Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

...

Dick glanced over his shoulder as he frantically typed at the Batcomputer. He was alone, for now. He had to hurry. Ra's would be looking for him soon. And the others were due back within the next few hours. He'd only get one shot at this.

Delete everything and run.

Dick bit his lip, and hesitated. His eyes strayed from the computer, and rested on a framed picture on the desk. A family photo. Bruce, himself, Alfred, Jason, Tim, and Damian. All of them had a smile. It had taken forever for Dick to coax one out of the youngest bat.

He had made a deal with Ra's in order to protect Damian. He'd been 15 and completely stupid but that was his little brother! He already had the title of Ghost. He had earned in his early years as Robin and even spent time in Nanda Parbat.

For a time Ra's had been content that Dick was a Ghost. Toeing the line between hero and villain. Never quite a member of either.

But then came Trigon. Dick had nearly died saving Raven. The Teen Titans had all been in various states of injured. His injuries were by far the most severe, hovering on the point of life and death for two days. In the end, it was Slade who saved him. The man he thought was his worst enemy at the time.

How he kidded himself. Slade as much as the man wanted Dick as his apprentice valued autonomy. It had to be Dick's choice even if the choice had been originally coerced. He ensured Dick survived and declared that they were even.

The world began to settle back into old routines. Dick slowly returned to patrol but only a month after a postcard arrived.

Return or be retrieved.

It was not a threat. It was a promise and in the week since it arrived at the Tower, Dick could feel them. The eyes on him stalking him on patrol, watching his every movement. They were giving him the chance to return willingly.

He could not. So here he was inputting a program that would delete his trail. Every piece of computerized evidence that he existed would be destroyed. Now he was working to turn off the trackers put in him. It would give him time.

His family, the Justice League and the other heroes would not stop looking for him. Even without his computerized presence. But they would lose a significant advantage.

There! The last traceable tracker was useless. He pulled the disk drive he had been using and crushed it in his palm. He grabbed the picture and slid it into his pocket. It was the only thing he allowed himself to keep from his old life.

Looking at the cave he felt his heart break. This would be the last time he saw the cave, the manor, the city. He wouldn't ever be able to come back. He pulled out the necklace Ra's had given him when he was a child.

A silver bird that held a tracker in it, only able to be activated by holding it for five seconds. He pulled it off and laid it on the desk.

Time to go.

...

Damian frowned at the Batcomputer. He was trying to get ahold of his oldest brother. But it was coming back as a non working number. Damian tried to pull up Dick's information on the computer.

Nothing.

Everything was gone. Dick had no digital presence. That wasn't possible. Not even an amateur could scrub that much. Dick had no reason to erase his identity.

He had tried hacking the Justice League servers and the Titan's system. Neither showed Dick Grayson, Nightwing or the original Robin. There were no pictures or video of him. It was as if he never existed.

And there was nothing connecting him to the League or Slade. It was frustrating. He could find nothing.

"Father!" Damian said, standing. "Richard is missing!"

Drake appeared rubbing at his eyes tiredly. He glared at Damian and asked, "What do you mean Dick is missing?"

"Look!" Insisted Damian feeling panic set in.

Dick was his older brother, sometimes closer to being a father than Bruce. Drake leaned over to do his own searches. Looking at the desk Damian noticed the bird necklace. Richard told him once it was a gift from from Damian's grandfather.

Damian had a similar necklace. Grandfather gave one to everyone he considered his own. Richard never removed his. Damian's was safely locked away. He reached for the one on the table. It was still cold.

"It's the necklace Grayson got from grandfather. He's never without it. I can't believe he would leave it behind," said Damian, his voice wavering.

Drake looked around the computer station. Then he whispered quietly, "The picture is gone."

"What?" asked Damian sharply.

"That picture," replied Drake, pointing to a blank spot. "Dick insisted we take a group photo. No one could get one of the entire family, but Dick kept trying."

"You're not seriously saying what I think you are," stated Damian.

"Dick wouldn't leave that photo," Drake said sounding on the verge of tears, "If it's gone, he took it with him."

"He left the tracker," pointed out Damian.

And Grandfather would not allow one of his Ghosts to leave so easily. If Richard did leave on his own, Grandfather would send his forces to retrieve him.

"We have to tell Bruce."

"Tell me what?" demanded Batman's deep growl.

"Dick is gone," responded Drake softly.

Batman's lips thinned. Damian's fingers curled tighter around the tracker. Father would have a plan.

Please, Richard. Come home.

Chapter Text

...

Neal leaned against his side of the apartment balcony. It was a cold spring night, the wind blew his hair out of place. Neal's mind was a whirl. His previously hidden bottle of scotch sat on the railing next to him.

Happy Birthday to him. He was 25 now. No one knew. He called in with Peter saying he wasn't feeling well. Not quite a lie. It was the day his parents died.

Almost eight years had passed since he ran from Gotham. Six since he became Neal Caffery. Three since his first deal with the FBI and he was put on the anklet. He was close to freedom. Less than a year left.

Neal was tired. Tired of running, tired of playing the game, just tired. He'd lost his way a while ago. He couldn't see an end. Couldn't find his way out. He needed an ending, a rest.

Neal threw back the rest of his drink and stared out at the dark sky. Maybe tonight was the night he gave up the con. He wouldn't kill anyone. He could let someone catch him.

What a stupid though. He hadn't run for the better part of a decade to be caught now.

"Neal?" Asked a familiar voice that did not belong in his apartment.

"Keller?" Asked Neal tiredly.

Matthew Keller, an ex-partner in more ways than one. He and Mozzie had taken the basics of being a con that Dick learned from Selina and Slade and twisted it into a whole new beast. They had a complicated history and had done jobs together. At one point they had been more than just friends. Until Neal decided to return to New York to save Kate. Matthew had given an ultimatum. Him or Kate.

No matter which side of the law he was on, he didn't do well with ultimatums. He loved Kate as he loved Mozzie. As a friend and as practically a siblings. He did regret how he left things with Matthew but if one of his people were in trouble, he'd always come back for them. It was what got Neal in the situation to begin with.

"I wasn't expecting to see you again," Neal commented, glancing over his shoulder.

Matthew had his arms crossed was leaning against the door jam leading to the balcony. His hazel eyes were on the bottle of scotch and his brow was furrowed.

"You're drinking scotch?" Asked Matthew, "You hate scotch."

Matthew approached him, reaching for the bottle. His shoulder brushed against Neal's lightly.

"You can have a glass," offered Neal, "They're in the cabinets to the right of the fridge."

Matthew hummed lightly but stepped back and went to grab a glass. Neal turned back towards the city, taking another drink.

"Do you remember the night you returned to New York? Our fight?" Asked Matthew as he poured the liquid.

"I don't like ultimatums," murmured Neal, "You or her. That was your ultimatum. She was in danger and I had to act. If it was you or Mozzie, I would have done the same."

"And would she have done the same?" Questioned Matthew, setting down the bottle.

"Of course," he snapped.

She had done what she could before Adler blew up the plane. Matthew was not a good man. Kate, though a criminal had a line. Matthew's was flexible. Neal's line was almost as flexible.

Matthew's hand touched the back of his neck. It was light, a barely there brush of the fingertips. Neal could pull away easily if he wanted.

"She got you caught by the FBI," pointed out Matthew.

Neal swallowed hard. A flash of anger burned through him but it only lasted a moment. His anger drained as quickly as it had come.

"Neal?" Murmured Matthew.

"She's dead, Matty," responded Neal, his throat tightening, "She's dead."

Kate had gotten caught. He couldn't protect her. She had been murdered because he couldn't save her.

"I heard," admitted Matthew, stepping forward, "Neal, what happened? What are you running from?"

"I don't want to talk about it," murmured Neal, taking another drink, "But I'll always be running. The one who is looking for me, will never stop hunting."

"Why?" Pressed Matthew.

Neal sighed. Matthew didn't deserve this. Didn't deserve to be involved in his problems. He shook his head.

He had been in New York for a far too long. If he was smart he'd burn the Caffery alias. Burn it and run. Run fast and hide deeper. He was going to disappear soon.

"Don't do anything stupid, okay?" Murmured Matthew.

Stupid wasn't cutting it loose, burning everything and becoming a ghost again. Stupid was falling back into old habits and allowing Matthew back into life. Stupid was making a bad decision based on emotional vulnerability.

Neal breathed out. Matthew's touch was feather light, barely a breath.

"It's not safe," protested Neal, pulling away and turning to face his ex-partner.

"Life isn't safe, sweetheart," Matthew said, smirking.

"Don't get involved, Matt," he breathed, "You'll only end up hurt."

Or worse. Neal would never forgive himself if something happened to Matthew or Mozzie. He might not be friends with Matthew like they used to be. Still if Ra's was to kill him, Neal would blame himself. For it was he who drew Matthew into that world.

"When have I ever listened to you, sweetheart," countered Matthew.

Neal smiled ruefully. He didn't know why he was hesitating.

"You'll leave eventually," said Neal, "Everyone leaves in the end. One way or another. Everyone leaves."

"Not always," corrected Matthew, stepping into his space, "Sometimes people come back."

Neal shook his head. He felt a gentle press of lips against his forehead.

"Just remember that, okay, Neal," murmured Matthew as he turned away.

Matthew left, closing the balcony door behind him. Leaving the scotch, untouched, behind. Neal glanced back towards the dark city and then the liquor.

His heart and his mind were both heavy.

"Damn it, Matthew," muttered Neal.

He didn't need complications. It would make running again so much harder.

...

Ra's sipped at his wine as Namir entered and dropped to a knee. He had a lithe figure, tall with lean muscles. Brown bangs fell into hard hazel eyes. There was some scruff plastering his face. He was the youngest to join the League of Shadows as a member. Though young Richard was the youngest to be recognized by the League. Even if as a Ghost.

