Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gotham had known peace for years, which was nothing short of a miracle. After the Joker and Harley Quinn turned up dead in an abandoned warehouse, whether by an unknown factor or each other, no one knew, but crime had dropped substantially. No one claimed responsibility, and no one on the police force or Batman’s team did it, but the city wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. The team had worked countless sleepless nights trying to figure out who it was that single-handedly saved the city, but nothing ever turned up. 

Tim had started being Robin three years before the bodies showed up and was still eager to prove himself to Batman. It drove him mad that he had the most powerful computer on this side of the Milky Way and couldn’t find out who did it. Same with the others. It never bothered Bruce that his team couldn’t find them. Bruce only hated that the case was unsolved, even after five years. 

Now that the city was safe, they had more time to do other things. They found new ways to secure Arkham better, they helped Mr. Freeze’s wife (now they had a beautiful new life in the Maldives), and Bruce adopted another kid. Because, of course he did. 

It was three weeks until Christmas, and all his kids were home for the holiday. Bruce smiled at his kids, settled into the den. They were all passed out on the couch, the floor, and on each other. Dick had Damian wrapped in his arms on the couch, with Titas, Damian’s dog, lying on their legs. Tim, forcefully banished from the armchair by Ace, Bruce’s dog, was resting on the floor, his arms and head on the coffee table with Alfred the cat next to his head.

They were all covered in blankets (even the animals), lovingly placed by Alfred, dreaming away in front of a roaring fire.

Looking over them were two family portraits. One of Bruce and his parents and the other of Bruce and his children (Save one. His portrait was somewhere else). Bruce liked to think that his parents would be proud of him. He had done well for the city and had a large and loving family. The city was on the ‘Top 50 Cities to Live In’ list for five years. The Batfamily still did their job, but they could have nights off for once and could help other heroes in their cities. Bruce could afford to be sociable for once, which his children love to point out to him.

He slid one of the doors closed to block out the light from the hallway. Damian grumbled slightly at the noise but quickly fell back into his dream. Bruce headed up the stairs to his room to do some last-minute paperwork. Alfred passed by him, handing him a mug of tea. Rooibos, by the smell of it. He accepted it gratefully, sending Alfred a small smile. 

“Thanks, Alfred.” Bruce said lowly, sipping his tea. 

“Get to bed, sir. Get some sleep,” he answered, smiling back, leaving no room for argument. Alfred was proud of his son and grandkids and was glad the dark circles under their eyes were no more, and they could sleep through the night without interruptions. He watched as Bruce nodded and took his cup upstairs. 

The world was cold, but here, the family kept each other warm.

***

It moved through the city as swiftly as smoke. It was lost, even though it had visited Gotham before. It didn’t know where to start looking for what it was looking for. It had no evidence of its quarry’s existence save for a drawing it had made of its ward when the boy was three. It wasn’t the best drawing, but the Lady had said it would be good for its hand-eye coordination. She was sort of right. Its hands still shook minutely. The drawing didn’t properly show the boy's face, but it was one of the few things it could perfectly remember.

It missed him. It had been three years since it saw its brother. It missed him so much. Its heart, or whatever it had, hurt. It wouldn’t stop until it had found where the Lady had hidden its brother. 

A gruff man checked his shoulder into it. 

“ Watch it ,” the man grumbled and continued on his way.

What was his problem? Was this man trying to stop it? Did this man know what it was? What it had done? Was he going to find the Bat? It couldn’t let the man get away. 

It turned on its heels and followed the man down an alley.

***

Damian walked into the dining room, where his siblings were slumped over the table, still in various degrees of sleep. Tim had a cup of coffee in his hand but couldn’t summon the energy to bring it to his lips. Dick mumbled a greeting into the table, to which Damian nodded back and took a seat.

Bruce walked in and helped Tim bring the mug up to his face. The smell brought him back to the world of the living.

“Morning, kids,” Bruce greeted, not expecting too much of an answer. 

Dick just groaned at him, and Damian lifted his hand in a small wave. Tim sipped his coffee. Bruce chuckled and went to help Alfred with breakfast. 

Alfred, as always, outdid himself with the meal. He made quiche, pancakes, bacon, and fresh fruit for ‘dessert.’ The kids had gotten to the manor last night and were too tired to eat. So, in true Alfred fashion, a wonderful meal was made. They ate slowly until they woke up, chatting happily about their school or the heroes they worked with. 

Dick had great stories about his work in Bludhaven, both as Nightwing and as a detective with the BPD. Tim talked about the Titans and gave Bruce a positive report about them. Damian was attending Gotham Academy, but since he was ahead in all his classes, he was allowed to go out as Robin. He recounted taking down six car thieves in one night.

Alfred sat at the head of the table opposite of Bruce. He shot him a look that said, ‘you’re happy.’ Bruce shrugged. Yeah, he was. The mahogany and stone of the manor had seen it all. It had housed the sorrow of children who had lost parents and siblings, but recently it had seen laughter and smiles. They seemed to make the house a bit brighter. 

“Dami, you still want to go down to the Christmas market today?” Dick asked, cutting up his pancakes. “I know you texted me about it last week.” 

Damian didn’t look up but was flustered that his brother remembered. “Oh- yeah. If you want to.” He chewed on a piece of toast to hide a smile. 

“Of course! I’d love to spend the day! It’s been too long.” 

Damian had to pretend that that didn’t warm his heart. He had missed his brothers. Not that he’d admit it. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

“Aww, spending a day with big brother,” Tim cooed from across the table. When Damian first came to the manor, he tried to chop Tim’s head and claim his ‘rightful’ place as Batman’s only successor. He failed, obviously, and as the years went by, it became easier to jab fun at him. Mostly because he knew that Bruce would take the title of Robin away from him if he tried something again. And because Alfred was in the room.

Damian could only glare daggers at him. 

“I’m only joking,” Tim said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I was going head over there anyway to start getting gifts. Why don’t we make it a family trip?”

Damian took another huge bite of food to hide his disappointment. He had really been looking forward to spending the day with Dick. He loved his family, don’t get him wrong, but this was supposed to be him and Dick. He had other things he wanted to do with the rest of them. Maybe if he told them how he felt like Barbara had told him to do…

“Wonderful idea!” Alfred agreed. “It would be great to get some decorations for the house.”

Ok, so that was a no-go.

“Maybe get something to lighten up the Cave,” Alfred added, pointedly looking at Bruce. Bruce rolled his eyes but agreed.

Damian didn’t say a word. Breakfast ended, and everyone headed upstairs to get started for the day. However, before he went upstairs, Dick stopped him. He placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We can split from them. We don’t have to hang with them all day.” Dick gave him his signature grin that made you believe everything was going to be okay. Damian smiled back.

***

It continued on its way. The man wasn’t going to be a problem anymore. 

Snow was blowing in.

It was used to it. It had spent years in the most remote mountains where the sun rarely showed her radiant face. Snow was familiar. Its ward loved the snow. He’d ask if they could go outside when he finished his training. It would bundle him in the warmest jackets and scarves it could find, and they would play in secret courtyards for hours. 

It hadn’t wanted the Lady to find them. If she did, she would take him away from it and punish it for letting the boy have a little bit of fun every once in a while.

Jason genuinely didn’t like the Lady. She was next on its list.

It passed by a Christmas market being set up. It was almost dawn, and the millions of lights reminded it of the stars it would see up in the mountains. It was almost ironic, setting up lights that looked like stars that blocked out real stars from shining. Maybe there was a lesson there. It didn’t care.

It might stay here for a bit. It hadn’t correctly celebrated Christmas since… well, it didn’t know if it ever celebrated. It remembered the date but couldn’t remember if it had ever gotten a gift. The League didn’t. Damian would have loved it. It always tried to give him a gift every Christmas, since it didn’t know when his birthday was. It was only ever able to provide him with a book or a new coat, nothing too fancy. It would have to give him the perfect gift if it found him in time. Maybe a puppy. It would be good for Damian to have another friend.

 It would help him set up… it looked around the market. How did people celebrate Christmas again? Gifts, of course, even its broken memory knew you had to get gifts… and set up a tree with… ornaments? A bit weird, but that sounded like it could be fun. Maybe make a nice meal? Its hands never stopped shaking unless it was fighting, but it would figure out a way to teach Damian to cook, even if the food didn’t look right. It would be up to Damian to make it his own.

Its stomach growled. Across the street was a soup kitchen. It kept its Christmas plans tucked deep in its heart.

For now, it was time to eat.

***

When Damian was ready, he came to the lobby to see his father replacing the browning roses in front of Jason’s portrait with pure white lilies. Jason, at the age of seventeen, was posing in front of a brand new motorcycle that he would have been allowed to ride when he turned eighteen had he not…

Yeah.

When he had come to the manor for the first time, he had asked who he was. Bruce didn’t answer for a month. It made sense, honestly. 

The boy was smiling in the photo. Just like Bruce wanted to remember him. Bruce had told him later on what happened with the Joker at that warehouse. After that, Damian wanted to remember him as a happy kid too. 

But it was strange. Ever since he came to live with them, he could help feeling like Jason was familiar.

Chapter Text

The annual Christmas market was a side effect of Gotham finally getting its shit together. As a matter of fact, it was the Wayne Foundation that funded them. Homemade craft vendors and small businesses could buy a booth for only $30 and sell the entire time it was open. It was a massive hit. It attracted people from other states, and last year, a certain Kryptonian came for a visit. 

In the middle, the city decorated a gigantic Christmas tree with ornaments made by the citizens of Gotham and gold and white tinsel. It was lit up every night until Christmas. 

Bruce couldn’t help but smile at it all. He wondered, not for the first time if whoever killed the Joker and his murderous partner knew their decision would bring peace. 

Alfred and Tim went to get pictures of the tree while an associate of Wayne Enterprises called over Bruce. That left Dick and Damian. 

“So, baby bird,” he said, looking around the market, glowing in the mid-morning sun. “What’s first?”

“Tt, doesn’t matter to me,” Damian said, already walking towards a stand full of gingerbread cookies. Dick smiled and followed close behind.

They bought three each and headed to each stall. They bought ornaments and pet treats shaped like reindeer. 

“Twenty bucks for a snack bag? Ridiculous.” Dick grumbled. 

“Only the best for my children.” 

They passed by Alfred, who made Tim carry garlands for the manor. He mouthed ‘help me’ to them, but they only smirked back. Alfred cleared his throat as a signal to follow him, and Tim was forced to comply. 

“Glad you stuck with me, huh kid?” Dick joked as he elbowed his brother. 

“Yeah,” Damian fidgeted with the bag in his hands. Well, it was now or never. At least now, he wouldn’t be ridiculed by his brother. He knew he didn’t mean it, but it still hurt sometimes. “I missed you, Grayson.”

Dick paused, breathing deeply. He knew this might be coming. Maybe for a while. It killed him to leave Gotham. But Gotham was Batman’s. Batman has Robin. Other cities needed help. Blüdhaven was a good start. 

“I missed you too, buddy,” Dick said, wrapping Damian into a side hug. “I know I should call more. Work isn’t an excuse. But I’m here until the day after Christmas. We have three weeks until then. Then, I promise I’ll call every week.”

Damian grumbled with a smile. “You better.”

Dick laughed, and they continued, talking about jobs and hobbies and very nosey questions about girls.

The family regrouped. Bruce bought them all drinks, and the family laughed and chatted, sipping down as much hot cocoa as possible. 

Across the street, sitting at a table, a man bundled up in tattered layers was watching.

When they couldn’t carry anymore, Alfred left to pick up the car. 

“So,” Damian started. Bruce rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming. Tim could tell too. He prepared his mile-long list of comebacks. “How’d it feel being Pennyworth’s pack mule?”

“Don’t you dare start,” Bruce said, exasperated, rubbing his face.

Before Tim could say, ‘At least I don’t look like one,’ a terrified scream rang through the happy market. 

A woman came out from an alleyway, her face as white as paper. She was pointing into the alley.

“Help!” She cried. “He’s- it’s a-. “ Before she could continue, another woman hugged her as she sobbed.

Dick pushed through the morbidly curious crowd, loudly yelling for them to move, flashing his police badge. Bruce wanted to help, but he wasn’t Batman right now. He gathered his two children into his arms and led them away, but not so that he couldn’t keep an eye on the situation. 

Dick crept closer to the figure next to the dumpster. He had been stripped of his jackets, leaving him in a thin shirt. He didn’t have a phone, wallet, or keys. A mugging, then? It wouldn’t be too weird. Any city had its muggings. But the cleanness of the kill didn’t suggest a street criminal. 

The man didn’t have any defensive wounds. As a matter of fact, besides the pale skin and empty eyes, this man looked unharmed. But the snapped neck betrayed a strong killer. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance. 

As he stood up to wait for the Gotham PD to arrive, the early morning sun glinted off an object next to the man. It was a button attached to a discarded jacket. It was torn all over and covered in dirt. This looked too small to fit the dead man, so it must have come from his killer. In the pocket was a small token.

It had a demon's head on it.

What was the League of Assassins doing in Gotham? And why now?

***

Damian was sitting at a cafe munching on a biscuit while officers and detectives were running around and gathering statements. He overheard one of them say the man's name: Dan Whitaker. After a quick google search, he discovered more. Lived alone, divorced, kids lived with their mom, and worked at an old steel mill. It looks like he only went to work, never going out just for a good time (save to bars). No one would miss this man.

