Warnings: Underage content; explicit sexual content; extremely dubious consent; age difference; moral ambiguity; angst; domestic violence; child abuse; child murder; torture; references to suicide; inappropriate humor; canon-typical violence; major character death; gore; bloodplay; mental instability; hallucinations; forced drug use; non-consensual kissing

Pairings: Dick/Damian

Credits: This is a non-profit, fanmade work. All characters are owned by DC. The fanfiction was written and created by me, please do not repost without my permission.

A/N: NOTICE, PLEASE READ.

I am still in the process of writing this fic. That being said, the warnings are subject to change. I will try to preface any new warnings at the beginning of the chapter in the author's notes, but PLEASE keep this in mind BEFORE reading this fic. Any upset comments will be ignored and deleted.

Damian is aged-up in this story but he's still sort of underage? His age is never specified but I added the underage tag just to be safe. I sort of imagined him as mid-to-late teens, which may be legal depending on where you are in the world. Dick is mentioned to be about twenty-five.

There are severe content warnings for this story. Dick is trained as an assassin very young, with referenced child (physical) abuse. There is also murder, including the murder of a child, in this story. I added the dubcon tag since Damian might be underage, and I also added it due to a past reference of Dick/Unnamed Owls, which is dubcon due to power dynamics. There are several references to suicide (almost akin to seppuku?) in this story, including an inappropriate joke concerning it. Also, this is a DickDami story, but Dick and Damian are also enemies, so I added the unhealthy relationship/domestic violence tags (the latter might not be the correct term but I was not sure how else to tag it).

I finally have my stories all posted to my FFN account! So now I can post the fic I'm working on now.

The beginning of every chapter will begin with a flashback, then move to the present timeline.

The moon was full that night.

Dick watched it hang in the sky, large and white. Its light glared through the windows, illuminating the space. Dick's attention was torn away by shallow, haggard breaths.

"Please," the voice gasped.

Dick's gaze travelled around the room. His eyes had long adjusted to the darkness. On the shelf were photographs. Some were portraits but others were more personal than that, weaving stories of weddings, fourth of July celebrations, birthdays, trips to Italy...

"Richard."

Dick turned in the direction from whence his name was spoken. He stared into the face of an owl—the eyes reflected his image back at him, lenses rimmed in gold. He wondered, briefly, if that small boy in the reflection was truly him. He tore his gaze away from the eyes and to the rest of the body, which was dressed in black and decorated in steel daggers and knives. A clawed hand was held out, gesturing Dick closer.

Thick apprehension swelled in Dick's chest. His breath tightened, his eyes beginning to burn, his stomach nauseous. But he obeyed dutifully, kneeling beside his mentor. Though terrified, he swallowed and looked down.

The girl seemed no older than him. Her body had been weakened by the tranquilizer that she had to be injected with for trying to escape. Still, she remained on the tip of consciousness while her body slowly slipped into paralysis. Her small hand twitched, struggling to move across the carpet. Reaching.

Dick felt something prod his hand. Dick glanced down, taking the dagger. He looked at it, the steel gleaming silver in the moonlit illuminescence. His heart was beating faster. He wrapped his hand around the hilt, thumb covering the owl etching. But when he looked back down and saw her face, his already fragile certainty crumbled.

He looked back up at the Talon, desperately. His expression alone must have conveyed his worry because the assassin quickly spoke.

"You're almost finished."

Dick knew that. Still, he shook his head. "She didn't do anything wrong."

"You have to end the bloodline. That's the deal. The Court has ordered it."

Talon looked down. He brushed the girl's hair away, revealing her neck. He traced a finger along the throat, indicating where to strike. Dick took in a deep breath. His stomach was still turning. His body was still shaking. But when he tightened his grip on the hilt, he felt a small semblance of control return to him. Talon held her head against the ground, stilling her body. Dick positioned the blade.

"Dad," she whispered, staring.

"Say the words," Talon instructed. Dick swallowed.

"Sonia Zucco. The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die."

The blade sunk in, blood splattering up. There was a moment of struggle—the body fighting the paralysis like a straightjacket, fighting to live. There was a gurgle deep in her throat as the blood puddled up—staining red on the blade, splattering on his gloves, fountaining onto the floor. Her eyes widened in fear, but there was something lost in her gaze as well.