Richard and Zachary. Al Zala and Al Namir. Two sides of the same coin. Where the former was light and bright, the later was darker and deadly.

Both had sworn fealty to the Demon's Head. Though Zachary had renounced his former name. While he had a certain amount of indulgence towards Richard, he would obey. Obey and return Al Zala to the fold that he belonged.

"Namir," greeted Ra's.

"My liege," said the younger, bowing his head.

"Rise," ordered Ra's, "Do you have any news regarding Al Zala?"

"There are reports that suggest that Al Zala is in New York City. In the custody of the FBI," answered Namir, "A man is a criminal informant there. A man, who only appeared two years after Al Zala disappeared."

"Do you have a name?" Inquired Ra's.

"Neal Caffery," reported the younger, "Convicted of bond forgery and suspected of art crimes all over the world. However given all digital evidence on Al Zala was erased when he disappeared it would be difficult to confirm. At least not without seeing him in person. Or his picture."

Ra's set down his glass and leaned forward.

"Then perhaps it's time for you to go on a trip," remarked Ra's, "Al Owal with you."

"Of course, my lord," acknowledged the younger.

"Report to me once you have seen the Ghost," ordered Ra's, "Once we know, where his loyalties are. Then, and only then, can we force his hand.

"Understood, my liege," said the younger.

"And Namir," began Ra's, "Don't let him run."

The corner of the youngers lips twitched, almost forming a smile.

"Of course, not, my lord," murmured Namir, "Not even he could slip our leash."

"See that he does not," remarked Ra's, "Alive, Namir. Bring him home alive."

His young little Grayson would have to be brought to heel. Back to his side, as per their agreement. He made a promise to the boy years ago.

Return to Nanda Parbat willing. Or be returned.

Chapter Text

...

His head pounded from his hangover. Maybe he shouldn't have drank that much scotch. He rubbed at his temples as he grabbed a glass from his cabinets.

Neal poured himself some orange juice and grabbed the Tylenol bottle. He threw back the pills and washed them down with the juice. At least he was "sick".

He sighed. The anklet felt a bit tighter today. But it wasn't. Just a reminder that his freedom was not guaranteed. He was a caged bird here unable to fly away.

It was times like these he wanted his mask back. Times when his heart was too heavy to carry, and his shoulders felt weighed down. When the con and his smiles were just a cover for the mess beneath.

A knock sounded on his door pulling him from his thoughts. He frowned and checked the clock. Too early to be Peter. And Mozzie would've just walked in.

Curious, he pulled open the door. He found Matthew Keller standing on the other side. The man was holding a small cake box and had a large bag in his free hand.

"You know you're supposed to rest, when you're sick," stated Matthew.

"Not giving up? Really Matt, you should just leave me," Neal advised, letting him in, "I'm not worth the effort."

Matthew gave him an unamused look and headed straight for the kitchen. He started unloading his items onto the counter. Neal blinked in surprise as the cover was removed from the cake.

A strawberry cake. Everyone assumed his favorite was chocolate because of his natural sweet tooth. No one had ever bothered to ask. So how?

His ears burned. He needed to close himself back off. Letting Matthew get any closer would dangerous for everyone.

Matthew shoved a piece of cake in front of him and ordered, "Eat. I know it's your favorite."

Neal growled trying to put the walls up between them, "Why are you doing this? Just leave."

Push everyone away. Don't let them get close. It was safer that way. Otherwise they would end up like Kate. Or they would be used against him.

Matthew reached across the counter and gripped his wrist. Neal's instinct kicked in after years of laying dormant. Blue eyes flickered to grey.

He broke the grip and flipped Matthew, slamming him into the floor. Neal pulled his knife from its hiding place. He pressed the blade against Matthew's jugular.

Matthew's hazel eyes were wide. Neal breathed heavily and blinked. Slowly the haze of grey faded. He gasped, throwing himself backwards, leaving the knife in the floor.

He tried to scramble back, to put as much space between them as possible. This was the very reason why he should push the other away. Why he should cut him out completely.

What if it had been Mozzie? Or Peter? Or Elizabeth?

He would never forgive himself if one of his people ended up injured because of him. Because they wanted to help him.

Matthew sat up, staring at him in confusion.

"Matt, I-," whispered Neal, trailing off, "Just go. Please. It's better for you, and everyone else, if you just stay away."

Don't get close. Don't become attached. He had spent too long in this life already. He had forgotten the rules.

Matthew rose to his feet. The knife was still in the floor. Matthew's hands curled around the hilt and withdrew the weapon. He studied it for a moment before flipping the blade shut.

Matthew stepped forward and cupped his jaw, forcing his chin up. His hands were warm. Warnth...

"I am not afraid of you, Neal," murmured Matthew.

"Its not me you should be afraid of," he breathed.

Matthew hummed quietly.

"Then it is the mysterious past you're running from. You're not getting rid of me. So eat your damn cake," stated Matthew.

Neal let out a set of colorful Romani curses under his breath. Matthew chuckled lightly and ruffled his hair. Neal's eyes blinked slowly the blue returning and forcing away the grey.

"Neal?" Asked Matthew sounding genuinely worried.

"I'm fine," replied Neal, "Sorry about the scare."

Matthew shrugged.

"Just eat your damn cake," suggested Matthew, "and relax."

"Fine, fine," sighed Neal.

He was too tired to argue anymore. Neal settled on the stool. A plate was pushed in front of him. Neal poked the frosting and looked at Matthew.

"Who told you my favorite was strawberry?" Demanded Neal, feeling embarrassed.

"You told me once," admitted Matthew with a shrug, "After a particularly hard job, you and Mozzie got wasted and were reminiscing about the good ol' days. About a month after our first job together."

"And you remembered?" asked Neal in surprise.

"Of course," responded Matthew, "How could I forget such a random bit of trivia? You don't give much about your past. It took years to figure out your birthday."

"Oh," breathed Neal, not knowing what else to say.

Matthew smirked. Neal's face felt warm. He quickly shoveled a spoonful of cake into his mouth.

"So is the whole sick thing an act?" Questioned Matthew.

Neal chewed and swallowed. He wasn't quite ready to tell him everything. Especially the truth of his identity.

"Kind of," he finally admitted, "It's not an excuse to avoid work. But today isn't the best day."

"Is there anything I can do?" Asked Matthew.

Neal hesitated. It was an honest question. There was nothing in his eyes that showed he was trying to con Neal. The walls he carefully built up were cracking.

"Can you just... stay for a while?" requested Neal, his voice cracking.

Hazel eyes widened then softened at the request. A warm arm wrapped around his shoulder and pulled him into an embrace. Neal rested his head against his shoulder and closed his eyes.

"That I can do," agreed Matthew.

Neal relaxed slightly and the arms around him tightened. He couldn't remember the last time someone held him so close. Not since...

"Thank you," breathed Neal.

...

Matthew let Neal lean against him. They were on the couch. Neal had fallen asleep almost as soon as they sat on the couch. His breathing was even and deep.

The man was more stressed than usual. That much was clear. Matthew could tell there was a lot of things he wasn't saying. Like how did he suddenly know the moves to take down Matthew?

Or why did his eyes flicker between two colors. Matthew didn't recognize the first, but the second was an uncommon color. Only two people Matthew had met had had that particular shade. Both had been killers.

Neal rubbed his cheek into Matthew's shirt and Matthew stiffened. Matthew gently ran his fingers through the other's hair. Neal mumbled something in a language he didn't understand.

Matthew ran a hand down Neal's side and Neal shivered lightly. He shifted in his sleep, nuzzling into the fabric. This was something he missed. He regretted giving Neal an ultimatum before. He would never make that mistake again.

There was a sudden buzzing sound. Matthew glanced at the table. Neal's cell phone was lighting up. It was a message. Neal grumbled lowly and shifted again.

"Hey, hey, you're phone is going off," muttered Matthew, "you gonna get that or should I?"

"No, I'll get it," sighed Neal.

He reluctantly untangled himself and reached for the device. His thumb slid across the screen and opened the message. Neal blinked several times and frowned.

"Something wrong?" questioned Matthew.

"Mozzie wants me to meet him at a safe house tonight. Says its urgent," answered Neal, looking troubled.

"Are you going to go?" wondered Matthew.

"It's Mozzie," said Neal with a shrug.

Neal sat fully up on the couch and Matthew missed the contact. His body was colder now that Neal wasn't curled next to him.

"You should get dressed," mentioned Matthew.

"Right, right," murmured Neal.

Neal stood, stretching. Matthew's gaze drifted. The shirt lifted and for the first time Matthew saw scars. Neal always wore shirts when they shared a bed. He never changed in front of him.

Matthew could only see a few inches from where the shirt up. But the scars, he hadn't seen anything like it. They were a mix of white, pink and pale silver. They crisscrossed and looked to have been earned over years.

Hesitantly Matthew reached forward only for a tight grip on his wrist stopped him. Neal's blue eyes had narrowed, his expression blank. Matthew had expected to be shoved back, not for his hand to be released.

Neal tugged the hem of the shirt lower and turned away. The walls were back. He was distancing himself.

"Neal..."

"Don't ask," whispered Neal.

Matthew watched the younger disappear into his bedroom. He didn't follow. The scars weren't a normal sign. Even if a man did a job with knives.

Chapter Text

...

Neal was acting weird again. Peter really hoped his friend wasn't planning something stupid. The man had an anklet on and couldn't go anywhere. But knowing the former thief, that meant nothing.

They were currently working the latest case. It was an art theft and the security footage was corrupted.

