dreamsanddisasters | Age Reversal AU (For Batfam)

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Age Reversal AU (For Batfam)

[ His father is dead, and he's still reeling from the shock. Alfred and Tim both know he's barely keeping it together, for all his standoffish composure. Years of preparing for this moment--

(steeling himself, to watch his father be laid to rest next to his grandparents)

--have done little to offset the grief. He wouldn't be seen at all if it weren't for his brother; if Tim hadn't coerced him out of his room in the hours following the funeral, hadn't confessed his worries for Cass (retreated, to the attic of all places), Jason (god, Jason, Damian's own cunning little húlí, he'd adored the man), and his father's newest stray, Richard. Dick. His father's Robin.

His Robin, now. As strange as the thought is. But the cowl is his, and so is Robin.

His Robin, who Alfred has informed him is currently making his roost up in the ballroom's chandeliers. Refusing to come down.

Damian, briefly, contemplates leaving him up there in favor of finishing reviewing this case file.

('He'll come down when he gets hungry,' he tells Alfred.

'He's in mourning, Master Damian,' Alfred points out, with all the dry chastisement his stiff upper lip can give.

'I'll get the broom.')

And here he is. He finds himself squinting in irritation up at the boy monkeying around on the fragile, expensive crystal. ]

Richard. [ Prim, clipped tones. Damian hardly raises his voice unless his fuse is blown; usually only when he's locked in a shouting match with Tim or with his father.

He doesn't know Richard that well. The boy is a relatively fresh arrival, and the past few months he's been here have seen Damian on longer missions; international and galactic trips alike. Before Bruce's death, they had maybe spent only a few hours in each other's company, and the boy was clearly not overly fond of him. ]

What are you doing?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Damian scowls at the slight. ]

Demon is a very terrifying moniker, brat.

[ Tim probably laughs at the thought of anyone considering Damian scary. Yes, as Batman he plays the role of terrorizer well, but everyone in the family knows him as the over-protective, cranky older brother who hates any flavor of ice cream that's not vanilla and will bitterly complain about finding even a single sprinkle on it.

(But even he has his moments of being truly frightful. Neither Tim nor Cass laugh at those.)

He grunts an affirmative at the question, one broad hand reaching out to click the buzzing off, casually dismissing the Commissioner. The buzzing starts up again a minute later, just as insistent, and he grumbles, turning the phone off altogether. ]

Nothing about you, though. This one's between me and him.

[ Blackhawk's had plenty of one-on-ones with Gordon. The man always yells about the same things, and Damian always yells back, and they give each other the cold shoulder for a few weeks. This is the first time it's happened with him as Batman, though. He sighs hard through his nose, slouching down in his chair, like a teenager ignoring how his name's been called to the principal's office.

Still, Robin's his partner. He deserves a little more of an explanation than that, and Damian's not exactly trying to be secretive about it or anything. Not like Bruce was. He'll find out eventually, and it's better that he learns it now. ]

Dent is -- no longer a threat. I made sure of it. [ Short, clipped, and neutral. ] Gordon's not happy with that choice.

['Demon' was super not scary.

It was true that Dick was afraid of Damian, for awhile, even knew that the man was probably scarier than the idea of. Batman on its own, but it was one thing to know that as a concept, and another to actually see it firsthand. And Damian was shockingly good at restraining himself, if the concept held up to fact.

But he doesn't like the way Damian dismisss the Comissioner-- Dick is well aware of how much the two men don't get along, but Gordon has only ever been nice to Dick, worried about his safety and all that. Robin has trid to mitigate and make peace between the two men before, but he's pretty sure they just don't want to rip each other's heads off in front of a kid.

He bites his lip, and lifts his leg up a bit just-- for the sake of having something to do, mostly to distract himself, and it helps to feel out most of the injuries and limits. He finds he can't bend his knees much without resistance, maybe just a few degrees more of an angle than when they're lying flat, and that's good to know.]

Did-- you didn't kill him, did you? [Batman wasn't supposed to kill.]

I didn't. [ He shakes his head, frowning, stare turned down to his hands; but there's a flash of something in his eyes, there and gone in a blink, hidden by thick lashes.

Dangerous, silent, waiting, like a viper coiled in the dark. He wanted to.

Dismissed, however, just as he dismissed Gordon's call, pushed out of the way, and when his stare flicks back up to Dick, it's with a wry squint, as if he knows exactly what Dick's thinking. ]

Batman doesn't kill.