Dick watched, teeth gritting, wondering how much longer it was going to last. He suddenly felt a hand over his. He let out the breath he didn't realizing he had been holding in. The Talon guided his hand, sliding the knife. A sudden release of blood puddled out, washing over her neck down onto the ground.

Dick watched as the body began to slow down, began to relax. He watched her eyes begin to fade and dull until all the pain, all the fear, seeped away. The blood trailed along the ground, the red spreading past her outstretched hand.

Dick's eyes followed the reach of blood, watching it trail along her arm like an extension of her hand. His eyes looked across the floor, where her parents laid in their own pools of blood. Sonia's blood kept spreading, inching closer and closer, but stopped before it could join her parents'.

Reaching but untouching.

Present Day

Dick clenched his jaw, fighting back a noise as the cut of a knife stung him. He quickly moved out of the way, ducking out of the path as more knives flew at him. He rolled across the ground, sweeping up his own fallen dagger off of the floor.

He turned to strike but it was too late. He was halted by the blade pressing against his throat—not enough to draw blood, but cold and sharp nonetheless. Dick was afraid to speak, afraid that even a single inhale would allow the blade to cut into his skin.

"Best two out of three?" he finally said when the blade withdrew. He dared to look up. Talon's face was concealed by the full face mask but Dick knew how to read him well enough. He could sense the disappointment.

Still, Talon sheathed the dagger back on his harness. He held out his hand which Dick took, helping him back to his feet.

Dick glanced up at the sky. A cloud passed in front of the moon, drifting in the dark. He didn't stay distracted for long—he turned, finding Talon balancing on the edge of the roof. Standing like that, he almost looked like an owl—perched above, head turning to survey his surroundings, the night sky above him.

Almost.

Dick joined him by his side. Just down the hill, a little further beyond, was uptown Gotham, where the rich and the elite played. Dick was expecting Talon's usual crazed rant about Gotham's upper class. Instead, in a quiet voice, he said, "You're going to have to do better than that."

Dick shook his head a little. They had carried this same conversation for almost fifteen years now. "I don't exactly have electrum running through my blood—and you have almost a hundred years of experience on me."

Talon's head immediately turned towards him. He spoke in a sharp voice, "You'll be facing your trials soon. It's more pressing than ever that you be ready."

"I am ready. This is what you've been training me for, after all," Dick said carelessly, adjusting his gloves. His thumb traced over the small owl mark print on the fabric. "The trials won't be an issue. You taught me how to fight—so the first trial shouldn't be too difficult. You taught me how to kill, so the third should be just as easy. The only thing you haven't prepared me for is the second, the labyrinth."

"Nothing can prepare you for the labyrinth," Talon said quietly. "And that's not the issue. You still need to be able to surpass me, otherwise the court will never accept you. That was the deal. When we face each other after the trials, I won't be able to hold back. If you fail, you'll die by my blade."

Dick just smirked and said, "I perform better under pressure."

The Talon shook his head, unamused. "I'm starting to think the Owls were right—I did spoil you."

Dick watched carefully as the car drove down the road. He glanced over at Talon, who slowly nodded. The acknowledgement was all that Dick needed.

He leapt down, sensing Talon close behind him, landing on top of the van. The car swerved, alerted, but Talon had already hopped onto the hood, breaking through the glass. Dick held on as the vehicle slammed on the breaks.

He heard the sounds of a struggle. When the car door clicked open, Dick was prepared, leaping onto their target and knocking him down. The man was strong, as Talon had warned him that he would be. As Dick tried to place him in a pressure hold, an elbow swung back, hitting him in the gut. Dick flinched for a second and that was precisely the opening that the man needed, quickly escaping Dick's grip, but he didn't make it further than two steps when Talon stepped in, grabbing him and poising a needle to his skin.

"Calvin Rose. The Court of Owls has ordered for your capture."

The man rolled his eyes. Dick watched him carefully as Talon moved to cuff him. The handcuffs were intense looking—Dick had never seen technology like it.

