers. Maybe his five-year old self had just had it easy.
He doesn’t now.
“Again!” His instructor shouts, bamboo staff coming down on the back of Danny’s knees.
He doesn’t let himself stumble. Not anymore.
At least his Arabic is getting better, he can understand it completely, as if he’d never forgotten it -as if it’d been his mother tongue- and he can speak it smoothly again, though shallow. You can’t even hear his American accent anymore.
Danny hasn’t spoken English since that first week, when they’d beaten it into him every time he’d tried.
When they’d beaten him for not understanding fast enough. Not reacting fast enough, not responding fast enough, to a language he didn’t know, hadn’t known for years now.
They’re right about one thing.
Pain is an excellent teacher.
“Again!”
He moves fast enough to dodge the bamboo stick this time, body shooting forward against his opponent.
Dodge, lunge, feint, block, swipe, block, block, block-shit-block, reach-
His back slams against the stone floor of the courtyard, knocking the breath out of him.
The instructor doesn’t step in. He won’t.
Not even when his opponent’s hands clamp around his throat.
Danny struggles, trying to use his inhuman strength to pull the arms away, but that inhumanity has waned since he’s been here, drained like the rest of his energy.
He feels the weight begin to build in his skull, he can’t breathe, he doesn’t have much longer, what can he- Danny forcefully moves his arms away, fighting instinct, instead pulling his legs up and rolling, just as they’d drilled into him, the change in leverage giving him the break he needed to be free as he stands-
The bamboo slams into his back, knocking him forward, “Again!”
Danny rolls with the momentum, ignoring the new throbbing in favor of dodging his opponent’s grappling fists.
Dodge, lunge, dodge, swipe, dodge, dodge, hit, swipe, block, forward, dodge, block-
Danny breathes through the sweat dripping down his skin, the way his ribs creak with every breath, the way his muscles feel numb and disconnected. None of it matters.
He just has to win.
He doesn’t have any other options.
He never did.
Not really.
This is why they brought him here.
Why he was born.
He has to win.
Danyal twists the arm of his opponent back until there’s a sickening crack.
“Again!”
A new opponent flies towards him with fists already raised.
He doesn’t have any other option.
He never did.
——
The next time he sees Talia is just before the ceremony to his next stage. She is waiting in his room when he walks in.
“Mistress,” He greets, bowing his head, feeling phantom pain bloom on his cheeks. It’s the only thing that makes him call her that.
“Danyal, your training is going well,” She says, voice idle in that meandering sort of way. This isn’t why she’s here.
“I will improve,” He says anyways. Because he knows he’s not meeting their standards yet, knows they’re disappointed by the heaviness in his bones that weighs him down and drains his energy.
She stands, making Danny go stock still as she approaches, featherlight touch on his chin as she tilts it upwards.
English drifts from her lips, “You have his eyes, his cheekbones…” her eyes drift down again, and it still doesn’t feel like she’s even really looking at him, “My chin and my jaw…not like Damia-“
Her hand drops.
Danny can’t figure out the change but he can feel it. Hesitantly, he asks, in Arabic still, “Talia, why… are you here?”
The steel returns.
“The bat is dead. You are the last of his power,” She says, then pauses. She seems torn about saying more.
She doesn’t, exiting silently as Danny stares into the air, unmoving.
His… birth father… was dead?
A man that was a great enough warrior to impress the Demon’s Head. Impress Talia.
A man… he didn’t even know the real name of.
It’s not like the Bat was anything more than a name to him.
A name he had to live up to.
Danny sighs and turns to his drawers. He has a training ceremony to prepare for.
——
Danny doesn’t resist the arms that hold him back as they swipe a broad slash across the skin of his back with the whip, simply letting himself curl inwards around the pain before he’s dropped unceremoniously to the ground.
He pulls himself back up just soon enough to see the next person dragged in and thrown in front of him.
The handle of the blade is pressed into his hand.
It wouldn’t be hard.
It should be hard. Right?
Killing a man whose crimes he doesn’t even know should be hard. It’s meant to be hard, right?
Danyal wishes he doesn’t know how easy it will be to fall into it.
But he can’t keep doing this. Collecting scars because he’s clinging to morals that aren’t even his.
He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep doing any of this.
He has to.
Danyal slices the edge of the blade across the man’s neck.
The cut is clean. Deep.
He’s dead in less than a minute.
Danyal’s own blood continues to flow.
——
Danyal doesn’t know what’s happening. One minute he’s training, trying to push past the exhaustion lining his bones, and the next the entire west side of the courtyard is in flames, crumbling down the side of the mountain.
Danny runs through the rubble of the passageways, searching for the source, searching for reasons, searching for… he doesn’t know, but he knows he can’t be caught doing nothing.
He doesn’t find anything except ruins.
Danny is called to meet Ra’s Al Ghul two weeks later. His grandfather. The Demon’s head.
The man doesn’t even look at him.
Danny stays kneeling all the same, better safe than beaten again.
“Are you familiar with Red Robin?”
Danny inclines his head, just barely, “I… can’t say I am…Great One.”
The following hum is derisive.
“He is one of the Bat’s… followers. Recently, he has proven himself to me. His ruthlessness is impressive, his ability to pursue his goals: admirable. He would make the perfect heir,” Ra’s says and he must know it makes Danny’s heart drop, why else would he say it, “Do you know what Timothy lacks, Danyal?”
Danyal stays quiet, eyes tracking the grit of the floor.
After a pause, near silent footsteps enter his vision, “You are the culmination of his mentor’s blood and my own, blessed with the gifts of the Lazarus pits, and yet-“ the cape swirls as Ra’s turns away, “Yet it is squandered by the mistakes of your upbringing!” He yells.
Danyal clenches his fists, willing himself silent.
The air of the room falls level again, “I grow tired of your mediocrity, Danyal. You will advance, or I will stop wasting my resources keeping your baggage alive.”
Danny’s head whips up before he can think better of it, meeting Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes where they stare down at him.
“Do not mistake my past grace for mercy, Danyal. Mercy makes men weak. There is no room for weakness, and we are here to purge it from this world. Do not forget that.”
“Of course, Great One.” Danyal’s heart pounds in his ears, fear jumping across each beat sporadically, “I will do better.” He tries to fill his voice with confidence.
He’ll do better.
He has to.
Ra’s looks at him, then turns his back and waves a hand dismissively, finally allowing Danyal to stand and leave.
He feels Ra’s’ eyes on his back the entire time as he leaves. And no matter how much he wants to, he doesn’t stop in the hallway. Even once the door is closed, he continues forward.
In his mind, Danny stops and heaves a breath through the grief crashing over him.