Maybe that's why he was targeted. Maybe the killer was practicing. Whatever the case, they’d have to be fast to find him. Gotham really didn’t need another serial killer. 

“Hey, bud,” his father said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “When Tim gets out of the bathroom, let's head back. We can learn more back home.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

The cafe was crowded with shaken civilians and overworked baristas, but the people were starting to clear out as the police opened up the roads. The man was killed hours ago. The killer was long gone.

What a lovely way to start his holiday.

***

Now was its chance. Its brother, its ward, was right in front of it. It almost started crying behind its face mask. But it could mourn over lost time and celebrate the future later. It had to get him out of here. It was too dangerous with all of these police here.

***

They headed towards the door as Dick came over to meet them. Dick saw him before they did. A masked man reached for his brother. 

“Dami! Get down!” He shouted, breaking into a sprint.

Damian turned, only to get swept up into strong arms. The man shot a grappling line up to the roof of the building next door. The rest of his family were shouting for him, but there was nothing they could do. The people on the street were just staring and yelling at the cops to do something. They couldn't.

When they landed, Damian swung at the man with his free arm, but the punch didn’t reach through the thick red jacket. 

“Let me go!” He shouted. “Get off!”

The man’s hold on him was strong, and he was heading toward the next building. 

“Safe…” he whispered. “Need… safe…”

“I was safe! Let me go!”

That made the man stop. He set him down slowly and looked straight into his eyes. Damian wanted to run back to his family, he knew he could, but he should at least find out what the guy wanted. 

“Safe?” The man pointed with a shaking hand at him and back towards the market. 

“Yes… safe. I was just out shopping with my family.” He was super confused, but he would have to appease the man. And it worked, too! The man backed off. 

The peace was short-lived when Dick climbed onto the roof from the fire escape. 

“Soon… safe,” was the last thing he said before bolting. He leaped off the roof, but Dick wrapped him in his arms before Damian could follow. 

“My god, Dami! Are you okay?” 

Damian nodded, still looking at the edge. “Yeah… yeah, I’m okay.”

Chapter Text

Damian was done with cops for a lifetime. He had to play the part of a scared kid as if he wasn’t the same kid who helped them find criminals. He had done a decent job, at least. He had them consoling him and giving him food. 

His family, however, was a different story. He sat in the den while his father and Grayson paced around frantically. 

“So I think it’s safe to say that the same man who tried to take Damian was also responsible for that crime scene,” Bruce said. 

“I found a League coin at the scene. They must want Damian for something. What do we do?” Dick posed. 

“Is it possible to just contact my mother?” Damian asked. “The man asked if I was safe. Maybe she sent him.”

“I told her that she is welcome to come to Gotham so long as she calls first,” Bruce answered. She was his mother, after all. He wasn’t going to deny her the chance to see her son. 

“But I haven’t seen her since she dropped me off,” Damian said dejectedly. No one could say anything to that. “So why would she send an agent?”

“Maybe she didn’t send him. It wouldn’t make any sense to,” Tim said. “She and Ra’s know that sending anyone from the League would start a fight.”

“In any case, we need to find this man before he hurts anyone else,” Bruce concluded. “It’s been a long day already, but we need to work through the night and find out if this man has been seen elsewhere.”

The others nodded with a solid determination, but Damian was lost in thought. The man didn’t want to hurt him, yet he had killed another just a few hours prior. He wanted to ensure he was safe, but he didn’t even know who the man was. Not even his own mother had bothered to check up on him. So why-

“Dami!” Dick said with a loud voice. Damian whipped his head to look at him. He hadn’t even realized his breathing had picked up. “Are you alright?”

Damian nodded and stood up, working hard to breathe normally. “Yeah, just… tired, I think.”

Dick wrapped an arm around him. Damian used to hate it, but it was fully welcomed now. “How’s about you go and take a nap? We’ll wake you before we leave for patrol.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. His head was hurting from overthinking. 

—————————————————————

When it had entered the mountain lair for the first time, it had attacked someone. It didn’t know why. It couldn't control itself. The Lady was with it. After it calmed down, she stayed with it. She fed it and cared for it. She'd come and cut its hair and beard every so often. She’d help it regain feeling in its hands. But it didn’t come from a place of kindness. She expected something from it.

When it was first given its mission, it expected to gather a bounty or a hit like the other people had gotten. 

It didn’t expect a baby. 

It was given no warning. The Lady came forward and placed a bundle in its arms. Some forgotten instinct embedded deep in its desecrated soul forced it to bring its arms up and bring the bundle close like it knew that this was a child before it could see him. 

It brushed the blanket away from the baby’s face with shaking hands. Bright blue eyes stared at it under pitch-black hair. Like stars, it thought. 

It hadn’t been able to think that clearly before. 

The baby reached up to its unmasked face, and Jason complied with the baby’s request, bringing him closer. 

This baby wasn’t scared of it. In reality, the trembling seemed to rock and soothe the baby. The scars that littered its face, the baby seemed to like feeling them, like they tickled his tiny hands. 

It didn’t know much, save only that this baby was to be its top priority. It was almost like they were…

Brothers. 

***

When it wasn’t training, it was with Damian. He was still a newborn, so it spent hours sitting next to him as he lay on his back or tummy. When he was sleeping, Jason was terrified that Damian would stop breathing for no reason, so much so that it placed a shaking hand on him. It helped both of them to sleep better too. 

Damian was the only perfect thing in that god-forsaken place. 

It didn’t know how or why it got here, but it knew that it wasn’t on this world one minute and alive and kicking the next. The Lady told it its name and that it was to be trained alongside the most well-trained killers in the world. And it couldn’t say no. If it couldn’t leave, then it would make the most of this unusual situation. It would be the best brother in the world to Damian. 

Over the years, Jason, not the Lady, was the one to teach Damian how to walk and to write his name. Jason would try to show him the few letters it could remember, but its writing was just as bad, if not worse. That never bothered Damian. They would laugh together at it, and Damian would show Jason how to write letters. 

To put him to bed, Jason would whistle random notes that would eventually form a song. 

Jason knew and could understand English, and the League spoke Arabic, but it couldn’t talk well, so when the Lady would teach Damian a new word, he’d run to wherever it was, whether it was its room or training, and teach it the new word. 

Jason introduced him to crayons one day. Damian took one look at Jason and immediately drew it on the paper. He drew the eyes first, then moved to its scars. It didn’t mind. It knew Damian was only drawing what he saw. Next, he scribbled Jason’s beard and long hair. Jason hung the picture on the wall of Damian’s room. That same night, after it finished its training, it pulled out a black and blue crayon and drew Damian’s young face on a tattered piece of paper. It hung it on its own wall—a pair of imperfect but beautiful drawings.

Jason asked for a sling when Damian was a baby so it could carry the wiggly baby around. The Lady gave it a long cloth and gently showed it how to wrap it around itself. It was one of the few times she was nice to it. 

Jason never wanted him out of it. Damian was getting bigger, but he still loved to be carried. When he was three and too big to be in the sling, he would climb into Jason’s back and pretend it was a horse. 

Damian’s first steps weren’t to his mother, it was to Jason. It didn’t let her know that. 

Jason couldn’t help but love this life, even if it couldn’t choose it. 

***

Jason nearly cried when Damian came to it in tears after a hard day of training. 

***

The Lady got angry when Jason’s first spoken word to her was ‘brother’, referring to Damian. She didn’t let it see him as much anymore. 

***

It had a new assignment in Gotham. That same instinct that showed when it first met Damian told it that Gotham was a place to be feared. That evil people lived there. That it couldn’t trust… a bat? That was never really clear to it. 

—————————————————————

Damian finished packing his bags. He just needed the final piece. Before he left his room for the last time to go and live in Gotham City, he lifted his mattress to reveal a small drawing. The artist wasn’t great, as Damian was seven at the time. The picture was of a man with black hair and blue eyes, like him. He couldn’t remember him well, but he did remember those eyes. 

His mother told him that his old caretaker had abandoned him years ago, but he was so kind to him. And he was the only person close to him that his mother hadn’t gotten rid of. He hated that he didn’t know. 

Under the face was a name. It was a name given to him by Damian one night when he was whistling a soft song to lull him to sleep. 

Tayir in Arabic, Birdy in English.

Chapter Text

Damian said he would sleep, but he couldn’t. His mind was racing a million miles a minute. He had tried reading and sharpening his swords and watching inaccurate sci-if movies, but nothing worked. 

He pulled out an old art set he had gotten a few years back. Alfred had gotten it for him for Christmas. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten into art, but he had an idea. His old caretaker must have taught him. Even after he died, he continued to draw. 

He didn’t know what to draw today, so he followed Alfred’s advice: take a look outside; something will inspire you . He never asked whether that was real advice or an excuse to make him go outside and get fresh air, but it always worked. 

He stepped out onto his covered balcony and sat at the table. He breathed deep, shutting his eyes and letting only sound and touch register in his mind. The sounds of birds and the dogs playing in the yard, the feel of the intricate design on the table. 

This day had just been too wrong. His first day back with his family and an assassin had sort of abducted him. Well, the League never did celebrate Christmas. Figures that they never took a day off. He wondered what his Christmas’ would have looked like back in the mountains. 

As he thought of stone halls lines with tiny stars and his esteemed grandfather decorating a tree and wearing an ugly light-up sweater like Dick wore, he let his pencil move. Not in any particular direction, and he wasn’t focused on what his hand was doing. It slid along the paper as if flying. 

He finally opened his eyes and looked down at the messy line art. He backed into his chair a second later, knocking it over with a shout. The dogs looked up at him in confusion. 

On the paper was a person- was that his mother?– smiling gently down at the negative space. That was wrong. The only smile she ever gave was a sneer when he had completed a new training regimen. 

He snatched the paper and threw it in the trash. It was wrong. His mother could never look at him like that. Not with that much love. 

He curled into a ball next to his bed and tried not to think. 

After a few hours, Tim came upstairs to collect him for patrol.

“You didn’t sleep, did you,” Tim questioned. Damian wanted to be mad, but he opted for a surrendered silence. “Yeah, I get it. Are you still up for patrol?”

“I think so,” 

Tim paused, looking around nervously. “Bruce doesn’t think you should go.”

Damian turned to look at him. “What? Why?”

“Well, just this morning, a man tried to kidnap you! I’m a little worried too.”

If Damian had focused on Tim’s rare nice comment, he might have been moved and ceased his insults for a few days. But instead, he sprinted down to the Batcave and was shaking with anger the entire elevator ride down. 

Ever since he had come to Gotham, his whole family walked on eggshells around him. Even his father! His life wasn’t his fault, and he was tired of everyone thinking that! It was his damn mother that decided to create him in a fucking lab. He didn’t even get to have his own choices! Fresh out of the womb, he was forced to fight. The first person to give him freedom was fucking dead! His grandfather probably had done something to him. 

Now his father was going to try and control his freedom. No. Not again. Not after he just got it back!

The doors opened, and he stormed to the Batcomputer, where Bruce and Dick were talking with hushed voices. At least they had the decency to look guilty. 

“Are you both serious!” Damian shouted, scaring a few bats in the process. 

“Look, baby bird–” Dick started. He held out a hand, but Damian swatted it away. Damian rarely pushed his brother's kindness away, so Bruce braced himself for the worst. 

“No! One bad thing happened, and now you're benching me?!”

Tim walked over, looking confused. “Weren’t you almost abducted this morning?”

Oh, hell no. Damian slammed his hand on the table next to him. “No! You don’t get to decide!” 

Bruce stepped forward, blocking Damian’s view of his brothers. “We aren’t benching you forever.” He shot a look at his middle child for sending the wrong message. “We want to find the assassin before you go on patrol.”

“You’re trapping me in my own home?!”

“Damian, stop!” Bruce raised his voice, not quite shouting, but his son still looked hurt. “We are worried about what this might mean. We- I just want you safe.”

“I can handle myself,” Damian’s angry mask was fading fast. He used to be able to hold it up so well. “I’ll just go out on my own then.” There it was, the ultimatum. Now it was his father’s turn.

Bruce looked at his other two sons, who wore bemused and defeated faces. Bruce sighed and rubbed his face in his hands. 

“You stay with me,” he compromised. “Until this is resolved.”

Bruce would give up his fortune a thousand times over to see the hopeful look on his youngest again. 

***

Patrol was quiet, even with the eventful day they had. Most villains were still locked in Arkham, so that left everything else, from muggings to arms dealing. Penguin and Two-Face were still running around somewhere, and there were still the kingpins and their groups, but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle. 

Nightwing and Red Robin were off in their territories, and Batman and Robin had combined theirs for now. It was a lovely night, all things considered, and Robin didn’t mind working with his father for a bit. 

It was that damned assassin. He had no idea what he wanted with him, which was messing with his mind.

Batman whistled ahead of him and nodded to three jackasses jacking a car. Thinking would have to wait. It was hero time, as Dick would say. 

***

It never understood how it knew when things were coming towards it or when it knew someone was lying. He never learned it from the Lady, nor did she tell it where it learned it. It was a mystery. It was like it was a base instinct learned when it was a child.

Maybe it had learned it from a parent? No, it couldn’t have parents. Perhaps it just forgot it learned? Not impossible with its memory. It had no past it could look into, no friends it could talk to. 

Save the blur in the hat. But it had never found it. 

