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#league of assassins
yuwigqi · 2 days
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Friendly reminder that the al Ghuls are East Asian. Yes they are Arabic, but they are also East Asian. Several origin stories had put Ra's birthplace in East Asia.
Don't let DC just kill that because of the shitty "we don't need multiple East Asian characters in the family" idea media has.
So yeah start letting Damian speak Chinese, Mongolian, Burmese, and/or other languages that are associate with lands that were associated with the Mongolian Empire (which Ra's has repeatedly claimed to have been prominent in)
Talia's sometimes portrayed as over a hundred years old. Let her wear Cheongsam and Fengguan's when she marries Bruce.
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timdrakegf · 2 days
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just a tad sick of this ‘damian wayne was a prodigy’ narrative. i think it debases his trauma and experience in the league of assassins. damian wayne was a child - he wasn’t born a weapon. he was born to be a weapon. it almost minimizes the blame of the adults around him - like he was taught because he was so excellent so young when really he was taught despite being so young. despite being a child.
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hecate-hollow · 2 hours
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Tim Drake died in Afganistan. He managed to get back to the hotel but between him passing out and the League reaching him, his heart stopped. So they put him in the pit, an opportunity Ra’s was so looking forward to because Tim was perfect, and if he could manipulate this boy like they had Jason then The perfect heir had finally been found.
The trouble is that The pit elevated anger, especially those felt around the initial death, and Tim has never been one prone to loud anger. Sure he put up a front when he was Robin, but Robin was as much a mask as every other personality Tim adopted.
The rage the pit latched onto was a quiet thing. “A real beauty,” the pit would have said if it had any form of consciousness. Because Tim had been sitting on this sizzling silent fury that he held just under his skin from the moment he saw Damian in the Robin colors. It wasn’t loud anger. It was sharp, and subtle, and calculated.
When Tim woke up in the pit, it was his everything.
His memories were scrambled, but there were a few things he knew for sure. His name was Tim, and Bruce was alive. He wasn’t sure who bruce was to him, but proving that this man was alive was a single driving point of his anger and Tim as he was now, with the pit flowing through him like a raging tornado, was ready to use everything and destroy everyone until this point was proven.
So he listened to Ra’s spew his cleverly worded lies. Pretended to go along as his new heir. He utilized all the training this man was willing to give and cannibalize the information they let him access freely.
When the council of Spiders arrives Tim has no trouble taking them out and oh? Look at that! All of Ra’s super secret bases are going up in smoke too? Except this version of Tim is much more thorough in his destruction. Ra’s tried to get in the way of Tim finding Bruce and Tim was not going to let that go easily. Total annihilation is exactly what he deserved and if Tim still happened to walk away with a cache of all the information backed up to his servers and a handful of elite assassins completly loyal to him then so be it. They weren’t necessary, but Tim appreciates that they were not afraid of him.
With the information turned over to the Justice League and Tim’s malware’s thoroughly keeping track of their progress towards bringing Bruce Back, Tim’s pit anger focuses on something else.
Except it’s not so much anger anymore that it is just…no longer masking. Tim was a certified sociopath with a talent for masking. It was the first thing his mother taught him when she realized he was just a little to similar to her. And Tim was good, to a point where he sometimes had himself fooled. But that was in the past. Tim didn’t remember why his mother trained him to mask, so he didn’t. And that’s probably why the pit directed him to his sister.
He found Cass in Hong Kong after about a week of searching. She’d been doing what she does best just in a new location that wasn’t Gotham. When she spotted Tim she practically tackled him in a hug and for the first time since waking up in the pit Tim felt himself smiling over something that wasn’t a result of vindictive glee. Tim hugs her back and they stay like that for a while.
Cass was the only one who knew about Tim under his masks. While he couldn’t remember it completely as his memories were still spotty, there was an underlining trust that had lead him to Cass because she knew him in his entirety and accepted him. It was that same trust that allowed Cass to pull Tim back to Gotham once word of Bruce’s return had finally reached her.
Tim had been hesitant. They’d been in Hong Kong for a month and during that time he’d spent hours every day meditating to create some weird symbiotic partnership with the pit. Unfortunately Tim realized he wouldn’t be able to mask as efficiently as he had before. The pit was attached to his anger and Tim was always mad about something even if he was brilliant at hiding it. Unfortunately that anger would power the pit and with the pit buzzing just under his skin Tim couldn’t get himself to mask into whoever he had been before.