"God, I should have known they'd send you," Calvin rambled as his hands were placed inside the restraints. As Talon did his work, Calvin's eyes travelled to Dick. Dick found his gaze to be a bit intense. "This one though. This one is a little more curious. Actually has some color to him—not all pale and veiny. Since when did disciples get to go on the big bird missions?"

"Richard. Come help me with this," Talon said, not acknowledging Calvin's words. Dick stepped forward and helped Talon complete the cuffs.

Once they were locked tight, Dick stepped back. He noticed the look on Calvin's face.

"Richard," Calvin repeated, a slow realization falling across his face. "I see. So the Gray Son of Gotham is finally in the grasp of the Owls. The rumors are true. Now it all makes sense why you're out in the field." He stopped and looked at Talon, a sly smile on his face. "With you as his mentor, no less. That's surprising sentimental of you. There must be a heart still beating in there somewhere, deep in the electrum."

"You're not escaping this one, Calvin," Talon said, looking at him. "Especially not with words."

Talon yanked him forward, dragging him to the van. Dick followed, opening up the back door for them. The back of Calvin's van was fitted with a bunch of living essentials, like food and a flimsy mattress, but there were other items. Expensive looking pieces of technology that Dick didn't recognize. A few were weapons. The majority of them seemed to be intricate tools, for grappling onto buildings and breaking into safes. Or something else. Talon tossed Calvin inside and Dick climbed in after, shutting the doors behind him. Talon took over the driver's seat while Dick sat with his back against the side of the van, opposite of Calvin. The car began to move.

"You likely don't remember me," Calvin said, looking at Dick. Dick didn't. He simply stared at Calvin, expressionless. "When I was at Haly's, you were just a toddler, and I was just the boy with the escape act. But I knew your parents, everyone did. Your mother used to sing to you. Do you remember that?"

Dick did. But he remained unfazed by Calvin's words, staying still and silent because he knew it was expected of him. But he did not shut Calvin up, because part of him was genuinely curious. There was something about him that Dick liked, maybe it was the fact that he had the most personality of all the people Dick had dealt with on his missions. Calvin had this fair look to him, and there was something almost romantic about his rugged appearance and the way his hair fell in his eyes, reminding Dick of those swashbuckling hero types that he read about as a child.

Although there was something deeper in his eyes, something unhinged. Like a man who had slept with his eyes open for one too many nights. Calvin kept talking.

"And your father used to joke around all of the time. More than talent, he had the personality to sell the crowd. Could have been a Talon, instead of you, but apparently he was in Europe when it was time to recruit him. Didn't save him from tragedy in the end though, I suppose."

Dick had heard enough. "You'll never escape. The Owls never die. They'll keep chasing you."

"It's not about escaping, Dick," Calvin said, suddenly grinning. Dick finally blinked. "It's about staying free as long as possible."

Calvin's arms suddenly came out from behind his back, free of the cuffs. Dick didn't have time to stop and wonder how, he immediately sprang forward instead. Calvin swung a punch, which he dodged. But when he successfully wrapped his arm around Calvin's neck, Calvin just backed up, slamming him into the wall. Dick had to let go. But the van was alerted by the noise, swerving. Calvin stumbled and Dick immediately grabbed his dagger—he couldn't kill him, even if his orders allowed him to, but he had to do something to stop him.

He stabbed Calvin, yanking out the knife as quickly as it went in. Calvin cried out, but it wasn't one of pain. He couldn't feel pain, not really. The edge of his voice was more akin to a growl, angry and ready to fight. Dark blood, almost black, splattered everywhere. Suddenly Calvin laughed, singing under his breath as they exchanged blows, "When the red, red robin comes bob, bob, bobbin' along—"

Dick knew the words. He ignored them. He swung his dagger again but this time, Calvin caught him by the wrist, twisting him into a hold. But instead of keeping him still, he tossed him forward. Dick stumbled forward, nearly crashing into the equipment hung up on the side of the van, but managed to turn around.

"I'm never going to stop running, Dick," Calvin said. Dick looked up, just in time to watch Calvin open the doors. There seemed to be a whirlwind as those doors burst open, tools sliding across the floor and flinging out onto the street, Calvin's hair pulled back by the wind. Dick struggled to maintain his balance. Calvin looked back at him one final time. "I hope you don't either."