It looked up from its perch atop a skyscraper. The sky was clear. Perfect. Less snow meant less slipping. It placed a hand on the gargoyle next to it. 

‘Maybe you could be my next friend,’ it thought. ‘You’ve seen a little boy with blue eyes around?’

It pulled out the drawing of Damian it carried everywhere and showed it to the monster. The gargoyle didn’t say anything, obviously, but it didn’t say no, which was a win. It traced a hand over the gargoyle's features. This stone beast had one job, to watch and fight off evil people. It didn’t have a choice in the matter. 

Just like it. 

Just like Damian. 

It would have to show Damian the gargoyle sometime. Maybe they could visit it together. 

***

Another successful arrest. The car was returned to its rightful owner, and they shouted their thanks. 

Batman and Robin smiled at each other. Damian wouldn’t mind this lasting a while. 

The father and son duo grappled to the top of the Gotham Gazette building. The Robins had never discussed it with Batman, but Jason’s favorite gargoyle was up there. Jason had shown it to Dick, and it became a meetup spot if things got bad. Dick shared it with Tim and Damian years later. Batman had passed it a thousand times before, but only Robins understood its importance. 

They landed with all the grace they could in full body armor. 

Nothing seemed wrong at first, but Damian quickly realized that there was an extra gargoyle watching over Gotham. 

“Batman!” Damian shouted as he pulled out a Batarang. The gargoyle stood up to shift into a tall man, the assassin from earlier, who ditched stolen coats for fresh red and black robes. The cloth mask was replaced with a mechanical one, and he had a samurai sword attached to his back. League issued. Damn it. 

Batman wasted no time pulling Damian behind him and lunging at the assailant. The man was messing around this time. The man was intelligent; he waited until Batman swung first. He slashed his sword directly at Batman’s face, who barely managed to dodge it. 

Batman fell back into a crouch. He pulled two smoke bombs from his belt and threw them. The man only seemed ready for it. The League had taught him well. He knocked them out of the way with his bare hands, letting them go off the roof's edge. 

Gadgets weren’t going to work then. Time to see how well the League knew hand-to-hand. This time the man hit first. He danced around the roof like smoke. Whatever fighting style he used, it wasn’t entirely League based. There was something else there.

Bruce couldn’t keep up with the young fighter and couldn’t keep up with his twists and turns. The man was pushing him back towards the edge. But he wasn’t Batman for nothing. He swung out an arm, and the silent assassin ran into his elbow. He crumpled to the floor but instantly leapt back up. 

On the other hand, Robin stayed outside the ring, looking for an opening. He held his hand tight on the Batarang, tears in his eyes.

So, he was back.

***

“Where’s Tayir, Mother?” A five-year-old Damian asked.

Talia kept polishing her sword, “He’s dead, love.”

Damian was always taught to keep his emotions buried in a hundred-foot grave, never to be seen even in the dark. But the only person out of a thousand that wanted him to smile and cry and laugh was gone.

“Don’t weep, child,” Talia chided. “It’s unbecoming of an al Ghul.”

***

The man was using the same defensive moves Tayir taught him. His father must have figured it was a standard League move, but Tayir was the only one who used it, and he only taught it to Damian. Plus, when the man first found him, he asked if he was safe.

His mother lied again. Not anything new, but still.

Okay, new plan.

Damian crept around behind Tayir as he fought his father. He needed to get him away-

Wait, why was Tayir fighting him in the first place? Tayir first asked him… what was it? Need and safe? Maybe Tayir thought he was in trouble. The League taught that the world was unsafe and full of shadows. Probably said the same about Batman, knowing that his incomplete mind would depict a monster.

Let’s try again.

Damian looked for a tiny opening in the fight between masters and rammed head-first after his father got a solid hit. Batman shouted his title in reprimand, but Damian didn’t stop. He pushed him back, taking note of the fact that Tayir was pulling his punches. 

Batman tried pulling his son away, but Tayir seemed upset about that. He pushed Robin away and turned his attention back to Batman. Tayir yelled as he landed punch after punch after punch. With a final yell, he knocked out the great Batman with one punch.

Damian grabbed his friend's fist and held it tight. Still warm, still alive.

“Talk only,” he commanded sternly. “No more fighting. It’s me. It’s Damian.”

Batman groaned on the ground, “Robin… go.”

Tayir only kept his eyes on him. He shook his head, trying to say something but was overwhelmed by joy.

A beep from Batman broke the happy mood. Robin looked down to see a blue symbol on Batman’s gauntlet screen. Nightwing. The beacon. Damn it!

Damian lowered his voice to a whisper, “Wayne manor, tomorrow night.”

Tayir nodded. Then leapt off of the building. 

Chapter Text

Before, Damian was confined to the Wayne property. Now, he was confined indoors. He couldn’t even go onto the balcony. Not that he cared. 

As his father was getting stitches and holding an ice pack to his face, he chastised Damian for rushing into a fight with an unknown enemy. Luckily, Bruce didn’t hear Damian give his name and location. 

Damian just zoned out the rest of the conversation. He didn’t care. 

He lazily walked out of the cave as his father was still talking. Bruce shouted after him, but he kept going.

He appreciated his family more than he could ever say, but this wasn’t about them. He only had three things on his mind:

1. His friend was alive and was going to come to see him. Maybe. There was an excellent chance it was him. He just needed to see his face. It could be a trick, but for now, he’d deny it for his own sanity.
2. His mother had lied again. He expected more lies to come to light, but this was the last straw. Not to mention, his father had allowed her access to Gotham to see him, and she had never taken advantage of it. Even if she did come, he would cast her aside. All the shit she’s pulled over the years didn’t compare to this. He might throw her out himself. But still, it would have been nice knowing she cared. 
3. His dogs needed to be fed.

That last one he did after every patrol since it was usually four in the morning by the time he got back. The dogs didn’t get up until a few hours later, but Damian hated the thought of his beloved pets having to wait for a meal. 

But now it was only midnight. They had fallen back early, feeling comfortable doing so since crime was down for the holidays. However, feeding the dogs was tradition. 

He headed up to the kitchen. It was pristine as ever, thanks to Alfred constantly reminding his family to clean up after themselves. Ace and Titus walked sleepily into the room, wondering why their best friend was home so early. They were happy nonetheless when Damian knelt down, and they jumped onto him, licking his face. 

Ace noticed first. The taste of salt. He backed up and sat down at the sight of his ward with rare tears soaking his face. Ace and Titus wasted no time resting their heads on him in the best hug they could give.

Damian hugged them back.

***

It didn’t want to wait for Damian. But it trusted him. It had taught him all it could, and it knew Damian was an excellent judge of character. If he felt unsafe, he would have gone with it. But instead, Damian told it not to fight. Maybe this Bat was helping him?

It had been scared when it saw the shadow with horns and wings. Deep and forgotten instincts had warned it of the Bat for as long as it could remember. The Bat was taller than it was and had a lot more strength if his muscles were anything to go by. 

And then it saw a small boy with robes almost reminiscent of League attire. The boy had seen it first. He had called the other ‘Batman,’ so the instincts weren’t lying. The Bat was real… and alive. 

Batman was a powerhouse. Almost to a supernatural degree. The Bat was a good fighter, using techniques used by the League and various tools. It almost couldn’t keep up. Almost. It hadn’t trained for years to be bested by a simple shadow. It would have to rely on speed rather than strength. 

It held tightly to its sword, swinging with all its power. It could get solid slashes, but the Bat wasn’t going down easily. The Bat then ditched his tools, so it was only fair that it did too. It plunged the sword into the concrete below it and charged. 

While it and the Bat exchanged blows, it hadn't forgotten about the boy. It was angry that someone who fought criminals with hate and a lack of mercy was dragging a child into its war. It was just like the League and just like… like… like something else just past its memory. 

Fear of the unknown fighter turned into anger. 

It kept going, kept channeling hate until the boy got into the middle of the fight. It instantly pulled its punches. It didn’t want to fight him, but the boy might hurt it if it stopped. It didn’t want that on the boy's conscience.

The Bat grabbed the boy by the hood and pulled him away from it. Anger exploded. It attacked the Bat with its remaining strength. The Bat was down. It had proven itself. 

The boy didn’t back down. He grabbed its fist and held it close. 

“Talk only. No more fighting. It’s me. It’s Damian.”

The world stopped spinning. The noise in its mind calmed. 

Its ward- Its brother- was in front of it. 

A quick check-up showed that he was healthy and strong, if not a bit nervous. It couldn’t help but stare with joy. The Lady hadn't whisked him away to another dark cavern to train with harsh teachers or sent him to an early grave. 

He was in the open air, free to spread his wings. 

It wanted to take him away. To a cottage or farm with open fields and animals to celebrate Christmas and whatever other holidays they could discover. 

A beeping noise and a blue light startled Damian. Something on the Bats armor had scared him. That’s right. He was with the Bat! Was he really safe? 

Damian gave it a location and time. It didn’t want to make the Bat angry if he was in trouble. It had no choice but to run. He trusted Damian. He knew what he was doing. 

That didn’t stop the uneasy feeling in its stomach. 

***

The manor is quiet. Damian can’t sleep. He pulled up his desk chair to the cracked open window, leaning on the sill. If he listened close enough, he could hear the snowflakes crinkling as they melted. He stuck out his hand through the crack and drew in the snow. 

The whole day was super dull. His father and Tim had to go to Wayne Enterprises all day for meetings, leaving him with his pets, Alfred, and Dick. Alfred and Dick tried all day to entertain him with mindless games that he might have enjoyed any time, but he was too tired. He had stayed upstairs with the dogs and Alfred the cat, whose purring was a lifesaver for grounding him in reality. 

Then as the sun set, the snow was cold, and the world was silent. He looked out into the empty lawn with a pounding heart. The garden would need some work. Maybe he could help Alfred when spring came. For now, it would be still. 

Except, that bush was moving too fast. Bushes don’t move like that. Tayir?

He crept into the silent hallway, his eyes shut, listening for the slightest rustle or squeak of a window opening. He heard the dogs huffing in their sleep on the floor and his father snoring in his room. He could smell the last remnants of dinner. 

There!

He went down the stairs, following the sound of a vase shattering. He turned on his phone's flashlight and pointed at the man at the base of the stairs, in front of Jason’s picture. The man slowly turned to him and stared. The vase that once held the lilies dedicated to Jason’s memorial was in pieces. One of the lilies had a glass shard stabbed in the middle of it. 

As Damian crept slowly down the stairs, the man reached up and pulled off his mask. 

“Tayir?”

His first friend smiled back at him. He was just as he remembered. The beard, the scars, the eyes.  Damian’s hands lowered, pointing the flashlight to the floor. Damian released a breathy and relieved chuckle that he didn’t know he had been holding in. Tayir had tears in his eyes. He had always made a point not to cry when Damian was around, but he couldn’t hide it forever. 

Tayir reached out for him, but before Damian could reach back, his father's shout came from the top of the stairs. 

“Damian! Move!” Bruce shouted, throwing a Batarang. 

Tayir grabbed Damian’s wrist and pulled him behind him. Bruce shouted, thinking he was about to use his son as a human shield, but Tayir knocked the Batarang with his sword. Bruce couldn’t even see the man. It was too dark! But he knew that armor. How did this man keep finding them?!

Tayir turned to him and shook his head to the right. He taught him long ago that that meant to stay put. He lifted his mask to cover his face and bolted up the stairs. Bruce wasted no time lunging toward the assassin. He pulled out one of Tim’s bo staffs and blocked Tayir’s swing.

“Stop, Tayir! Don’t!” Damian cried from a few feet away from them. Both men turned to look at him. Bruce couldn’t even recognize the look on his son's face. He wasn’t angry. There was fear… and sadness. And joy?

The man, Tayir, Damian had called him, stood down but was still in a defensive stance. Bruce stood down too, catching his breath. Damian stood in front of Tayir. 

“Not…safe…Bat…” Tayir stuttered, holding Damian in shaking hands.

“I’m safe,” Damian calmed. He held his head high as his friend broke down in fear. It was a fitting irony. The roles used to be reversed. But Tayir had done so much for him, and it was time to return the favor. “Batman… Bruce is too.”

Tayir took a good long look at the man he was fighting only twenty-four hours ago… and calmed. Just a bit. He still looked uncertain. But he must have seen something in him.

“Lady… Bat,”

“Whatever my mother told you, it was a lie,” Damian said like it was the only truth he’d ever known. “Bruce has protected me from the League, and he… my whole family … they have given me a home.”

And that did it. All of the assassin's apprehension melted away for the time being. He stood tall again, able to look Bruce in the eye. Bruce couldn't help the smile that graced his face.

Tayir swung his arms out and pulled Damian into a tight hug. Damian laughed in relief and accepted. 

Damian was never openly affectionate with anyone. Mostly Dick, and Damian wouldn’t smile outwardly if he could help it, choosing to fall back into his rough and tough persona. He would never really accept hugs. An effect of living with his emotionally stunted mother for most of his life. But this man was different. 

Tayir held him tightly and started humming. Damian laughed in response. 

“I remember that song,” he whispered. 

Bruce let his son have a moment. If this man had loved and cared for his son, he wouldn’t interrupt. However, the other members of his family were starting to peek out of their doors. 

“B?” Dick asked. “What’s going on?”

“This is Tayir,” Damian answered with a smile. “He’s been my caretaker since I was born.”