Cass thought that was good. She thought Tim shouldn’t have to hide who he is form the people who are supposed to love him. Tim was worried. If he went home and got turned away again he wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t raze the city to the ground in his anger. But Cass promised that if something like that happened she stop him and they’d leave together. They would come back to Hong Kong and set up camp here.
Turns out there wasn’t much to worry about. When they zeta’d into the cave Bruce was already waiting, having been informed of their arrival hours ahead of time. Cass moved to hug him first, Tim holding back, watching the scene carefully, watching the slightest of tension flow out of Bruce’s shoulders as he wrapped his arms around his daughter. He watched her kiss her forehead before letting her go and turning his attention to Tim.
Tim froze under the gaze. It wasn’t out of fear, more of nerves. Tim wasn’t necessarily the same person as when Bruce went missing and as the worlds greatest detective there’s not doubt the man could see the differences in the way Tim carried himself. He wasn’t sure if—
“Oh.” Tim melted into the arms now embracing him, as if something he thought lost had suddenly clicked into place. He felt the pit settle, felt his anger fizzle out.
“Welcome home, Tim.”
Tim wrapped his arms around Bruce determined to make this hug last for ever. “Missed you, Dad. Welcome home.” Beside him Cass laughed in a knowing way. The “see you had nothing to be worried about,” clear in the amused tone. Tim would have stuck his toungue out at her but right now he was focused on Bruce, and this warmth, and a hug he never wanted to end.
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AU where Jason comes back to Gotham and begins his plan to confront Batman and all that. Except after only like a week the Joker gets hit by a bus and then shot by a little old lady with a shotgun and dies.
Jason’s plan is now in shambles because the dramatic climax of his plan is no longer possible. But that’s fine. He’ll think of some other suitable alternative. Granted, it’s not quite the same if he uses some other villain. Making Batman choose doesn’t mean nearly as much when it’s not about the person who killed him.
And really, is he going to try and get Batman to kill Black Mask or something? Scarecrow? Red Hood is competent; he could do it himself so why bother.
So Jason lays low continues to build his criminal empire with astounding speed and efficiency. If only he could think of a good way to announce his return. Nothing he can think of is dramatic enough.
Meanwhile, the Bats are freaking out because who is this guy that’s taken over half of the Gotham underworld in like a month? He’s obviously trained, but they just can’t seem to get any information on who he is or where he came from. It is beyond frustrating.
After a few months Jason is frustrated that he just can’t seem to find any dramatic good way of making Batman prove himself. It has to be something big! Something magnificent!
During his weekly chat with Talia he complains about his problems and she suggests he come back for a visit. He argues that he can’t just leave, but she says if he has competent enough lieutenants it’d be fine. He spends the next three weeks making sure that everything will be fine if he leaves for a week. He will not have all of his hard work falling apart and going to waste due to incompetence. Absolutely not.
So then once his lieutenants are sufficiently prepared (and the rest of Gotham’s criminal element sufficiently cowed), he heads to Nanda Parbat, only to find Ra’s on the phone with Bruce, who is demanding to know if the Red Hood has any affiliation with the league.
Oh. Oh. He can give them affiliation.
A new plan begins to form.
He’s going to be the most affiliated he can be. Jason immediately goes to Talia with his newest plan: Overthrow Ra’s and takeover the league. Talia whips out her forty step outline for overthrowing Ra’s and tells Jason she’s so proud of him.
Jason has a new goal now, so he gets to work. He checks on things in Gotham, but everything seems to be fine and there haven’t been any unplanned explosions so it should be fine if he stays here for a bit.
Taking over Gotham really was good practice, as it turns out. Thanks to Talia’s plans and previous foundational efforts the takeover happens in no time.
Meanwhile the bats are still freaking out. Red Hood hasn’t been seen in three weeks, he may or may not have league of assassins connections, and even in his absence his goons seem to be managing things competently.
Back in Nanda Parbat, Jason and Talia finish their takeover. And now, finally, he’s ready to confront Batman.
He arrives in Gotham as the new head of the league. His arrival is loud, elaborate, and dramatic enough to fulfill his inner theater kid’s dreams.
Batman is speechless. And not his usual grunts instead of words, but actual surprised speechless. Jason is alive?!?!?!?