He jumped out of the van. Dick didn't hesitate. He ran, chasing after him, jumping out of the van and rolling safely onto the street. He caught a glimpse of Calvin and chased after him, ran and ran, gaining ground, but then Calvin climbed over a railing and jumped—right into Gotham River.

Dick stopped at the edge of the railing, watching Calvin dive into the waters. Dick caught Talon in his peripherals, who made it in time to watch as Calvin sunk into the water.

"I'm sorry—"Dick started but Talon shook his head.

"Don't be. He'll survive. We'll have other chances. He's been running for years—the Court is more than aware of how slippery he is. I should have stopped when I first heard the fighting but I thought it would only make it easier for him to escape—I didn't think he'd actually jump."

They headed back towards the van, cleaning up the street along the way so Talon could look through the items. He bagged up the ones he found important. They each carried a bag, walking down the bridge back towards the city. Dick couldn't help but slow to a stop, staring out at the river—the view was gorgeous at night.

"My father died on this bridge."

Dick froze in place. He finally glanced over his shoulder at Talon, who was looking out over the Bay. Talon never spoke of himself, much less of his life before his time as a Talon. Dick listened carefully, letting Talon speak.

"He was building it. There was an accident and he fell and died. My mother had to raise me herself. We lived in poverty so I took to the streets, juggling for money." Talon was quiet for a moment. He looked over at Dick, who stared back into the mask. "Blood is everything, Richard."

Dick knew what he was talking of. He nodded slowly. "I don't regret joining. I don't regret avenging my parents."

Talon kept looking at him, his shoulders tense. There was more that he wanted to say. There was something Dick still didn't understand. Dick looked at him curiously.

"I waited a long time for you, Gray Son. There were times where I wonder if I made the right choice in taking you in. If I made the right choice in offering you a place among the Owls. I wonder if there might have been a better life for you if I had simply let you go."

"What does it mean?" Dick asked. "The Gray Son of Gotham. I understand it as being connected to my family name—"

Talon suddenly shook his head. "The name Gray Son was given to your bloodline, as a son of Gotham who walks neither in black nor white but gray. It was a name given to you, your father, and your father's father. But it is not your family name."

Dick's brow furrowed in confusion. Talon's response only raised more questions than they answered.

"Then what is my family name?"

Talon was quiet. He turned his head, he seemed to have spoken too much. "We should go."

Dick's mind was burning with questions—but he knew better than to ask. It was not the way he was trained. So he said, obediently, "Yes, Talon."

Dick didn't understand why he had been dragged out of his bed at dusk. Out the window, he could see the hint of the sun and picked up the blueness of the sky. It was a sight he hadn't seen in a long time.

The Owls he had been staying with were already wearing their faces when they surrounded his bed. He heard them enter, even in his sleep, and had risen before they could speak or shake him awake.

"The Court has summoned you," one of them said.

He got dressed and followed them through the secret passageway in the Owls' home, hidden behind a bookshelf. The shadowy passages led him throughout Old Gotham, where they finally came to a missing panel in the wall. The head Owl made the call, the owl's song reverberating in the small space. The object blocking the entryway moved, light pouring into the space, hitting directly into Dick's eyes.

"Good," the Owl guarding the entryway said when his gaze fell on Dick. "Bring him in."

Dick entered the space, recognizing the room. They were in the same house where the Court congregated for their meetings—Dick had never been allowed to participate, but when he was young, sometimes he was forced to wait in the other room. As he looked around the room, he froze when he saw Talon already sitting there.

Talons could not bleed, not really. The electrum in their bodies thickened the blood so it would not easily spill. But they could still break. Dick saw the mangled arm and his heartbeat picked up. He started forward but Talon quickly looked up at him, the gold-rimmed lenses seeming to stare right into him. Dick stopped midstep, eventually reeling himself back.

As a disciple, he was expected to maintain the same level of rigidness as any Talon—that meant he couldn't get emotionally invested or upset, at least not while sharing a room with the elite Owls. So he forced himself to keep still.