[ And he won't. But Blackhawk -- and Damian -- are a different story altogether. Always have been. ]

No, he's currently in a coma. If he does regain consciousness, it may be with some impaired brain functionality. Complete recovery is unlikely.

[ He won't be taking a baseball bat to his little brother ever, ever again. ]

[That flash is what scares him the most-- Damian's eyes are full of things he doesn't understand, and probably never will, but the danger, it's. It's calmer, it's something more focused, but for a moment(and maybe it's just the medication which he hopes is the case), it reminds him of Two Face.

But Batman doesn't kill. Batman doesn't kill, and he could never be afraid of his stupid big brother. Never.

Even when Harvey Dent-- terrified him (when he thought about those eyes towering over him) the thought of the man's fate made his insides feel hollow, and heavy at the same time. Dick was certain that if he wasn't able to move, he'd rather be dead.

(But even still, the obvious grim anxiety that twisted his frown didn't belay the way his shoulders sagged in relief, because even if he was scared, Dent wouldn't be able to hurt him again. Even if Bruce had convinced him to give up on the idea of vengeance, the thought that Tony Zucco couldn't hurt him or anyone else anymore had made him feel the same.)

His head felt woozy. There was too much to think about and none of it made sense to him. How could he feel glad someone was gone, but still feed bad for them?]

You don't... You shouldn't, do that. If something bad happens again. [Worded like a chastisement, but it sounded more like a plea, and even if he's not looking down anymore, he's still looking anywhere but at Damian.] I'm strong enough to deal with it. You shouldn't go that far just 'cause someone gets hurt. Please.

[And then, a mumbled:] ...Gordon will just get even more angry, and he already thinks you're a huge jerk. You probably shouldn't ignore him.

[ Dick is good, and innocent, and probably more than Damian deserves. Really, he deserves none of them; he's not sure how he ended up with all this, not sure how he went from being a child who didn't understand anything beyond killing and loyalty to a young man surrounded by so many good people.

They sure as hell deserve better than him, but he's trying. Trying hard.

Some things, though, he won't stand for. Even if they're unhappy with him for it, or disappointed in him. Even if they shun him.

(Bruce, whether he admitted it or not, was the same way. The difference is that Damian, at least, is honest with them about it.) ]

...I'll keep it in mind. [ As far as his allowances go, the eldest grumbling the entire way - but it's the closest he'll come to agreeing to any sort of compromise. ] But no promises. He almost killed you, Richard. It took me two minutes to get out of those binds, and I had to listen to him do it.

[ He'd never known what it was like to be on the other side of the situation until now. It was the same rage that had driven his father to dunk Ducard in the acid, after listening to him as he broke Damian. Except Bruce had reigned himself in at the last moment --

--And Damian had finished it. Both with Ducard, and with Two Face.

(God, Dick deserves so much more.) ]

And this is how Gordon and I communicate. [ Damian laughs, rough and barking, stretching out like a panther and letting one foot swing free. ] Our monthly tango, since I was-- [ He hums, recalling. ] --fourteen. That's twelve years of him wooing me with threats. I know how far to push with him. He's only ever had to throw me in Arkham once.

[ Just once. And technically that was for his assigned mission. Albeit a mission the Commissioner wasn't aware of at the time. ]

[It's not very much of a compromise, but Dick supposes that's the best he's going to get-- probably the best he could really ask for, given the circumstances. He doesn't even know what he'd have done if he had been Damian's position instead-- maybe if he had heard his parents being beaten instead of falling, he would've done the same?]

I'm sorry. [For almost getting himself killed, for making Damian worry so much. Another apology almost seemed redundant, but he-- he didn't want people to die over him.

He brings his hands up (even the one that was still too painful to move, but that one ends up hovering a bit uselessly in the air) and rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm. It was still hazy, but if it had taken two minutes for Damian to make Two Face stop, then Dick was pretty sure he had already started crying by the time Damian tuned in. He had to be stronger than to let himself keep crying like this.]

S-- So you haven't grown up at all. [Dick isn't even surprised.] You shouldn't give him so much grief. He's just trying to help...

[The words still come out a bit mumbled, and Dick drops his hands away from his eyes after a moment or so. He still seems like he might start sniffling, but rather than worry about that, he lifts himself away from the headboard-- leans over the bed and in Damian's direction as far as he can in an effort of exertion that's already leaving his voice grunting and his injuries stinging again. All done so he can try and grab onto the edge of Damian's sleeve again, and pull him closer with the nonexistent strength he has left.