Jason was not expecting all the tears. And hugs. And mother henning. Goodness gracious, this was not part of the plan.
Bruce is obviously struggling with Jason’s revelation that he took over the league, but the newest little birdie seems almost relieved at that(?) and Dick and Alfred both seem strangely proud. Whatever. Even Bruce seems to be at least mostly ignoring that for now.
Then someone asks him if he knows Red Hood. Jason blinks. Says that yeah, he knows Red Hood. Everyone seems to ease at that. One mystery solved. Jason quickly realizes that most of them have no idea he is Red Hood. Cass seems to be the only exception but also appears amused and willing enough to not mention it.
Dramatic appearance complete, Jason now has a new goal: see how long he can keep the bats (minus Cass and potentially Alfred) in the dark about his crime boss identity.
He will bribe Cass as much as it takes to keep her on board with the causing chaos plan, but she seems eager enough. Favorite sibling status definitely unlocked. (The whole killing thing is fought over at great length and a truce of sorts is eventually made)
David Cain is never heard from again.
Damian shows up at some point.
At least one league member has suddenly found themselves as an HR rep for Gotham criminals? They’re still not quite sure how that happened.
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kartsie · 3 months
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Jason’s greatest weakness: angry babies with knives
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goingtoast · 2 months
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demon twins
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incorrectbatfam · 6 months
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[after Jason returns from the League of Assassins]
Damian: Did you lose your job because of me?
Jason: Nah, the manager’s a vampire and he wanted me to join his legion of the undead.
Damian, quietly: I knew it.
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quieroguero · 8 months
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sweet dami.
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Finally finished this mini talia comic, two weeks for four panels, seems like a fast workflow no? anyway it’s my birthday
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frownyalfred · 3 months
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Just. The hundreds of tiny quirks Bruce picked up from training with the League of Assassins. Moving soundlessly, controlling his body down to the millimeter. Perfect calm in the middle of a firefight.
Jason has those same quirks. Damian has some but not all. All three of them share such a unique common experience and yet we rarely see them mention it.
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magnoliasandarson · 1 month
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the tragedy of Jason Todd
There's something so heart-rendering about Jason confronting Bruce. He died. His funeral service was closed casket because his body had been so severely brutalized. His brother wasn’t even on the planet when they lowered him six feet down. They buried him and moved on.
He dug himself out, breaking open his own casket with a belt buckle. He shredded the skin off his fingers and splintered his bones, choked on dirt and worms, almost suffocated without oxygen. He wandered the city begging for his dad.
When Jason came to after the Pit, Talia told him his father replaced him and let the Joker live. He makes his way back to his city, but he has a passenger riding around in his brain. There is a thirst for blood and vengeance that blurs his vision. He needs to be good, fix things, and prove himself all over again. Jason is half insane, but he still needs to help people.  He needs Bruce.
He catches the monster that killed him, stands him in front of his dad, and says, 'my killer or me.' He clawed his way out of his grave, fought the Gauntlet in Nanda Parbat, and battled the Lazarus Pit eating at his soul, all to beg his dad to love him.
Jason does all of that, all for Bruce to slice his throat. 
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snaileer · 5 months
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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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noisilyscreechingsong · 11 months
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As the (for a lack of a better word) god of balance and space, and being a halfa that is arguably immortal, Danny has the rare opportunity to reincarnate. Live again. Start over.
When Clockwork had originally told him he was immortal, he (understandably) assumed he meant he, Danny Fenton, could not die. He was wrong. As usual. Instead, it was that he, his soul, could not parish or cease to exist. Two very different things that he was forced to learn through experience when Danny Fenton died at the age of 64 from a car accident as mundane as that is, and ended up in the Ghost Zone to, presumably, ‘live’ the rest of his afterlife. It wasn’t until later when he fell asleep in his lair (first sign something was happening, ghosts don’t need to sleep) and woke up with his head fuzzy and body clumsy. He was a baby and it wasn’t until his mind was old enough to comprehend who he was that he understood he was living life again, this time as child in a different universe and different time.
And when he died again, this time very young from a sickness traveling through his village, he ended up in his lair again, as if he never left. The other ghosts understood after a brief explanation, but the process was still disorienting. Even if it happened again and again.
