Chapter Text
The moon choked beneath cloud cover dark as coal, a flash of black and red occasionally visible beneath spent street lamps. Damian Wayne adjusted his footing to silence his steps as he journeyed from downtown Gotham to an abandoned building near the docks.
Rusted machinery and construction materials covered most of the entrances to prevent trespassing, but he had no trouble ascending the obstacles to hoist himself through a window. He dropped into silence, no longer hearing the ambient rustling of tarp or nocturnal birds calling out to one another in song.
Damian moved forward, his eyes scanning the decrepit surroundings in search of hidden opponents. He remained wary of what might crawl within the shadows and unsheathed the sword from his belt as he navigated twisting halls and vacant rooms.
His father, Bruce, and brother, Duke, hit a snag on their way to the location and fell behind by a few minutes. The heavily armored Batmobile struggled to safely navigate traffic as easily as Damian’s motorcycle. If Batman or Signal had arrived before him he would be infuriated at being left behind, but he deemed it unnecessary to have three people assigned to this mission in the first place.
Inside , he tapped out on his wrist, sending the notification to his counterparts.
Be there in 3. STAY PUT , Duke shot back.
Damian rolled his eyes. This was the fifth building they checked in three days and had not encountered a single enemy thus far. He was well past believing that they’d find anything two weeks after their initial attempt at toppling the crime syndicate they worked tirelessly to expose.
The cruel efficiency of their opponents ensured a lack of evidence that they existed in the first place.
The Court of Owls consisted of wealthy individuals belonging to Gotham’s founding families. For decades they worked behind the scenes to influence the city to their benefit, and not even Gotham’s dedicated vigilantes knew of their impact. Damian’s team discovered their vast criminal network that granted a shocking amount of leniency from law enforcement. Since their discovery Damian often questioned whether or not he truly knew the inner workings of Gotham, and whether or not his work genuinely made a difference in the long run.
It unsteadied him to have been oblivious to the danger surrounding the city.
The Court used their power to sway politics and ensure their position amongst the lawmakers and elite. To keep in the shadows they often ordered assassinations for anyone that stood in their way. Damian had yet to understand why they kept Batman and his partners alive for as long as they had, but Bruce insisted that he must have been used as a distraction while they loomed beneath the surface.
That changed when they learned about an even seedier underbelly than that of which they believed to exist already. That changed when they learned about the centuries old assassins pumped with electrum to grant them superhuman abilities.
Damian recalled the barely dodged blades and unending endurance that threatened to kill him when searching for The Court with Bruce. Following their confrontation he struggled to sleep without bolting awake from a dream about the thick metal of a knife clipping the skin on his exposed neck. He had reinforced his kevlar upon returning to the Batcave, but that did little to ease his mind.
Nonetheless, he took the lead to hide the fear in his gut whenever he thought about the decrepit zombies that injured Bruce so grievously that he had to remain in the infirmary for two days.
By some miracle they made it out and garnered enough support to lead a full assault against them after Bruce’s recovery. Damian heard the rumblings that Batman had been defeated once and for all and pushed to keep him hidden until they could launch an attack.
Bruce agreed, everyone knowing that the second they descended on The Court of Owls the stragglers would go straight into hiding.
A Talon could survive nearly any injury and rumors claimed that they could be brought back from the dead. Damian witnessed the truth firsthand when his sword sliced clear through his assailant’s ribs and watched the beast’s skin stitch itself closed within minutes. He managed to incapacitate the other long enough to retreat with its body.
A Talon’s only means of containment required extreme freezing temperatures to prohibit their movement. Their steel chains frosted over and their already graying skin took on a shade of blue. The most unsettling part, however, came from the wide eyes that followed him back and forth when he double checked the chambers’ thermometers.
The vigilantes realized early on that a Talon remained awake and cognizant during their restraint.
They argued back and forth about the ethics regarding this method of control. Duke led the crusade against what he deemed to be torture, but their younger brother, Tim, advocated for safety over compassion. Bruce remained silent during the bickering, likely trapped in a loop of moral ambiguity in his mind. In the end they decided to keep their captured Talons frozen until they found another means of withholding their attacks.
And now, standing alone in a building they assumed to be one of The Court’s headquarters, he felt the first rumblings of anxiety. To combat what Damian deemed to be weakness he pushed ahead against the wishes of Duke and Bruce.