He just wanted.... some kind of reassurance. Even if Damian's already told him everything will be OK, he has to be sure.]

He wouldn't know what to do if I started behaving. Gordon is much too old to be changing the game on him now, I can't put him through that kind of stress.

[ Damian may be speaking blithely, teasing Dick about his continued justifications for pushing the Commissioner's many buttons, but he's watching, closely. And when Dick reaches for him, tugging at his shirt sleeve despite the effort, Damian snorts, uncoiling from his seat.

Damian remembers what it's like to be that age, remembers the desire to save face. ]

-Tt,- this chair -- move over, brat, I'm taking your bed.

[ Which is why he's up and bullying Dick over, carefully lifting him again so he can be placed further to the side of the bed, just so that Damian's much larger bulk may join him. He makes a show of fussing until he's comfortable, long legs stretched out and back curving against the headboard, and his arm curls around Dick and tucks him close to his side as if the boy is a pillow; when really it's more like Damian is functioning as the hot water bottle against Dick's cooler skin.

He may not be saying the words, but Damian prefers to speak physically: a hand pushing Dick's bangs back, a squeezed hug, head turning to whuff an over-exaggerated, grumpy sigh into his hair, the way he fashions himself into a refuge past which no man (or butler) would dare cross.

I'm here. You're safe. You'll be fine. ]

I think you like the Commissioner more than you like me. [ Complaining - Damian is excellent at it. ] Or, more accurately, it's the Commissioner's daughter you like more, huh? Miss Gordon.

[He watches Damian with foggy bewilderment for a moment, but the sides of his mouth turn upwards when the man starts to settle into the bed with him. Dick wastes no time closing his eyes and burying his face in Damian's side in return, movable hand clinging loosely to the material of the man's shirt. He takes in a deep breath, and there's a slight quiver to his breath like he might actually start crying despite his own mental gymnastics; but the feeling passes, and his breathing steadies again, and he relaxes his muscles to relieve them from the stress of effort.

As much as Dick is unendingly chatty, as much as he needs the verbal confirmations and reassurance, the physical communication is more than better right now. Less confusing or worrisome. Damian was safety, and he would always be safe, and any paranoid thoughts or assertions otherwise were utterly ridiculous.]

No. [Very insistent on that no, too. If his face weren't half hidden in Damian's torso, it'd be easy to see the blush that's already creeping onto his expression again. Which Dick would absolutely insist was just because of the medication. Again.

(Though Dick had never quite been in that phase of thinking that girls were gross, for better or worse.)]

Maybe I like him more 'cause he doesn't say stupid stuff.

[Because that idea was totally stupid.]

[ Timothy is going to give him that look, Damian is sure. The amused and exasperated one, when he comes in to find that Damian is cuddling their youngest brother and spoiling him rotten with physical affection, rubbing circles into the boy's sore shoulders and neck and carding through his hair with gentle scratches.

(Damian has always maintained that he is not a cuddler, and only tolerates their attentions for their own well-being. Damian is a goddamn liar, is what Timothy thinks.) ]

No? [ There's wicked, dark delight in his voice, as if he has discovered something new. ] And here I was under the impression you were enjoying your little interludes with the young Miss Barbara. She seems very taken with you.

[ His voice drops to an evil hum. ]

Maybe I should ask the Commissioner whether she might be interested in joining us for movie night?

[ Damian can be an asshole when he wants to be. Which is pretty much all the time. ]

[Dick isn't even aware that this was a subject up for debate. With Bruce's impersonal demeanor, Dick had refrained from seeking out the same comforts-- but he had never once been denied it from Damian, even when he'd had to work up the courage to seek it out again.

It made it a lot easier to deal with everything. Especially his entire screw up.

He cracked one eye open, barely angled to look up at Damian as the blood kept rushing to his face (the idea that she might like him back just made him even more embarrassed not that he liked her at all or anything--), and he lifted his hand up in order to let up the balled up and bandaged fist fall on the spot just below Damian's sternum. He didn't really have much of his own strength to put behind it, so he'd mostly had to let gravity do the work.]

Shut up. [Totally the picture of a capable threat.]

He wouldn't let her come over if you asked anyway because you're always a bigger jerk than Khan.

[Also clearly the picture of an appreciative younger sibling. If he cared you would be totally ruining his life right now, Damian, which he didn't care but you were still a jerk.]

[ It is absolutely a thing up for debate, but Tim has long since given up on trying to point out that Damian is not so standoffish as he thinks he is.