"I thought it was just me," remarked Jones, "but has anyone else noticed Caffery has been less talkative the past few days?"

Diana agreed looking through the windows to where Neal's desk was, "Yeah. What is it that is bothering him?"

"Caffery isn't usually the most forthcoming," pointed out Peter, "But his behavior has been... concerning."

"What are you suggesting?" asked Diana.

Peter paused and crossed his arms, "That we keep an eye on him."

"You don't think he's going to try and run?" asked Jones.

Peter shrugged, "He wouldn't do anything until the anklet comes off. But it would be stupid. So it's a possibility. Just... keep an eye on him."

"Will do," affirmed both Jones and Diana.

Peter nodded and returned to his office. He had a gut feeling that whatever was going on, wasn't going to be good.

...

Neal leaned back against his chair as he considered the file Peter gave him. They had a case and the evidence was all pointing towards an inside job. The only problem was the security guard who had the duty during the time frame the paintings went missing was found dead.

But the footage had been altered. It was definitely an inside job, or at least someone was covering it up. He didn't like it. Something wasn't right.

Neal tapped his fingers across the desk considering everything he knew. Everything about it felt like it was garnered to draw his attention. Or more accurately the attention of Peter.

Was someone trying to draw the FBI out? To distract from something else? If so, what were they covering?

Neal didn't like the direction his thoughts were leading him. Someone was playing a dangerous game and the lives of everyone were the collateral.

"You're quiet," commented Peter, breaking him from his musings.

"Am I?" wondered Neal.

"Yeah," confirmed the older, leaning on the edge of the desk, "what's got you thinking so hard?"

Neal hesitated then answered, "This is an inside job but not your typical kind. I think someone is specifically trying to draw out the FBI and the White Collar Division. This feels more like a distraction. A distraction or a trap."

"Do you have any reason to believe it could be a trap?" asked Peter.

"Just a gut feeling," confessed Neal, "Something just isn't adding up."

"Well, if your hunch is correct, we should be cautious," stated Peter, "Neal are you okay? You've been quiet."

"Just got a lot on my mind," deflected Neal, "don't worry, Peter. I'll find a way to distract myself."

"Try not to cause trouble," sighed Peter, patting his shoulder.

Neal smiled and Peter rolled his eyes. Then the older moved back into his own office. Trouble seemed to follow him.

The last thing he wanted was for his past to rear it's ugly head. Not here, not in the life he was making. He wasn't going to give it up.

"Caffery, the boss is calling us into the meeting room," stated Jones.

"Gotcha," confirmed Neal.

He rose and felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He froze and turned his head, his gaze sweeping across the office. A man was carrying coffee and handing it to a young agent.

Hazel and blue eyes caught. His lips twitched, forming a small smirk. Neal's hands clenched into fists and his teeth ground.

Namir. Al Namir. If he knew Neal was there that meant he was in danger.

Namir tilted his head to the side, raising an eyebrow in question. Will he run now?

"Caffery," repeated Jones, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Namir simply finished handing out the coffees. He didn't say anything to Neal as he left the office.

"Hey, earth to Caffery, you alright?" demanded Jones, shaking him lightly.

"I'm fine," lied Neal.

"You sure?" Questioned Jones.

Neal nodded and followed the others into the conference room. Peter was already waiting for them. He didn't miss the way Peter's eyes narrowed at him. His hands shook and he tucked them in his pockets.

If his cover was blown, it was over. He had to run. Had to escape and get away. He would burn Caffery and disappear.

But would he be able to leave behind the ones he cared about. His friends. June and her grandkids. Moz. And Peter.

He swallowed. He didn't have a choice. If his secret was known, not just his life was in danger, but the lives of everyone around him. Ra's would stop at nothing to ensure he returned to Nanda Parbat.

"Neal?" Whispered Diana.

She was staring at him. Jones and Hughes were watching him. Even Peter was focused on him.

"Sorry," breathed Neal, forcing a smile, "just got lost in my head. Didn't mean to space out."

"Maybe you should go home early today," suggested Peter, frowning, "If you aren't feeling well."

That would give him a larger head start if he ran now. But it was better than having to fight his way out. He didn't have his tools, nor his weapons.

"Good idea," agreed Neal, "I think a nap is just what the doctor ordered."

"Just get some rest," advised Hughes, "If you're still ill tomorrow go to the doctor."

Neal nodded and excused himself. He quickly ducked into the bathroom. As soon as he was sure he was alone, he leaned against the sink. His head bowed, shoulders tensing.

How was he supposed to do this? Could he abandon everything, and run? Leave behind his friends?

He would have to. It was his only option. If Ra's came here, Peter and the others would get hurt. Or worse. For the sake of his family he would have to run again.

Fuck. Why now? He had been so close to freedom as Neal Caffrey. So damn close.

"I'm sorry, guys," breathed Neal, "I'm so, so sorry."

...

Neal pushed open the false backing where he hid his backup identities. There was no guarantee that the ones he had weren't compromised. These would have to do until he could get out of the city.

He gathered the papers, shoving them into his bag. There was a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" called Neal.

"It's me," responded Mozzie.

Neal stuffed the picture in his pocket paused then grabbed the frame with him and Peter in it. He had been meaning to frame it, but the picture of his family remained tucked safely.

"It's open, come in," invited Neal, grabbing the duffle.

"We have a situation," began Mozzie, "One of the contacts in the- Neal? What are you doing?"

"Packing," replied Neal as he stuffed the picture in his pants pocket, "We have to leave. Today."

He needed to change. This suit was too noticeable. He needed something that would blend in better. Somethingvthat didn't scream Neal Caffrey.

Neal went to the closet. He grabbed a pair of jeans, a hoodie and a dark jacket. Change, turn off the anklet, and run. That was his plan.

"Alright," agreed Mozzie, "We knew this was coming. I'll get things prepared. Neal, are you sure this is what you want to do?"

Neal paused in pulling off his shirt and jacket, and glanced over his shoulder.

"It's not a matter of want, Moz," responded Neal, his throat tight, "Either I leave or they go after everyone I care about one by one. At least running I can keep everyone safe."

Mozzie hummed, nodding. Neal finished changing, tossing his suit aside. It was the one piece that truly was him. Neal Caffery, conman and criminal. Then he went to the bookcase and pulled out the book that held the key to his anklet.

There was a sharp sound and a grunt from Mozzie. Neal turned already having an idea of what he would see. Namir was standing over a downed Mozzie.

He was too late.

Chapter Text

...

Cold steel touched the side of Neal's neck. Of course. Namir was rarely alone, especially if it involved Neal. Which meant the one holding a knife to his neck was.

"Good to see you too, Al Owal," quipped Neal dryly.

Neal's focus was on Mozzie. His friend was on the ground but appeared to only be stunned. He was breathing, at least.

Al Owal didn't deem him worthy of a reply. A hand grabbed the back of his hoodie to keep control. Neal raised his hands slowly and Namir nodded approvingly.

"Just like that, Al Zala," murmured Namir, "Nice and easy. No one has to get hurt if you cooperate."

Neal gritted his teeth. He should have been faster. He should have just cut his anklet and run.

As if reading his thoughts there was a pick of a needle against his neck. Something was injected and he let out a pained sound. To his surprise there wasn't the feeling of ice or heat of a sedative. Just the initial pain and then nothing.

Neal raised a hand to the spot and asked, "The fuck was that?"

"Just a tracker," replied Namir, "In case you try and slip our leash again."

Great, Ra's was taking a page out of Bruce's books. Where they injected the tracker it wouldn't be easy to remove. He didn't have any tools either.

"Come along, little Ghost," purred Al Owal, "we've made an appointment with the Demon's Head. Wouldn't want to be late."

Neal glared at them. He would rather deal with the Joker than Ra's. But Namir stood over Mozzie. If Neal resisted they would hurt Mozzie to get to him.

"Neal, don't," groaned Mozzie.

"Sorry, Moz, but it looks like this is checkmate," breathed Neal, letting himself be led away, "Tell Peter I'm sorry."

Namir approached him with a knife in one hand. He nodded Neal's leg. Of course they knew about his anklet. He raised his pant leg and allowed Namir to cut it. Then they forced him out of the apartment.

...

It had only been two hours after Neal left the FBI offices that Peter got the call he cut his anklet. To the agent that didn't make any sense. Neal had months left on his sentence. There was no reason for him to cut and run.

He, Jones, and Diana immediately rushed to June's. They found an injured but alive Mozzie in the kitchen. Neal's anklet lay discarded on the floor.

"Mozzie, are you okay?" asked Peter.

"Just a lump to the back of my head," answered Mozzie, "They took Neal!"

"Do you know who 'they' are?" wondered Diana.

"I'm not sure," admitted Mozzie, "Neal called the one who grabbed him, Al Owal. They called Neal, Al Zala."

"That's Arabic," said Diana as she held up a large set of passports and ids, "Neal was getting to run?"

"He was," said Mozzie catching Peter's gaze, "He's always been running from someone. I suspect running them by how he acted. They knew him and said they were taking him to someone called the Demon's Head. Mean anything to you, Suit?"

It didn't mean anything to Peter. He looked to Diana who shook her head. Jones however went very still.

"Jones," called Peter, "Do you know something?"

"The Demon's Head," whispered Jones, "A man only whispered in the military. They spoke of a place in the desert. A place where people are trained, not just soldiers, but killers. Killers that make the Special Forces appear to be little more than Kindergarteners. I thought it was just a story. Something to scare new soldiers."

"Ra's al Ghul," breathed Mozzie.

"You recognize the name?" asked Diana.

"The most dangerous man on the planet. The leader of the League of Shadows," responded Mozzie, looking at Peter, "If this is who took Neal... I never thought I'd say this. But we need the Justice League."