"What happened?" asked one of the Owls who Dick had come with.

An Owl on the other side of the room, fitted with a black mask, spoke first, "Who else? Our meddling Bat. He needs to be eliminated."

"He will be," Talon cut in. "He just took me by surprise. I was expecting him to be alone, not running around with some pup."

Dick frowned. He knew about Batman—everyone did—and he knew that the Court had ordered for his death, and that his mentor had been the one ordered to carry it out. While he had the utmost faith that Talon would be able to complete the task, he understood that it wouldn't be easy. But to think that the Talon was bested like this, all because Batman had backup, was concerning.

"What does he mean?" an Owl asked the one in the black mask.

"What, do you not understand words?" the Owl shot back. She shook her head. "He's saying there's some junior Bat running around."

"Junior?" another asked. "Are you saying the Talon was bested by some child?"

"Not that young," Talon corrected. "But definitely not fully grown. And he didn't best me—he just caught me off guard. They were expecting me. They even had a trap ready to freeze me."

The Owls all stopped and glanced at each other. The unspoken fear hung in the air—they wondered how Batman had discovered the secret to defeating the Talons, and what it meant for their work.

"If the Gray Son joins me, however, we could defeat the Bat and his pup," Talon said, sounding determined. Dick felt everyone's eyes on him. Felt the mixed emotions in the room.

"There needs to be two of you? Then why not activate another Talon? The Gray Son is just a disciple—"

"The Bat doesn't kill," the Owl in the black mask cut in. "Talon's strategy is sound. If we send a live person, he will have to relent his use of the freezing technology. It could throw him off guard."

"And what if it doesn't work?" an Owl asked. "What if the Gray Son is seriously harmed or killed? All of the training will have been for nothing."

The Owl in the black mask looked at Dick. She shrugged a shoulder. "If he can't defeat the Bat, then he's of no use to us anyways."

"I'll do it," Dick said. Carefully, he added, "If the Court orders it."

"The Court does," she said.

"Aye," the rest of the Owls agreed, and there was a murmur of their motto amongst a few of them.

The Owl in the black mask moved towards Talon. Dick watched her carefully as she pulled off his mask. She tilted his head back, opening his jaw. Dick instantly recognized what she was doing—this time, he did not pull back.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, stepping forward. The Owls instantly parted out of his way, startled by this man that they could not yet control. Dick didn't bother to bask in the moment—but he halted when the Talon held up his good hand, stopping him.

"It's alright, Richard," he said. Dick stopped, though the adrenaline was rushing through his veins. It wasn't often that he saw Talon's face but on a few occasions, the face reminded him of his father's—but he knew it was just wishful thinking. His father was dead, and the Talon carried nothing remotely Roma in his features. "They're going repair my arm. It'll be easier this way."

Dick could not argue. The Owl glanced at him and, deciding he was not going to interfere any further, returned to what she was doing. She reached into the Talon's mouth, activating the electrum tooth. The Talon's arms fell at his side, his body returning to stasis. Dick watched, chest clenching at the sight—he tried to remind himself that the lifeless body was not actually dead. Tried to forget that all it took was a switch to take everything away.

He wasn't dead. But looking at him, Dick could only remember that Talon was also not alive.

Dick glanced over, watching as Talon squeezed his fist—flexing the repaired forearm. The surgeon and electrum had done wonders—the Talon had a fully functioning arm within hours, though this was the first time they had seen each other since. Dick had spent much of that time anxious and wondering, fearing that the Owls had locked him away in the crypts.

As they waited in the shadows, Dick felt tension. He wasn't afraid of the night that was to come. Although he wasn't sure what to expect of the Dark Knight, and knew of his prowess, he trusted in his and the Talon's abilities.

"You need to show more discipline," Talon said. It was the first thing he had said all night—and the only thing he had said to Dick since his recovery. "The way you acted in front of the Court was unacceptable."

"I know," Dick said, tensing, but the argument bubbled up anyways. "The last time they put you in stasis—"

"Richard, that was years ago. You were still a child. When you become a Talon, you have to learn to let everything go."

"Including you," Dick with a tone of finality. At that, Talon grew quiet for a moment. But he finally nodded.