In his mind, Danny is a million miles away, at home, with his family around him, happy and safe.
In his mind, Danny rushes back into Ra’s al Ghul’s grandiose throne room and attacks him with the sword he’s forced on him, not stopping until he’s free or dead.
In reality, Danyal breathes out with false calm and moves on.
He has training to get to.
——
Danyal can feel the pressure of the Leagues- of Ra’s’- expectations pushing down on him.
It’s not new.
But he doesn’t let it weigh him down anymore. He doesn’t have that luxury.
Instead, he uses it to push himself harder, farther, pushing until he reaches those expectations.
And surpasses them.
And keeps going.
He won’t-can’t stop. So he keeps going.
Moving up, learning, training, getting better, faster, getting stronger.
Getting weaker.
Danyal ignores the strained whisper of his core in his chest in favor of aiming at the target in his scope.
An Ethiopian politician, making a name for himself by drafting new acts supporting the build of a dam on the Nile River.
It would endanger the lives of thousands in Egypt, cutting them off from the water that has flowed through their country for millennia.
It would never make it through the legislative ruling without him.
This is their duty. To cull the disease. To burn away the parasites killing the world. The ones feeding off excess.
Danyal pulls the trigger and starts packing the gun away.
His hands move with robotic precision, even without his guidance. No, his eyes and his focus are elsewhere.
Instead, Danny stares at the newspaper laying damp on rooftop gravel, eyes scanning every detail, every line.
May 7th of 20XX. Almost two years.
Alien invasion recently. Superman.
New hero in Russia.
Multiple car crashes in Pakistan. All survived.
None of it really matters to him, not really, it doesn’t tell him anything interesting, nothing he needs to know. It’s not even an American newspaper.
But…It’s the closest he’s come to freedom in three years.
Is it bad that what he calls a taste of freedom is knowing how long it’s been since he’s been free?
The rifle case clicks shut beneath his fingertips and he stands without so much as a lingering glance at the newspaper.
Danyal leaps off the roof, scaling down the side, ignoring the way his legs want to collapse beneath him as he lands in an alley.
He heads towards the rendezvous, job finished. Efficient as always.
Exactly as is expected of him.
———
It is several months more that he begins to realize there may be something truly wrong.
He’s training-fighting, losing- with the Lady Shiva. If Red Robin could beat her, Danyal must as well.
He’s fairing… okay.
They’ve been engaging for a while now, for a fight, a minute at least, maybe two.
He feels his breath rough in his chest, his face slick with sweat, his body buzzing with adrenaline and the push to do better-
His heart squeezes, seizing up tense and frozen for just a second, his body following in surprise-
There’s a sword through his stomach.
Danyal tries to focus again, to swing his sword, like he’s been trained, but everything feels… loose.
The sword is removed from his stomach, wet blood sliding down his tunic. Cold floor beneath his knees, had he fallen? No, he had to stand, get up, get up, get up. Get up!
Please, you have to get-
There’s hands on him, moving him, the hallways are too dark, -get up, you have to get up- he can’t tell where they’re going. No they’re not dark, his eyes are closed, he pries them open, gasping for breath as the pain in his stomach tears deeper.
Please, he just wants to go home.
Darkness still clouds his vision, but the people carrying him barely glance back as he groans.
His eyes flicker shut, too heavy to keep open as he tries to focus on anything but the pain, on not bleeding out, on please don’t let him die here, not here, please.
They enter another door, letting him stumble across steps farther and farther down.
When they reach the bottom, it seems as though every sound is sucked out from the room. An eerie silence thick in the air.
It forces his eyes open, just a squint, darkness prickling at the edges of his vision.
He barely catches a glance of cave walls before he feels himself thrown forward.
And familiar green fills his vision.
Panic surges.
Pain in his stomach. -His hand. The button!-
Green water surrounding him. -The portal is on!-
Liquid fills his mouth when he tries to scream. -There’s no sound between dimensions.-
It feels like burning acid running across every nerve of his open wound, creeping into his pores like tar covering a dying animal.
But it doesn’t feel like death.
He would know.
It feels a little like life.
He doesn’t want it.
He doesn’t get a choice.
He never does.
It feels like a thousand screaming souls, begging for justice and for freedom, just as he is.
They shout and yell at him to do something, to fight where they can’t, why can’t they, they’re so helpless, angry at their helplessness, angry at their inability, angry angry angry
Their pleas fill his ears, louder with each passing second.
He’s angry, angry, angry- how dare they, how dare they- he could win, they can’t stop him, they deserve it-who’s they?- he’s going to kill them, they can’t stop him-
Frigid humid air stings against his skin, no longer submerged, and green fog tinges everything.
But he-they- need to fight, kill them, stop them, do something, do something because they can’t- fight!
Danny lunges at the first person he sees, an assassin in all black at the edge of green waters.
His fist nearly collapses his skull. It doesn’t stop him.
There’s another and Danny lunges again, ignoring the sword that slashes towards him, grabbing it and snapping the metal with one hand, the other around the ninja’s neck, gripping, cracking, breaking-
Something heavy hits him over the head, the world staticking for a second as his hand loosens, a body dropping to the floor.
Hands reach at him, pulling, holding, restraining, and he fights with sharpened claws and fangs and burning fists of glowing energy and hands ripping hearts from their chest- until there’s so many bodies around him and restraining him, that it actually slows him down.
Enough to realize his powers are flowing easily once more, surprise cutting through the fog in his mind.
He stops actively pulling against the arms holding him down, his cheek now pressed painfully against rocky floor.
Where is he?
A nauseatingly familiar voice fills the room, “You managed quite the damage, Danyal,” Ra’s al Ghul stands in front of him, when Danny is able to lift his head and look, “Perhaps there is still potential hidden behind your weakness, the capabilities of your rage is akin to my first venture into these pools, so many centuries ago.”
The smile on Ra’s’ face sends twitches down his spine and confusion pools in his gut, “What…?” he murmurs, head still murky, but a bolt of fear races through his chest, and he forces his words into the League dialect once more, “What happened…? I..-“ His voice is small, and slowly he feels the assassins holding him release his arms and back away. He pushes himself upright to his knees, finding less strain in his muscles, in his bones, than he has for nearly two years.
“You failed your training, little Al Ghul,” A voice, Lady Shiva, speaks from his right. Her sword is still red.
Danyal’s eyes jump to hers, the memory rushing back- blood, the sword, falling, the water- his hand grips the side of his tunic even as his head snaps to the side, finally seeing the green waters lurking just next to them.
The Lazarus Pits, his training says.
Ectoplasm, his core whispers.
He looks down at the hole in the fabric of his tunic, any bloodstains around it all but gone. There’s not even a scratch.