Damian approached the stairwell but the door jammed the second he tried to open it. On his second attempt at pushing he heard the low whine of heavy metal scraping on concrete. He peered through the grating that prevented the window from being smashed and saw a large desk crammed between a faded yellow wall and the dented door.
He paused, aware that none of the other searches had a single obstacle in their way. Damian glanced over his shoulder one last time, questioning his decision to take on this portion of the mission himself. If he waited for backup then he would be less likely to act on emotion at the risk of Duke and Bruce registering the thrumming fear within him.
However, he also understood that the search would be an ordeal when his father arrived to take control. At every turn Bruce pushed the other members of the team to the side in order to lead them rather than work with them. It happened most frequently with Damian despite his age and over two decades of real world experience.
So, in an act of defiance, he abandoned the stairwell and continued his search.
Stained silver doors hid the elevator cab but Damian didn’t bother pushing the dimly lit button to trigger their opening. Instead he removed a folded knife the size of his palm from the black utility belt hanging from his waist and worked the blade between its doors to open them with as little fanfare as possible. They creaked open to the empty shaft rather than the elevator itself, revealing thick groupings of cables and soot covered beams.
Damian poked his head in and examined the placement of the elevator cab. The only light came from the emergency lights behind him, signaling the likelihood that the cab rested on a higher floor rather than the basement. He tapped a button on the side of his mask and increased his sight range to discern the floor it resided on.
The Court of Owls commanded the thirteenth floor of a number of buildings in Gotham, so he needed to get there. Damian could only hope that he had a clean shot to it, but, of course, the metal box blocked the exit to that floor.
Damian refrained from sighing and instead positioned himself to take on the climb. Thick cables crackled against the coarse fabric of his gloves. It tingled against a two year old scar on the flesh of his palm from the last time he ascended an elevator shaft. The snapped wire sent him plummeting to the bottom, his sister’s hands encircling his ankle at the second floor’s entrance. Cass did her best to dress the wound in the field but it left a jagged mark nonetheless.
Damian cursed when the cables creaked but kept his focus on his destination. The roar of tires came from outside to signify his team’s arrival and he increased his speed to outrun them. It would take Bruce and Duke another minute or two to get this far into the building so he hoisted himself up as quickly as possible.
In many ways he worked better alone, especially when it came to partnering with Batman.
It took everything in Damian to keep from huffing as he climbed. The only thing he heard was the sound of his suit scraping against wires and even that was too loud for his liking. Every squeak seemed louder than the last, his arms shaking with exertion when he finally reached his destination.
The most difficult part came while exiting the elevator shaft. Damian had to get off at the twelfth floor and take the stairs to the thirteenth. He could only hope that no one had blocked that hall too as he couldn’t fit through the thin window separating him from the other side.
This time the doors were too difficult to open. Damian couldn’t get the right angle, and his proximity to the elevator itself only increased his nerves. The second that he heard footsteps, whether they were from the vigilantes or not, he swung headfirst into an air duct. It would get him to the next floor, though it would be more difficult than taking the stairs.
Redbird, report.
Damian scowled at the message from Bruce. Thankfully he had enough room to move so he offered his location, explaining that it would be too difficult to crawl out again. The demand that he remain still followed once again but Damian ignored the order and continued making his way to the thirteenth floor. From beneath him he heard them attempt to wrangle open the stairwell as he had to no avail.
The smell of metal overwhelmed him, strong enough to make his bottom teeth ache. No air blew through the vents so his temperature increased the more he dragged himself forward. Without his night vision he would have been shrouded in unnavigable darkness that deepened the farther he moved from the entrance. Breathing became more difficult as Damian hauled himself vertically and the second he saw light his speed increased.
Damian approached the grate with a miniature screwdriver in hand, his heart dropping in relief when it finally came loose. The opening allowed him enough room to slip in, though he noted that his shoulders were uncomfortably broad due to his enhanced armor. Bruce required them to wear extra protection during the mission, and upon seeing the aftermath of a Talon assassination no one argued against it.
His feet hit the floor and Damian stretched his arms above his head the second it was feasible. Though nothing appeared out of place, the air still held tension as though something sinister lived within the walls. Damian searched for an immediate threat but only silence greeted him.