***

Damian was acting his age. Like, actually. After he had managed to de-escalate the fury of a bunch of adults, he had all but dragged the half-mute warrior to see his room. 

Tayir simply let himself be pulled in whatever direction. They trusted each other. However, both Bruce and Dick stayed outside the door just in case, while Tim and Alfred checked the security, just in case. Tayir lowered his hood to reveal shoulder-length hair, and he looked on with happy curiosity. From what Bruce could tell since Tayir was still wearing a mask, he seemed… excited. He listened closely to whatever rambles Damian said and pointed with trembling hands to things he wanted to learn more about. Damian would grab any object Tayir wanted and would help guide it into his hands. He would mumble in broken Arabic and English, speaking so discreetly that only Damian could hear. It was raspy at best, and the voice modulator in his mask made it worse. Damian was patient with him as he stuttered. 

Bruce looked on with wonder. This was his son, so rarely seen. This is what he would have been like if he had never spent a day with Talia. Damian only said that Tayir was his caretaker. They needed to give Tayir a place to stay and food to eat. It wasn’t even a question that the League of Assassins would come after them. If they figured out a rogue assassin was staying with Batman and company, they would kill him. Even if he had never learned any information and was comatose, they would still send a legion. 

He wanted his son to continue to be this happy boy for a long time. He hadn’t even been this open with Dick; it took a long time for him to gain his trust. 

Most importantly: Tayir was the key to learning more. Not about the League, but about his son. He would have to ask him to draw or sign the stories he had. This man was kind to his son, so he was under his protection now. 

Another thing to note was that Tayir was sitting between the door and Damian. He was also positioned in a way that enabled him to watch the two men in the door. He didn’t have a hand on any weapon, but he was quick. He could grab the sword on his back in two seconds flat. He didn’t trust them, which was completely understandable, but if anything spooked him, he might try to harm them to protect Damian. 

For now, Bruce and Dick kept their distance, sharing smiles at how adorable Damian was acting. A silent pact passed between them that they would never make fun of their youngest for this, lest he fall back into the shadow he made for himself. 

“Oh!” Damian exclaimed, slightly startling Tayir, who then chuckled. “Were you the one who taught me how to draw?” Tayir nodded. 

“See, I knew it! Well, look. Alfred got me this a few Christmases ago.” He held up the opened set as Tayir traced a hand over the paints and pencils. Some had been replaced over the years, but it was still in perfect condition. Tayir looked them over, then looked around the room. He stood up and looked out into the hallway. Bruce and Dick stood aside. 

“Tayir? What are you looking for?” Damian asked. Tayir looked back and pointed to the set and the hall. 

“Paint…drawing… Alfred?” Damian guessed, and Tayir nodded with a hum. “Yeah, I think he should be back soon.”

Sure enough, Alfred and Tim returned. Tim gave them a thumbs-up about the security while Alfred looked into the room. Tayir honed in on him and advanced so fast that Bruce and Dick stood between them. 

Tayir seemed confused about why they were stopping him and stepped back. He was mumbling in Arabic and holding his head tightly. Damian caught on fast. He stood in front of him, and grabbed his arms to ground him. 

“It’s okay, I promise.” He whispered in Arabic. “They are just making sure everyone stays safe and calm. They aren’t mad, I swear.”

No one else could understand, but Bruce could. If Damian was assuring him that no one was mad, that could only mean Ra’s or Talia beat him. Another reason Tayir was staying with them. 

When Tayir looked back up, Bruce nodded resolutely. He would protect anyone who protected his children. 

Tayir lowered his hands and pointed at Alfred. 

“Draw… Christ…?” He asked. 

“Yes,” Alfred answered, looking confused but eager to know more. He stepped closer, against the wishes of his family. He loved how much they cared about him, but he was in the Army at one point. He could handle himself. “I gifted it to him on his first Christmas with us. Never put it down.” He added with a chuckle. 

Tayir’s eyes crinkled with a hidden smile. He stepped closer to him, and a shaking hand reached out to hold a weathered one. 

“Shukran lak,” Tayir rasped. Thank you . 

Alfred said, “You’re welcome,” (after Bruce translated for them.) “Thank you for protecting our boy.”

“Yes,” Bruce added. “If there is anything you need, please, just ask.”

***

Ever since it could remember, there had been an ever-present chill deep in its bones. Not a chill like one from being outside for too long, but one like a frozen lake being interwoven into muscles and flowing through blood like a river in the deep of winter. It could never feel truly warm. At times, it felt as cold as a fully rotted corpse. 

It was desperate to feel warmth, hence why it stole that man’s coats. They just looked so fluffy and soft, but it was futile. They didn’t work, and they had to be abandoned. 

The Lady tried working with it to chase away the chill that would manifest in shaking hands and chattering teeth, but it never went away. As a matter of fact, the Lady once caught it trying to touch a flame to feel its warmth. 

Its hands were another thing. Nerve damage, the Lady called it, and she was right, but there was a coldness, making them never stop moving. 

But here, now, surrounded by its brother and the strangers who loved him, 

He felt… warm again.

Chapter Text

Damian led Tayir to the guest bedroom and showed him around. Alfred followed since Tayir seemed to trust him the most after Damian, while the others started their day early.

“This is where you can sleep,” he announced happily. “Over here is a closet. We’ll have to take you shopping to fill it. That door is a bathroom.”

Tayir seemed to be in awe of the room. He took a glove off and felt the plush sheets with the back of his hand, probably scared to leave fingerprints. He gasped lightly at the touch. Alfred hoped he was smiling underneath that mask.

“I hope everything is to your liking,” Alfred commented. “If you want anything changed, just ask.”

Tayir nodded, overwhelmed by the love and support. Damian felt like the world seemed brighter. His friend was back, and it looked like this was the first time in a while that Tayir had anything nice to his name. 

***

It went back downstairs after a quick nap. It was very well-needed. Its limbs were constantly sore for whatever reason, and the plush mattress had done wonders. It wondered if there was some kind of magic embedded in the fibers. Maybe its soreness was just from sleeping on the ground for so long. Its hip and legs were still a bit tired; they had been that way for years. Hopefully, a few more nights on that bed would help. 

It never had anything nice before. The League of Assassins didn’t believe in comfort for its servants. They all (save their commanders) slept on stone slabs and, if they were on their best behavior, a worn-out mattress with springs sticking out the sides. Those were somehow worse. The only comfort they received at night was a candle that chased away the shadows for a little while. 

At the bottom of the stairs, the Bat was replacing a vase of fresh lilies under the portrait of a kid. It was a big one too. 

It paused. Damn it, it forgot to ask whether or not it was allowed to leave its room! Should it be here? Damian didn’t say anything about it, but how would the Bat react? And how would the Bat react to it shattering the vase?

It was frozen in place, not wanting to draw attention to itself. Damian was nowhere near; he must have gone to do work or chores while it slept. It was okay, though. It wasn’t Damian’s job to look after it. Quite the opposite, really. 

Its heart almost stopped when the Bat turned and made eye contact with it. It still had a mask on under a hood, but it felt exposed like the Bat could look at it and learn how many atoms made it up. 

But the Bat only smiled. “Hey, Tayir.” The Bat had a relaxed posture, looking nothing like the monster the League described. “ Did you sleep well? ”

It was a simple question. It should be able to answer. Instead, it didn’t respond. It couldn’t. Damian claimed the Bat was kind, but from what it had seen and heard, this monster lurked in shadows and took down the League with no mercy. It was strange to see the Bat without a mask, wearing a nightshirt that said, ‘worlds best dad.’

“Tayir?” The Bat asked. “Are you okay?”

It could only shake its head. If it did something wrong back in the mountains, it would be thrown in a dark and small basement, denied the food it already lacked before, and told that Damian would be so disappointed in it. It wasn’t in the mountains anymore, but the fear never left.

The Bat seemed to understand. “I get it. This must be new for you.” It nodded, keeping its gaze towards the floor.

“I promise you are safe from the League here.” The Bat said. The Bat made no move to come forward but did mutter something about wondering where Damian was. The Bat gently lifted one of the white lilies out of the vase and extended it to it. It looked at it, not sure what it was expecting. It was just a flower, nothing more. It crept forward and accepted it. It twirled it in its fingers, memorizing every petal and blemish. Beautiful despite imperfections.

“Is there anything I can help with?” The Bat spoke with such soft strength but held no room for pity, which it appreciated. The Bat genuinely wanted to help. 

It cleared its throat and spoke in a mix of Arabic and English, forgetting words here and there. “Bat-.” God, what was it trying to say? It could barely communicate, much less describe how it was feeling. “League said… dangerous… house is new… want to trust… Lady told lies… what can I trust?” 

The last part came out clear and in near-perfect English, but it sounded so broken and raspy that it almost cried. The Bat was taken aback too.

“Found Damian… but… messed up.”

“How did you mess up?” The kindness in the Bat's voice was nothing like it had heard from anyone but Damian in the longest time, save scattered memories of the man with the hat and the orange woman.

“Killed man… was scared he’d… tell… and broke the vase.”

The Bat looked at the painting and the new vase. It braced itself for yelling and a beating, but the Bat just asked, “I’m not upset. I swear. But I do want to know why you did those things.”

It breathed deep. “Man was mean… thought he was bad.”

The Bat chuckled grimly. “You weren’t wrong. He had a… bad temper. Lost his family to it.”

For some reason, it became upset at that. Maybe something in its past happened like that. It pushed the bad feelings down for later and continued. “Vase… accident.”

It didn’t know what had happened. Because of its size and the candles lit under, the portrait caught its gaze. The boy looked so young, and it wasn’t hard to guess that this was a memorial. It stared into the boy's eyes. Flashes of light and ticking sound filled its head so fast that it knocked the wind out of it and made it hunch over. It swung out wildly for unseen enemies, and the poor vase was just in the way. It was terrified of what would happen, but when it saw Damian, every fear melted away and made room for joy. 

It didn’t know how to put that all into words, so it hoped the Bat would accept its answer. 

“That’s okay. I suppose it was pretty dark here,” the Bat comforted. It couldn’t believe it. It would beg for hours back in the mountains for forgiveness that never came. All it was told was to be better. And yet the Bat accepted without a second thought. “Although I would appreciate it if you kept the killing to a minimum while you are with us.”

And there was another thing. The League only allowed it to stay if it did kill. But the Bat expected the opposite. It could do that. 

“I don’t think I properly introduced myself,” The Bat held out a hand. “Bruce.”

It accepted. “Tayir.”

A door slammed open from down the hall, surprisingly startling them both. Damian and one of his brothers, the shorter one, were shouting something. 

A massive dog was bolting toward them. It was bigger than any dog it had ever seen. Bruce was smiling fondly at it, so it must be nice, but it turned terrifying when it stood on its hind legs and started shoving its nose in its face. It was lifting up its hood to try and get a better sniff in. 

It didn’t even trust Bruce or his family enough to reveal its true name, much less its face. Hell, it had never given Damian its real name. It liked Damian’s nickname better. It tried pushing the creature away, but it only became more excited. 

It tried shouting “Off!” but it didn’t look like the dog understood Arabic. Thankfully, Bruce and Damian did. It took both of them to pull the dog off. 

“Sorry, Tayir!” Damian said while putting the dog in a soft headlock. “Ace is acting weird.”

It only shook its head. That was okay. Ace had scared him, but it was in awe of the dog and the second that popped its head from the living room. Two dogs?

“What is? ” 

“Ace is Father’s dog.” Damian explained. “He bought me Titus a year after I came here.”

A dog. Just like Jason wanted to buy him. That’s it. It’s settled. Jason’s idea of a good gift was a puppy, and Bruce had given him one. It’d protect not only Damian but his family too. It doubted they needed extra protection, but it would provide it nonetheless. 

Jason was useless to do anything else. 

***

Tayir fit perfectly into their family, despite only being there for a day or two. Tayir was still extremely cautious around them, opting to leave on his mask and long layers. Damian figured it was to keep his identity safe and to hide the multitude of scars on his body. No one else in his family hid their scars, and maybe one day Tayir would feel safe enough to show them. 

Bruce hadn’t told anyone, but Damian’s nickname for a highly trained assassin was ‘Birdy.’ He knew his son was young when he picked it, and he didn’t want his other sons to ridicule him, but oh my god, it was adorable. It didn’t take long to find out the origin of the name. 

Tayir and Damian were sitting in the warm greenhouse, surrounded by Alfred’s vegetables and flowers for Jason’s memorial. Damian had busted out his art supplies, and they were drawing the flowers together. Bruce was just outside, not to spy, but to shovel the sidewalk. 

He was about to finish up when a whistle came from the greenhouse. It was a long and sorrowful song, but it had a twinge of love embedded in it. A lullaby. After a few minutes, Damian joined in. 

Bruce felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. He was so worried when Damian first came to live with him that he had no good things in his life, that the reason he was so cold to the world was that he saw no good in it. But, as always, Damian continued to defy expectations. 

They harmonized with each other until the sound attracted Ace, who was still acting a fool for some reason. 

Suddenly, the nickname made sense. 

***

So far, the family didn’t have any reason not to trust Tayir. Tayir had proven that his loyalty wasn’t with the League but with Damian. Still, they didn’t risk revealing the clock entrance to the Batcave. They would sneak around back, opting only to use the cave during patrols. 