The rest of his clothes are still layered with blood.
And Danyal knows it isn’t his.
He stands, watching as other league members file in, dragging away the bodies surrounding them.
There are too many to count.
He doesn’t even try.
Ra’s Al Ghul steps forward, drawing his focus once more.
He eyes Danyal critically, “Walk with me, child,” He says, already turning away with robes moving gracefully.
Danyal hurries to move with him, one step behind as they trail through the halls and corridors, slowly moving farther and farther up through the compound.
Finally they step out from an arch, the gentle late afternoon sun lighting up the sky with colors. Just enough light to see clearly, not enough to blind or burn.
It would’ve been a perfect afternoon to die on.
Instead, Danyal catches the sword thrown towards him with surprising grace. Ra’s face is filled with dangerous curiousity as he speaks, “Attack.”
Danyal doesn’t question it. Doesn’t wonder why Ra’s remains unarmed, doesn’t question if he might hurt him. He just acts, lunging forward at the command with nary a second thought.
“Starting today, you will train with me. Each week,” Ra’s speaks as he easily dodges and blocks Danyal’s hits, forcing him to take a new approach each time.
Danyal nods, “Of course, Great One.”
Ra’s knocks him to the ground, standing over him with sword drawn, “Call me Grandfather, Danyal. You’ve earned it.”
Danny’s heart squeezes.
He nods, “Of course Grandfather.”
——
After that, things change. Ra’s Al Ghul keeps to his word, calling for him each week, sometimes no more than a few days apart.
All too quickly it becomes a part of Danyal’s routine. The brutal training sessions of Ra’s beating him down and letting him up only to do it again.
He wishes he had it in him to question the Demon’s Head, but he doesn’t, so when Ra’s tells him to attack, even when unarmed, even when Danyal should rip his throat out with one use of intangibly, Danyal listens and attacks him.
Months into the now singular training, Danyal realizes that he hasn’t left this compound in a while, there hasn’t been a spontaneous move, or travel for a new master.
It’s just been… Ra’s.
He feels more stable, more stationary than he remembers being in so long. His youngest years had been the same routine of constant movement from base to base, compound to compound. And then he had lived.. in America, and had a single home, a house he knew the direction to from anywhere in town. For so many years, he been able to settle in one place.
Only to be uprooted once more, thrown back to everything he’d left behind, everything he’d-
Danyal enjoyed knowing where he would return to at the end of the day. The sense of familiarity that came with the same room, the same bed and halls, day after day, week after week.
Maybe that’s why it catches him by surprise when Ra’s calls for him at the base of a landing pad, jet idle behind him.
Danyal allows a nearby assassin to pass a pack into his hands, clearly full of materials.
For a moment, Danyal wonders where they are going? What new training awaits him at the other end?
Then Ra’s steps aside, dangerously graceful as ever, and reveals the bay of the jet to be not empty, but filled by assassins, each standing at command.
Danyal looks to Ra’s once more.
“An Al Ghul does not only follow, Danyal,” He says with a sharp smile as he approaches, laying a heavy hand on Danyal’s shoulder, “An Al Ghul leads. And as you are my heir, you must learn to command the respect of our members.” The hand squeezes on his shoulder, making him look up, meeting Ra’s in the eyes, “By any means necessary.”
Danyal looks away, looking back at the assassins waiting for him, for his command.
He’s not ready.
He has to be anyways.
The hand on his shoulder feels like lead as he steps out from under it, filling his voice with power he doesn’t feel, and sending the squadron scattering to new assignments.
Flight, equipment, weaponry, information, planning, infiltration, execution, all of it, it’s all on him to control.
Danyal turns back to gauge Ra’s’ reaction, only to find him already halfway gone, the sight of his retreating back the only response.
Okay, he’ll do this.
He can do this.
He has to.
What else can he do?
——
He takes to leading missions with the hand of a natural.
It’s easy.
Send these people here. These people here. Block every exit, erase every loose end, don’t leave any witnesses. Finish the mission.
Their missions are for the betterment of everyone, they are fixing things, getting rid of corrupt leaders, people unworthy of what they have, everything they’re doing is for a reason. It has a purpose.
He has a purpose.
So he ignores what’s behind every number he sends for each job. Ignores the calculation behind every call to secure the exit that has five private guards. Ignores the number behind the perimeter assignment because he knows the building has a late hour maid present each night.
They’re just numbers.
And he’s good at this.
At least he’s good at this.
He kills the first person to question an order.
They don’t question him again.
Everything runs smoother when they don’t question him.
It’s easier this way.
It’s always easier.
——
He’s traveling again. Spending more hours sleeping in hotels and safe houses than any bed he might deign to call his.
More and more time goes by, bit by bit, hour by hour, each filling his body with sand like setting concrete.
Slowly, Danyal feels it begin to wear on him. The exhaustion of the missions, his own body weighing him down with every strike he takes. Refusing to react with the speed demanded of him to succeed.
Danyal pushes past it. It doesn’t matter. This is his duty, it is all that is expected of him and he will do it. Even as he finds himself clutching his chest in the dark of a mission, blood still leaking from his target below him.
He forces himself past it, eyes flickering, steeling himself, then wiping down his blade and leaving, muscles tense and bones shaking.
He makes it as far as the car waiting in the near abandoned parking garage below, his chest continuing to tighten, heart erratic beneath his ribs. Danyal grunts, pain lacing up his arm, struggling not to stumble as he staggers into his seat with a near gasping breath.
He pulls himself together, his words as confident as he can make them as he speaks to the assassin in the drivers seat, “Call Ra’s Al Ghul. Bring me to him. Now.”
Danny feels his heart twitch in his chest, his hand flickering in his vision, or is it his vision that’s flickering, he can’t tell, still the cold leather soothes him, heart pounding louder louder, yelling, screaming in his ears, angry so angry so angry, rage rage rage, fix it fix it fight fight fight for us fight! Don’t let it go, never let it go, revenge, make them pay, they have to pay-!
He comes back with a gasp and a burst of pain across his shoulder, adrenaline and fury still coursing through his veins in equal measure.
His hair is wet, green liquid dripping down his face in sluggish trails mixed with foreign blood. It lays plastered on the curves of his face, framing his eyes as he stares up at the Demon’s Head.
The same malicious smile sits on his face, “Welcome back, Danyal.” The words are tinged with expectance.
Danyal pauses, collected his words around his tongue like a lead weight in his dry mouth, “I- Why was I put in the Lazarus pit again?” Danyal can only hope he’s showing the right amount of deference to even be allowed such a question.
“You were brought to me collapsed, and your heart failing you. The Lazarus pits provided a temporary solution,” Ra’s says, his eyes sharp, “But it is temporary. This problem will not be allowed to continue.”