Emergency lights flickered on and off, the room still dark enough for him to maintain the use of night vision. He withdrew his sword from its sheath and kept his body quiet as he exited into the hall. It resembled the other buildings to an extent. Like those they explored before it appeared deserted but it was in greater disarray. Paper with thick black blocking out paragraphs littered the ground, some half shredded already. The offices he crept past had file cabinets on their sides and overturned desks with secret compartments poking out the bottom.
Due to their lack of clean up he assumed that this hiding place held fewer secrets than the others that had been wiped clean of evidence.
Damian kept an eye on his feet to avoid crinkling any paper beneath him. They would likely spend the next few days combing through potential proof of The Court’s misdeeds so he didn’t bother to read it right away. His comm buzzed again with Duke’s alias flashing across the screen.
We can track your movement, you know.
Damian would have waited it out, but he knew that Duke would come storming in before he sent the all clear. The younger always went above and beyond to prove himself as useful, especially when he worked alongside Damian. The twenty two year old was the quintessential middle child, even though he was the second oldest of five. He spent far more effort than necessary proving his worth even though none of the family doubted him.
Damian felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle halfway through typing his own angry reply. The familiar feeling of being watched jolted adrenaline through his system. He pretended not to notice the other person in the room and redirected his message to update Bruce and Duke on the situation. The second he pressed send he darted to the side, diving behind the closest cover he could find.
He planted his back firmly against a wide support beam at the end of the hall. It gave him brief respite but he knew that it wouldn’t last. Damian still clutched his sword and used its gleam to look behind him without sticking his head out. No movement responded to his own but he knew what it felt like to have eyes on him.
Damian took a deep breath and steeled his resolve. He darted out and went on the offensive, barreling in the direction of the danger. The sudden movement triggered noise from his left and he pressed on, keeping his head level and eyes open.
Had he blinked any longer he would’ve missed a blur of activity darting off, the sound of skittering jarring against the previous silence. Damian ran as fast as he could down the adjacent hall but was stunned at the speed of his opponent. Their footsteps were inaudible after the first five seconds, but the stairs were on the other side of the building so they had no means of an easy escape.
“In pursuit,” he called into his comm, “Requesting immediate backup.”
Turning a corner he noticed that the hall ended mere yards away with a single door to the right. Damian approached slowly, his sword drawn and body prepared to react the second he needed to. He examined the ceiling to prevent an attack from above, but knew he had the right room when he heard a squeak from the last place left to check.
“Hold your position,” Bruce demanded in his ear.
Damian ignored the instructions. This might be their last opportunity to find a member of The Court, or, better yet, a missing Talon. To the best of their knowledge they had two at large which could easily be their demise. It was worth whatever risk he took in pursuing the potential assailant, especially with Bruce and Duke on their way.
Damian refused to give in to his terror.
The stench of death overwhelmed him upon entering the room. Damian prepared himself for the worst, fully convinced that he would find at least one body. The memory of the Talon’s blade against his throat popped up again. A bolt of anxiety shot through his chest, more difficult to swallow than his initial worry entering the building.
Damian twisted the hilt of his sword in his hands, an anxious habit to remind him that he was armed and able to defend himself. He had been caught empty handed hundreds of times over the years and still held his own, but he hated to be in that position.
He crossed the threshold and kept himself pressed to the wall to avoid an attack from behind. The smell of sulfur burned his nostrils and bile rose in his throat. In the moment of peace he dexterously dug odor blocking balm from his pocket. The instant relief allowed him to breathe again without vomiting. He hoped it would keep his attention focused on the adversary rather than the mess around him.
The room resembled the kennel of a run down animal shelter he visited a few months prior, dull and barren. Bruce had freaked out when Damian kidnapped the majority of the animals, but he couldn’t turn an eye to the abysmal conditions they lived in. It only took a hurried Wayne gala to adopt them out but his father still criticized what he deemed to be a rash decision.
Damian rolled his shoulders and approached the crates. None appeared large enough to fit a person, but they still knew so little about The Court of Owls that he couldn’t overlook the possibility of extreme contortion. The odor blocker made moving closer easier, but the stench still permeated his nostrils and settled on his tongue when he opened his mouth.