"Yes. Especially me. After the trials, after you defeat me and become Talon, I'll be placed back in stasis, and you will become the Talon who will carry out the orders for the Court."

Dick's mind drifted back to the early days. Talon had never been particularly kind. He was too stoic, too distant—as he had to be. But he had been helpful and patient. Dick's first years of training with the Owls had been a terrifying and lonely experience. He had been taken away from the only life he knew, his parents and friends were gone. He no longer performed for applause but for an audience of expressionless faces, where failure resulted in punishment. He trained through the strictest discipline he had ever imagined, adopting lifestyle changes that forced him into silence and obedience. Every night, he moved from place to place to live, so that nothing felt like home and all the faces remained strangers.

The only constant in his life had been Talon.

Dick didn't realize how far his dependency had stretched until the Court tried to replace Talon with another one of their assassins—for reasons that Dick still was not sure of. Dick supposed the Court had attempted it just because they could. Regardless, Dick had fled instantly when it happened.

When the Court had found him and brought his mentor back to him, Dick began to realize that he did have some power. There was no other reason why they would have backed down on their orders, giving his Talon back to him. But at that point, he was too conditioned to care or exploit the fact. He was just content to have things back to the way they were.

"You're all I have," Dick confessed, and he knew he was pushing his boundaries, but Talon did not scold him.

"When you become Talon, you will feel no pain. No fear. It's the best that can be offered to you, Gray Son. It's what you and I have worked for. But I meant what I said: you have to give up everything. There is no other option."

"What did you give up?" Dick found himself asking, the words escaping him before he could think.

Talon looked at him for a moment, slowly shaking his head. "It's almost like you listen—but then you say something, and prove that it all goes out the other ear."

Talon was done talking about it. He stood up, ready to move to their next spot.

"He's not coming here. We need to track him down elsewhere."

"Is he as strong as everyone says he is?" Dick asked as he followed.

"A Bat is no match for an Owl," Talon said simply. "It is, I will admit, a close match. If it wasn't for the electrum, I'm not certain I would survive. That being said, your goal is to simply make sure that the pup doesn't get in my way."

"Should it be an easy task?"

"Will you succeed? Yes. Will it be easy? Perhaps not. He's been well trained."

"If he fights like the Bat, I should be able to handle it without a problem."

"That's the thing—he doesn't fight like the Bat. He fights like us."

"An assassin? But Batman would never—"

"Batman would never team up with anyone—that's what we had been led to believe. Still, you're right. Killing has always been a taboo for him and that's what gives us the advantage. We need to trust that when it comes down to it, the Bat won't have you killed."

"Still, it doesn't make sense why he'd keep help."

"I have a feeling their connection is personal," Talon said quietly.

Suddenly, there was something that drew their attention to the sky. Dick and Talon both turned their heads, witnessing the Bat's symbol emblazoned on the clouds. The searchlight.

"Tonight is going to be easy for us," Talon said, pleased.

They took the passageways since it was quicker, taking them as close to the police station as they could get. The rest of the journey was quick. They waited on a rooftop, concealed. Dick caught the shadow first, swinging from the rooftop. Dick took off immediately in the same direction, Talon close behind him. It felt good to run, to get another chance at a mission, especially one so challenging. The adrenaline was already rushing through Dick's veins. He felt alive.

They stalked them for awhile, waiting for the opportune moment when they were far enough out of the city that they could strike without drawing attention. Talon moved in first—he didn't have to speak or signal to Dick, Dick knew him well enough to follow his lead without any spoken direction.

Talon threw one of his knives at the back of the Bat. It was a perfectly executed throw—but something spun after it, the sound of steel clanging against steel, knocking the knife out of the air. Batman's partner had spotted it in time. Dick realized Talon was right—the pup did seem to know what he was doing but again, Dick expected nothing less if he was going to be fighting side by side with Batman.

The strike didn't land but it did alert their attention.

Talon charged in first, starting the battle. He quickly danced around Batman's thrown punches and kicks. The pup moved in to help but Dick landed in the spot behind him, quickly tugging the hood down in front of his eyes. The younger fighter growled, knocking Dick away.