“Of course, Master,” Danyal pulls himself to his knees, “…I believe it’s because of my accident-“ Danyal pauses, this is closest he’s come to actually telling them how he got his powers, what it did to him-, “There was electricity, and the shock, my heart was-is damaged. I don’t know why it’s getting worse-“
Ra’s hums, “The body can be fixed, child. The mind cannot. This,” Ra’s places a hand on his back as Danyal stands, “is merely an obstacle to our goal.”
“I will not fail you, Grandfather.”
“I know, child.” His words are a guarantee, an assurance to Danyal.
He will prove that the confidence placed in him is not mistaken.
——
It is barely months after that second time that Danyal once again feels his body’s failings encroach on him.
His heart beats off pattern, falling out of rhythm more with every passing day.
Danyal takes a deep breath, willing it to calm himself.
He will not let this stop him. He is an Al Ghul. He is capable. He is strong, and he will not be held back by his own body.
Danyal turns his focus inwards, ripples traveling along the surface of the ectoplasm in his core he’s left untouched for so long now.
He lets the ectoplasm submerge him, turning his form ghostly, his eyes sharper green than they’ve ever been before.
Danyal lets his feet lift off the ground, just for a second, weightlessness enveloping him, the buzzing of the world a background in his ears.
Then his toes touch the ground again and Danyal snaps into movement towards his closet. He puts on his usual league clothes over the old hazmat suit, feeling the layers lighten as he covers them up. Until it feels as though he’s only wearing the league clothes, and his white gloves stare in his face.
Slowly, he removes them, staring for too long at the green lines like cracks trailing up his arm.
Danyal turns away.
He has work to do, he can’t let himself be held up with small feelings like that.
As Danyal travels the halls, every step an effort to remain flat on the ground, he feels the ectoplasm within him roil, coursing faster and stronger than he ever had before, even in the Ghost Zone or in A-.
It revitalizes him and Danyal arrives to Ra’s Al Ghul’s training with bold confidence filling him.
Ra’s greets him an enigmatic smile and a challenge of his strength.
Danyal meets him kind, dodging every lunging, swiping every parry, light on his feet like he hasn’t been in years now.
Their fight lasts longer than any other they’ve had, his muscles able to hold up stronger in this form, his stamina infinite as the ectoplasm he draws from without any need for breathing or rest.
Ra’s Al Ghul is impressed even as he holds Danyal beneath his boot, his sword pressed to his neck.
Glowing green sluggishly leaks from the scratch.
Danyal pays it no mind.
Instead he stares at the small cut on the crown of Ra’s’ head, a single crimson red droplet crawling down the side of his face.
Danyal did not win. But he didn’t loose either.
Satisfaction fills him in a rush, carrying him through even as they reengage.
——
Danyal strives to reach his goals, to hit every target set out for him, beat every opponent put against him, to reach the expectations and the potential that the Demon’s head sees him.
To make himself worthy to be here, to stay.
And he knows his weaknesses hold him back, make him vulnerable, put everything-one- in danger.
So he stops being vulnerable. Stops letting his body, his weaknesses, dictate his capabilities.
Faster and faster his store of ectoplasm drains within him.
And Danyal makes himself stronger and stronger, short exposures of the Lazarus pits to keep it from stopping him.
He can’t stop.
So he keeps going, keeps training, fighting, growing- when had he gotten tall? When had he gotten older?
He keeps working, to be better, to be the best.
And as he approaches the Demon’s chambers weeks later, he is surprised to hear yelling.
More than that, he is surprised to hear Talia’s voice be the one yelling.
He pauses outside the door, eyes narrowed and body resting on the edge of invisibility.
He does not want to know the punishment for eavesdropping, nor for interrupting them… and yet…he hasn’t spoken to Talia, not truly, not since she told him the Batman was dead. Barely seen her except beside the demons’s head in ceremony as he stands at the edges of a room.
It has been entirely too reminiscent of his childhood.
Danyal’s ears prick up as the volume increases once more.
“You cannot ask me to bring him back to use him for-!”
“I do not ask for anything, Daughter! He belongs to the League! And the League to me! It was a mistake to allow you to keep-“
Ra’s’ voice drops too low to be heard through the door, muffling the rest of his words.
Danyal steps back from the door, standing in the hall with questions blooming in multitude.
Moments later, Talia Al Ghul steps through, a force of fury in every step. She catches sight of him immediately, and when Danyal makes eye contact, her eyes are filled with worry, stress, regret, a thousand what-ifs and plans and concerns.
Somehow he knows none of it is for him.
He bows slightly, and she passes by him without a word.
Danyal watches her hair flow as she retreats further and further down the hall until he finally turns around to enter the room.
Ra’s Al Ghul is waiting for him.
He gives no indication that he knows Danyal heard him, so Danyal doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t make the mistake of thinking that means Ra’s doesn’t know.
He always knows.
His training continues.
For days, and weeks, and months more, he continues.
But even a ghost cannot lie to himself forever.
——
When Damian wakes up with chains around his wrists and the familiar feeling of harsh metal beneath his knees, he is not surprised to see his mother standing in front of him.
He wishes it were only his mother.
Instead, his grandfather stands in front of him as well, eyes staring down at him with impassive judgement. Damian feels his spine straighten against his will, the feeling of ‘never good enough’ creeping through his limbs.
He glances at his mother behind Grandfather’s looming form. Her face is uncharacteristically open, the barest hint of tension evident in her jaw, her eyes almost brighter with the concern hidden behind them.
Damian forces his eyes away as Grandfather begins to speak.
“You’ve wasted your time with your father Damian,” he starts, “Letting your training go to waste as the league continues to work to better the world.”
Damian wants to sneer, a scowl forming on his face, “The league does nothing but hurt innocent people. My time as Robin has saved hundreds.”
Grandfather’s eyes sharpen, “And I see it has taken your discipline as well.”
Damian grinds his teeth, “Anything I have learned, I learned from my Father and my family,”
“Your family?” Grandfather says, his tone almost mocking as he raises an eyebrow, “You are an Al Ghul-“
“I am a Wayne too!” Damian says, straining as he rises to his feet, “I am Damian Al Ghul-Wayne! Just as you wanted me to be! And it is my choice to be a hero, to be Robin, and I stand next to Father and the others with pride!”
Grandfather’s glare intensifies, “Do not interrupt me again, Damian. You will not be exempt of the consequences.”
Damian stares him down, fear pressing against his insides with a scream too familiar to his youth.
He turns away with a click of his tongue.
Shame whispers at his cheeks.