The decaying flesh and bones of two dozen owls filled every kennel. The birds had clearly been killed intentionally, as most were either decapitated or had their wings ripped from their spine. Every cage door was open, suggesting that a member of The Court ordered and carried out their slaughter. The cruelty sent a shiver down Damian’s spine, and he could only imagine what The Court did to their true enemies.
He wiped his face, now considering the likelihood that he chased an owl rather than a Talon. Duke would never let him hear the end of it, and his pseudo-sister Stephanie would join in the second she heard about his mistake. Worst of all, it would give eleven year old Jason, the Robin , ammunition against him.
But Damian knew that something fled from him and he needed to discern its origin. Bruce would never be satisfied without physical proof of the commotion, and Damian hoped that the animal wouldn’t be frightened enough to attack him. He had had enough rabies shots to last a lifetime.
Damian examined each cage, starting in the top left and working down. Though it was nowhere near the worst scene he had stumbled into, his stomach churned at the sight of curdled blood and colonies of maggots. Exposed bones indicated the extent of their decomposition.
He approached the final column and worked down from the top as before. Damian scowled when he made it to the bottom without results and considered walking out altogether. He considered the likelihood that he chased a rodent of some kind, or perhaps his anxiety led him to imagine the entire chase. After all, he saw only a brief flash of movements and no footsteps followed.
However, a lifetime of paranoia convinced him otherwise. With a sigh he crouched down to peer into the final crate, already chastising himself for acting in fear.
The last thing he expected was to meet the golden eyed gaze of a child.
Neither moved at first. The kid pressed himself to the back of the cage, close enough that Damian could reach but far enough that it would be a struggle to pull him out. Even in the dark he could see the glint of a knife, gold with a black hilt, and recognized it as that of a Talon.
The boy held it, though he did not point it in Damian’s direction. A small chip on the center of the blade indicated past use but it appeared clean at that moment. Damian questioned whether or not it could’ve been the child that systematically brutalized each owl in its cage but his gut told him otherwise.
He took a moment to examine his surroundings, intrigued by the array of rodent corpses in and around the cage. Most were stripped of all meat, the bones in a neat pile at the front. The skins laid in piles outside of the kennel, but still stacked on top of one another. Everything had its place and despite the vulgarity of the situation the boy seemed to have organized it to the best of his ability.
A burlap bag lined the metal floor of the cage, stained so fully with what Damian assumed to be blood that the text on the front was illegible. He recognized the makeshift bed and wondered if the boy had been there since The Court of Owls disappeared two weeks prior.
A tiny chirp from the cage surprised him, and he instinctively repositioned his weapon. Damian noticed the child blink at any point in their interaction thus far. Slowly, the boy shuffled to the side enough that the man saw what he guarded behind him.
In the right corner an owl chick sat on a nest of bones, feathers, and fur. The boy tapped its head twice in what seemed to be an attempt at affection, but he never took his eyes off of Damian. After giving the man a clear view he moved back into his previous position and kept his fingers on the hilt of his knife.
Damian pressed his comm, tapping out the code to alert Bruce and Duke that he misread the situation and to hold their positions. The last thing that he needed was for one to come barreling through the door and spook the kid. They had no idea who he was or what he could be capable of.
Anyone wielding the knife of a Talon should be considered a threat.
But Damian struggled to keep that in mind when acknowledging just how easily the boy fit into a kennel made for birds. He drowned in the clothes he wore, a heavy cape wrapped around his shoulders to nearly engulf him in darkness.
Damian noticed three knives strapped to the child’s chest.
The kid remained perfectly still, enough so that Damian feared he stopped breathing entirely. There was no fear on his face, but no confidence either. His expression was blank beyond anything that Damian had seen before and his eyes fully vacant, even when the older moved a few inches closer.
“I am not going to hurt you unless you give me a reason to,” Damian stated.
He kept his voice low and level so that the broken silence didn’t jar the child but the empty response he received made the man question whether or not the kid even heard him. Another part of him considered that the words might have been too harsh, but he pushed that thought aside for the moment. A Talon was a Talon, no matter how tiny.
Damian had been a child once. When his opponents underestimated him he used it to his advantage.
“Who are you?”
Again the boy stared at him listlessly. Damian considered calling Bruce to deal with the kid himself instead of attempting further interaction. His father had ample experience in handling violent children and never asked for help before. With the tap of a button he could relinquish his authority to Bruce and wipe his hands of the miniature assassin before him.