Peter hesitated and looked towards his agents. Jones nodded, his expression determined. Diana agreed, a steely look on her face.

"I'll see who Hughes can contact," promised Peter, "Mozzie, see what you can do?"

"I will," Mozzie promised in return.

...

Bruce was working in the bat cave when Alfred appeared.

"Master Bruce," called Alfred, "it appears the FBI White Collar Division's Agent in Charge in New York wishes to speak with you. He says its urgent."

"Put him through, please," directed Bruce.

His phone began ringing. Bruce picked it up.

"Batman speaking," greeted Bruce.

"Batman," said an older man's voice, "My name is Reese Hughes, Agent in Charge for the FBI White Collar Department. A few hours ago a man disappeared. He is one of my CIs and a name mentioned has a JLA alert with it. The Demon's Head."

Ra's? What would the League of Shadows have to do in New York? Especially kidnapping a White Collar criminal. Unless it was a personal matter.

If Ra's was in New York, things were about to get dangerous. He would need to call Tim and the Titans East.

"Send me everything you have," ordered Bruce, "We will take it from here. Keep your agents out of it. If this is the League of Shadows, you'll be out matched."

"Understood," acknowledged the older, "Agent Hughes out."

The phone clicked.

Chapter Text

...

"Why is the FBI asking us to rescue a criminal informant?" asked Hal, looking between the JLA.

"It would appear his disappearance is linked to the League of Shadows," informed Bruce.

"The Demon's Head," muttered Barry, "Isn't that...?"

"Damian's grandfather yes," growled Bruce tiredly, "League of Shadows are one of the many monkiers that the police are made aware that they should contact us. For good reason."

"Why would Ra's send the League of Shadows into the US?" wondered Hal, frowning.

"Because he was making a move to capture someone," stated Bruce, "I have just been sent Neal Caffrey's file. I'll pull it up in a moment but the run down is that Neal Caffrey, did four years for bond forgery. In lieu of prison he works as a consultant. He is on his last few months of the sentence."

The file finished uploading then. Bruce brought up the image of Neal. Hal, Barry and Arthur froze, their eyes wide.

"Isn't that... Dick?" breathed Barry, his mouth falling open.

Bruce felt his heart stop. His son who had been missing for a decade. Was an international criminal. A con man and forger. And somehow Ra's found him first.

Regret filled Bruce. He never stopped looking for his oldest son. Not really. Damian would chase after every lead. Even the unlikely ones.

How long had Dick been a CI with the FBI? Why had the League of Shadows taken him?

"We need to save him," announced Bruce, his tone final.

"Agreed," chorused the others.

Hang on Dick.

...

Neal was dragged out of the car by Namir. They were still in the city but near the water. No doubt it was just so he could meet up with Ra's. Fear was eating at his stomach.

This wasn't the same fear he felt facing criminals. It was the terror that had his heart pounding and his lungs unable to pull air. This was the kind of fear that came with seeing a loved one's blood spilt.

They made their way into the warehouse closest to the car. Al Owal kept a hand on him to ensure he didn't try to escape. Neal swallowed thickly.

Ra's stood, arms crossed and looking the same as the day he had last seen the immortal. He wore a normal suit and didn't carry his usual sword.

Namir kicked the back of his knees forcing Neal to kneel. Both Al Owal and Namir kept their hands on him, ensuring he stayed down. He didn't argue instead he tilted his head forward slightly in acknowledgment.

Ra's approached without saying anything. He crouched before him, placing a finger beneath his chin and tilting his face up. His grey eyes narrowed and a low sound rumbled in his chest.

Neal looked away. What was Ra's looking for? He expected a beating for running for so long. Expected yelling and anger. There was just a sense of calm in that gaze. Being the person he was, Neal couldn't have that.

So like the stubborn person he was, he headbutted Ra's. Hard.

The room froze and Ra's jerked his head backwards, holding his nose. Blood poured from his nose. Neal smiled innocently, despite the bruising to his own forehead.

"Still just as wild as ever, Al Zala," mused Ra's, "I would have thought your time away would have calmed that fire."

Neal spat at his feet, snarling, "Don't call me that. I am not a part of the Shadows anymore."

"I warned you, Al Zala," continued Ra's ignoring the interruption, "Return to the League or be returned. You are being returned now."

Neal snarled and tried to stand. Hands tightened and pressed him harder against the concrete. At his continued fight, Namir forced him fully down and planted his knee into Neal's back. Namir gripped the back of his neck.

A half feral growl escaped him.

"Now, now," admonished Ra's, "there is no reason for all of that. Your life here is over, Neal. Let the FBI and the others go."

"Like hell," spat Neal, glaring at the floor, "I'm not one of your Shadows. I got away from you once. I'll get away again."

"Your loyalty is misplaced," argued Ra's, his expression darkening, "They don't care for you. They'll discard you once they know what and who you are."

Neal flinched. The words struck him to his core. His breath hitched and the anger melted into hurt.

"They'll understand," replied Neal, "Peter and the others, they won't give up on me."

Ra's sighed, his shoulders dropping, and his expression softening. He knelt again in front of Neal. His fingers were warm, a startling difference from the cold floor.

"Then why are they not here, hm?" Murmured Ra's.

Neal gritted his teeth and refused to respond. They probably thought he ran. He didn't blame them. That's exactly what he was planning. His lack of answer was answer enough for Ra's.

"They will abandon you," whispered Ra's, cupping his cheek, "you cannot hide your past forever. Tell me, little bird, do you think that agent would still accept you, knowing your crimes, if he learned your true identity. You have done more than just forgery and fraud. How long would you stay a free man?"

Neal didn't have an answer. What could he say? If Peter knew who he was or even half of the things he had done, he'd be in jail for life. Or worse.

"Al Owal, prepare the jet. We are leaving tonight," ordered Ra's.

"Yes, master," affirmed Al Owal.

"And take him," continued Ra's, motioning at him.

"No, don't you fucking dare," snarled Neal, baring his teeth, "I'll die before I return!"

Namir forced arm around his throat. It was tight enough that his airflow was cut off. He squirmed but the larger held him tighter. His vision spotted and darkness threatened.

"Stop struggling, Al Zala," murmured Namir.

"Grandfather!" Roared a new voice.

Al Owal was slammed into a nearby pillar, cracking the concrete.

Chapter Text

...

Damian looked to where Richard was being restrained by Al Namir. He knocked Al Owal out before drawing his sword. His grandfather watched him with amusement.

"Ah, Grandson, there you are," said Ra's, his lips twitching into a smile.

"Unhand him," demanded Damian, pointing his blade, "he is not going with you."

"He will come," refuted Ra's, "He always comes back."

Richard snarled and his blue eyes burned. He struggled against Namir's hold but it was obvious that he wouldn't get free. Not by brute force anyway.

"Damian," greeted Ra's putting himself between Damian and Richard, "You should return home as well. Your place is in Nanda Parbat."

"I won't let you take one of my brothers," growled Damian.

"Damian, don't!" Shouted Richard.

Damian was quick, stabbing his sword forward. But Ra's was faster. He side stepped the blade.

Ra's grabbed him, slamming his head into the ground. A sharp kick to the ribs had him coughing and wheezing. Before Damian could recover, his grandfather had him pinned, a knife at his throat. His grandfather wasn't playing right now. Nor was he holding back even the tiniest bit.

"Leave him alone, Ra's," Roared Richard.

"I will leave him be, if you promise to behave," purred Ra's, looking over his shoulder, "Come back with me, Al Zala. Return and all will be forgiven."

Richard gritted his teeth. His expression darkened, and his jaw tightened. He glared, his eyes burning with fury.

Then his gaze turned to Damian and the fire flickered. Damian saw the second his brother submitted. Richard was always willing to do anything for his family. Even go back to a hell.

Richard no... Damian tried to buck his grandfather off. It did nothing but have his grandfather tighten his hold.

"Fine, Ra's, I'll go," relented Richard, his shoulders dropping.

"Don't you dare, Richard," hissed Damian angrily.

Richard ignored him and requested of Ra's, "I'll go willingly. But I want a moment with Damian. Please."

For a moment Ra's said nothing considering both of them. Then he nodded and rose.

"Of course, Al Zala, just a moment. No tricks," agreed Ra's, his gaze narrowing, "Good behavior is rewarded, Al Zala."

Richard's gaze dropped as Damian rose sending his grandfather a dark look. He'd just found his brother. There was no way he could allow the League to take him.

But this was his grandfather. Ra's wouldn't hesitate to hurt him. Richard wasn't worth risking his own life.

"Richard," began Damian.

"Listen," interrupted Richard, his expression firm, "I want you to know that none of this is your fault, Damian. Ra's and the Shadows have always been my problem."

No. It wasn't! None of this was his fault. Damian was the one who couldn't track down Richard.

"If I have to return to the shadows, so you'll be safe," continued Richard, "It'll be fine. Despite our disagreements Ra's respects me."

Richard glanced back at Ra's. Damian's breath caught. Richard didn't want him to try and save him. That's not how this worked. He wanted to keep him safe.

"Don't do this," breathed Damian.

Richard's expression softened and he pulled Damian into a hug. No! This couldn't he the final time he sees his brother!

Damian was going to shove him away and argue. Yell at Richard not to be stupid. Richard wouldn't just submit and follow. Not after everything the Shadows had put him through.

Then Richard whispered into his ear barely audible, "Find Mozzie and Matthew Keller. Code: It's hard to say goodbye."

It wasn't a code Damian was familiar with but he couldn't ask. Richard released him then and moved away. His expression was carefully blank.

"Alright, let's get this over with," sighed Richard.

...