Grandfather waves a hand blithely as he turns his back, “Bring him.” He pauses at the door, “He remains bound.”
Damian watches his Grandfather leave, his eyes drifting sideways to his mother.
“Mother, why am I here?” He demands, tone sharp and clear. He tries not to let show how lost he is.
Mother steps forward, laying a gentle hand on his face and the other at the crook of his neck, cupping his cheek as her eyes soften. Regret sits behind them.
“Mother.” He says again, pulling slightly away from her hand, “Why am I here?”
She sighs, stepping back, “The Demon’s Head has need of you.”
Then he watches her leave as well, and Damian finds his arms and hands grabbed as assassins unchain him and push him forward.
He reluctantly lets them lead him through the unfamiliar halls of wherever they are, just a few paces behind his mother.
They stop in front of an open doorway, and when Damian is dragged in front, the sight he is met with brings confusion over anything else.
In front of him is a young man, no older than Todd or even Drake, laying asleep in a hospital bed with a heart monitor attached to him.
The beeping that fills the room is shallow and unsteady, much like the boy’s breathing. His hair is dark with speckled streaks of grey and a natural paleness in his skin.
Worse than that is the IV Damian can see tucked into the crook of his arm, tube trailing up to a bag.
Slowly feeding Lazarus water into his veins.
Damian whips his head around to look at his mother, only to find her staring disdainfully at the boy in the bed.
It only serves to confuse Damian more.
What had this man done to cause his mother such ire?
“Take the sample.” His Grandfather’s voice commands. And Damian feels the arms holding him shift to a more secure grip, pulling him to his knees even as he fights them. A man in a white coat approaches him, and Damian fights harder when he notices the syringe in his hand.
The sting of the needle is dull against the fear crashing through him as his grandfather watches.
His mother looks away.
Finally, Damian jerks as the hands he now knows are Ubu’s release him, still hovering close as he is dropped. He is surprised to see that they actually took blood, rather than dosing him with something. Sedative or worse.
Damian scowls at his grandfather, but he simply looks unconcerned as the assumed doctor moves forward to take a second sample, this time from the boy laying in the bed.
“Why am I here, Grandfather?” He asks, eyeing all parties critically.
“Haven’t you realized, Damian?” His Grandfather asks with a mockingly raised eyebrow, “His heart is failing, and the Lazarus waters can only fix so much by the nature of his defects. Your brother needs you, Damian,” Grandfather says, voice serene, “And you are going to help him.”
Damian barely has a moment to process his words before the hands are pulling him back once more, he yanks his arms from their grip, “Grandfather! What are you- let me go!” Damian turns fully to incapacitate the assassins, only to have Ubu pull his binds harshly sideways and give the servants leverage enough to actually tame his movements.
“Who is he?! Mother!” Damian turns to her, unsurprised to see her turning a blind eye once again, “Mother who is he!? What is Grandfather talking about?! What are you doing!?” The assassins pull at him again, successful in getting him through the doorway as he struggles.
Just before the door closes, he hears the Doctor speak to his grandfather, and his response.
“The boy is a match Great One.”
“Good, prepare Danyal for surgery. As soon as possible.”
The surprise is enough that the door closes in his face and he is dragged back through the hallways.
He stands as much as he can, walking at pace, refusing to allow them to disrespect him by letting them drag him.
He glares at Ubu as he shuts the door of his cell between them.
Once he knows he is alone, Damian takes a better register of his situation. He is still in his Robin uniform, so that means he was out with the family- he has a brother- they’ll be looking for him. He believes he’s on a boat, the rocking, the design of the doors and walls- a brother!- he has to make sure he can be found. Grandfather has plans for him-why tell him now- he doesn’t seem to be listening to Mother’s decisions- his brother’s name is Danyal- he might be in danger-they both could- how is he going to get out-
Damian stops.
He readjusts his clothing, feeling the minute shift once more. There’s something between the collar of his suit.
Slowly, Damian runs his hand along the fabric, finding a small bump he recognizes as a tracker.
One of his own bat made trackers. But how..?
Mother.
Damian scoffs to himself. Of course, he should have known she would never show such an obvious display of affection without reason. She was still largely loyal to Grandfather, but Damian was not so naïve as to think she did not care for him at all.
The vibration of the tracker is rhythmic beneath his fingers, the only solace he gets.
His family is coming.
He knows it.
He just hopes it’s fast enough.
——
Perhaps Grandfather’s first mistake was taking him as Robin, when his family was always the most on edge, the most prepared, the most connected.
Or perhaps his first mistake was training Bruce Wayne in the first place.
Either way, Damian watches from the other side of an observation window as his Grandfather and Father engage in a fight racked with fury on both ends.
Richard jostles him, bringing his attention back into focus.
Right.
His newest brother.
He mumbles an explanation to them, words slurred as they leave his mouth. But he knows they heard him. The shock-caution-suspicion painted across their faces could mean nothing else.
Perhaps his Father was under a curse. Surely there was a limit to how many unknown children one person could have in a single lifetime?
All the same, once freed, he moves to help Drake and Richard remove the boy-brother, Danyal- from the operation table next to him, stepping over the doctors knocked unconscious at their feet.
Reluctantly, he allows Drake to support him under one arm, the anesthesia still weighing down his eyelids.
They rush through the halls like a bull, both him and Drake separating to fight off more than one assassin. Even Richard has to set down Danyal to join the fight at least once.
But finally, they make it to the Batplane idling next to the hull.
The moment they are onboard, the plane starts to move away, but his Father is still on board.
Still fighting with Grandfather as they burst through the doors, fists and weapons engaged in equal measure.
Father dodges sideways, blocking hits until he reaches the rails, then he jumps over without hesitation. And just as Damian is about to shout for him, arm reaching out futilely, Richard blows past him.
He is leaping out of the open cargo door with just as much surety as his father leapt, a cord tied around him, and with perfect precision, he watches Richard catch his father at the extension of his swing.
It’s a perfect demonstration of their partnership.
And Grandfather is left scowling out at them from the ship.
His mother stands alone and calm on the upper deck, watching.
Damian turns his attention to his family.
And to Danyal with them.
——
Returning to the cave is less of an affair than Damian may have expected from such a mission.
His father is-has been- silent for most of the flight, staring at the body of Danyal with blank eyes.
Even Drake and Richard conspicuously cast a glance back every few minutes. Damian controls himself from doing the same. He is not so undisciplined as to be as obvious.
Still, the tension only rises the longer Danyal continues to remain asleep. Even by the time Damian feels the last of the anesthesia leave his own system, Danyal is unchanged.