This time he was born into an odd place. He awoke from a large tube of green liquid. He had a mother named Talia and a Grandfather. He also had a father and older brother named Damian, but they lived in a different country and weren’t really on speaking terms it seemed. It also appeared he was born into a cult of some kind. Mother called it the League of Assassins and Grandfather called it his Legacy, the organization he built from the ground up. Oh and it all revolved around the green, bubbling pit below their home that had resurrection powers that may or may not make someone insane.
A connection to the dead in the basement, a family business, and a Frootloop with too much power. This was turning out to be a lot like his first life.
It’s the assassinations that bother him. He’s fine with killing to protect himself and to protect others. He’s even fine with mercy killings, but to kill someone who is unarmed and can’t even put up a fight is crossing a line.
Grandfather doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like a lot of what Danny does. He talks back too much, he doesn’t follow orders, he has too much of an imagination, he has a weak stomach and can’t see the big picture, he’s never good enough. He’s also compared to his big brother Damian a lot. He’s never even met the guy but knows he has a better fighting stance and climbed the mountain faster when he was Danny’s age. Danny doesn’t know if he wants to met Damian at all after hearing his name every time Grandfather criticizes him. The only thing Damian is to him is a standard to exceed.
And don’t get him started on his Father. Mother brags about him enough, but he’s obviously not here for a reason. He stole Damian from the family, Grandfather says, his golden heir. Danny is just the spare, filling in for his older brother who doesn’t want to come home. Of course, he takes everything with a grain of salt. Danny’s family also brainwashes and conditions people to follow them and die for them, it’s all twisted and manipulative. However, there’s bound to be some truth woven in there somewhere and it doesn’t look good for his biological father.
When Danny becomes the Demon’s Head, and with everything he’s been training for he WILL be the Head, the first thing he’s doing is cutting Grandfather’s head right off his shoulders and feeding it to the dogs. He’ll run this cult thing with actual morals and better management. Not too much change because then his position will be questioned, but over time he’ll bring about some good outcomes.
He does think his family believes they are doing things for the greater good, he just thinks they’ve lost sight of what’s important.
Danny’s not even bothered with not having a normal childhood. He’s lived it once or twice, it was quiet, nice, but ultimately boring. He enjoys the adventure and thrives on the action. He gets excited when he learns a new weapon and celebrates when he finally perfects that technique he’s been practicing. He’s proud when his mother compliments his precise aim in her own weird roundabout way of speaking and is awfully smug when Grandfather doesn’t say a word of criticism when he slaughters his opponents efficiently.
He has a crazy family, but it’s his. So it comes to no surprise that he feels a little unbalanced when his mother takes him to Gotham after some political tension between Grandfather and some group he’s not important enough to know.
He’s seven and has lived this entire life in Nanda Parbat, only visiting the other League locations a few times, where the weather is warm and the air is clean. Gotham is the opposite of his home. He remembers a life in Chicago, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the permanent smog covering the sky. Even if it was clear, the light pollution would hinder his view of the stars.
He already hated this place and was actively counting down the minutes until they could leave. Although he had a suspicion of why they were here. The tight lines beside his mother’s eyes gave away her reluctance, but her confident stance didn’t falter.
Danny watches as she meets with a man in a black superhero suit and what looks like a teenager in a different uniform. The pieces were finally coming together when Mother calls him to come out and he drops from the rafters to land on his feet like a cat.
Their two visitors stare hard at him and if he was in a different life he might have fidgeted under their intense attention. He does not.
“My son, this is your father and older brother.”
“Mother,” the teen- Danny’s brother, Damian, objects, “since when do I have a brother? Have you adopted like Father?”
In response, Danny pulls down the black mask to show the rest of his face and the clear resemblance between the two. Danny had more blue mixed with his green eyes to give a marbled effect and he had his mother’s jaw line but he still had his father’s lips and- actually that was all he could see, the cowl obstructing the rest of his features. Either way, there was no mistaking Danny and Damian as anything but brothers.
“Damian, meet your brother. I hope the two of you will get along and look out for one another.”
Like hell they will, Danny thinks bitterly. He’s spent pretty much this whole life being compared to the boy in front of him, there’s bound to be some resentment on his part.
“I thought he’d be taller,” he tells his mother, eyeing Damian up and down unimpressed.
Damian actually sputters.
“Talia,” his father says, demands, as if asking twenty questions in that one word.
