FicWad

“You’ve disappointed me, Richard.”

The voice ripped past his ears, bouncing against the walls of his aching head and shattering whatever vestiges of unconsciousness that had gripped his beaten and bloodied body. A barely audible groan slipped past his split lips, but he hardly heard it because his ears felt stuffed with cotton and made everything sound like it was underwater. Prying his eyes open (or at least one of them, as the other was sorely swollen and hard to see past), he noticed with relief that his cowl was still on and he had the rest of his suit and the majority of his weapons. Obviously, whoever was currently holding him in a death grip (which was stronger than even the most well-trained man, so it must’ve been someone with enhanced strength) either wanted him to escape (not typical at all) or underestimated him (like always).

“I expected you to last longer against my assassins.”

Raising his all-too-sore head and meeting the icy gaze of his captor, he would’ve flinched or groaned had he not been trained nearly all his life.

Way to go, Grayson, he mentally chastised himself, not allowing a single ounce of emotion on his expression. You last two weeks in the cowl before being caught by one of your mortal enemies. Just great.

“Talia,” he nodded minutely in greeting. “Long time no see. We missed you at the Christmas party,” he remarked sarcastically.

“This is no time for your idle chatter, Richard,” the daughter of the Bat Family’s least favorite crime lord replied coldly. She turned her gaze onto the creatures holding him steady (man-bats, he noticed through his peripheral vision). “Bring him,” Talia ordered, before turning on her heel and stalking out of the spacious underground facility.

Without any hesitation, the mutated creatures loyally followed their leader, carelessly dragging the battered black-clad figure between them. Their footsteps were measured, quiet, professional. Oh. Oh. He was in over his head, wasn’t he?

Great. Just perfect, Dick rolled his eyes skyward, once again glad that the cowl was there to hide the expression. Ninja man-bats. What else could go wrong? Well, at least he didn’t feel any of the pain he must’ve been in. The League probably had him drugged beyond recognition, and the remaining effects had yet to completely wear off.

After walking along a clean and empty hallway, they stepped into what looked to be a training room, if the various beheaded sparring dummies were anything to go by. Aside from fake scattered limbs, the cavernous room had rows of organized weapons, ranging anywhere from ancient broadswords to state-of-the-art snipers. A variety of obstacles and the like lined the outer corners, while a whole horde of assassins stood resolutely around the walls, with several more facing off against another figure in the middle of a fighting ring.

Shouldn’t have jinxed it.

“Listen, Talia,” the replacement Batman started, effectively gaining the villainess’ attention. “I’m a pretty busy guy, so why don’t we just make this quick and you can send me on my way.”

“Not likely to happen, Richard,” Talia argued with vague indifference. “Things have been set in motion. Things that cannot be stopped.”

“I’m not going to get another destiny lecture, am I?” he quipped with a distinct scoff.

“I’m not here to bore you with details,” she waved off the notion as if it were some bothersome insect. “Simply know that the truth still alludes you, even after all these years.”

“And what truth are we talking about here?”

A sly smile spread across her beautiful features, and the knowing look in her brown eyes left Dick wondering just what he was missing. She sauntered up to him, until their noses were nearly brushing. With chagrin, Dick noticed in the back of his mind that even now he was barely taller than the woman (Why am I so short? Oh, right Grayson, focus, villainous monologue coming up.)

She leaned further still, so that her lips were just brushing the outside of where his ear was in the cowl, and whispered so quietly that he had to strain just to catch the words. “The truth about the night the Graysons fell.”

At that, she turned on her heel and left his mind reeling. His eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open slightly. Forcing an emotionless mask over his features, he narrowed his bright blue eyes and followed Talia’s slow retreat.

“And here I thought Beloved had you well-trained.”

“What are you talking about?” he ground out.

She sent him a pitying look over her shoulder, and a flash of some unidentified emotion passed through her dark brown eyes. But whatever feeling she had, it was gone before he could tell what it was, and the look of cold indifference returned. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose as she noticed how tense he had become, and she mentally tsked. It seemed that the boy was still not over his family’s deaths, even after so long.

Cold anger rushed through her captive’s veins, but he shoved the emotion away and thought about the predicament logically. Come on, Grayson, he chided mentally. Bruce trained you better than this. Taking a steadying breath, he assured himself that the Wicked Witch of the Middle East was lying. Tony Zucco had sabotaged the trapeze wires, and Dick had personally taken down the mobster. There was nothing more to the story, no more lies to uncover. So, instead of crying over the situation, he assessed the problem.

The oppressive weight on his shoulders and head told him that the cape and cowl were in place, and there was still the comforting pressure of his utility belt. They didn’t want to kill him. That was reassuring, if only a bit. His arms were held back painfully, with almost enough strength to dislocate both of them, and he had been forced down onto his scrapped and bloodied knees. Slightly embarrassing, but not the worst position he had been in. Around the training room, there were at least twenty of Talia’s elite assassins, and the sound of familiar leathery rustling behind him clued the hero in to the presence of roughly ten man-bats. Not the ideal situation, but doable if he could manage to stay on his feet.

“But we are not here to discuss your incompetence,” Talia remarked.

“There’s a first for everything,” Dick just barely kept himself from rolling his eyes.

“Silence yourself, boy, before we do it for you.”

Well, at least that was expected.

“He has grown unruly,” Talia continued as if she hadn’t just threatened him.

“He?” Dick interrupted before he could help himself, receiving a scolding glare that immediately silenced him. Anger still colored his cheeks, but he knew full well that Talia could be lying, and that getting out was more important than taking time to feel bad about something that happened fourteen years ago. He’d investigate what she had said when he wasn’t being held down by ninja man-bats.

“After much deliberation, it has been decided to leave him in your…capable hands,” she told him with just a hint of disdain, and maybe something else.

“Him who?” the vigilante demanded, growing tired of the villainess’ riddles.

Ignoring his question, which was probably for the better on his behalf, Talia instead turned to the tight grouping of masked assassins that had previously been fighting against a common ‘enemy’. “Damian!” she snapped, making the name sound like an icy command more than anything.

Had it not been for the blank white eyelets in the cowl, Dick’s eyes would’ve bugged right out of his head as a toddler stepped out of the crowd of assassins and briskly strode towards the brown-haired woman. A cut ran across one of his round cherub cheeks, and there was a nasty bruise over one of his brows. His petite figure was lean, yet still maintained plenty of baby fat, and was clad in flexible white robes which made his naturally tanned skin and bright blue eyes stand out, while the boy’s spiky black hair went in every which way.

“Didn’t realize you were running a daycare, Talia,” Dick all but spat.

She was training a toddler how to kill.

The boy stopped beside Talia, just barely reaching past the woman’s knee. He held himself like a miniature soldier, straight-backed and stoic, not allowing for any faults or stumbling in his steps. His face was emotionless and cold, eerily empty for a child such an age as his. While most toddlers would be laughing and playing, this poor unfortunate boy was stuck wielding weapons and trying not to be killed by well-trained ninja assassins.

“Richard, this is Damian, the League’s young prodigy,” Talia introduced the toddler boy, whose arms were crossed over his tiny chest and whose round face was settled into a frightfully angry scowl.

“Since when did you start training them this early?” he snapped out in disgust and loathing.

“As I said earlier Richard, things have been set into motion. And Damian happens to be part of it,” she replied smoothly, before turning to the boy next to her, whose icy blue eyes were locked on Batman’s masked face. “Damian, this is your father.”