Damian is certain his grandfather would not choose someone so sickly to be his heir, someone so incapable of protecting themselves in this state. Surely there was a reason he was kept, a reason he was allowed this weakness when Damian was-
Regardless, Damian didn’t trust it. The others could get pulled into this invader’s lies all they wanted, Damian would be there to stop him, he was sure of it.
Still, he watches Pennyworth dote over him in the medbay, Father laying him down on a medical bed with harried care, removing his cowl with barely a thought.
Damian ground his teeth, did they not understand that this was an operative trained by his Grandfather? An assassin with no attachment to them that was favored enough by Grandfather to warrant Damian being-
Damian turned to his locker, glad to replace his weapons stores and feel the weight of his sword at his side once more. It would be a pain, but he would have to find a way to receive a package from his mother if he wanted his other sword back.
It was merely a replica of one of his betters but the desire remained.
He watched from the corner of his eye as the family began to gather in front of the Batcomputer, the screen’s light casting shadows on them even in the artificial cave lighting. Finally, they were going to be doing something.
Damian approached, lingering at the edge where he could still see through the curtains of the medbay.
“I’m not the only one who noticed a suspicious lack of life threatening wounds right?” Drake began, turned away from the console with one hand still on the keys, “I mean, there was that first surgery cut, but that was the same as on Damian. It certainly wasn’t enough to necessitate Lazarus water being entered directly into this kid’s bloodstream.”
Damian scowled, “He was like that before they attempted this. Grandfather said that there was something wrong with… Danyal’s heart, said that I would be able to fix it.”
Father cast another brief look at the medbay, Pennyworth’s shadow still moving within. “I’ll have Agent A call Leslie. Robin,” he turned towards Damian, “Did Talia or Ra’s mention anything else to you? Where .. he’s been this whole time?..Why you didn’t know of his existence?”
Damian shook his head, “No, only that he was my brother and that the pit water was being used to fix him somehow. That I was needed to save him.”
Father hums, turning back with pensive silence.
“B, we don’t even know how long this kid’s been there, he’s older than Damian,” Richard pleads. And it makes Damian duck his head with clenched fists. Who was he? Why was he so much more favored by Grandfather?
Why had they told him he was the firstborn of mother? Of father?
“He could always be a clone with advanced aging, we know Talia is capable of it, she’s done it before,” Drake adds. But the theory sits uncomfortably with all of them. Something just not quite right.
“But then why did they need Damian?” Richard says back.
Father grunts.
“Is it really…” Richard starts, “I mean, we have to consider that she actually kept it secret again. Even from Damian.”
“But B wasn’t even with Talia before that, Damian was the first time they… y’know.” Drake says, a grimace on his face at the end.
Father hums, “But I’d fought Talia before. And I had trained with Ra’s.”
“All it would have taken is one DNA sample, right.” Richard says with a sigh, carding his fingers through his hair, “Well, we might as well-“
There’s a slight clatter on the medbay level, silencing everyone as their heads snap to the sound.
When nothing follows, Father motions them all to head up, flanking the room.
Damian is the closest, entering first. No sooner does he notice Pennyworth laying on the floor before he feels a hand slip around his neck and another quickly snatch the sword at his side. Within seconds, Damian feels his back pressed against another body, the cold steel of his own sword stinging at his neck as he stares into his Father’s eyes.
Except his father is not looking at him, he’s looking at the person holding him.
Danyal.
“Where am I!? Who are you!?” The voice behind him demands, the vibration buzzing against him with the familiar staccato of Damian’s native league dialect.
His family shares a weighted look, clearly hesitant to say anything. Already Damian can see the way their fingers twitch towards weapons and utility belts.
The steel at his neck tightens, “Tell me now or I slit his neck and deliver your bodies to the Demon’s Head myself.”
Father’s stance tightens, anger pulling at his gloves even as he forces himself to put his hands up in surrender. When he answers, it is in the League dialect, “We’re not a danger to you, Danyal,” the blade doesn’t so much as twitch, “Put down the swor-“
Stephanie Brown’s voice rings out across the cave, “Hey, Kate and I just finished patrol and-“
Damian doesn’t pay attention to the rest of the sentence because the moment Brown starts speaking, his assailant’s group loosens just a bit, accompanied by a low, broken whisper of, “English?…”
Damian immediately jabs the flat of his arm up, putting the blade farther from his neck as he begins to grapple with him.
In the blur of movement, Damian sees his sword coming at him, throwing his body back with a barely a second to spare, feeling the supporting hand of Richard on his back as he joins their combined front.
Danyal now stands alone in front of them, stolen sword extended in warning.
And now that Damian can see his face, he knows why his family was hesitant… Danyal’s eyes flicker a bright Lazarus green.
“What do you want from me? Why am I here?” he demands once again.
His Father steps up, “I don’t know how much know about me: my name is Bruce Wayne,” There’s barely even a flicker of recognition, “But you might know me better as Batman.”
The eyes widen, eyes scanning them with fervor before narrowing with suspicion and denial, “The Batman is dead, the Demon’s Daughter told me so herself.”
Drake steps forward, “She was wrong. He came back-“
Damian rolls his eyes, “Clearly Mother must have told you. Do not be stupid.”
Danyal’s brow furrows, silently mouthing the word ‘mother’ beneath his breath.
“I don’t-“ He cuts himself off with a grimace, hands tightening on the shaft of the sword, “I don’t believe you, what-“
“What happened? Did we bring back the demon spawn, why are you all-“ Brown bursts into the room, words already filling the air. Only to stop when she sees Danyal.
He raises the sword at them again, noticeably less stable as he supports it with two hands, “Who are you!? Why am I here!? Tell me-“ He grunts again, putting a hand to his chest, “Tell me, now! I-“ the sword drops, Danyal using it to support himself like a cane. Father steps forward, hands extended. It only serves to make Danyal lift his head to glare at him.
“Stay back-“
“We’re only trying to help-“
“I said-“ Danyal grunts, hand clenching at his shirt as he drops to his knees, “Stay- Stay back- I’m-“
The sword falls from his hands with a metallic clatter on the stony ground, Danyal gasping for breath.
“Back- off..” He whispers, the English falling from his lips with desperation as he curls in on himself.
Father rushes forward the moment Danyal’s body goes limp, lifting him onto the medical bed as the room bursts into motion. Richard is grabbing medical equipment as Drake helps father with providing CPR as Brown moves to get Alfred, all of them quick to jump to action.
Damian slowly steps forward, picking up his abandoned sword from the floor.
He turns it over in his hands, making sure it is unharmed from the ordeal even as he watches his family rush to help each other.
Just what had Grandfather been doing to Danyal?
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I Don’t Believe You Care
Y’all are my beta readers XD if you see any errors please let me know. I’m going to post this on AO3 later.