Damian looked at the boy and remembered the way Bruce’s face fell when he first showed up on his father’s doorstep with a scowl on his face and blood on his hands.
He took a deep breath and tried again.
“If you can understand me, look up and down,” Damian instructed, curious as to whether or not the boy understood the language at all.
But this time the kid tilted his head up and down ever so slightly, keeping his eyes on Damian as he did so. Damian exhaled in relief and he noticed the flash of fear in the younger’s eyes. In the next breath the relief drained from his face to leave him just as expressionless as the child.
The Talon kept his fingers on the hilt of the knife but made no move to secure it in his grip. Every one of his teachings told Damian to assert his power and control over the situation, but his instinct whispered assurances of his safety. A hard pit in his stomach worried for a child with a weapon in his grip.
“Did you kill these birds?” Damian inquired.
The Talon tilted to the side so that the man could see the chick again. Once more he tapped two fingers to the top of its head, and the animal pecked at his hand as though it expected a meal. Damian’s eyes flickered to the rodent bones and understood that the boy had likely been hand feeding the owl chick since The Court abandoned its base.
It was too young to survive on its own. Damian could’ve laughed at the irony.
“Are you a Talon?” he continued.
The boy offered another half nod, his hand holding the knife tighter in anticipation of an attack. Damian knew that he should’ve locked the cage and called Bruce and Duke to his side. It would be foolish to take on a Talon by himself, and the others would be furious with him for even attempting it.
But when he stared into the child’s eyes all that he could think of was seeing that same face in the mirror before he left The League of Assassins.
“The Court of Owls has fallen,” Damian explained, “Batman has taken the other Talons into custody. The few remaining members of The Court are running out of places to hide.”
The boy blinked again, still void of emotion. Damian wished that Bruce developed a mind reading gadget so that he could speed this conversation up. His comm buzzed with an inquiry of safety. The man tapped their codeword as confirmation that he remained safe, knowing that it would only hold them off for a few minutes.
When he met the boy’s gaze again he noticed a tinge of uncertainty. From what they knew thus far, the Masters held complete control over the Talons, breaking their will thoroughly enough that they struggled to survive without constant command. The boy likely could not attack without direction, even if he wanted to.
“No one is coming back for you,” Damian frowned, the words heavy on his tongue.
If he expected the boy to devolve into a puddle of tears at the revelation he would’ve been shocked at the lack of a response. He knew the turmoil likely raging within the kid’s mind, but he had been trained to keep calm and give nothing internal away.
Every passing second with the deadly child brought Damian further into his own past, dredging up memories from nearly two decades prior that he did his best to forget.
To Damian’s surprise the kid set his knife down, its blade silent against the metal. The child kept his eyes straight but shifted his body to lift the owlet into his hands, unperturbed by its incessant pecking. Spots of dark liquid clotted where the owl’s beak hit the hardest and Damian wondered if the blood lining the cage belonged solely to the skinned prey.
The boy reached out to him far closer than before, but before Damian could warn him to stay back the boy set down the chick and scooted into his previous position. Damian stared at the animal, half expecting it to attack him. The white puff struggled to stand, tipping over as soon as it attempted to take a step forward.
“You want me to take the owl?”
The boy tore his eyes away for the first time, glancing at the chick for less than two seconds before he offered another curt nod. When Damian offered a hand to the bird it chirped angrily and hopped back to the child, attacking his bare hands once again.
Damian noticed the dark veins under his skin and knew for certain that the boy had undergone electrum infusion to give him superhuman abilities. The precious metal provided Talons with the ability to regenerate following a grievous injury but it oozed black under his already pallid skin. He considered the likelihood of the child being tortured as intensely as his counterparts.
The younger ushered the owl to the entrance three more times, but it continued to flutter back in his lap and screech when it got too far away.
“She trusts you,” Damian noted.
The owl preened its feathers and continued to peck until the boy tapped its head another few times. Somehow, it soothed the bird enough to stop it from squeaking and jumping around.
“Are you planning on killing me?” Damian quirked an eyebrow.
He nearly laughed when he watched the boy consider the words, clearly working through the problem in his mind. After a beat he shook his head, holding his knife by the blade and offering the handle for the man to take. Though the kid did his best to prevent emotion from bleeding through, his hands shook enough to reveal his nerves.