Dick suddenly heard the familiar sound of sliding steel, was taken aback when the pup slid a sword from a sheathe that Dick hadn't noticed until now. Talon was right—Batman had never been spotted fighting with a sword. This wasn't his style.

Dick wasn't intimidated by the weapon. He had trained against a sword and more.

He stepped back in time as the sword aimed at his middle. Such a blow, if it landed, might have cut through him. Might have spilled his guts to the ground. But Dick was faster. He caught a glimpse of eyes beneath the shadow of the hood, staring back at him in a way that Dick didn't recognize. Something that briefly reminded him of Calvin, the only man that he had faced who was unafraid. It was especially strange, seeing such a gaze within such wide, young eyes.

The pup rushed forward, looking determined. Dick felt almost amused by how easy it was, easily sidestepping out of the way of the hasty attack. As Dick moved out of the way, he pulled a dagger from his belt, and nearly mourned how quick this was all going to be. It wasn't often that he and Talon had to fight. But when he stepped in closer to stab the dagger into the pup's back, something struck the side of Dick's face.

He had almost forgotten about the Bat, since Talon insisted on fighting him. He had been positioned too closely to the vigilante. The force of his punch had knocked Dick's mask off his face. He didn't reach to grab it, he immediately turned to block the next oncoming blow. But before Batman could strike again, he suddenly pulled back the punch when they came face to face.

"You're alive," he breathed.

The following seemed to happen in an instant. Dick's brow furrowed in confusion, also taken aback. It wasn't just the observation that Dick wasn't a Talon—there was a trace of emotion there that Dick couldn't pinpoint. What did he mean by that? But Talon tackled Batman over, knocking him into the ground, and Dick realized he needed to focus.

He didn't focus quick enough. Dick turned in time to narrowly avoid a swordswing. But he found himself losing balance, falling on one knee.

For a moment, it looked like the sword was going to drive downward—which would have been a fatal blow—but there was a stutter in the boy's movements, a flicker in his eyes as he looked upon Dick's living face. He hesitated—and the fraction of a second was all Dick needed to trip him.

Dick got up. His opponent regained his footing at the same time. Dick saw a flash of steel but sidestepped out of the way, quickly swiping his dagger in return.
The boy was touched by the edge of the dagger, shallowly cutting him across the cheek, ripping through the mask he used to conceal his lower face, but not enough to expose his identity. Before Dick could go for another strike, the pup was suddenly yanked out of his reach.

Dick spotted the Bat in time but not quick enough to do anything about the smoke bomb that fell. Dick focused on his senses but it was all murky—the Bat and his pup were just as trained in the ways of stealth as he and Talon were.

Dick suddenly felt a familiar hand on his shoulder.

"They escaped. We'll have to track them again once the smoke clears. Follow me," Talon said and Dick did not argue.

Their prey had done well to cover their tracks. Once the smoke had released, there seemed to be no trace of where they had gone. It took a good five minutes before Dick finally spotted a single drop of blood on the ground below. Dick looked around, trying to trace where they might have gone from there.

"The subway tunnels," Talon decided. Dick looked in his direction, seeing the closed off entrance to an abandoned station. Sure enough, the boarded up panels seemed to have been moved.

They went down into the tunnels, the only signs of life seeming to be the rats that scurried off at their presence. That is, until Dick spotted another blood splatter—a sign that seemed to compel him further into the tunnel. He moved ahead without Talon's permission, following it into unexplored territory.

The subway station was old, filled with cobwebs and unfinished construction. The air cold and moist. Dick moved through a narrow opening—the walls beside him a web of steel bars and wooden panels, some abandoned scaffolding. He couldn't hear Talon but he felt his mentor following him like a shadow.

In the few minutes they had lost sight of them, Batman must have come up with a plan.

Because this time, the duo were prepared.

They had neared the end of the pathway when Dick heard the clink—a sound of metal against metal. Dick looked up at the ceiling—all he saw was the blinking red dot and he already knew. He quickly leapt out of the way as the exploding batarang went off.

There was suddenly a loud hiss of air. Dick looked back to see that Talon had dodged in the opposite direction, stuck inside the tunnel of the scaffolding.