Part one here
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The scolding that Bruce gave Damian was the gentlest either of them had ever received, but it did cow Damian enough that he behaved while meeting Cass and Stephanie. It helped that they were sweet, Stephanie was a bit energetic and overwhelming but Cass was quiet and seemed to understand them better. She helped reign in the over-enthusiastic family friend and Danny was glad to have her as a sister. She didn’t speak much, she communicated in signs that he didn’t understand but he thought that he could learn in time, and he wanted to. When he told her so she smiled and Steph squealed, insisting loudly and brightly that they would be happy to teach him!
He couldn’t help but feel relieved that when Alfred asked Stephanie if she would be staying for dinner she joked that she should actually spend some time at home for once. It seemed like she didn’t live here, though they knew of her identity as Spoiler and her involvement with the bats, all her noise and movement wouldn’t be a consistent presence around the house. Not that Danny didn’t like her! He just thought he’d like her best in relatively small doses before she could overwhelm him.
He would ask Cass to teach him when Steph wasn’t here, it might be just slightly trickier, but he could use the excuse of letting the two friends spend the time they had together. And maybe Tim could help him practice? He must know how to communicate with his sibling after all, and Danny could already tell he and Tim were going to get along.
He was even more glad that Steph had gone when Dick arrived because as the man came barrelling in like a hurricane Danny didn’t want to think of how much chaos and noise they would be together! For all his practice in social graces they really should have prepared him for this chaos, crowds, and friendly contact. But the compound had been short sighted and ill prepared in such regards.
Dick was the worst, Danny was almost jealous of Damian who could snarl and squirm and draw a knife on the man when Dick tried to hug him. Danny put on a smile and forced a laugh and pretended that his instinctual reaction to being held like this didn’t make him want to bite and rend. He knew that Dick meant well, or at least he thought so, the man was honestly famously good natured and cared for his family. Danny wanted to be on his good side, and couldn’t bring himself to actually say he didn’t want to be touched, or at least wasn’t used to it. The sudden, quick, and broad movements Dick favoured with his dramatics made Danny want to flinch though he had better self control then that!
He dodged hugs as gracefully as he could for the rest of the night and managed to sit him and Damian between Bruce and Tim for dinner, with Danny sitting next to Tim of course. The food was good, and everyone in the family was very welcoming, but by the end of it Danny was exhausted.
He was good at this sort of thing, trained to charm, and redirect apparently effortlessly, but the thing was it wasn’t effortless, and these sorts of situations were harder to simulate then battle. Danny had done a good job, he could tell that he had them charmed, and had them warming up to Damian too actually, but he also knew that he was drooping. He should hide his fatigue, but he was still human, he yawned.
“You’ve had a long day young masters,” Alfred said, instantly picking up on the mood, he was an impressive man and they both knew it. “Now that you’ve eaten why don’t you go settle in your rooms and get some rest? I took the liberty of going to buy you some pajamas and basics that should fit the two of you. I’m sure Master Bruce will be happy to take you both out to buy clothes more suited to your taste tomorrow,” he added.
“I think that’s a good idea, don’t you Damian,” Danny asked, glancing over at his brother.
“I’m not tired,” Damian harrumphed, of course he wouldn’t admit defeat. “But I would like to see where we will be staying,” He added. No doubt he’d thoroughly check security and for any potential surveillance before he slept. Danny wasn’t going to bother.
“Very good young Masters,” Alfred said with a nod, pausing to look back at Dick. “Will you be staying the night as well?” He asked the older man, who gave a rueful smile and shook his head.
“I’m needed in Bludhaven, I was able to come for the day on such short notice but I couldn’t get more time off. I’ll schedule a proper vacation as soon as possible so I can come back and visit!” He said giving Danyal and Damian an encouraging smile, and Danny did a good job of looking disappointed that Dick was leaving even though he was glad to have some time to get his feet under him before more of the family would be under the same roof once more. Maybe he hadn’t been as subtle as he thought about dodging Dick’s affection though, because he didn’t try to hug either of the boys goodbye.
He bid their siblings farewell and followed Alfred up to his bedroom, seeing Damian into his first and then going into his own. He was quick to brush his teeth and change into the comfortable, soft pajamas they’d been bought which did fit perfectly. Unfortunately when he flopped down into bed, regardless of how exhausted he was, he couldn’t sleep. He kept replaying the events of the day, how he did, how he could have done better, what he had learned about the family and what it meant.
After maybe an hour once things had gone quiet on the other side of the wall and he thought Damian was asleep Danny sighed and got up. He opened his window and climbed out, he braced his feet on the sill and shoved off, jumping unnaturally high for a human to grab on the edge of the roof and drag himself up onto it. He scrambled up gracefully and silently, finding a comfortable place to lay, looking up at the sky. He stayed there, zoning out for a while before he heard a soft thump on the roof near him.
“How did you get up here?” Bruce asked, dressed as Batman this time, Danny glanced over and gave him a small smile.
“You can’t really see the stars here,” he said, looking back up at the sky. “I won’t miss much about the compound, but I’ll miss the stars.”
“Not settling in particularly well?” Batman asked, sitting down on the ridge of the roof, a respectable distance between them.
“Oh I’ll be alright,” Danny said with a shrug. “They always raised me to be your heir after all, Damian will have more trouble than me. Want some advice?”
“Hm,” Batman said, an affirmative sound.
“Take him to a zoo, buy him art supplies. He’ll deny he cares about such things, but I know him better then anyone and he does. Once he realizes he really can be himself out here, that’ll help start undoing the brainwashing.”
“How are you so insightful about the situation? You can’t have avoided the brain washing.” Batman asked, and Danny shrugged. “What about you?”
“What about me?” Danny asked, glancing over just for a moment.
“How do I bond with you?” Bruce asked, and Danny laughed.
“You don’t have to. I don’t need to be won over or convinced. Our grandfather is a violent fool who only cares for himself, teaching me to recognize manipulation showed me what he really was years ago. If you turned me away entirely I still wouldn’t go back to the league.” He said with a wry smile.
“Hm,” Batman sounded unimpressed. “You’re still my son. I’d like to bond with you?”
Danny sighed, not sure why Batman was being stubborn when his energy was best spent elsewhere. He sat up and looked over at Batman, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t need you,” He said somewhat bluntly. “Damian does, give him your focus. If you truly want you can buy me an instrument, and books on astronomy.”
Batman nodded thoughtfully and Danny lay back down, there was a few moments of quiet between them before B spoke up again. “How did you get up here?” He asked again and Danny sighed.