Damian placed a hand on the hilt, the weapon surprisingly heavy. He noticed a dark liquid dripping from the boy’s hands and knew it to be from a deep cut in his palm. Seeing it drip through a child’s hand onto the burlap sack amidst an array of matching stains took away the supernatural terror.
“The people I work with will be here shortly,” Damian informed him.
The boy didn’t yank the knife back, but he didn’t release the blade either. He held just tight enough for the blade to dig into his skin and didn’t seem to mind the worsening gash.
Damian knew that The Court of Owls trained Talons to feel no pain. They had different bodies and different blood, but upon meeting this child’s eyes he recognized the humanity within him. He thought of his own training, how long it took not to flinch when enduring physical pain, and knew that it never truly went away no matter how hard he tried.
Damian dropped his sword to the ground, its metallic clatter ringing out in the room. He brought the free hand up, showing the boy both front and back. Slowly he covered the child’s bloody fingers with his own and gently worked the knife from his grip. It took over thirty seconds and when the boy finally parted with the blade his body went rigid as if expecting an attack. Three knives still lined his abdomen but he seemed to have forgotten about the extra protection.
“I need you to trust me. I will take you somewhere safe.”
The boy’s eyes widened, tilting his head ever so slightly to the left as he considered the words. It reminded Damian of his dog, Titus, when he trained him as a puppy. The Talon appeared interested, but still deeply confused by the offer.
“Your Masters will never hurt you again. Not if you come with me,” Damian pledged.
The boy supplied one of his miniscule nods. The cut on his hand healed completely within the span of thirty seconds and Damian did his best not to stare at the invisible wound.
After seventeen years away from the League of Assassins he still worried about being dragged back to the darkest years of his life. He struggled to imagine the terror of the child before him, his own repression holding back a wave of insurmountable emotion.
Damian reached forward and tapped two fingers to the dried blood dusting the boy’s palm.
“I will protect you,” he whispered, “I promise.”
The boy trembled beneath him, his eyes zeroed in where Damian touched him. He worried that it was too jarring of a move, but when the child’s finger twitched upwards to poke the man’s palm it filled him with a sense of security. Interacting with an adversary should require more caution, but he couldn’t stop himself from a bout of pride at the accomplishment.
“I am going to call my teammates now. Then I will bring you to meet them and we will take you somewhere that The Court will never find you. Do you understand?”
The child nodded and awaited further instruction. Damian hadn’t expected this level of docility from anyone involved with The Court of Owls, let alone a Talon, and remained on high alert. He knew the danger that a Talon was capable of, but the shaking child crammed in a kennel felt far from threatening.
“No one is going to hurt you,” Damian vowed, meaning the words so genuinely that his stomach flipped.
He lured the boy forward, taking the owl into his hands to allow him more space to move. Every ten seconds or so the child paused to ascertain his surroundings with each slow inch. Damian kept one hand on the hilt of his sword, hidden from the boy’s view as he completed his journey.
The younger stood up on shaky legs, gripping one of the crates to steady himself. Damian wondered how often he had ventured beyond the room in the last two weeks. From the high strung nerves visible in the boy’s trembling he ventured to guess that those excursions were few and far in between.
The boy barely reached Damian’s hip, and though he was a tall man he couldn’t recall the last time he towered over another person so dramatically. To lessen the intimidation he naturally exuded he crouched down a few inches to hand over the animal.
The boy lifted his arms to accept the owlet, pulling it close to his face to examine it carefully. He placed the chick gently into the boy’s hands and his shoulders dropped their tension. When the owl pecked him on the nose, he tapped her head and looked to Damian for his next instructions.
He sighed, removing his hand from the hilt of his sword.
“I have to check you for weapons,” Damian informed him.
Over the next minute he carefully removed the boy’s cloak and searched the remainder of his outfit for weapons. Surprisingly, he wore what appeared to be lounge clothes rather than a Talon uniform. A thick crew neck sweater and loose pants kept his size hidden for the time being, but the cape he wore clearly belonged to an adult.
At first Damian assumed the boy wore shoes of some kind, but upon closer inspection he realized them to be bare and covered in a dark grime. The boy looked as though he had been grabbed from his bed in the middle of the night rather than outfitted to protect himself. Damian questioned The Court’s decision to leave a Talon behind in the first place.