But Bruce was still a billionaire, so they had a fully equipped gym used for training in the sun. It was surrounded by treadmills or weight equipment, and in the center was a training mat for hand-to-hand. 

Dick entered one morning. He grabbed the wooden escrima sticks and a training dummy from the wall. Once he stretched and took a few deep breaths, he stuck the dummy. 

As he fought, he let his mind run free. 

This December was strange. It started with a crime scene and continued with an assassin babysitter seemingly coming back from the dead—definitely one of the weirder Christmases. 

And Damian finally seemed like a normal kid again. He had continued to grow happier and less angry at everything since he came to live in Gotham, but since the arrival of Tayir, the last piece of the veil was taken off of him. It was beautiful. Now that Tayir was here, they’d have to work extra hard to ensure he stayed. No way were any of them going to let the League ruin another thing. 

Bruce had told them stories of his time with the League. It was— Bruce didn’t talk about it much, but when he did, it would leave him shaking. Agents of the League were seen as less than human, less than the dirt diseased rats walked on. Their only purpose was to serve Ra’s, and Dick thanked every god he could think of that they got Damian out in time. 

If he had stayed with them… or worse, if Tayir hadn’t shown him any love… well, it wasn’t something he wanted to think about. 

They had gotten both Damian and Tayir out. They weren’t too late. 

Dick let his mind slip back into reality slowly. Breathe in, breathe out. He took a step back, giving a short bow to the dummy in respect. This was the only dummy up here, and everyone in the family used it (even Alfred), so it was a little worse for wear, but it held firm. 

Dick turned to grab a hand towel and some water when he was startled by Tayir standing at the door. Tayir stiffened as he realized he was caught staring, but Dick just nodded to him. 

“Hey, Tayir,” he greeted. Dick had searched into what his nickname meant, and it warmed his heart every time Damian used it. Tayir nodded back. 

Dick could tell he didn’t know what to do, so he offered an olive branch, “Want to spar?”

Tayir cocked his head to the side. 

“Bruce said you were an amazing fighter. I’d like to see it for myself if you are up to it.” Dick twirled his sticks but Tayir wasn’t swayed. He heard a chuckle come from under the mask. Tayir stepped forward, grabbing a wooden sword that shook in his hand. 

“Bow to the dummy?” Tayir asked with curiosity. 

“Oh, something Bruce taught me. When sparring, you need to treat your opponent with respect. You are helping each other grow and improve your skills.”

Tayir seemed satisfied. Dick knew the League never taught anything like that. 

Tayir fell into a stance, more on the defensive side if only to find and exploit his opponent's weakness. Dick swung first. Bruce had reported that that was Tayir’s style. 

They danced around the room, allowing their weapons to clash loudly. It was strange for Dick. He had never fought a League of Assassins member in his own home, much less said assassin having an equal spar with him. Usually, Leaguers fought to kill. Tayir… just wanted to train. 

Tayir was hard to read, not because of the mask, but because he moved like a robot that used to be a human. His fighting was meticulous, but he’d often bring a move out of nowhere and catch Dick off guard. Tayir must have been a fighter before he got to the League. Or, in the most likely case, the League got to him. 

***

Unbeknownst to Dick, Tayir was smiling under its mask. 

***

The spar had been going on for five minutes now with no signs of stopping. Both men were out of breath, and their weapons looked worse than the training dummy, but they kept going. 

Dick had to think fast if he was going to end this quickly. Perhaps the solution wasn’t to think. His arm was using momentum to swing to the next hit, so maybe he had to go against momentum. He swung, but before momentum took its course, he slashed the opposite way. His stick slammed straight into Tayir’s legs. He fell onto the floor with a loud thud. 

Dick laughed good-heartedly, “Best two out of three?” 

Tayir remained motionless, save for the twitching of his left leg. 

***

No, no, no, it was doing so well! It had gone so long without one of these episodes! It was weak, pathetic, a waste of time!

Dick knelt in front of it with a worried look on his face. It didn’t want him to think he was the cause of its injury. Dick tried placing a hand on its shoulder, but it held a hand up to say, ‘I’m fine.’

“Oh, my god, are you alright? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“Not your fault.” Tayir grunted. 

It wasn’t his fault. Ever since it woke up, there had been two things wrong, its hands and legs. Every so often, its legs would just… give out on it, the left more than the right. It wasn’t anyone's fault, but its own. At least that’s what the Lady said. It never understood why it was the way that it was, so completely wrong, but it had come to accept that this was the way things would be. 

Whether or not it was or wasn’t its fault didn’t matter. All that mattered was comforting Dick. He had been so kind to it, and now it had messed up. 

“No, that was my fault. I shouldn’t have swung that hard,” Dick said. But that was wrong, it was-

Dick lifted Tayir by placing an arm under its shoulder and led it to a bench. Dick handed it some water, then sat down next to it. Tayir was grateful for the offer, but it didn’t deserve it. It had ruined a perfectly good spar. 

“What happened?“ Dick asked. It couldn’t help but flinch at the question, but it would be rude not to answer. 

“Leg… not work.” It replied, doing its best to hold down its left leg with its hands, which wasn’t working on account of its hands shaking. It wasn’t to cover the leg with its other, but that one was hurting so much it couldn’t lift it. It could almost cry. “It… fails.”

“Do you know why?”

“No… just does.”

“Then, if I may ask, why did you say it was your fault?” Dick had a sadness in his eyes that looked wrong. Dick was always smiling. Yet another thing it ruined. 

“I'm weak… useless… can’t help it.”

Dick took a long breath in, looking toward the wall with anger. “Did the League tell you that?”

Tayir didn’t want to answer again because it knew it would make him upset. But it had tried that back at the League. It got hurt when it didn’t answer. It knew Dick was different, but it couldn’t risk it. 

“Yes.”

“No, none of that,” Dick said with such confidence it scared Tayir. “I don’t care what the League said. I don’t know what happened to you, but it’s wrong of them to say it was your fault. And it doesn’t make you weak. You are one of the best fighters I’ve seen in a while, and I bet you could even hold your own against Bruce.”

Tayir was stunned and was about to refute him, but Dick continued. 

“Do you think I’m a bad fighter?” Dick asked, and Tayir didn’t have to think about it. It shook its head no. “I’ve- and don’t let Alfred know, but a few years back, I had a bad run-in with this guy who is basically a giant reptile back in Blüdhaven. He had gotten bored with Gotham and moved on. He threw me against a wall and really messed up my shoulder. I thought I could deal with it alone, but I wasn’t equipped to deal with a broken shoulder.”

“Why not ask?”

“Because… well, the short answer is that I had just lost a brother, and we all blamed ourselves and each other for not paying him more attention. I left home and was trying to prove that I could make something of myself without relying on Bruce all the time. Anyway, my shoulder healed wrong, and I almost died because I couldn’t fight with it. I had to go home and ask Bruce for help. We reconciled, but I already had a life back in Blüdhaven, so I live there now, except for holidays. But ever since then, my shoulder hasn't worked properly. I still go to physical therapy for it, even after seven years. What I’m trying to say is that our past or our injuries don’t make us weak. I’m guessing the League didn’t give you any help for it?”

“Lady… Damian’s mother… tried… got bored.”

“Figures. Tayir, everyone in this family has an injury we must live with. I assure you we do not and will not think of you any less because of it. Not me, not Bruce or Tim, and especially not Alfred or Damian.”

Tayir couldn’t help but listen, not quite believing it yet, but it sure as hell could try. This place was genuinely different. It was excited to see how much. 

“As for the being useless part,” Dick continued. “You won’t have to be useful to be loved by our family. We’ll prove it. Just you watch.”

Dick walked away, but Tayir was frozen. It didn’t have to… do anything? Would they accept it just like that? It smiled, feeling warm again.

Chapter Text

While his grandsons were out doing last-minute Christmas shopping, Alfred prepared dinner. He had found a mushroom and leek pie recipe and wanted to give it a shot. Bruce had offered his help, but after that spaghetti fiasco, he was barred from using the stove. Alfred raised him better than setting a pot of noodles on fire. Alfred had tried replicating the incident but never figured out how it happened. A camera was also installed in the kitchen after that as well. 

As Alfred started chopping vegetables, Tayir turned into the kitchen. He seemed startled by Alfred and the knife but entered when Alfred made no move against him. 

“Hello, Tayir,” Alfred greeted, wiping his hands on his apron. “What may I help you with?”

“What… you doing?”

“Making some dinner,” he replied, opting not to pick up the knife again just yet. Best not to scare the highly decorated assassin, even if he didn’t have his sword. “Would you like to see?”

Tayir shuffled forward and took a seat at the island where Alfred was working. Alfred kept the chef's knife close to the counter, but Tayir seemed comfortable being surrounded by the sound of Alfred's humming and the heat of the oven heating up. Once Alfred was done with the vegetables, he added them to the saucepan with butter. To thicken it into a sauce, he grabbed flour and milk. He then added some ground beef. 

“Can you go into the bag of cheese from the fridge?” Alfred asked as he poured in the liquids. Tayir found it quickly and brought it over, still keeping some distance. 

“What’s on… the fridge?” Tayir asked. He was pointing to a paper from Damian's school. Next to it were a ton of pictures from years past. 

“Oh, that! That paper is from Damian’s school. Those are his grades in his different subjects. Straight A’s. That’s the best grade you can get, by the way. He is at the top of his class!” Alfred explained with a bright smile. He poured the sauce into a pie crust and covered it, scoring the top. “Those photos are from the past 15 years or so.”

The earliest photo on the fridge was of a smiling Dick Grayson after Bruce took him to a Knights football game. He was holding a stick of cotton candy and looking at it like it was gold. Alfred had scolded Bruce for buying him so much sugar, but in Bruce’s defense, it made the boy happy. It was the most Dick had smiled since his parents had died. 

There was a photo of Jason that was taken secretly when he was playing chess with Alfred. He had won that game. The only other person to beat him at that point was Bruce and then later Tim and Damian. Dick never really understood the game. Jason was still an angry teen then, but at that moment, he only looked focused on the game, like he was a general. 

Next to it was a photo of Dick and Jason walking Ace. Jason was cringing at a pun Dick had said, but he was trying to hide a smile. Dick was laughing so hard, Ace looked concerned. 

At the lowest corner was a picture of a sunrise in the garden. The sky had turned the colorful garden to a deep shade of orange. Alfred had taken that one the morning after Jason’s funeral. He had been sitting in the garden clearing his head, mourning his grandchild, missing his other since Dick had locked himself in his room, and worrying about Bruce. That sunrise was the only good thing about that morning. 

The first picture of Tim was of him and Dick at a gala. Tim was a natural at galas since he had gone with his parents, but he still looked uncomfortable. In the background, you could just barely see Bruce smiling at the two of them. 

The first picture of Damian was of his reading in the library. Titus was lying across his lap, just a puppy at the time, and Damian was reading Jane Austin. He looked content, with a cup of tea next to him and a roaring fire warming the room. 

Tayir grabbed the picture of Damian and studied it. Alfred smiled. This man loved the boy so much, as a brother would. Damian would never run out of brothers now. 

“You can keep it if you like. I always make copies.” Alfred offered. Tayir took the photo out of the magnetic frame and tucked it close to his heart. 

“Who’s this?” Tayir asked. He was pointing to the first photo of Jason. Alfred's breath caught in his throat. The family didn’t talk much of Jason save on quiet nights. It wasn’t like they wanted to forget him, but they still blamed themselves. Perhaps they should talk about him more, which might remove the guilt. 

“That was Bruce’s second son. We lost him years ago.” 

Tayir nodded. “Dick mentioned him.”

A silence fell over them as Alfred covered the pie in saran wrap to heat up later. The boys wouldn’t be back for a few hours.

“I… help?” Tayir placed a hand on Alfred’s shoulder, shaking him from his thoughts. 

“Do you want to help me cook? I could use a side dish.” 

Tayir looked around the cupboards and the fridge, muttering so quietly the cloth mask covered most of it. After some time, he pulled out flour and yeast. Alfred meant that he could help, but Tayir looked fine making something by himself, so Alfred stepped back, only moving when Tayir needed something he couldn’t find. Actually, for the most part, Tayir seemed to know where stuff was. He must have been in the kitchen before. 

Tayir took care in his work, kneading the ingredients into a dough, using perfect accuracy and the exact methods. He added some cranberries, walnuts, and cinnamon. 

When he was done, Alfred helped him place it in the oven. Tayir seemed to hate the heat. 

“Where did you learn this?” Alfred asked in awe. 

Tayir shrugged. “No clue. Just do.”

“Surely not the League?” 

“No,” Tayir laughed. “Old… friend maybe? It’s… unclear.”

“Huh. Well, you are welcome to use the kitchen whenever. I’m afraid Bruce is banned on account of him being way too accident-prone.”

Tayir nodded a bow. “Thank you.”

Alfred and Tayir shared more stories as Bruce came down to check on dinner. Tayir stood to bar him from entering, but Alfred assured him he was okay being in the kitchen. As he realized his mistake, Alfred could see a smile in Tayir’s eyes. That was so much better than fear. 

Tayir regaled them with stories of Damian as a boy, of the Christmases he tried to give him, of Damian’s first drawing and wondering where it was, of dancing in private courtyards. Tayir acted them out or drew shaky pictures of these events, but they soaked up every account, holding them close to their hearts. 

They were going to make this Tayir’s best Christmas yet. 