(Of course, this only applies to family. Ask anybody else in the superhero community and they will swear up and down that Damian is as cold as ice. Even his JLA teammates, heroes he's spent months in the field with, would say he isn't someone you can just go up and hug, or clap on the shoulder. If they saw him now, with Robin hugged to his side and a grin on his face, they would be flummoxed.)

He chuckles, laughter rumbling through his frame at the weak hit, and he catches Dick's fist to pre-empt any follow-up attacks. ]

He would, but maybe I won't ask him if you're just going to call me a jerk. And here I thought you might appreciate my efforts to find you some company for the long, boring weeks of recovery ahead.

I suppose I'll have to rescind those sleepover invitations for when you were feeling up to it.

[ A shrug, casual as can be. Inviting a flock of junior superheroes over to the Manor was out of the question with Bruce, but Damian, unlike his father, was not so worried about keeping secrets from fellow superheroes, and Dick's little crew already knew the boy's identity. ]

A shame. Kid Flash seemed so excited.

[ God, but Damian can be such a dick. ]

[He made a halfhearted attempt to pull his fist free of Damian's grasp, but that was a pretty futile effort even when he wasn't bedridden, and simply let his arm fall slack again.

Even if Damain totally deserved a punch because god the thought of Barbara seeing him all beat up and messed up like this was awful and absolutely unacceptable. He would probably die where the surgery and the beating ha failed to kill him.]

Wally already knows how to get into the kitchen. [Spoken with a scoff, and yet somehow with some sort of pride-- it was great when your best friend could sneak into your house and you got to correct your big brother.] I showed him how to get in when he could smell Alfie's cookies down the street.

[Smug and grinning. Though it didn't mask the hint of excitement Dick always got at the very mention of his friends (he hoped they weren't too worried about him being bedridden, in retrospect. Roy was a worrier, even if he didn't want to admit it.)]

I've never had a sleepover at the manor before-- [Top Secret Security Breach, he could already imagine Tim complaining now. He'd never even had a sleepover before period, if you didn't count the times they'd gone camping.] Is that even allowed?

[ That had been Damian's plan from the very start: death by embarrassment. ]

I know. [ Damian's eyebrows raise, as if the thought of him not knowing what 'you kids' get up to is ridiculous. Does Dick really think he doesn't know everything that goes on involving his household?

Bruce had an obscene amount of cameras and recorders and tracers and bugs, and Damian continues to have access to every single one. ]

I know everything.

[ Ominous. As if he knows exactly what discussions they've been up to, every whispered word about how scary the eldest Wayne boy is. There's a dry stare accompanying the declaration. (Shit. Shit, he knows, he so knows.)

Damian lets up on the heat, though, snorting at the question. ]

I'm the master of the house. It's allowed. [ ... ] --and I confirmed with Timothy, as well. The sleepover has his blessing, if your friends behave themselves.

[ Tim holds the real power. ]

[A horrible and cruel plan, really.

Although he'd... actually kind of believe it if Damian knew everything. It's probably about as true as Damian being invincible but it was kind of Batman's job to be obsessive and creepy like that.

(Hopefully he hadn't heard all the jokes he'd made Damian and Titus starring in their own Disney movie.)]

...You need a better hobby. [Was his grumbled response. Even Tim didn't sit around watching every monitor in the house.

But still, he chuckles lightly (the only one who could ever overrule Tim was Alfred), and nuzzles back into Damian's side sleepily, even if Damian was still a total super jerk.]

I told them all about what happened when you bled all over the couch and made Alfie angry, so I they'll be too scared to touch the cupboards while he's awake.

[Hehehe.]

[ (He heard every last one of them you little punk.) ]

I have plenty of hobbies. [ Plenty. He fights crime. He trains. He upgrades his equipment so he can fight crime better. He trains more. Sometimes he draws, though not as much as he used to. The older he got, the more things got in the way, and when you have three, then four little siblings, free time tends to evaporate, spent on other things.

Scrimmaging some baseball with Jason and other kids from the street. Practicing ASL with Cass and working with her on linguistics. Watching Timothy do skateboard tricks at the skate park. Taking Dick to the zoo (and arguing that, no, they can't take the elephants home with them, that's not even a thing they can do, it doesn't matter how rich they are, where would they even put the elephant--).

Entirely worthwhile things, he thinks, and subtly shifts so that Dick can rest against him a little more comfortably (and -tt-, he really must be getting older, he already knows this is going to leave a crick in his neck). ]

You really had to tell them that story? Really?