“You will care for him while I’m away. It isn’t safe for him and I have work to do.”
Danny knew it was coming and yet he still felt the squeeze of panic and betrayal in his chest.
“Mother, don’t leave me here,” he almost whines but just manages to keep his voice steady. “I can stay in Switzerland or the Alps or somewhere else that is not here.”
Mother says his name with that amount of sharpness that lets him know she wasn’t changing her mind. He huffs angrily and glares at the two in front of him like it was their fault his was here in this disgusting city.
They don’t talk for much longer before Danny is following them back to a black suped-up car and Mother is nowhere in sight. The ride is silent, the others’ thoughts loud and leaving the vehicle suffocating.
Danny decides to make the process difficult for them, arguing when they ask for a blood sample to confirm, getting into things he clearly shouldn’t when he got bored, and being a little shit to anyone else that shows up in his path.
He knew nothing of this side of his family, his Mother only telling him how strong and honorable his father is and how proud she is of Damian despite his decision to not become the Demon’s Heir. This was his opportunity to watch and learn and maybe test their patience here and there. He didn’t want to be there, they didn’t want him there, so he was going to make this everyone’s problem and maybe formulate his own opinion of his father and brother in the meantime.
It doesn’t take much for him to tolerate the others Father has brought into his side of the family because he had no prior knowledge of them.
He respects Alfred, he can relate to Tim, Dick is a pun master that Danny can’t help but contribute, Jason is too cool not to like, Cass is kind, Steph is bubbly, Duke is probably the most normal, and Selina has a mischievousness to her that Danny can get behind.
Father is gruff. He always looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t. Danny isn’t used to that. Mother and Grandfather and even himself have the position of power to say what they want without much consequence. What’s stopping him?
It gets to a point where Danny snaps and demands he speak his mind or say what he’s feeling. It doesn’t go well but he thinks there might have been some progress in the days afterwards.
Damian is a different story. Danny doesn’t hate his brother, but he certainly doesn’t like him. He makes a point to show it through pranks on the older boy and trying to outplay him in competitions and bets the other sometimes doesn’t even agree to.
Danny can admire how passionate he is in his art and how devoted he is to caring for his animals, and even how much he reminds him of Sam from his first life, but it doesn’t erase the years of feeling less than the perfect first son.
This doesn’t really change until Damian comes back and goes directly to the medbay after a mission gone wrong. It takes Danny a moment to realize that he’s worried for his big brother. Damian is in pain and Danny does not like it. He wants to go out and kill the men who hurt his brother, make them pay for what they’ve done. He wants to be the one to stitch up his wounds and bring him soup.
It’s truly unfortunate that his obsession is protection, particularly around those he considers friends and family.
Danny tones down on the aggression towards Damian after that. He still pranks the teenager and teases him and challenges him to competitions and duels, but it’s more in a brotherly way than showing resentment. Damian definitely notices, but wisely doesn’t address it. Instead, Damian quietly talks about what he remembers and misses of Nanda Parbat when the two of them are alone, both of them actually having a conversation without raised voices or tense shoulders.
After a while Danny doesn’t even realize he isn’t counting the days anymore.
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sheegons · 7 months
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"Cass, Jason and Damian bond over their time in the League of Assassins"
ACTUALLY they bond over all 3 of them being theater kids (Real and canon, I'm dc comics)
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hecate-hollow · 1 month
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Janet and Jack Drake find something at one of their digs that the League of Assassins is really interested in. So, being smart business people they broker an agreement.
The Drakes would cough over this and other artifacts they find that the league is interested so long as they take in Timothy Drake and teach him in their ways.
Which when you think about it sounds insane, but it’s coming from a place of love. Don’t think that this is the Drakes trying to pawn Tim off on someone else. They expect to get their son back and they will raise hell and high heaven in Ra’s so much as tries to keep their son from them.
The next question is why they want their son to become a killer to which Janet answers that “we want our son to know how to kill if he needs to. If I’ve raised him right then he certainly won’t need to dirty his hands to get the results he wants, but I’ll be damned if my son can’t protect himself as heir to the Drake name.”
So for whatever reason this pans out. The Drakes return home, explain what’s going to happen to Tim, and Tim’s all for it. He’s like 9 and wants to be able to stalk the bats better and if he can defend himself then he can probably follow them into more dangerous scenarios and get some really awesome action shots.