Chapter Text

Batman stumbled out of the Batwing. His foot caught on the edge of the cockpit, and he fell to the metal floor. He lifted the cowl and openly sobbed for the first time since his parents died. He didn’t want to get up. 

Bruce deserved to stay here on the cold floor covered in dirt. He failed his only task: save Jason . His son, dead because of his failure. He didn’t deserve it. To be locked in a disgusting warehouse, bloodied and broken, begging his dad to save him. He didn’t just call for Bruce; he called for his brother, for Cathrine, for Roy, he’ll even for Wonder Woman and Superman. Anyone. 

He died scared. 

Voices sneered at him in the back of his mind, letting poison fill his whole self. You should have done better, he’d be happier with another family, pathetic Bat . 

He curled in on himself, covering his ears and head. He couldn’t bring himself to refute them. He had no excuse. 

He didn’t even have an intact body to bring home. 

About 65% of Jason was wrapped lovingly in a soft blanket in the back of the plane; the rest burned or buried. He was missing fingers on one hand, his legs were bent at odd angles, and his side was heavily damaged. He had more broken bones than he could count, not to mention the burns that almost made him unrecognizable. 

What had happened in that warehouse? He could hear some of it over the comms, but Jason’s was cast aside, so most pieces were cut out. He’d never be able to get the sounds of blows and Jason’s screams out of his head. 

Bruce could do nothing now but gather his anger and grief and let it all out with a long yell. He cursed the Joker for killing his son. He blamed himself for being too stupid to realize what was happening until it was too late. He hit his head with his hard leather gloves. 

Pathetic! His mind shouted in unison. 

He continued screaming hate. He hadn’t realized Alfred had entered the cave until he placed a worried hand on his shoulder. Bruce finally deflated, letting himself go limp, silencing himself until the only noises he could make were pained groans and sobs. 

“Master Bruce! Bruce! What happened?” Alfred questioned, adjusting his son's head so he was looking up at him. Alfred had never seen a response like this before. He looked around, trying to find what could have triggered this. The startling lack of a bright and happy Robin was his first clue. 

“Bruce,” he said slowly, not all too excited to hear the answer. “Where is Jason?”

Bruce couldn’t answer. Anger had washed away, allowing numb grief to replace it. 

He wanted to pour acid down his ears when he heard Alfred’s wailing when he opened the blanket.

Chapter Text

They pulled the dishes out of the oven just as the three brothers returned from shopping. 

“Don't look! We have presents!” Tim called, carrying two bags on each arm.

“Okay!” Bruce answered, setting down the last dish on the table while Tayir helped Alfred set out silverware. 

Tayir tapped on Alfred’s shoulder. “I need… present… Damian!” He whispered frantically. 

“Don’t worry, you and I will go out.” Alfred smiled as he patted Tayir’s shoulder. Tayir nodded easily. 

The family gathered around the table once again. 

***

It was happy. It hadn’t been for a long time.

However Damian found this family, it was glad they were so kind. So many horrible scenarios passed through its mind. What if he was being hurt? What if another assassin found him? But he was with a family who cared about him and gave him Christmas. It thanked whatever higher power had created it. 

This was its first dinner at the table with everyone, and it wanted to try to eat with them since it wasn’t untrusting of them anymore. Tim passed it a bowl with some fluffy white stuff in it. It was unsure what to do. They assured it that it could keep the mask on while it ate, but it was still unsure of the rules.

Tim seemed to see its anxiety. “ If you want some, you can take some. ” 

Okay, it could work with that. It didn’t know what was in the bowl, but it wouldn’t say no to food. It scooped some on its plate and passed it on, noticing Dick do that on the opposite side of the table. 

“ Try it with some butter, ” Damian suggested. It nodded and poured just a little bit of the butter Damian handed it onto the white stuff.

It also took a slice of its bread and a serving of Alfred’s pie. It waited until the rest of the table started eating to dig in. It didn’t miss the way Damian side-eyed him nervously until he ate, but it didn’t want to be rude. 

It tried the white stuff first. It lifted up the cloth mask while still keeping its mouth covered and tried a bite.

It was amazing! It was light and warm and the butter mixed well with it. It was like magic!

It forgot all of its manners and started rushing. Damian laughed next to it. “ You really like those, don’t you? ”

It looked around the table and was met with concerned but amused stares. Oh god, it messed up. It set down its spoon and bowed its head low with its hands in its lap.

“ Forgive me. ” That was the one thing it could say perfectly. It was used to saying that.

Alfred chuckled. “ Don’t worry, Tayir! I’ll take it as a compliment. ”

“ What i-is it? ” It asked, feeling better already. This family was friendly, it just had to remember that.

Alfred masked his sadness a little too late. “ They are called mashed potatoes. I added some chives in there as well. Those are the green pieces. ”

Tayir nodded. It finished eating, slower this time, as the boys talked about their shopping.

***

Bruce was listening to his boy's discussion but was deep in thought. Tayir didn’t know what mashed potatoes were? 

What else had he forgotten?

—————————————————————

Damian and Tayir were sitting at the table one morning, surrounded by paper and crayons. 

Tayir had gotten frustrated earlier as he tried to write down all the things he wanted to do with his brother, but his hands had shaken so much that they had ripped the paper. Not to mention the fact that he forgot how to write, which made things a lot harder. He tried for an hour before yelling in anger and finally giving up. 

Damian understood and brought him down to the dining room to cool down. He opened the curtains and brought over some apple slices. 

Damian was patient with him as he took him through the alphabet like Tayir once did with him. Tayir had to relearn most of the letters, but he did fine. They spelled his name and a few words he wanted to learn. He spelled Damian, Bread, Bird, and a few others in both Arabic and English. 

The radio played behind them, going through a variety of Christmas songs. Tayir listened intently, trying to get ideas for how people celebrate Christmas. After Damian went to go help his brothers with something, Tayir drew pictures of the songs. For later. 

—————————————————————

“Where…goes?” Tayir asked up on the stairs. 

“Just along the railing.” Tim pointed along the stairs, and Tayir continued to attach the garland to the railing. 

“Why leaves? What purpose?” Tayir asked in Arabic. 

Tim looked at Damian for a translation. “He asked why we hang leaves up around the house. I honestly don’t know. We just do.”

“I thought I heard somewhere it’s good luck or something,” Tim answered. “But I have no idea.”

***

Tayir shrugged, but smiled. It was having fun. This was the last thing they had to do. They had decorated the tree already. Damian had walked it through every ornament that he owned. He had a cat ornament, an ornament from the Gotham Knights football team (it didn’t know what football was, but it made Damian happy, so it was happy), and a Robin ornament from Dick. 

When they were done, Bruce turned off the lights, and the boys stepped back to admire their work. The lights were beautiful on the tree. Damian had leaned into Tayir’s side, and it wrapped an arm around him. 

Is this what Christmas magic was?

—————————————————————

Tayir was decked out in so many layers he looked like a snowman. He had picked out three coats, two layers of pants, boots, gloves, and two hats. From behind his mask, they could tell he was smiling wide and soaking up the warmth. 

Alfred had pulled out all the extra clothes just for him. He hated seeing him in his thin robes during the year's coldest days. Tayir had signed thank you, so Alfred was glad he was warm.

Tayir came up to him frantically, finally saying that he hadn’t gotten Damian anything for Christmas. He pulled out a small pile of papers from his pocket that were filled with shaky drawings. It took Alfred a second to realize what they were.

One page was covered front to back with birds. Another was a hippopotamus. Another page had boots, a doll, and two people walking on it. 

Alfred tried not to laugh right there. Tayir might not know what his laughter meant. Tayir had listened to Christmas songs and thought that was how they celebrated Christmas. 

Alfred took a second to call Tayir down. “Oh, my sweet boy. Don't worry. We don't have to get all of those things. Those are presents that other people want. Don't worry about getting Damian turtle doves or hippos.”

Tayir nodded, slightly embarrassed. “What can I… bring him?”

“Well, I’ve been meaning to stop at the store to get gifts. Why don't you come with me?”

Then, that led to Alfred bundling his newest son up like a child going in the snow for the first time.

***

The crowd was quickly overwhelming. Alfred had forgotten how hectic the stores could be right before Christmas. He couldn't see Tayir’s face underneath the sunglasses and mask, but he noticed how Tayir was practically glued to his side. He also kept his hand on the sleeve of Alfred's coat, not quite holding his wrist but keeping a tight grip on the fabric. 

They were walking through the shopping district of downtown Gotham and each store along the street was packed, along with the sidewalks. Alfred also remembered, a bit too late, that this was Tayir’s first time away from Damian since he came to live with them. 

So, without a second thought, Alfred held Tayir’s hand. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tayir looking at him, trying to gauge why he did that. But, Tayir slowly relaxed his hand and accepted it. 

He was less nervous after that.

______________________________________

After Tayir had wrapped the presents and put them under the Christmas tree, the family all came into the den. Christmas music was playing over the radio, and Tayir and Alfred had a private chuckle over it. 

The boys, Alfred, and Bruce were all settled among the couches, with the dogs and the cat resting on their laps. Tayir, however, was restless. It was still excited about his trip with Alfred. It walked along the several large bookcases, brushing his index finger along the spines. It couldn’t read most of the titles, but the smell and feel of the books was pleasant. 

It stopped when it felt a deep purple book with gold lettering. It was a well-loved book with scratches and wear along the spine. Something deep within it cooed at the sight like it was an old friend. Tayir picked it up and handed it to Damian.

When Damian read the cover, he stopped, his eyes going wide. He showed it to his father.

“ Pride and Prejudice? ” Bruce whispered. Tayir thought he would start crying, but instead, Bruce smiled. “ Jason’s favorite. ”

Dick and Tim both put down their phones and were silent.

“ Read, please? ” Tayir asked.

Damian looked at him and his father. His father, with a bittersweet smile, said, “ Go ahead, I’d love to hear it again. ”

Tim and Dick settled closer to Alfred on the couch, and Tayir found a cushion and placed it in front of the fire. Damian was wrapped in his father's arms as he began to read.

—————————————————————

“Damian, may I talk to you?” Bruce asked, poking his head into his son's room. 

Damian looked up from his book. “Sure. Is something wrong?”

“No, no.” Bruce stepped in and closed the door behind him. “I just wanted to ask you something. Tayir’s helping Alfred right now.”

Damian nodded, welcoming his father to ask. 

“I know you were young when Tayir left the League for whatever reason, but do you remember anything about how he was or how he was treated?”

Damian thought for a second. His brow furled as he remembered. 

“I… know that Mother and Grandfather hate whenever their agents failed. Even though Tayir is of high status, they wouldn’t be lenient. Based on how he reacts to small mistakes like it’s the end of the world…” Damian trailed off, not wanting to think about it anymore. 

“Why is Tayir of high status? Where did he come from?”

“I don’t know. He never told me anything. He said he forgot. And when I asked Mother, she shut it down fast.” 

“Ok. One last thing.” Bruce said. “How much does he remember?”

Damian shook his head. “I don’t think he remembers anything.”

—————————————————————

If there was one thing Tayir did remember, it was laughter.

Laughter unlike Damian’s, kind and sweet and so very rare.

Laughter like a madman, twisted, sick, in response to vile things.

It only ever remembered when it was asleep. This time was no different. It remembered the swing of something made of blunt metal. It remembered a cold building, soft, innocent snowflakes drifting in through a hole in the ceiling, settling on a bright green timer. It didn’t know what it was, it looked like any old clock, but it would be filled with fear each time. 

The laughter would fade out of a door in the building, but the pain didn’t leave. It crawled on the floor towards the door, determined to reach it this time. 

The clock hit zero before it could.

***

Damian and Bruce were interrupted from their talk by the sound of muffled screaming.

They raced over toward the sound and found Tayir tangled in his sheets.

Damian was the first to reach him, shaking him gently. 

“Hey, you’re okay. It’s me!”

Tayir woke and immediately grabbed onto Damian, pulling him close and shielding him. After he got his bearings, he settled, curling in on himself.

“I'm guessing that was a nightmare,” Damian asked, still being crushed in his arms. Tayir nodded. “Want to talk about it?”

“Laughs. Only laughs,” was all he said. He didn’t talk or sign for the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

Tayir wasn’t talking, and it was worrying Damian. 

He was supposed to go on patrol that night, but he stayed back with Tayir, keeping an eye on the computers together. He was fidgety, too, playing with the seams on his black long sleeves and pants until Damian found an old fidget cube that he could play with. It was also a good opportunity for Tayir to finally have his mask down for more than a few minutes at a time. 

“You can go,” Tayir said, startling Damian from his daydream. 

“What?”

“You can go out. You don’t… have to be h-here.”

It was a quiet night overall. Just the usual muggings and carjackings. Nothing that Damian really needed to be out for. 

“And besides, I don’t mind. I want to be here with you. Even if a big bad guy were out tonight, I’d stay here. Father and the others can handle themselves.”

Tayir smiled.

As the hours dragged on, the two simply sat in each other’s company, whistling together or reading books until someone called in, asking for a location or a name. 

At one point, Tayir held Damian’s hand and squeezed three times. Damian always wondered where he learned that. His father would do the same thing to him. 

“Alright, boys,” Batman’s deep, distorted voice sounded through the comms. “Nightwing, Red Robin, and I are finishing up with this jewelry store robbery. We will be back in half an hour.”