Dick shifted trying to ease the ache in his arms as they prepared for take off. His arms were handcuffed behind him. Across from him was Ra's sitting in the seats with files in hand. Namir and Al Owal were making preparation. Every now and then they'd glance at Dick to ensure he wasn't trying anything.

Not like he had much opportunity. The cuffs were the type that shocked him if he messed with them too much.

"How have you been, Richard," asked Ra's, his attention remaining on the papers.

Dick looked up and answered honestly, "It was rough to begin with. However, when I met my allies things became easier. They thought me a lot of what I know in forging."

"And yet, the FBI managed to capture you," hummed Ra's.

Dick shrugged. It wasn't all that different from how he was now. He was just tired. Tired of running and being chased. Tired of constantly lying to those around him. Sometimes it became too much.

Ra's looked up from his files, his lips twitching and eyes glimmering. He was pleased with himself.

"What did you say to Damian?" wondered Ra's, "Don't treat me like I'm an idiot, Richard. You said something to him."

"I told him it wasn't his fault and not to try anything stupid," lied Dick, "Nothing else. He was upset enough."

Buy the lie. Buy the lie. Buy the lie.

"You're a terrible liar, Richard," dryly commented Ra's, "Just remember, you now have a tracker in your neck."

Dick's blood ran cold and his breath hitched. Shit, how could he have forgotten? Of course the man had him implanted with a tracking device. The League's trackers were notoriously difficult to remove. Given where it was implanted it wouldn't be removable and damaging it the normal ways could risk permanent injury.

"Don't look so glum, Al Zala, I won't abuse it," assured Ra's, "So long as you follow the rules. Behave and all will be fine. Continue to misbehave and the consequences will become unpleasant."

"Is that supposed to comfort me?" snapped Dick, "I'm just turning one cage for another."

"We're not enemies, Richard," gently said Ra's, leaning back, "Despite your defiance, you have served me and the Shadows well. You are my most valuable ghost. If anything, consider yourself returning to the nest."

Dick dropped his gaze and shifted slightly. His stomach twisted and churned. It felt like something was trying to eat its way out. Namir approached them with a needle.

No! He would not allow them to sedate him. Behind him, his hands shook. There were few things he hated more than sedatives. He hated them since that day he was sedated on a case.

"Ra's," whispered Dick, "Please don't."

"Just rest, Richard," murmured Ra's.

The syringe was pushed into his neck. He winced and gritted his teeth. Warmth filled him and his vision began spotting.

No, no, no. Stay awake. Keep your wits.

His breathing slowed and his muscles relaxed. His eyes began slipping shut. He slumped against the wall, fighting to remain conscious.

"Rest, little ghost, it's not so bad here," reassured Ra's.

Sleep pulled him under.

Chapter Text

...

Damian made his way back to Richard's apartment. His brother had been so close to them. So very close. Why had they never thought to look at the FBI? Even as absurd as it sounded they should have check if only for due process.

Now the League had him. Damian wouldn't see his brother again. Not unless he also returned to Nanda Parbat. And if the Justice League couldn't track Richard down, the FBI wouldn't stand a chance. So why had Richard told him to look for Mozzie and Matthew Keller? What made them different?

He paused outside the door and knocked. It was opened and the man on the other side frowned. He was a bald older man that looked him up and down with a frown.

"Get out of here kid," ordered the man making Damian's hackles raise, "Whatever you're selling we aren't buying."

"My name is Damian Wayne," growled Damian, "I am here for answers about my brother."

"A Wayne brat?!" Squawked the balding man.

"Mozzie," barked a male voice from further inside, "Get back in here. The FBI are doing their work but we have more connections."

So this was Mozzie. He didn't look like much. A little runt who could probably be tossed about like a doll.

"Matthew, we have a bigger problem," shouted Mozzie, stepping back, "We have a Wayne brat standing outside the door."

"What?" snapped Matthew Keller, appearing behind him.

Damian glared and repeated, "My name is Damian Wayne. My brother said I was to find you two. Matthew Keller and a man named Mozzie."

Matthew Keller was taller than Mozzie by a significant amount. His hazel eyes held an intelligence and intensity that told Damian not to underestimate him. He was the kind of person that could have the world believing whatever he said.

"Who are you, exactly, kid?" asked Matthew, his gaze narrowing, "And who's your brother?"

"My name is Damian, not 'kid'," replied Damian, crossing his arms, "And my brother's name is Richard Grayson."

There wasn't even a flicker of recognition. Great. Of course Richard didn't tell them about his real name. Or him.

"Okay, and?" Asked Keller.

"You may know him under a different name," explained Damian, "Neal Caffrey. He told me to tell you. Code: It's hard to say goodbye."

Both men froze. Mozzie was the first to recover. He motioned Damian in and shut the door behind him.

"Do the FBI know about this, kid?" asked Matthew.

"They know that their informant has been kidnapped and alerted JLA," admitted Damian, "But that's it. No doubt, Agent Hughes and the others will attempt to locate him. But they have no clue where the League of Shadows could have taken him."

"League of Shaodws," choked Mozzie, "Like the assassins?"

"The League is led by an immortal man called Ra's al Ghul," said Damian, nodding.

"Immortal?" Scoffed Matthew, crossing his arms, "I don't believe it."

Damian shrugged not willing to get in an argument about his grandfather. Besides, his grandfather could be killed. It was just rather difficult to keep him dead.

"Why come to us?" Inquired Mozzie.

"My brother gave me a code to give you. Then he said to find you two," stated Damian, "I have done so. Now, answer me. Will you help rescue him or not."

"Yes," declared Matthew and Mozzie together.

"Then, there's no time to waste," declared Damian, "The longer they have him the worse the damage will be."

Hang on Richard. We will find you.

...

Peter entered his office and stopped. Sitting at his desk, waiting was Bruce Wayne. How had the man gotten passed his team?

"Mr. Wayne, to what do I owe the pleasure," asked Peter.

"Your informant is my son, Detective," said Wayne, rising, "My eldest son."

What? Neal was Bruce Wayne's son? How had no one noticed?

"You're not joking," said Peter slowly.

Neal would have told him. But already Peter's mind putting together Neal's behavior. He refused to talk about his life before the age of 18. There was a haunted look about Neal's gaze.

"No, I'm not," replied Wayne.

Wayne had a similar seriousness he had seen in Neal's face. Or heard about like when Peter had been kidnapped.

"Did Neal ever talk about his time before his 18th birthday?" questioned Wayne.

"Only once," confirmed Peter, frowning, "Said that was the year his family died."

Wayne looked pained as he said, "His birth family died when he was eight. I took him in a few weeks later."

"Neal didn't speak of you or the other Waynes," remarked Peter, feeling the urge to defend his partner.

"I'm not surprised," admitted Wayne, "He ran away when he was 17."

Jesus, Neal. What could cause him to run away so young?

"I plan on getting him back, Mr. Wayne," declared Peter, "He is my friend. Not just a CI."

"Call me Bruce," requested Wayne.

"I will do everything in my power to ensure his safe return, Bruce," promised Peter.

"As will I, Agent Burke," vowed Bruce, shaking his hand.

Chapter Text

...

Nausea rolled through Dick as he slowly came around. His mouth was dryer than the desert and his head was full of cotton. Definitely drugged.

When he tried to move his arms they were still handcuffed behind him. A few seconds later the memories returned. Right. He must be back in Nanda Parbat.

Trying to open his eyes he found that he was blindfolded. Probably a good thing given the pounding in his head. The nausea worsened and the taste of bile burned the back of his throat.

He rolled over onto his stomach just in time to vomit. A hand helped him to sitting up and waited for him to finish vomiting. To his surprise the blindfold was kept on.

"Welcome back, little Ghost," greeted a female voice, "you have been gone a while. The Master will wish to speak with you soon."

Dick didn't recognize the voice. That didn't matter. She was part of the Shadows and thus she couldn't be trusted. Dick laid back trying to force the nausea away.

"Has Al Zala awoken?" Asked Ra's.

Dick went very still and listened. The voice was to his left. That meant he must be in a corner.

"He has my lord," answered the woman, "He vomited almost as soon as he woke up. I suspect it's a reaction to the sedatives you gave him. As per your orders he's still restrained and he's been blindfolded."

"Thank you, Yui, you are dismissed," commanded Ra's.

Footsteps told Dick the woman, Yui, had left. There was a shift in the air that had his senses prickling. Ra's must be approaching him as silent as ever.

"Are you comfortable, Richard?" Murmured Ra's.

Comfortable?! Dick wanted nothing more than to claw his own skin off. Every nerve in his body screamed that something was wrong. Like they had been set ablaze and doused.

"No," snapped Dick, "How the fuck would I be comfortable, you arrogant a..."

A hand pressed down on his chest stopping him from insulting the asshole. He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from talking.

"Now, now, Al Zala, calm down," chided Ra's, his tone gentle, "I would hate to punish you before your body is recovered from the drug. Your temper is quite foul."

Oh Ra's had no idea. This was fairly tame all things considering. Slade could attest to for how bad his temper could really be.

Dick considered dislocating his thumbs to get free. But his arms were shaking. Whatever they had dosed him with had made him weak. He doubted he'd make it far.

"Calm," soothed Ra's.

Dick growled low in his throat. Ra's wasn't helping. The touch was only irritating him.

"Let me go, you fucking bastard," hissed Dick, his heart pounding.

"No," replied Ra's, not moving, "Not until you settle, Richard."

The hell? Ra's wanted him to 'settle'. What was he? A child?

"I'm fine, Ra's," argued Dick, shifting slightly trying to knock the hand off.

It didn't work. If anything it felt like the weight became heavier. His lungs squeezed painfully. He struggled, kicking his feet out. All he wanted was to get free. Anything other than lay in this fucking bed. Even if it was training.