So Tim goes to train, and it’s very clear early on that Tim’s speciality lies with his brain. Yes he picks up on martial arts quickly, but he is also a genius, so his studies are adjusted to meet his needs.
Because of this, Ra’s thinks it’s a brilliant idea to have Tim meet his heir (Talia also thinks socialization will be a good thing for both kids since they will both be in positions of leadership and socialization abilities are important).
This was everyone’s first mistake. Tim and Damian are the same type of chaos in different colors. Where Tim had the advantage on planning operations, Damian has the skill to pull them off.
Do they regularly steal desserts from the kitchens? Yes. Can anyone realistically pin it on them? Absolutely not.
One time, while trying to foster both their stealth abilities, they came up with a game of paint tag. They both had a paint marker and they systematically swept through the cradle pinning anyone and everyone.
It was terrifying for all involved because the Demon kids where quick and quiet. They came out of nowhere and marked you.
During Tim’s time in training he would return home or fly to wherever his parents were currently visiting for Holidays. Most of the time he could convince Talia to let Damian join him. Naturally if Damian left there was an unseen escort/body gaurs that trailed them but it was whatever. Tim and Damian made a game out of seeing who could spot their guards the most.
Eventually Tim’s training came to an end. He did need to return to Gotham. After some farewells (and promises to keep in touch. Tim would hack the league if he didn’t hear from Damian enough fuck you Ra’s) Tim was home. He had a house sitter essentially, for when his parents were gone. She stopped in every day, made sure Tim had food and cooked for him if he wanted her to (although his league training had taught him cooking surprisingly), but at night he wouldnt have anyone watching and he was back out stalking the bats.
Tim was their when Garzona’s fell off the roof to his death. He has a perfect series of shot showing Jason diving to try to save him, not pushing him off, and they end up dropped off by a a courier anonymously. With proof, Bruce sits down and talks to Jason. A real heart to heart moment that results in Jason not dying in Ethiopia.
This means that Tim most likely does not become Robin, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t do anything. He eventually establishes himself as an informant, hacking into the bat computer to change the background into photographic evidence Tim gathered they need for a case. he also leaves really large folders in the middle of the screen full of files and also full of the cold cases he solves because he’s bored and already finished high school via online education.
Tim obviously still photographs the bats and with his league training he’s never caught. That is until the newest Robin shows up. It’s a couple of years later. Tim’s thriving, he goes back to the cradle on occasion until he receives a warning from Talia that he can’t return. Says she and Damian are going Dark and that she’ll reach out when she can.
Of course Tim is upset. He’s looking up league business and realizes that theres been an attempt of a coup. A sad attempt but an attempt all the same. He’s just happy that Damian is apparently safe.
So one night he’s out doing his night photography when a new vigilante hits the scene. Phoenix. And yup, that’s definitely the old Robin, Jason Todd, but then where’s the new Robin?
Tim had been following the bats on patrol taking action shots when he was tackled from behind by someone in the all familiar traffic light colors of Robin. As disoriented as he was, tim took the hit, rolling as he cradled his camera to protect it, and used his legs to launch his assailant off of him. He rolled onto his knees ready to fight or flee until his eyes landed on the person across from him.
“You’ve gotten Rusty, Drake.” Damian fucking Al Ghul taunts, that oh so familiar patronizing smirk on his face. Tim gaped because whyyy was his demon twin here? In Gotham? And patrolling as Robin?
Before Tim could gather his Witt’s about him a shadow fell over him and, yup. There was Batman.
He ended up in the cave at the end of the night, thoroughly confused but relieved when Damian took off his mask and throw his arms around Tim in a hug, one the older teen eagerly returned.
“Talia said you were going dark after the coup.”
“Mother believed it best I continue my training with my father.” And wasn’t this just a night full of whiplash huh. Tim leered at Bruce studying his face and yup…he could see it now that he was actually looking for it.
“And I thought my parents were absentee,” he joked, earning a trademarked huff from Damian and a offended/concerned grunt from Bruce.
Damian eventually gets around to explaining Tim, introducing him as his “brother from the league.” Bruce is both confused and concerned about the fact that Tim’s parents just…left him with the league of assassins for over a year. Like what?