“Ok,” Damian called back, shouting down half of the monitors. “When they get back, they will shut the rest down,” he explained to Tayir. “I’m going to head up to bed.”

Tayir nodded, following him to the elevator. He was tired too. Damian pushed the button to call the elevator, yawning as he did, his eyes closing. 

Mid-yawn, he was yanked back by Tayir and hidden behind him. 

“Tayir, what-“ he started, until he saw a black-robed figure in the elevator… with Alfred in his arms. The man had one hand over his mouth and the other wrapped around a dagger. 

“Alfred!” Damian shouted, lunging forward only to be pulled back again by Tayir. 

“Don’t,” Tayir whispered. 

Tayir pushed them back further as the assassin stepped into the cave. A dozen other fully armed killers leaped out of the shadows, blocking each exit and access to the Batcomputer. Shit. Not good. 

“The League has no business in Gotham!” Damian shouted, matching the authority his Father used with criminals. “Let Alfred go and leave! Or risk war!”

Tayir didn’t like that very much since he gripped Damian’s shoulder tightly and shook his head. Why wasn’t he fighting? What was even happening?

The sound of heeled boots clicking behind him answered every one of Damian’s questions. He took a deep breath and turned to face his mother. 

“War? What would your father say to that, child?” Talia’s silky and manipulative voice snaked its way into his home. Based on the fact that she had a sword and six daggers on her, she wasn’t here to say hello. 

“You aren’t allowed to be in Gotham without his permission. Get out.” Damian growled. 

Talia feigned hurt, putting a hand on her chest. “Is that any way to talk to your mother?” 

Damian fully stepped out from behind his protector, who protested with a hiss. “You cannot call yourself my mother after every lie you told me! After you told me my best friend was dead! After you denied me a normal childhood!” 

Tayir’s guard dropped slightly at that. He’d never seen Damian yell at his mother before. What should be normal was unfamiliar. It stung. But he was proud. 

“Now, I don’t care why you came to Gotham, but for the last time, LEAVE!” 

Talia was also taken aback. She looked around at her assassins, unsure of what to do. She steeled herself. 

“Insolent child,” she said, using a cold and steady tone. Both Tayir and Damian froze. They had been on the receiving end of that tone before, and it never ended well. “You’ve become soft. Caring about a lowly servant. I see your father has failed you, turned you away from your lifelong task.”

She stepped even closer, sending warning bells into loud ringing in Tayir’s mind. Time to do his job: protect. He stood tall and in a defensive stance, ironically the one that Talia taught him. 

“Get back!” He shouted. “GET BACK!”

Talia smirked as the other assassins around her chuckled to each other. “Ah, yes. The other prodigal child. Did you figure it out yet? I'm sure you’ve seen the pictures on the wall and on the fridge, the chess set that has remained unfinished for almost a decade, and the locked bedroom. Or maybe you’ve felt that deep down, this is the first place you’ve ever felt safe. Haven’t you wondered why?”

Alfred and Damian both looked at Tayir, confused. Tayir’s eyes sank to the floor as he lightly touched his cheek, feeling the scars underneath. 

“Tayir, what’s she talking about?” Damian shook his arm. “Tayir!”

Talia laughed. “Oh, no,” she turned to her son. “Looks like we both put too much faith in it. I should have known that even I couldn't fix this failure.”

“Don't call him that! He raised me more than you ever did!”

“Tell me, child, do you even know its real name? Because it knows.”

Damian looked at Tayir in bewilderment. Tayir refused to look back. 

“What?”

“You thought it had told you everything, didn’t you?” Talia sneered. 

“Shut up!”

“Don’t you want to know?”

“Stop! Talking!”

“Why don’t you tell him, Jason?”

And just like that, the world stopped. Talia nodded her head, and the assassin holding Alfred let him go. Alfred stayed on the ground for a moment before standing slowly. 

He looked straight into Tayir’s eyes with such grief he almost keeled over. 

“Jason? My Jason?” Alfred asked softly. 

Tayir couldn’t move. Alfred walked to him. He slowly pulled down the mask to his chin. Underneath the beard and scars was his grandson. 

Alfred sobbed loudly.

“I didn’t know,” Tayir admitted with sorrow. “I’m so sorry.”

“My boy,” Alfred said as he hugged him. “My sweet boy.”

“Angry?” Tayir asked. 

“No,” Alfred said with a laugh. “Not at you. Mostly confused.”

“Me too.” Tayir pressed the side of his head into Alfred’s. 

“We will figure th–“ 

Before Alfred could finish, he gasped and sank to the floor. Damian screamed as he rushed over to find a dagger in Alfred’s back thrown by his own mother. 

“What have you done!” Jason shouted. 

“I’ve had enough of this. I came for one thing. Damian, you are to come back with us. I see now that this family’s love of peace has deterred you.” 

“No! I choose where I go! Not you!” Damian shouted, still knelt by Alfred’s side. They needed to get this treated and fast. He was close to passing out. 

“Ok. Then I’ll kill Jason. Your choice.”

Damian looked at Tayir. Tayir smiled his familiar smile. “Your choice.”

Damian sighed and thought. His grandfather under him shook his head with tears in his eyes. He was scared to lose them. 

“If I go with you… you’ll spare them?” Damian asked in a childish tone. 

“On my father's name, I won’t harm them.” 

Damian hugged his family one last time. Tayir patted his back. Alfred begged silently, but Damian walked away and stood by his mother. He looked like he had aged with how troubled he looked. 

They thought it was over, but Talia grabbed her son's coat and addressed her soldiers. “You know your orders.”

A dozen fighters leaped towards Jason, pulling out freshly sharpened swords. Jason managed to get a few of them down, only dodging the swords and hitting where he could, but they quickly overwhelmed him. They pushed him back, and Damian was forced to watch as he lost his footing and fell into the cave below. 

Damian tried his best to run to him, but Talia was stronger. She led him to the exit of the cave. 

“What did you do?!” Damian cried. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him!”

“I didn’t command them to do that. My father did.”

***

When Batman, Nightwing, and Red Robin returned to the cave, they first noticed Alfred lying on the floor. 

“Bruce!” Tim called. They ran over, turning Alfred back on his side. Dick nervously felt for a pulse but sighed when he found one. 

“He’s alive. His pulse is weak, but he’s alive.” Dick breathed. 

Alfred remained unconscious as they moved him over to a bed. As Dick and Tim worked on getting him stabilized, Bruce searched around for Damian. He and Tayir had been working together tonight. 

The only sign of a struggle were some scuff marks on the floor and a stack of papers leading to the platform's railing. 

Oh god, no. 

Bruce ran over. But before he got there, a hand grabbed onto the ledge. Bruce held the hand and helped up a livid Tayir. Under his mask, his eyes flared. He looked around for something but found an empty cave. 

Tayir grabbed onto Bruce’s shoulders. “Alfred?”

“Don’t worry. Tim and Dick are with him. What happened? Where’s Damian?”

Tayir wasted no time running over to the Batcomputer and turning it on. He input a few code lines, and it pulled up a map with a tiny red dot on it. 

“Lady took him.”

“Talia?” Bruce asked, even though he knew the answer. “Why? Tayir, what’s going on.”

“No time. Get ready.”

“To do what? Where’s Damian?!” Bruce roared. 

Tayir, for the first time, wasn’t swayed. “Tracker on Damian.” He pointed to the map. “Must hurry… they are leaving.”

“Ok. We can go. We just need to make sure Alfred is going to live.” Both Bruce and Tayir headed over to the med bay. 

***

As it worked, it looked over the others. It’s supposed father, brothers, and grandfather. It had pushed back the thoughts because it believed them to be ridiculous. The boy in the photo was familiar, and its mind had told it to look closer, but how was it even possible?!

It kept its mask up for now. It would solve this mystery after Damian was back in its arms. 

They managed to fix Alfred up within half an hour. Tim offered to stay back and make sure Alfred woke up. 

Jason grabbed his swords. Talia would regret this day. 

Chapter Text

Damian smirked as the car he and his mother were in raced to the city's edge. He knew what he was doing, and so did Tayir. A week after Tayir returned, they set a plan in order just in case Talia came back. If they agreed that it was moderately safe for one of them to go back with her, they would place a tracker on the other. If something were to happen to them, they would put the tracker on the nearest assassin. When Tayir hugged him, he had placed a tracker under his neck in his shirt. When Tayir went over the edge, he knew it was okay. Because they played their parts, Damian discovered his grandfather was behind this.

Damian could only hope Alfred was alright.

Gotham City comprised of three islands and a small area on the mainland. Damian became confused when they didn’t go on a boat or jet to return to the mountains. Instead, they drove deep into the woods behind Arkham Asylum, near the ocean coast. Talia kept a poker face on her, not betraying her thoughts. Damian wanted to ask, but he would learn more by staying quiet. He figured Talia already knew he was confused.

The group of three SUVs and one car went down a hidden road and took multiple turns. It was so dark outside. He couldn't even see past the first line of trees. He wished he didn’t watch as many scary movies with Dick as he did. He couldn't help but imagine a monster coming out from the trees and attacking the car. He couldn't help but imagine that the monster was already in the car with him.

Wasn’t that a depressing thought? His own mother was unfamiliar to him. Even when he was a child… a younger child… she was scary to him. It hadn’t changed now that he’d been away from her. It had gotten worse.

At the end of the beaten road was a cave with assassins surrounding it. When he returned, he’d have to have everyone comb the woods for more of them. When they had driven into the cave, the agents closed it off, showering the cave in even more darkness. Finally, they stopped and piled out of the vehicles. Talia kept a tight grip on her son’s arm as they went down a long, sloping hallway. The stone walls were bare, save for a torch every so often. 

At the end of the hallway was an ornate wooden door reinforced with steel. It opened to reveal a single, large Lazarus Pit.

“Why are we here, Mother?” Damian asked, exasperated. “Don't you have one back in the Mountains?”

“I am not here for the Pit,” was all she said.

***

Batman, Nightwing, and Tayir walked from the Batmobile to a tiny cave entrance. Tayir kept his eyes glued to the arm brace he was given that had a screen with Damian’s location. His brows were furrowed the entire time in concentration. He had also donned his old League uniform in order to rub it in Talia’s face. He was going to war, and he was determined to win.

Batman was just as angry that his son was taken, but he stepped back a bit to let Tayir do his thing. He had come to trust him, but he didn’t want to know what would happen if he got in his way. League habits are hard to break.

Batman might have overlooked the cave if they didn’t have the tracker. Nobody was outside, and the entrance was almost completely covered with vines.

“In there,” he said, pointing to the small hole. “Cave is… up. Can’t enter here.”

“What does that mean?” Nightwing asked.

Tayir threw his hands in frustration and pulled up the schematics of the cave. He pointed out that the cave was just under the surface, so there were holes in the ground that looked into the cave.

“Find another way,” Tayir said, and it didn’t take long to find a fissure in the ground that had a faint green glow coming out of it.

They looked down into it and saw Damian alone, kneading in front of a Lazarus Pit.

“Well, this is a trap,” Nightwing lamented, not taking his eyes off his brother. “What do we do?”

“One at a time,” Tayir said, leaving no room for argument.

Tayir squeezed through the tight space and dropped down to the floor on the opposite side of the pool. His landing startled Damian, who looked up from his trance. 

Damian immediately shook his head as Tayir approached him. “You can’t be here!” he whispered. 

“Why?” Tayir asked just as quietly.

“I don’t know where my mother is!” 

“We didn’t see her,” Nightwing said, dropping down with Batman. “We need to leave before she comes back.”

Tayir ran around the edge of the large pool to bid brother. “Secure our exit,” he commanded the other two. They nodded, Batman heading for the exit and Nightwing checking other holes in the ceiling. Tayir untied Damian’s hands from behind his back. 

“Jason?” Damian asked him, searching his dull brown eyes for any semblance of the boy in the portrait. 

“I guess,” Tayir answered. “I don’t remember.”

“That’s okay. We can help you now.”

Tayir smiled as he helped Damian to his feet. He held his hand in his. 

“Thank you. Go home?”

“Yes, please,” Damian laughed. 

Tayir tried to squeeze Damian’s hand three times as he had done since he was a baby. But unfortunately, he only squeezed twice when a loud bang echoed throughout the cave. 

***

Tayir didn’t feel anything at first. 

It felt its feet still. 

It felt pressure in its back. 

Its legs grew weak. 

Breathing suddenly became difficult. 

***

“No!” Damian shouted. 

Batman turned around in time to see Tayir fall to the ground. Damian fell on top of him as he placed his hands on a red spot on his back and chest, trying to stop the spread of blood. 

Talia stepped out from the shadows behind them. Her focus wasn’t on her victim or her crying son, but on her ex. 

“Peace has made you sloppy, beloved,” she taunted. “You should have noticed me. But, instead, you were too focused on saving Damian.”

“What have you done?!” Nightwing shouted, unable to reach his brother since he didn’t know Talia’s intentions. 

“Removed an issue.” She shrugged as if she had squashed a bug. “Tayir, or whatever my son calls him now, has been a pain in my side since I found it on the street. Always asking about Damian, always worrying about what Damian would want. I’M SICK OF IT!!”

There were no other assassins left. This was between them. This ended tonight. Talia leaped over the Pit, pulling out twin swords and walking towards Batman and Nightwing. She allowed them to swing first, letting their anger flare.