“I guess you have to know eventually,” He murmured. “Part of the reason we’re both here is because Grandfather couldn’t decide who he wanted to be his heir, it was always supposed to be Damian but something happened and suddenly I was a much more attractive choice.”
“What happened?” B prompted after a moment.
“You know about the Pits? Most people dunked in it come back less, in the mind usually, sometimes less human, feral and monstrous. But rarely, once in the blue moon, someone comes back more.” Danny glanced over at Batman, and when he blinked he let his eyes flash green, glowing with the vile waters the kept Ra’s limping along. He could have explained more about the ways that he was different now, but he didn’t want to let on more then he had to at this point. He wasn’t naive enough to trust Bruce just because they shared blood, so he simply said; “I came back More, and I mean, I’m still a trained assassin, I probably could still have gotten up here even if I hadn’t.”
“But seemingly being chosen by Lazarus made me seem like a better option to grandfather, and your… complicated feelings towards empowered people is well known. So they didn’t know if you’d like me anymore.” His eyes faded back to blue and he looked up at the sky again, he couldn’t read Bruce’s expression under the cowl anyway. “It took a lot of subtle work to convince them to send us both so you could ‘decide which of us you wanted’.”
“Do you expect me to choose one of you?” Bruce asked, unreadable as ever.
“No, not really, you clearly like having many children. Damian still thinks now that you have a biological heir you’ll turn your adopted children away, but that’s grandfather talking and he’s a fool. If you do choose one then choose Damian, I’ll be fine on my own but he needs the help navigating this world. He’s strong, he’s clever, he’s more observant than me, he’ll make a good detective. He’ll be more loyal than me once you win him over too. He’ll be harder to break of the bad habits, I’ve never been as good at killing as him, but once he learns the way you do things I think he’ll be a good Robin.” Danny said, pulling up his knees and wrapping his arms around them, it was a bit chilly on the roof.
Batman hummed and nodded, which was good, if he had continued to push Danny would have had to bring up Jason. He knew that Jason was alive of course, but Bruce didn’t and Danyal would say he was more likely to end up like Jason if he had to but that was a last resort.
“Well I want you to know that both of you are very welcome here. And neither of you have to be Robin, or anything that you don’t want to be. I’ll support you in whatever you want to do, and you being a meta doesn’t change that at all. Both of you have a home here,” Bruce assured.
Danny nodded and gave Bruce a smile before standing up and smiling. “That’s good to hear,” He said, while not believing it at all. Bruce couldn’t and shouldn’t offer such unconditional support after just meeting them. “I should get back inside, it’s getting cold, and I am tired,” He said, wandering over the edge of the roof and stepping off, twisting around to grab the edge and swung off and back through the window before closing the window and brushing himself off so he wouldn’t get to much dirt in his sheets before crawling into bed.
He wasn’t fully asleep before the door to his room opened just enough for Damian to slip inside, he wasn’t surprised, Damian and he weren’t as independent from each other as they acted like they were. “You should have locked your door and blocked it somehow. We cannot trust the mongrels Father has taken in,” he hissed at Danny.
“Damian, shut up and get over here,” Danny mumbled sleepily, not bothering to open his eyes as he lifted the blankets on the other side of the bed. He heard a scoff and waited as Damian did whatever he needed to to feel like the room was secure and then came over to slide into bed next to Danny. Danny held out his arm, they didn’t exactly cuddle even when like this, but Damian liked to hold Danny’s wrist and feel his pulse. He had done it when they were younger but he had stopped for a while, it had only started up again after he had watched Danny die, it was understandable.
Damian wrapped one hand around Danny’s wrist, seeking out his pulse and tucked the other arm under his pillow, no doubt stashing a knife there. “None of them are going to hurt us Dami. They’re used to having multiple siblings, they probably compete, but other then one notable exception we’ve never heard of any of them trying to kill each other have we?”
“You don’t know that, Father’s has never had a biological child before, they must recognize we’re more of a threat then the others,” Damian argued in hushed tones.
“They won’t, we haven’t even proven ourselves yet. We could be incompetent.”
“We’re not!” Damian objected, his voice raising just a little and Danny hushed him softly.
“No, we’re not, but they don’t know that. I would suggest we keep out heads down for at least a month, we learned what we could about them from a distance but we should observe them. We’ve never been out of the compound except on missions, we have a lot to learn and whoever does end up his heir will have to be able to pretend to be normal. I intend to take Tim up on the lessons on popular media, perhaps it isn’t practical, but what about when we inevitably have to interact with people our own age at parties? What about interviews?
“We don’t want to reflect badly on father and if we don’t know Anything about such thing, or have any hobbies, or anything of the sort people will assume he treats us poorly.” Danny murmured and Damian harumphed, even without opening his eyes Danny could tell Damian was gritting his teeth.
“Why should we care what the uncultured masses think?” He hissed furiously and Danny cracked a small smile.
“Because father does. As the Bat his reputation is half of his weapon, and his identity as Bruce Wayne is carefully crafted to both divert suspicion from him being Batman and to make people like him. Father understands well how ones image is a tool, and being a good father is part of his image as Bruce Wayne, we will have to play into it if we want to succeed.” Danyal explained as gently as he could, he didn’t believe all of what he was saying really, or at least the way that he was framing it. He was framing it in the way he thought was best to make Damian start giving the outside world a chance, and hoping that when he did give it a chance he would find he liked it.
It was quiet for a long time which was good, it meant that Damian was properly considering what Danny had to say. He was nearly asleep before Damian spoke again, rousing Danny from his half doze. “Alright, knowing these ‘siblings’ patterns would help, and I can concede the point on the importance of reputation,” He said stiffly.
Danyal had to suppress a smile at his brother’s tone. “Good. And try to remember that unlike Mother and Grandfather batman has a rule against killing. Anything you do you must make sure it is never tracked back to us, especially because he’s not going to suddenly stop caring about them because we share his blood. If he finds out we hurt one of them it would absolutely ruin our chances, or be a huge set back at the very least,” He added, again trying to gently steer his brother in the direction he wanted. He was being manipulative, but it was the way he knew that worked.
“Father should know better then to develop such misplaced attachments,” Damian grumbled but then after a moment of silence he sighed and nodded. “All of our missions have had to be done in secret anyway, with time and planning we’ll manage.”
Well, it had bought them time and that had been Danyal’s goal so he nodded as well. “Good, now sleep Ahki, we’ve both had a long day and I’m tired.”
Damian let out a soft hum and that was all, he kept hold of Danny’s wrist even as he fell asleep, as he always did. Danny liked it too, the physical reminder that Damian was there, that they were safely together. He didn’t think that either of them would have to sneak out before dawn to make sure they weren’t caught and punished for such childish behaviour, he truly felt like they could rest.
Part three
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