Tim kinda just shrugs it off. His families always been a little weird. Oddity is how they show love or something. Either way…Tim pulls a flash drive out of his pocket and placed it by the bat computer. “Since I’m already here I might as well drop off the photos from the Crewel case. I caught them talkng business in the bar off 7th, there’s photos and a document of what I overheard. Figured it might help you connect some dots. Also there’s another batch of solved cold cases for you to look into.”
And now it was Bruces turn to experience relentless whiplash because not only was their mysterious informant like…15 years old, he also lives next door.
Exasperated Father Bruce Wayne invites Tim up to the manor for post patrol snacks so he can digest all of this new information.
Later he calls Jack and Janet and ask them with a long suffering drawn out “whyyy?” Jack dies laughing in the background and Janet humms in amusement.
“I take it you’ve finally discovered his stalking tendencies?”
“And how long has he been doing this?”
“Longer than I care to admit. Listen Brucie, Tim’s a smart kid. A genius really. As much as I wish I could make him stop sometimes, it’s not possible. He’s as stubborn as I am on a bad day, so instead of trying to stop him Jack and I decided that we would do whatever we could make sure he can keep himself safe.”
“Ah…we should start a club,” he decides, remember how Dick had been when Bruce had first adopted him. “I know you’re both In Egypt. Would you be opposed to him staying at the manor. As it turns out my Biological son and Tim know each other from the league.”
“Of course Brucie. Please let us know if we need to wire you any funds for his stay. Tim has access to our accounts of course, but no matter how much we try he’s always so frugal about how he spends it. And if he decides to dress up in spandex and join your little crusade you better at least warn us.”
“Of course Janet. I’ll keep an eye on them.”
“Oh and Bruce? Good luck! From what I heard Tim and Damian were quite the Terrors when they worked together.”
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azulhood · 10 months
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Alright, random idea about the Twin AU, or any AU where Danny is an Al Ghul. Everyone knows that Ra's has an entire army of assassins, but what about the dead assassins? I doubt Ra's is dipping everybody in the Lazarus pit.
So, what if they went to the ghost zone?
And then when Danny dies, these assassins, who are extremely loyal to the Al Ghul family, immediately start following him.
The main assassin in charge, I'm gonna call him Carl, whose been around since the very beginning of the league, who was Ra's right hand man, starts acting as Danny's second in command basically becoming his Alfred.
Carl orders some of the assassins to help Danny out with some small stuff, like distracting some of the rouges so he gets to school on time, killing the hotdogs in the fridge so the little prince doesn't die of poisoning, setting off a Fenton invention so Danny get make a getaway. He definitely orders them to not interfere in big fights, unless Danny really needs the help, as a way for Danny to learn how to fight.
Carl has no idea who the GIW is, but he's gonna find out and then he's gonna blackmail/threaten/unalive some people.
Danny doesn't even know that he's suddenly gained a ghost army, all he knows is that there's a few helpful ghosts hanging around that really hate hotdogs. And then when Danny becomes the ghost king, hoo boy. The assassins replace the old ghost kings army, set up their own system and chains of command just completely change everything. Carl takes FrightKnights place as the king's right hand man/ bodyguard, makes sure all the members of the royal family are safe and is ready to fist fight the time ghost if he makes one more attempt to get his job.
Danny: I wanna be an astronaut. Carl who has no idea what that is: Sure, just let me do some info gathering and blackmail some people. Danny: What? And imagine the batfams reaction.
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satoshy12 · 2 months
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The Great and Mighty Savior, Ra's Al Ghul!! 
The GIW put Amity Park and the area around it under military law.
Anyone trying to leave or get in would be shot; they would find out how to do what the people at Amity Park made possible to live here.
The whole place was contaminated, and they would clean it with a PURGE.
As it was totally legal, a few cities would be gone, but for the greater good.
So Maddie would do it herself, but with Danny weakened because of the Blood Blossom in around the city, Jazz helping the people, and Dani healing, they had to do Plan B.
They needed a hero in their time of need!
That was how Ember was sent by Maddie to find Ra's al-Ghul!
While Maddie accepted her as Danny's girlfriend, Ember didn't think she would meet the rest of the family that way.
That was how Ra learned about the problem his child had. And he joined in fixing it; he was interested she never called him after all.
That was how Ra's al-Ghul became the Great and Mighty Hero of Amity Park and around.
He and the league are celebrated like heroes in the cities.
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