Ra's didn't fight him, simply letting him kick. Until his legs started to feel like jelly and the rest of him became exhausted. His muscles were shaking, and his breathing was ragged.

"Are you done?" Questioned Ra's sardonically.

"Fuck you," snapped Dick.

Ra's didn't reply. Instead a new scent hit him. Something was being held to his nose. He jerked his head back. It was one of the sedatives that had to be inhaled.

"Behave, Al Zala," instructed Ra's.

"What are you going to do, beat me into submission?" scoffed Dick keeping his head away.

"No," hummed Ra's, "I know that won't work. Beatings as punishment doesn't work on you. You require a different kind of training."

But he was already feeling the effects. Every muscle in his body relaxed against his will.

"What, you're just gonna brainwash me," joked Dick, his mouth dry, "like those stories of cults?"

Ra's laughed softly and said, "Sleep Richard."

The world went dark.

...

The next time he woke up he was leaning against a wall. At least there wasn't the heaviness or the cotton feeling in his head this time. Though he was still blindfolded and handcuffed.

Fuck Ra's. Fuck him straight to hell.

Dick leaned forward and forced himself to standing. It took a minute, and the whole room was spinning, but he did it. The handcuffs dug into his wrists. He leanes against the wall stone digging into his shoulder.

He stumbled, barely catching himself before he fell. A hand touched his shoulder and Dick flinched away. He hadn't heard anyone approach him. Who?

"Careful, Al Zala," murmured Ra's, his tone teasing.

"Don't fucking call me that," hissed Dick and tried to move away.

"Calm," ordered Ra's calmly.

Dick couldn't obey. Fear, anger, and confusion were swirling together. Why couldn't Ra's have left him alone? Why did the bastard have to ruin the peace and safety he had found?

"Get away," snarled Dick.

"That would be a bad idea," cautioned Ra's.

Dick ignored him, stumbling further into the darkness. Ra's let him go. He tried to get a feel for the room. Being blindfolded and handcuffed was inconvenient.

After several minutes he realized the room wasn't all that big. Probably a 10x10. Maybe a prison cell. There was a bed and that was it. The room was almost completely empty.

He slid down the wall, pulling his knees to his chest. The only sound he could hear was his own heartbeat and breathing. He stayed like that for several long moments.

"Why?" He asked to the open air.

"Why what Richard?" Asked Ra's sounding closer than Dick was comfortable with.

"Why me, why did you pick me?" Demanded Dick.

"Because," began Ra's, his footsteps drawing near, "I saw a spark, a fire, within you. I knew it would be wasted under the Batman. And I was correct."

Dick dropped his head onto his knees and didn't argue. There was little use in arguing with Ra's and he was still tired.

Chapter Text

...

The aroma of soup filled the room suddenly and Dick's stomach growled in response. He didn't know how it had been since he ate and he was starving. As much as he hated to admit it he was ready to ask for food. Any food at this point.

"Hungry?" asked Ra's, amusement in his voice.

"Yes sir," he reluctantly admitted through gritted teeth.

Ra's hummed and he approached deliberately making noise. He heard the bowl being placed on the ground next to him. Then a hand touched his shoulder pressing down to keep him from moving away.

"I will uncuff you," said Ra's in a low voice, "But you will leave the blindfold on and allow me to put the handcuffs back on when you finish. Otherwise next time I'll have Al Owal feed you. Understand?"

Dick hesitated. Ra's didn't like his hesitation and shook him firmly.

"Yes sir," reluctantly answered Dick his chin dipping down.

"Good boy," praised Ra's.

There was a soft click and his wrists were freed. Dick resisted the urge to pull the blindfold off. The scent of chicken noodle soup filled his nose and he picked up the spoon. The broth was still warm, but not too hot.

It was basic soup but after not eating in who knew how long it was delicious. The warmth soothed the ache in his stomach and he eagerly ate. It didn't take him long to eat and Ra's was quick to redo the handcuffs.

"Well done, little bird," purred Ra's, ruffling his hair.

Dick shifted away, leaning his head against the wall. He didn't respond instead waiting for whatever Ra's was planning.

"How are you feeling, Richard?" questioned Ra's.

He yawned and answered, "Tired. You drugged it didn't you?"

"Of course I did," said Ra's smugness in his voice, "I have things to do and I need you to behave. So go back to sleep, Al Zala."

"Fuck of..." Dick couldn't even finish the sentence as sleep pulled him under.

...

Slowly Dick cane back around. Fingers were carding through his hair. Jerking away from the touch he growled.

"Calm," ordered Ra's, "You are still in Nanda Parbat."

Dick's mind raced, the memories flooding back. Shit. He'd fallen asleep again. He wasn't sure how many times he had woken and slept.

"Do not move," ordered Ra's.

Dick stiffened. Was he going to be drugged again?

"Stay," repeated Ra's.

Dick waited as Ra's undid the handcuffs. Slowly he brought his arms back around and rubbed at them. The blood flow began to return, and he felt the pins and needles. He tried to reach for the blindfold only for his hands to be slapped away.

"What's your name?" Asked Ra's.

"You fucking know my name," snapped Dick, baring his teeth, "I'm not going to play your fucking games!"

Ra's huffed. He felt the sharp prick and gasped as the needle pierced the back of his neck. Mother fucker more drugs.

"Don't be dramatic," drawled Ra's, pulling the syringe out.

Dick couldn't speak. His breath came in shallow pants. A warm, fuzzy feeling filled him. This time he didn't fall back into sleep just relaxed into the feeling.

"Name?" Asked Ra's.

"Go fuck yourself," hissed Dick.

"What's your name?" Asked Ra's ignoring his anger.

"Fuck off!" He shouted.

It went on like this. Ra's never struck him. Never punished him. He simply kept asking the same question over and over and over. Dick was tired from the drug but he couldn't sleep.

"Dick Grayson," ground out Dick finally.

"Very good," praised Ra's.

Ra's gave him a pat on his shoulder. Then his hands were rehandcuffed. Damn it. After that he was left alone.

...

He had no concept of time. He was left to stew in his anger and nausea from the drugs. Only that it like forever when Ra's returned. He could smell the scent of soup. Dick's stomach twisted, and he fought back a wave of nausea.

"Are you hungry, Richard?" Inquired Ra's.

Dick didn't trust his own voice. If he spoke it would give his emotions away. Emotions were dangerous in the face of the League of Shadows.

After a few moments without an answer Ra's gave a hum. His footsteps retreated and Dick was left in silence. He was beginning to hate the sound of silence.

Ra's didn't say anything as he undid the handcuffs and put the bowl of soup in his hands. He slowly began to eat trying to determine where Ra's was. But the man was too damn good.

"Why don't we try that question again," suggested Ra's, "Your name is..."

"Dick Grayson," muttered Dick barely audible.

He set aside the bowl now that it was empty. His fingers curled, nails digging into his palms. He'd rather face Slade and the Joker then sit through this. At least he understood Slade.

For a time he had thought he understood Ra's. But this, this was different from the tactics he tried before. What was his end game here?

"Very good," praised Ra's, ruffling his hair.

"When am I allowed to remove the blindfold?" Questioned Dick, shifting.

"In due time," hummed Ra's, "but you have not yet earned the right."

Great. How long was the immortal expecting to keep him locked up.

"You are not a prisoner, Richard," soothed Ra's, "Just stay calm. When you are ready you will be allowed to leave."

Yeah, yeah, keep the rabid animal contained until it's docile enough to let out.

"I will come back in the morning," informed Ra's.

He didn't say anymore and Dick could hear the man departing. It wasn't like he could see. He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. The stone was hard against his side and it dug painfully.

Fuck this situation.

Chapter Text

...

Maybe Peter shouldn't be surprised to learn Mozzie had gone to ground. He'd sent Jones and Diana to June's place to see if he knew anything. They returned with the news that the little guy had gone to ground.

"He's gone," said June when he called Neal's landlady, "He and Neal's other friend were talking with the young Wayne boy."

Come again? Don't tell him Alex was in the city too?! That was the last thing they needed. She brought more trouble than anyone else did in Neal's life. Neal... Richard? A part of him was still refusing to accept it. Until he heard it from Neal's himself he'd refuse to call the other Richard.

Peter dialed one of Mozzie's burner phones hoping he'd answer. To his surprise the other answered almost immediately. Though, knowing the little guy, it was probably a new phone. There was a moment of static as the call connected.

"Mozzie," greeted Peter.

"Suit," replied Mozzie warily, "What can I do for you?"

"Where are you? I have possible information on Neal," he explained, "But I want to meet in person to discuss it."

Mozzie didn't respond right away. Instead there was the quiet sound of rustling and soft murmuring. Who was he talking to?

"We can't meet at the Bureau," agreed Mozzie, "Too many eyes. Tomorrow, Central Park, 2 PM. We will talk then. And Suit, come alone."

"Okay, tomorrow at 2," said Peter, agreeing.

The call cut off then. Well, now all he had to do was wait. At least he knew that Mozzie was still in the city. It was a good sign. It meant the man hadn't completely disappeared. Hopefully Mozzie would still work with him.

...

Peter waited by the same park bench he had first met Mozzie at. It was a nice day, the sky clear of any clouds. It was ten minutes past 2 and he was beginning to wonder if Mozzie will actually show up. Just then someone sat on the bench. Not the short, balding figure of Mozzie. No, the tall, lean form of Matthew Keller. The thief smirked, a cruel look in his hazel eyes. He was dressed in a grey button down and black dress pants. Like a business suit, though the lack of a jacket made it slightly casual.

"Burke," greeted Keller, his lips twitching into a small smile.