He rewrapped the boy in his cloak to prevent himself from thinking about it further.
Damian pressed his comm, his eyes trained on the expressionless child.
“Is the building secure?” he asked.
“Redbird?” Duke crackled, “Are you kidding me? You request immediate backup mid-pursuit then leave us in the dark for six and a half minutes-”
“Signal-”
“-then come back and ask about the building? Seriously?”
“Is the building secure or not?” Damian snapped.
“Affirmative,” Duke grunted.
“Rendezvous at the northwest exit.”
Damian looked to the little boy and saw him tapping the top of the owl again. It nibbled on him halfheartedly, clearly worn out from its flapping and squawking. He looked up through his eyelashes and Damian’s chest constricted.
“I am going to keep you safe” he informed the boy, “But you can’t attack anyone. Understand?”
The child’s eyes widened, closely resembling the bird in his lap. He offered one of his tiny nods, though less timid than before.
“I will introduce you to two members of my team before we exit the building. They might be nervous around you at first, but it will pass as long as you stay calm.”
Damian wrapped the boy’s belt around his own abdomen, securing the loose knife into an empty slot. He gestured for the Talon to follow but questioned whether or not it would be a good idea to hold onto the kid. However, if the boy’s upbringing was anything like his own touch had been used for punishment rather than praise or protection. There would be nothing worse than betraying his trust immediately, especially if it sent him into a panic that triggered violence.
Damian led them down the stairwell and managed to push the door to the first floor open by shifting the desk against the far wall. He heard Bruce and Duke’s hushed voices and shook out his hands. These were his last seconds of peace before everything fell out of place.
When Damian looked to the child he saw that the wide eyes never left him throughout their journey. He offered the smallest smile, hoping that the gesture wouldn’t bring up any negative memories. Thankfully the boy refrained from physically cowering this time, though his own mouth twitched nervously.
They stopped just around the corner. Damian recognized that walking straight into confrontation would be too overwhelming for everyone involved, so he decided to split up the initial introduction.
“Stay,” he ordered.
Damian rolled his neck and stepped into the light. Bruce and Duke zeroed in on him immediately, both in position to attack if need be. He could already hear the impending scolding. On another day he might have snuck out the back and fled to his real home, Bludhaven, to avoid senseless confrontation. It was the city he ran off to when working alongside Batman got to be too much, helping its residents in a way that Bruce never would have allowed him to in Gotham.
But tonight he knew he needed to stay and fight.
“I need you two to remain calm ,” he emphasized, “Quiet, cool, collected.”
Duke opened his mouth to speak but when he got a good look at Damian he faltered. The older knew that he must have appeared seconds from flying off the handle from the way Bruce examined him. After ten seconds the others relaxed enough that he felt safe introducing them to the boy. He held up one finger and walked out of sight once more.
Damian beckoned for the child to follow him, pausing every few seconds to give him time to adjust. The owl slept in his hands so they no longer needed to worry about its pecking, but it did little in terms of easing the tension. The child finally rounded the corner, sticking surprisingly close to Damian as he did so.
A shift in energy indicated the second that Duke and Bruce saw the child. Through the dark they couldn’t discern his gray skin or dark veins, just a little boy folded in on himself and desperate for safety. Damian could only hope that they kept that in mind when they discovered the truth.
The boy stumbled over his footing, his body taut with the fear of punishment for his misstep. Damian crouched down beside him and drew his attention to the chick instead.
“Be brave for your owlet,” he murmured.
Duke and Bruce kept their eyes on the boy rather than Damian. He noted the moment when the mood changed, his father now aware of what his eldest son discovered on the thirteenth floor. Duke took a few seconds longer, his gaze snapping between the three other people in the room as he struggled to conceptualize the deadly child before them.
Duke had been a vigilante for a decade now, but there were still stories that Bruce protected him from. Damian never had the same luxury.
They watched him warily as though anticipating an ambush, but the child walked without further falter until Damian stuck out a hand to maintain eight feet of distance. He saw the two men study the kid for a weapon, surprised to see him unarmed.
“Batman, I need you to trust me.”