“They're both such enormous failures! Damian was always too emotional. Irrational. Made him weak!” Talia shouted between clashes, hoping to make her enemies slip up. “And the wayward son. It, too, was emotional! It was weak from the moment it came to us!”

“Don’t call him ‘it’!” Damian shouted back at her. “Tayir is more of a human being than you!”

“Watch your tone, child!” Talia screamed. 

She knew she had trained more than Batman had in the past few years. She had also been exposed to Pit fumes her whole life. She had secondhand abilities from it. She was stronger and faster, and her beloved knew it. She couldn’t get past his armor, though. She’d have to take out Nightwing first. 

She kicked Batman back and swung at Nightwing. She was relentless. Nightwing's escrima sticks couldn’t block each blow. With a final punch, she knocked him down. As he struggled to get back up, she turned on Batman. 

“My son is right!” Batman yelled, not pulling his punches. “Tayir has done so much for him, and what have you done? You’ve ruined his life and countless others! You have no right to call him your son anymore! Both he and Tayir are mine!”

Batman’s suit wasn’t all kevlar. It had mechanical components. She pulled a wooden spike from her belt so she wouldn’t get electrocuted and hit directly in the technology’s weak spots, making it harder to move. She then focused her hits on Batman’s head and sides. Within minutes, he was also down. 

***

God, there was too much blood. He couldn’t stop it. The bullet had gone completely through his friend and had hit the floor. Tayir was on his side as he tried focusing on his breathing. Damian pulled out everything in his first aid kit and tried it twice, but nothing worked. So finally, he put pressure on it again with shaking hands. 

“Dam- Dami…” Tayir said around the blood in his mouth. 

“You’re going to be okay. I’m going to fix this,” Damian said with conviction. 

“List’n. You did… good. ‘M proud.”

More tears escaped Damian, and his grip on Tayir’s injury was loosening. He blinked the tears back and pushed harder. 

“No. I’m not giving up.”

“Not… giv’g up. Jus’ lettin’ go.”

“But,” Damian sobbed, finally looking at Tayir’s tired eyes. “I need to save you.”

“You al-already did.”

“No, I- I can’t heal you. Father doesn’t know about you. I can’t bring you home if you go.”

Tayir coughed. “You sav… saved me because… y-you showed me… how to b-be human.”

***

Tayir wasn’t Talia’s anymore. He was his own person now.

***

Tayir released the clasp on his mask and let it fall to the floor. Blood spilled out of his mouth, but he smiled nonetheless. Damian sent a shaky smile back. 

“A-amazing boy,” Tayir cooed. He placed one shivering hand on Damian’s cheek and, with the other, pulled out the photo of Damian that Alfred gave him and the drawing he had made of Damian. He tucked it into Damian's pocket.

Talia yelled in frustration as she slapped Batman to the ground. She turned to look back at her son, who looked up at her in fear.

“Both you and that… thing… are no longer useful to me,” she snarled, looking like a wild animal. 

She twirled her swords and charged at them. Tayir used all his remaining energy to stand up and catch Talia as she closed in on them, shoving Damian out of the way. They slammed into each other and fought as equals. Tayir used what he learned from her and what he assumed was from Batman and fought, knowing that Damian’s life was in danger. Talia’s first charge to him was to protect her son. It was the only order he would follow from her ever again, whether he lived it or not. Tayir was exhausted from his wound, but Talia needed to be quick before the other Bats got back up. She’d have to play dirty if she wanted to win. She let Tayir deck her across the face, but as she fell, she spun into a crouch, pulled her gun back out, and fired three more times. 

Directly at Tayir. 

Damian screamed as Batman and Nightwing watched in horror as Tayir looked down at his robes which now contained a few new holes. He turned around to look one last time at Damian. 

Then Talia pushed him into the Pit. 

He fell with a splash, sinking to the bottom. 

***

The second before he hit the waters, his heart stopped. It is over now. Tayir was happy he had saved his brother. It was up to Bruce and Dick to help him now. It wasn’t the ending he wanted, but it was the one he got. As he sank, the warm water flooded his lungs and stomach. It weaved its way into every molecule of his body, replacing the coldness with fire, and as it worked, Jason remembered it all.

He remembered watching his father getting taken away in a police car. He had tried to be sad about it, but he couldn't be. It angered his father to see that his son didn’t care. He slammed into the officers arresting him, shouting at his son and wife, but Cathrine led Jason back inside. When they got the call from the prison announcing Willis’s death, Jason and his mother shrugged it off. 

He remembered finding his mother’s body after he stole that week's groceries. He lived on the streets for about a year after that. He worked any job he could find, legal and illegal. Then, one night, he came across none other than the Batmobile. Oh, Lord above, a piece of that could buy him a small apartment. He couldn't pass it up. Heedless of the stories he had overheard told by criminals, he snuck closer. The hubcaps, maybe? Nah, too small. Wouldn’t get him much. The tires, perhaps. Surely, there wasn’t any security on the tires. He managed to get two off before he sensed the Batman behind him.

He remembered becoming Robin, soaring through the city, feeling free for the first time. He loved how great it felt to save someone. The only problem was Dick. Dick looked at him with such disgusting anger after he became Robin. Jason never understood why it had bothered him so much! He had become Nightwing a year ago, and the position was empty, so it was finders keepers. Bruce did nothing to help. He just focused on work. Not that Jason needed his help anyway.

He remembered the coffin. He woke up suddenly six feet underground. He banged on the lid for what felt like hours for someone to save him from dying all over again. No one did. He’d have to save himself. He took his belt off and used the buckle to puncture the lid and through the suffocating dirt. His nails stung as they were ripped off, but he kept going until he took his first breath of fresh air. It felt wonderful. 

He remembered stumbling to what he thought was the manor, but was a road lined with dim lights, beaconing him onwards. He stumbled for miles on newly reconstructed limbs. His fingers had reappeared for some reason, and his side and legs were stitching themselves back together. He walked for hours until a frightened couple almost hit him with their car.

He remembered the hospital they took him to and his doctors' hushed whispers. They wondered how a person with so much damage could have survived. They called it a miracle. It might have been one if the morphine helped at all. He could feel his skin growing back, his bones readjusting, and the pins and needles stabbing his entire body. There was no rest there. 

He remembered sneaking out of the hospital, trying to find his family. Where were they? Why weren’t they with him? Certainly, they must have seen his decimated grave. They had to be looking, right? Tayir had nowhere to start looking for the unknown family, but Jason could see that they didn't care.

He remembered wandering around Gotham aimlessly for months, stealing food and clothes and sleeping on cardboard. The days were hot and sticky, and the nights were rainy and cold. He had gotten sick often. Most people who passed him didn’t recognize the boy from the news who had died so tragically. They only saw a dirty street kid. He’s probably on something, one man said loudly to his friend. Stay away, honey , a mother said to her child, leading them away from him. He held his hand out both times for a scrap of food, but they passed him by. If he was lucky, he might have gotten a dollar or two, but Tayir didn’t know what money was, so he threw it away for someone else to find. Some nights he got attacked by dumb kids looking for a laugh. They’d kick him and goad him on, but Tayir couldn’t do anything at that time but lay down and wait for them to get bored. Such is the way with Gotham. 

He remembered walking past a television in a store window. The news was talking about that new Wayne child. Tim. Parents died, and he got to stay with Bruce. His adopter. His family. It didn’t matter to Tayir. He walked on all zombie-like. But Jason understood now. They didn’t care about him. They cared about Tayir. If they had cared about him, they would have stopped at nothing to save him. 

He remembered Talia finding him. She smirked at him as he sat on his cardboard piece with his shaking hands out. Oh, child , she cooed with a sweetness laced with poison, let me help you. Tayir followed without reservation. Any help would be good. She led him far away from where he was somewhat comfortable to cold and destitute mountains. He couldn't see the valleys below it, and it made him nervous.

He remembered the first week with her. How kind she was, feeding him and cleaning him up. After that first week, however, she became more and more mean, pushing him into training and forcing his repressed muscle memory of fighting to the surface. Tayir never understood why he was so good at fighting. It scared him. Jason wondered if Bruce knew where he was. 

He remembered meeting Damian, the long hours of playing with him, and teaching him how to be him. Those were the happiest of Jason’s memories. Those days were more optimistic than his Robin days, which were already good. Being able to take care of Damian was the best thing that ever happened to him. 

He remembered Talia taking him away on weird missions. One of the weirder ones was when they went to a nearby mountain range. Tayir was assigned guard duty as Talia went to talk to a woman. Durca was her name. He was old and hunched over, but she commanded legions of fighters. She looked down at Tayir, but not with disgust, as Tayir had thought. Jason recognized it as disguised pity. Before Tayir left to go back to Damian, she had placed a withered hand on his wrist. She said, Come to me, and I’ll become your teacher. Tayir had shrugged it off; Damian was more important. Jason recognized it as important.

He remembered Batman visiting Talia. He sauntered in without warning. The other assassins feared him and parted to make way. Jason wished that he was there to get Tayir out of that hell, but Batman was only there to threaten Ra’s for the thousandth time. Batman didn’t care anymore. 

He remembered Talia sending him on a mission to Gotham after she realized he and Damian were too close. He was sent to do some reconnaissance work: find the enemies of the League and take them out. Easy enough. As he was looking for a congressman, he stumbled upon his killer. Joker and Harley Quinn had rented out a warehouse for the week as they worked on their next plan. Tayir didn’t understand why they were important or why he needed to be afraid of them, but something had to be done about it. After destroying both them and their work, he felt a bit better. 

He remembered coming back to the mountains to find Damian gone. Talia claimed Damian was sent away for his own good, but Tayir could see past the lie. He let his anger fester silently until he escaped a few years later. He kept the drawing of Damian close to him at all times.

As Jason reminisced, the Pit worked its magic, contorting and twisting his mind until anger mangled his memories with false truths.

Why had this all happened to him? Did the universe hate him? He hadn’t done anything to deserve it! He was a street kid. Sure, he had stolen and lied, but did the punishment fit the crime? And where was Bruce or Dick in all of this? Adopting another son to replace him, training him to be Robin, as if the previous Robin hadn't died wearing the damn suit. It begged the question:

Did Bruce ever care?

Did he ever care about Jason, or was he looking for another partner? Or was Jason such a screw-up, such a lousy son that Bruce was eager to throw him at Joker? Both possibilities were bad. Both possibilities were worth revenge. 

***

They all stared blankly at the Pit. Then, as Talia walked toward the exit, Batman and Nightwing ran toward Damian. Nightwing threw his arms around his brother as he sobbed. Batman stood behind them, keeping an eye on Talia. As much as he wanted to fight her again, it was best to do it when his son wasn’t on the edge of a panic attack. 

“Oh, don’t cry,” she sneered. “He’ll come back in a few minutes.”

“That doesn’t make this right!” Batman shouted. 

“Jason was a failed study. This is my way of trying to correct it. I don't care if the methods are right or not.”

Nightwing held Damian tighter as he glared at Talia. “What do you mean… Jason?”

Talia's eyes widened as she realized her mistake. She laughed to cover it up. “Yes, Jason. Honestly surprised it didn’t tell you earlier. Though I suspected it forgot who it was.”

“What did you do?” Batman growled. 

“You’ll see soon.” She smiled as she pointed her attention at the pool. 

It was still. Then a bubble rose and popped. Then more. 

Then Jason broke the surface of the shallow pool. He screamed in pain as he did. His now glowing green eyes were blown wide open, and he pulled at his hair, which now had a white streak in it. The wound in his chest had closed completely. He ran out of the pool and collapsed on the ground. He threw up the water in his lungs as he cried.

Batman and Talia were shocked. Despite the name, no one had ever been resurrected in the Lazarus Pit. The reaction was unpredictable. Even Ra’s had not attempted.

Robin shoved his brother's arms away and ran to Tayir. Nightwing Tried yelling at him to stop, but he kept going. He had just watched him die; he wasn't going to lose him again! He knelt in front of his hunched-over brother and put his hand on top of Tayir’s, which were covering his ears. He was sobbing and mumbling under his breath.

“Tayir, it's okay. We are going to get you out of here.” Damian said, smiling, trying to show his brother that he was safe.

Jason slowly moved his hands off of his ears and looked at them in shock. Robin noticed it too. Jason’s hands had stopped shaking. They were perfectly still. Robin breathed a laugh in relief. He looked back up, expecting to see Jason happy too, but he was angry. Jason was looking above him as if he was seeing an enemy. Jason slapped him out of the way harshly and started punching Talia. He got a few solid punches in before she kicked him off. Jason held his head tightly again and ran down a tunnel, yelling wildly.

Nightwing intercepted him before he could escape, Batman attending to Robin. “Jason! Stop!” Tayir grabbed Nightwings arm with both hands and snapped it like a stick. Nightwing screamed as Jason kept going. Damian followed.

The tunnel led to a cave on the cliffside. Damian knew it was there. He wasn't sure Tayir did. He tried shooting a grappling line at Tayir’s feet to stop him, but he was too fast. Damian tried calling for his friend, trying to warn him of the cliff, but he wasn't listening. He watched as Tayir tripped and fell over the edge, screaming as he went. Damian stopped at the border, looking down at the water and rocks below. Tayir splashed into the water.

He waited for twenty minutes, screaming Tayir’s name, holding onto hope, but he never surfaced. Finally, as Batman came up and wrapped him in his arms, Damian mourned yet again.