[ In his defense, he'd been hit with Poison Ivy's spores, and hadn't been thinking straight in the first place. The couch had seemed like a perfectly reasonable place to fall asleep after getting sliced and diced by thorns.

Alfred had, clearly, overreacted.

(And Damian will never, ever, ever do it again.) ]

[(He regrets none of them. He and Donna already have a whole basic storyline figured out.)]

Hobbies that don't include updating security systems. [The mumble precedes a small yawn, and even with all the ridiculous topics of conversation, there's a small smile settled permanently on his face.

He loved going to the zoo, even if the idea that they couldn't bring one of the elephants home hadn't quite made it into his head yet. The fact that the only pet they had was Titus was possibly one of the weirdest facts of all to him, and he'd instead taken to naming all the Bats in the Batcave in lieu of a herd of circus animals. But he'd caught the slightest glimpse of an old sketchbook, when he'd been shadowing Alfred while the older man was cleaning-- Damian was good, and sometimes he was worried Damian didn't get to do anything fun for himself.]

Yes, 'cause it's the best story, Roy didn't believe that an old man like Alfie could be scary.

[A personal offense. He'd made sure that Roy in particular had been terrified by the story. Anything Batman was afraid of, he was sure to be scared of tenfold.]

[ At least his hobbies don't include writing Disney movies about a boy and his dog, okay. ]

Plenty of hobbies. [ A grinding reiteration, distinctly grumpy - Dick's ear gets a tweak for his sass. His entirely on-par sass. These days, Damian's only real non-productive hobby is passing out in random locations to steal some sleep for an hour or so at a time.

(How did his father ever manage it all?) ]

There are much better stories. When I was younger, Alfred was even more daunting. He saved me, many times, from dangerous odds.

[ Damian's early years had certainly been fraught with danger. Batman hadn't known how to work with a partner that well, nor how to control his headstrong son. ]

[Hey that was a great hobby. Especially when that boy was Batman.

He made a meager noise of protest, and shrugged his shoulders and squirmed in his spot like the tweak was more of a mosquito bite.]

No one ever tells me those stories.

[The sentence was a mere slip, probably from a combination of sleepiness, warmth, and the effects of the drugs. He wasn't complaining-- it was mostly a matter-of-fact statement. Getting anyone around here to talk about anything that happened before Bruce died was next to impossible.

He doesn't entirely mind, but Dick and his incessant chatty curiosity simply can't stop him from at least trying on an off week. He'd yet to have very much luck.]

I guess not, huh.

[ He hmms, fully aware of that, of all of them, perhaps only Alfred has been the most talkative on that front. Part of the reason is that Damian, unfortunately, just doesn't have many happy, or even pleasant, stories to share about his youth. A lot of those stories center around him being a less-than-ideal hero.

(He'd been angry, constantly. Bitterly, violently so. Still is, he's just gotten better at hiding it, at being what the family needs; taking all that stubborn, wrathful determination and turning it into an anchor point for the rest to rely upon. A more productive usage of his energy.)

The other part is that Bruce's death is still too new, too fresh, for them all, so that even peripherally discussing him is like taking a knife to an open wound. But he can try. Dick has more than earned that, as his partner.

(He just has to be careful. There are some things Damian prefers buried.)

His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, as if about to divulge a secret. ]

So what do you know about the League of Assassins, Richard?

[ --Careful-ish. Mentioning the League is dangerous. But it's one of Alfred's shining moments. ]

[Dick angles his head up at the change of tone, the interest and curiosity on his face laced with a childish awe. He looked like he fully believed that this was some kind of well-guarded secret; knowing this family, it probably was.]

That's-- Where you and Cass are from? [It was about the full of extent that Dick really knew about either of their lives that didn't have to do with Batman.]

A bunch of highly trained assassins that work for Ra's al Ghul. They're really good.

[Scary good. Dick was hardly allowed near them, though he'd just about pored over every file they had about them on the Batcomputer.]

[ 'Where Cass and he are from.' Well, you could put it like that. Damian seems amused by the phrasing, lips crooking in a grin and eyes squinting at the corners; the way he laughs without really laughing most of the time. ]

Cassandra - something like that, yes. [ That's her history to keep; if Dick wants to know more about her, he'll have to go to the source. Damian makes no mention of himself, neither confirming nor denying any ties to the League. ]

Yes, the League assassins are exceedingly skilled. They're some of the most dangerous people in the world, but no one is more dangerous than Ra's al Ghul himself - the Demon's Head. A man who has lived for centuries, guiding the League's operations. They work in the shadows, and it's Ra's' desire to eliminate the worst of humanity - to bring about his vision of paradise and peace by decimating the unworthy. In this case, that would be well over half the world's population.