Damian stood firm, his arm half outstretched in anticipation of Duke and Bruce lunging at the boy. He promised the kid that he would protect him, and if he had any shot at helping him it would be dashed by a near immediate betrayal. Damian wished for the same serenity his father offered the gaggle of adopted children he procured over the years. It was a longshot, but if anyone was up for the challenge of raising an assassin child it was Bruce.
“The boy is unarmed. He willingly offered his weapons in exchange for the safety of an owl chick that he has hand raised,” Damian removed the belt from his chest and showed it to Bruce, “He has been living in an abandoned kennel, likely since The Court went into hiding. At no point has he threatened me, and I do not consider him to be an enemy.”
Damian met the child’s owl-like eyes again. A thick strand of hair stuck to the left side of his forehead, and for some reason Damian found himself instinctively wanting to brush it out of the way.
The thought unnerved him enough that his attention snapped back to his father and brother.
“You want to bring home a Talon,” Bruce inferred.
“I do not see another option.”
Bruce and Damian stared at each other for a long time, both waiting for the other to crack. It didn’t matter whether or not they were on the same side, his father expected him to beg for permission like the younger kids did. At twenty five Damian felt little need to grovel, but breaking the expectation was slow progress.
In the end, Duke disrupted the silence.
“This is a horrible idea. You know that, right?” he scoffed, “B, come on. You can’t seriously be considering this.”
“Let’s hear Redbird out,” Bruce remained calm despite his clear hesitation.
“Just because it’s a kid doesn’t make it less of a Talon. We’ve seen what they can do-”
“ He ,” Damian emphasized, “Should not be underestimated. However, I believe that he will refrain from acting violently unless provoked.”
“But how could you know ?”
“Keep your voice level,” Damian narrowed his eyes.
He ignored Duke’s budding whine and turned back to the boy.
“You will remain at my side and keep your hands on the chick at all times, unless I direct you otherwise. If you begin to feel overwhelmed you must tell me. You will not be in trouble as long as you are honest. Understood?”
The child nodded without hesitation, standing up straighter and adjusting his hands to hold the bird better. Damian flickered back to the others, encouraging them to approach. Bruce stared at him intently with an impenetrable expression that would linger in the back of Damian’s mind for months.
The man would remain silent and observing until the moment required him to speak.
“I told him that I will take care of him,” Damian asserted.
Bruce considered the words. After a beat he touched Duke’s shoulder to encourage him to relax and the man begrudgingly followed the directions. The older man raised his hands to show he harbored no weapons and took a few steps forward. Damian nodded to the boy, wordlessly assuring him of his safety. It didn’t release the tension in either of their bodies.
“Hello, I’m Batman.”
Duke and Damian met eyes for a flash. It sounded ridiculous every time their father introduced himself in uniform. They often made fun of him for it, especially when he interacted with children. Nearly every one of them had a similar moment with their father, so they knew how off putting it could be.
Bruce crouched so that he was at a similar height, but the boy was so small that he struggled to get to his level.
“What’s your name?”
Damian knew already that the boy wouldn’t respond verbally. Bruce didn’t react negatively, though, instead offering a gentle smile. It appeared to unnerve the kid given the slight shiver of his body, but his expression remained blank.
“What do you have there?” the man pointed to the sleeping bird.
The kid looked to Damian, clearly confused as to what he was supposed to do. He forgot how beaten down the Talons were in terms of free will. The child needed constant commands in order to function, especially when under the eye of an authority. Being the one in charge left a sick taste on his tongue as he recalled the torture The League put him through in his training.
Damian would never hurt a child the way his former family hurt him.
“Batman is safe,” he assured him, “He won’t hurt you. He wants to help you, just like me.”
The boy tilted his chin and held out his arms in Bruce’s direction. Damian noticed him tighten his grip ever so slightly, nervous that Bruce would take it away. The owl puffed up and released an angry chatter, her beak jabbing the kid’s hands until he tapped it twice on the head. The chick wobbled back and forth as his hands tremored.
Damian remembered the fear of potential punishment, the drawn out anticipation before the hurt came. He unwittingly moved closer and covered the child’s hands with his own to steady the shaking.
The boy redirected his gaze to Damian, abandoning his surveillance of Bruce and Duke to focus on the man that found him instead. Neither made any attempt to disconnect, choosing to hold onto each other in spite of their surroundings.
Damian felt two fingers tap against his palm and couldn’t help but smile.