"Keller," returned Peter his tone neutral, his expression blank, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put cuffs on you and haul you to jail."

"Easy, Burke," chided Keller, his smile morphing to a smirk, "I'm not here to cause any problems. Believe it or not, but I'm on your side in this matter. We both want, Neal back."

"Where is Mozzie?" asked Peter, frowning, "And how did you know about him being kidnapped?"

"Mozzie is on his way," answered Keller, "He went to speak to someone who has information on where Neal is."

So that was why Mozzie was late. Still, it didn't explain why Mozzie had invited Keller of all people.

"Why are you interested in this, Keller?" asked Peter, "Last time, I checked you and Neal were enemies."

"Neal and I have a complicated relationship," dismissed Keller, waving his hand, "Its none of your business either way. Now, are you willing to cooperate or not? Because, Suit, you'll never find him on your own. The Justice League can. We have a chance and we know that you called them in on this."

Peter hesitated. He didn't have a choice. All the resources of the FBI were not enough to take on the League of Shadows. If he wanted Neal back, he was going to have to work with the others. Even the ones who were criminals themselves.

"Fine," relented Peter, "but I expect to be updated on everything."

"Deal, Suit," chirped Keller, his gaze glimmering in victory.

Peter had the feeling that he just made a deal with the devil. But, at this point, what could he do. If the devils were the only ones that could help, then the devils it was. He would save his friend.

...

Dick searched the room the best he could restrained and blindfolded as he was. His fingers followed the wall, trying to map out the layout. The door was to his left. Directly across from him was the cot. There was nothing else in the room. It was bare. Probably intentionally. Nothing that he could use to escape. He doubted there was even a window.

The sound of the door being unlocked had him putting himself in the furthest corner from it. With his arms cuffed behind him, he couldn't fight whoever it was. Best to avoid the other altogether. The scent of fresh bread and soup filled the room. It made his mouth water and his stomach growled. He wasn't going to be drugged again if he could help it.

Footsteps drew near, not bothering to disguise the sounds. It was Ra's. He could smell the man's distinctive scent. Unlike the other assassins he didn't hide his presence from his Ghosts when retraining them.

"You need to eat, Al Zala," chided Ra's softly, "Even the strongest of men must eat or suffer the consequences. Your hunger will make your training more difficult."

"Fuck off," hissed Dick his anger rising once again, "Why can't you leave me be?! I never wanted this!"

"And yet, that's what you were born to be, little ghost," stated Ra's, reaching to touch him.

Dick lashed out the best he could restrained as he was. Of course, his effort was wasted. His attempt was easily avoided. He was easily pinned with a knee in his back. A needle was pushed into his neck and a plunger was pressed down. Liquid heat and numbness spread through his veins. Then the weight was removed and he was rolled onto his side.

"You will learn to obey me, Al Zala," promised Ra's, his voice low and dark, "You have nothing to return to. And no one to rescue you."

"They will come for me," he argued weakly.

"No, they will not," corrected Ra's, "And if they try they will die."

The threat had a chill rolling down his spine. He didn't doubt the truth of the words. Ra's wouldn't kill his grandson but everyone else was fair game. He growled wordlessly but it was weaker than his words.

"Sleep Richard," murmured Ra's.

It was a battle not to. Sleep would mean another few hours lost. He was already struggling to figure out the passing of time. How much had passed since his capture. A week? Two? The drugs though pulled him under.

Chapter Text

...

Damian entered his father's office at Wayne Enterprises. Father was standing, his hands clasped behind him, staring at the Gotham cityscape. Damian didn't hesitate and approached him. He placed a folder on the desk and cleared his throat. When that didn't draw the attention of his father, he tried a different tactic.

"Father, I have news," declared Damian.

His father turned his gaze was sharp and focused. He looked stressed and tired. He'd look that way since Richard had first runaway. It only got worse since Richard gave him to Ra's in order to protect Damian.

"Richard is in the care of the League," continued Damian, "Grandfather took him. Mother has confirmed that he is in the Ghost's Wing of Nanda Parbat."

"Ghosts," murmured Bruce in thought.

"Yes, ghosts," said Damian, nodding, "Ghosts are a unique group. Those who walk your line. Vigilante's that are neither hero nor villain. Only Grandfather, Al Owal, or another Ghost can enter the quarters without grandfather's permission. Green Arrow is still considered a Ghost..."

"Despite his status on the Justice League," finished Bruce, nodding, "Are you suggesting Oliver goes to get him?"

Damian gave a shrug. Queen hadn't been to Nanda Parbat in years. But his grandfather wasn't known to refuse his Ghost if they had reasonable requests. He favored Queen almost as much as he did Richard.

"He might be able to get in," admitted Damian, "However, the issue is convincing him. Queen has not visited the Shadows in a while. So, he won't go to simply speak to grandfather and ask about Richard."

"I'll talk to him," promised Bruce.

...

"You don't know what you're asking of me Bruce," declared Oliver.

"It's the best option," replied Bruce, crossing his arms, "We can't just storm in there. You are the only person besides Damian that can gain access. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't for Dick."

"I haven't been to the League in 5 years," reminded Oliver, "Ra's will immediately know why I'm there. He won't let me anywhere near Dick."

"Oliver," tried Bruce, his tone softening, "I wouldn't ask unless I had no other options. Please, my son is in danger."

Oliver wanted to refuse. Wanted to tell Bruce to go fuck himself. He'd been able to avoid returning to Nanda Parbat for years. Now, Bruce was expecting him to return and act like everything was fine. Like his heart wasn't pounding and his chest wasn't tight. Like he didn't have a thousand memories running through his head. Memories that he had buried long ago, hoping to forget them.

"I can't," he bit out.

"If I go I won't get anywhere near the area they're keeping him," pointed out Bruce, his expression pinched.

"Send Damian," offered Oliver, "He's a member of the League. They'd allow him entrance. And he's the Demon's grandson. That gives him a certain amount of leverage that no one else does."

"Dick wouldn't leave if it put Damian at risk," denied Bruce, shaking his head, "That's how he was caught here in New York."

"You know," came an unfamiliar voice, "If you can get us schematics, we could do it."

Two men had entered the warehouse they were using to meet. They didn't look like they were FBI. Or any kind of law enforcement. If anything, they were probably criminals. One had hazel eyes and was wearing a grey button down and dress pants. The other was a short, balding man with wire frame glasses. Both were looking at him critically. It was a good thing both heroes were in their vigilante gear. Their faces were too recognizable otherwise.

"Who are they?" Questioned Oliver suspiciously.

"Matthew Keller, criminal," introduced Bruce, "Mozzie, conspiracy theorist. Both of them are friends of Neal... Dick."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. These two had a connection to Dick. They knew him after he left Gotham. Could they be trusted?

"He and I aren't friends," argued the one called Mozzie, "I only tolerate him because Neal likes him."

"We can get him," insisted Keller, his expression hardening, "We know people who are willing to to go against the League for Neal. We can get him back, Batman. What we need is a distraction. Preferably a big one."

Distraction. That was something they could do. After all, what was the point of the Justice League if they couldn't pull a simple distraction. Especially to save someone from the League of Shadows.

He and Bruce exchanged a look. Between the two of them they could create a plan. Not to mention the rest of the league would help as well. All the resources of the Justice League could distract the Shadow's. It would be risky. But so was letting them have Dick.

"Alright," said Oliver, his lips twitching, "We can provide a distraction. Will that work?"

"Yeah," agreed the small guy, a smile appearing, "Just keep the assassins busy, and we'll take care of the rest."

Bruce nodded. Oliver would need to find the map he'd made of Nanda Parbat years ago.

"What about the FBI?" Asked Oliver.

"Let's worry about that later," said Bruce.

...

With as much faith as Mozzie had in anything he wanted extra insurance. Capes would always choose capes. The JLA would never risk their members for anyone. If it came to one of their members and Neal's life. They would choose their member. Mozzie wanted to get someone who would do anything for money.

There was one in particular that Mozzie knew who could go toe to toe with the Demon. Deathstroke. He didn't want to contact the mercenary. Slade had his own agenda. However, Mozzie knew that the mercenary was the best chance.

Chapter Text

...

When the door opened again Dick was ready. He'd dislocated his thumbs and gotten free of the shackles. As soon as the person stepped into the room he lunged. His shoulder connected with the person's gut and knocked the breath out of the other. They went down and he recognized the healer robes.

He left her there and sprinted down the corridors. Without the blindfold on he was able to see. He wasn't sure in which part of Nanda Parbat he was in. Though, given the lack of guards, it was in the quieter parts of the temple.

Dick attempted to find a way to familiar areas. Yet, the deeper he ran the more confused the layout became. It was like an entirely different building. Had Ra's created a new wing? He wouldn't out it past Ra's but it did make it harder for him to find a way out.

Left. Right. Left. Straight. Another right. Every hallway started to look the same. No doors, no windows. Just stone walls and floors. Where the fuck was the exit? Was there an exit? There had to be. How had the woman gotten in and out? There was an exit somewhere. But where?

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why was this place a maze?

Finally, a door appeared at the end of the hall. It was the first one that Dick had seen since his escape. He bolted towards the wooden obstacle. The handle twisted in his grasp and the door swung open. Right into a warm study.

The scent of old paper and ink filled his nose. Books lined the walls, and the center was a large mahogany desk. Sitting at the desk, writing, was Ra's. His shoulders dropped and he approached slowly.

"So, you managed to break from your room," mused Ra's, his pen not stopping, "Very clever, Al Zala. Sit."

Ra's waved to a chair that was placed in front of the desk. Well, it was that or run around the halls aimlessly. He glanced at the door before he did as Ra's ordered. He rubbed around the joints to ease the pain of dislocating his thumbs.