[ Wry. Ra's was certainly a discriminating man. ]

And did you know that Alfred -- our Pennyworth -- held his own against some of the League's most dangerous killers? All to protect a boy he'd offered sanctuary to: the only grandson of Ra's al Ghul himself.

[ Damian snorts. ]

Although, between you and me? The kid was a murderous asshole, and more trouble than he was worth. Alfred is a saint.

[His face grimaced at the thought of the man-- Ra's al Ghul sounded for all the world like a boogeyman. A man who lived forever, and wanted to kill the mean and naughty people of the world. It felt like a story to scare kids with, except Dick has the keen idea that maybe Ra's' idea of 'worthy' wasn't something he would agree with at all.]

Alfred fought off assassins? [Completely shocked. If Ra's al Ghul was like a boogeyman story, then this sounded like something out of a fairytale.]

How'd he do it? Were they attacking the Batcave?

How come-- were they trying to attack you?

[Far too many questions. And he was far too excited to hear what the answers would be to think about the repercussions of asking.]

He did. Father was on a mission when they attacked the Manor after tracking the boy here. Imagine, dozens of ninja, headed by a team of three assassins, and the only adult here was Alfred.

[ Swarming the building. They'd quickly overwhelmed the automated defenses.

He chuckles, huffing out a snort at the questions. ]

They wanted the boy. Everyone else was collateral damage.

[ Damian is skillful at gently deflecting questions without actually answering them. Oh, sure, they'd attacked him - but that was because he was that boy. ]

Alfred managed to get us to the Batcave, and into lockdown. From there, he carried the fight using the remote defenses, and then eventually fought one face to face. Knocked the woman right out with a fire extinguisher.

[ Just knocked her right the hell out. Beautiful. ]

Unfortunately, by the time Father arrived, we'd been overrun, and the boy captured.

Whoah.

[He can imagine it now; legions of angry, deadly ninjas, swarming the Manor, leaking in through broken doors and windows like a flood, trying to get to the Batcave-- and Alfred and the kid, barricaded in the Batcave like it was some kind of medieval siege.]

A fire extinguisher? [That thought is one of his favorites; the idea that a super trained and deadly assassin could lose to a fire extinguisher wielded by the elder English butler of the house.

(He hopes Alfred isn't too old to pull something like that again, he'd give anything to see something like that.)]

So wait-- what happened then? [He's almost trying to sit up now, trying to prop himself up to look at Damian with a new energy-- and gets a few coughs for his effort and a reactive shudder in his shoulders. But it's just not important right now, and he bats the various tubes out of his way before his prodding continues.] What did Ra's and the League want with the kid? What'd they do?

[ He nods, perfectly serious. ]

A fire extinguisher. Alfred can bring the pain when he wants to.

[ It had been pretty impressive in hindsight. Only minutes before Damian had been helping the old man when he'd tripped upon the carpet, and the next thing he knew the Wayne butler was smashing a fire extinguisher into the face of their attacker coming out of the elevator.

Damian clicks his tongue, gently nudging Dick back into place - a warning that if the boy keeps pushing it he'll cut off story time altogether. ]

Ra's' immortality isn't foolproof. He uses what's called a Lazarus Pit to keep himself alive and in his prime; every time his life runs out, all he has to do is arrange for a swim and he'll be brought back. But it became less and less effective over the centuries, and eventually stopped working altogether. He intended to use his grandson's body as a new, fresh vessel, so that he could live for another seven hundred years, or longer.

[ Damian's voice darkens at that, a pinch coming to his eyes. How close he'd been to being thrown into the waters as a sacrificial lamb. ]

It would have meant certain death for the child. And he came very, very close to that fate, but Father teamed up with the boy's mother to storm Ra's' stronghold and save him in the knick of time. As expected of Batman. The boy was so charmed by Batman coming to save him that he wanted to go back with him and be his new partner--

[ He'd thought his father so much cooler than his mother, god. He rolls his eyes at that. And if Dick interprets it to mean that Damian was not amused by the thought of a young assassin boy trying to upstage his place at his father's side, all the better. ]

--but his mother knocked him out and fled with him, and Batman escaped as well.

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