"Have you calmed now, Richard?" hummed Ra's, finally putting his pen down.

Dick looked away without answering. He did feel calmer now. Running helped to work off some of the adrenaline and anger that had built up. Now that the high was fading his energy was dropping. The feeling of exhaustion and hunger were creeping back in.

"I will take that as a 'yes'," sighed Ra's, "Look at me."

It was a command, and his body reacted. Before his mind had even registered the words his eyes were snapping to the immortal. Ra's' gaze was intense, sharp, and cold. His expression was blank and calculating.

"Good," praised Ra's, his lips twitching as he approached Dick.

Dick didn't move or say anything. He just waited. Waited for a strike or a threat. Anything, really. It was the quiet that got to him. The silence was deafening. Ra's was difficult to read in the best of situations but when he was quiet. That was near impossible.

"When are you going to restrain me again?" He asked after a few minutes.

"Do I need to?" Asked Ra's in return and placed a hand on his shoulder, "You won't escape this wing."

No, probably not. But Dick refused to make it easy for Ra's. If the man expected him to come quietly, then the immortal was insane. Though, to be fair, being over six hundred years old probably had a negative effect on the psyche.

"You can go fuck yourself," growled Dick, "I will get away."

"Language," chided Ra's, squeezing his shoulder, "As for that. We'll see, won't we, Al Zala?"

Ra's was enjoying his defiance. The weirdo. Who in their right mind enjoyed someone fighting them at every turn? Even Slade wasn't this weird.

A knock on the door had him jumping. A servant entered a tray in their hands. On the tray was a plate of food. Bread, meat, and soup.

"Your meal," stated Ra's, nodding to the tray that was set on the table, "Eat, Richard. You are far too thin as it is. Once you're done, I will return you to your room."

After he finished eating, and Ra's had returned him to his cell. Dick curled onto his side and stared at the ceiling. He needed to find a way out.

...

His second attempt to escape was during his next meal. He knocked down the guard and went left instead of right. This time he ended up at a different section of the palace. One that had windows. Windows were a positive sign.

"Al Zala?" Questioned a voice from behind him.

A shiver ran down his spine. Al Sayaf... oh he was in trouble. The Sword of the League. He was the only person older than Ra's. It was a title given to one who was sworn to protect the interests of the League.

Dick turned to look at Al Sayaf. Looking at him, one wouldn't guess that he was more than 700 years old. From what Dick understood he was chosen by the previous Ra's Al Ghul. He was just over six feet tall and was dressed in the typical black assassin's gear. A sword was strapped to his hip. He was a little broader than most assassins. He had black hair flecked with grey and blue grey eyes. He carried a necklace full of Lazarus Pit water.

In his training, he had worked with Al Sayaf several times. The man had taught him the sword and knife techniques. In his own, demented way, the other had cared. Which was the problem. Al Sayaf would not let him leave without a fight.

"Hey, Al Sayaf," He greeted tiredly, "You're going to take me back?"

"Yes," replied the other, nodding, "Return to the Master, Little Ghost. Come."

Dick took a step back. Al Sayaf sighed and stepped closer. Dick didn't hesitate to lash out. His fist was easily caught, and he was flipped. He rolled and regained his footing. Al Sayaf didn't give him a chance to strike first. Instead, the other attacked him. He dodged, his foot sweeping his legs. Al Sayaf didn't fall, simply adjusting his balance.

He yowled when his arm was yanked up into a hold. With a twist of his torso, he was flung to the ground. A knee landed in the middle of his back. It didn't hurt but it did pin him to the floor. He struggled and tried to buck the weight off. It didn't budge. Fuck!

"Calm down," ordered Al Sayaf, his grip tightening on his wrist.

Dick growled low in his throat. He tried to force the man off of him. But the man was stronger and heavier. Plus, his leverage was far better. Finally, the struggle started to wear him out. He sagged against the stone floor and panted. His muscles were starting to ache and his body felt weak.

Al Sayaf waited a little before helping him up. He kept a hand on his shoulder when he finally got his feet back under him. Dick didn't argue knowing it was pointless. All the fight had been drained from him and the man's hand was heavy. He was directed back the way he'd come.

Chapter Text

...

Dick leaned back against the wall. There was a window above him that had moonlight drifting through. Insomnia was keeping him up this time. Between his insomnia and nightmares, sleep was a rare treat. Except, of course, when the drugs were injected into his bloodstream. Then, the world fell away.

Dick looked up when the door to his prison opened. Ra's entered the room and considered Dick who was sitting on the floor. What did the immortal want now?

"It has been brought to my attention that you have not been sleeping, Al Zala," observed Ra's.

Dick shrugged and commented dryly, "My struggles with insomnia has never been a secret, Ra's."

Ra's stepped closer. The man's gaze was intense and Dick met it evenly. Ra's' expression softened. Almost fondness in his face. The man's fingers reached to run through his hair. Dick forced himself to remain still.

"You are so stubborn," mused Ra's, his tone almost soft, "So determined to resist. You were always the hardest to control of any of my Ghosts. I have to wonder why that is. Is it because of your childhood? Or perhaps your mentorship?"

"Maybe I just don't like being controlled," remarked Dick snarkily, "Ask Slade. He knows it just as well as you do."

"True," hummed Ra's in thought, "Though Deathstroke's methods differ from mine. I prefer a gentler touch to training. He has no such reservations."

Gentle his ass. Ra's was about as gentle as Bruce was. Perfection was the only acceptable form. Anything less was weakness.

"Go away," mumbled Dick, closing his eyes, "I don't have the energy to argue with you. Let me suffer in peace."

"Come," directed Ra's and held out a helping hand, "You may join me in the study. It is not ideal but it will be preferable to laying here in the dark."

What was the catch? There was no way Ra's was offering him this. Right?

"Fine," agreed Dick after a minute of internal debate, taking the offered hand, "Thanks."

Ra's pulled him to his feet and kept a hand on his shoulder. He guided him to the same study from his attempted escape. It was a lot warmer than his cell. The fire had a warm, orange glow. Dick went to the couch and dropped onto it. While Ra's went to his desk.

...

Ra's looked up when he heard Al Zala's breathing earned out an hour later. The younger male had fallen asleep. His head was tilted to the side and his chest was steadily rising. Finally...

Until an explosion rocked part of the castle. So the heroes were finally making their move. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this but they were predictable. Richard sat up his eyes wide but alert his training kicking in. Despite the fighting against his training, all Ghosts had it ingrained to protect Ra's into them. Richard was no different. He was on his feet in a moment his blue eyes on the door. Probably waiting for a threat to enter the room. The explosions continued to shake the building.

"Richard, sit," commanded Ra's.

There was the spark of defiance but his body gave the barest twitch. Like he was fighting the instinct to obey. Ra's shook his head and placed a hand on the younger's shoulder to keep him from moving forward. Muscles jumped beneath his hand, and the young man tensed. He did not attack Ra's however. Instead, his gaze was locked on the door. Waiting. Watching.

"Al Zala," said Ra's firmly, "Sit."

"I..." Began the younger male, shaking his head and then pressing a hand to his temple.

"Is your head hurting?" Asked Ra's in concern.

It happened sometimes with the Ghosts. They would have moments of disorientation and confusion. When the mental conditioning conflicted with their sense of self. Given how long it'd been since Richard trained as a Ghost, he was a little surprised it was happening. The effects should have worn off by now.

"Richard, sit," he reiterated and this time he was obeyed.

Good, the young man wasn't completely lost to him yet. He just needed time and none of the distractions this was causing. Though, that was easier said than done. Especially with the heroes attempting to retrieve the former vigilante. No doubt his grandson was leading the charge. Though it was unlikely Damian would make it to the Ghost Wing. Unless Al Sahim was with them.

The door was flung open despite the sounds of battle being elsewhere. A distraction then. Very clever. Three figures entered, only one of them was familiar to Ra's. His grandson was wearing his Robin costume and was leading two figures that didn't belong to any hero that Ra's knew of. Civilians? In Nanda Parbat? How... interesting. Richard had gotten to his feet again but his expression was conflicted.

"Grandfather," greeted Damian, his tone cold, "I've come to take, Richard home."

"Damian," returned Ra's, meeting his gaze, "You can't take one of the Ghosts. You know this. Or have you forgotten?"

"Matt," said Richard in a strangled voice, "You can't be here."

"Neal, calm down," ordered the taller of the two unknown men, his hazel eyes focused on the former vigilante.

"Richard," interrupted Ra's.

Richard looked between them. There was a protectiveness in the younger man's eyes and he knew exactly what Ra's was capable of. Yet, the conflict was there as well. Richard's shoulders were tight and his fists were clenched at his side. The shorter of the two was watching him, his brown eyes hidden behind glasses. There was an intelligence behind those eyes. They were not fighters, these two, and yet they were here. Interesting...

"Leave," ordered Ra's to the two, "or die. Your choice."

"Stay away from Matt and Moz," snapped Richard, his body tense as he turned to face Ra's.

Even unarmed it seemed he was ready to fight Ra's in order to protect them. It seemed he needed to put them down then. If they were distracting Richard from his training. Before he could though another body came through the door this one familiar in its orange and black gear. Richard's face lost all color. Deathstroke. The mercenary was here. That was unexpected.

"Kid," greeted the mercenary, his gun was drawn, but it wasn't aimed at anyone in the room.

"Slade," breathed the younger man, his body tensing, "What are doing here?"

"Getting you," stated the other, his tone implying that the answer was obvious, "Go."

Richard stepped back closer to his allies. Deathstroke ordered, "Kid, now!"

That did it. Richard lunged towards the others and grabbed the two civilians. Shoving them both at his grandson, he shouted, "Run!"