The pipe had burst—a cooling pipe. Talon immediately drew back, just narrowly avoiding the burst of cold air that came rushing through. Dick was relieved to see that Talon was okay—but then he realized the trick. They were separated.

And it wasn't just the Talon they were after.

Dick moved out of the way just as the pup charged at him, sensing him in time—but in the process, the Bat came in on his blind spot, pulling him into a hold—before Dick could shake him off, he felt a prick on the back of his neck.

"Richard!"

Whatever the Bat injected him with, it worked terrifyingly fast. Dick's body instantly felt heavy and he collapsed to the ground. Everything went numb and blurry until he felt nothing at all.

Dick awoke with his eyes still closed. He could feel sensation returning to his limbs. He tested the movement in his hands, slowly regaining more mobility the more he practiced clenching and unclenching his fists.

He slowly became aware of his skin. His hands were bare and cold, arms light. They must have removed his bracers and gloves. But there was still something tight across his forearm—restraints, he realized. Straps across his arms, his chest, his middle. Still no feeling in his legs—he tried to roll his ankles, wiggle his toes, anything, but they were so numb he couldn't even be sure if he had control over them.

He instead focused on his face. He clenched his teeth, rotated his jaw. Opening his eyes were far more difficult—his eyelids were heavy, like he was in the deepest sleep of his life. He forced them open.

The artificial lights were harsh on the eyes. His vision cleared, focusing. He was in a foreign place. He heard the distant sound of water. The sounds of flapping wings. He saw rocky walls, contrasted against bright steel flooring and shelves.

As well as a dinosaur, a giant penny, and a huge playing card.

Dick stared, confused.

He heard a light scraping sound. He lifted his gaze, finding steel on whetstone. He looked, at first not recognizing the person with the sword. It didn't take long for his head to put it together—it was the pup. His hood had been drawn back, his mask and most of his armored pieces also removed, but it was definitely him. Dick watched him carefully, saw his dark brows furrowed in concentration as he honed the blade.

Dick looked closely at the pommel, noticing a demon's face in the bronze. He eyed it carefully, recognizing it.

Suddenly, crystal eyes flickered up. He did a double-take, realizing Dick was awake, but his gaze soon went back to what he was doing. After a moment, he called out, "Father. Your stupid bird is awake."

Dick heard footsteps from behind him, moving around the chair he had been strapped to. It wasn't the Bat—instead, it was an older, thinner man with a balding head and thin mustache.

"Remarkable," he said, with a noticeable English accent. Dick's expression remained as hardened as ever—but he was observing, taking in the man's clothing. He was dressed formally, in white gloves and dress shoes. He almost looked like a butler—the get-up confused Dick, until he remembered that Bruce Wayne was rich. Disguising an ally as a butler was actually quite clever. "Those tranquilizers should have lasted much longer."

Heavy footsteps. Dick didn't turn his head—kept his face forward, steadfast—but he saw his head capturer enter his peripherals. Dick was face to face with the man, not the Bat. The cowl had been removed as well as most of the uniform. Bruce Wayne looked him up and down, frowning. Dick had difficulties reading him—he couldn't tell if he was in awe or grim disbelief.

"Dick Grayson," Bruce finally said.

Dick blinked, his self control faltering at the nickname. He kept his face expressionless but his heart was beating quicker. He would have expected the detective to have figured out his full name—but with the exception of Calvin, he hadn't been called by his nickname since he was a boy. He had to wonder how he knew.

"You don't know me—not really. You only know what you've been told. But I know you," Bruce said. He nodded to himself, a distant look in his eye, some memory returning to him. "I was there that day. The day that your parents fell from the ceiling."

Dick's face remained unfeeling but he felt a cold rage run through his body at the mention of his parents, spoken from the tongue of his enemy. Dick had learned to kill willingly but he never felt the impulse or desire to do it until that moment. He remembered Talon, thinking, Never trust a Wayne.

"You were supposed to leave with me. My manor was supposed to be your home. I was supposed to be your guardian. But you disappeared." Bruce paused for a moment, adding, "I've spent years wondering what happened to you and here you are. They took you, didn't they? The Owls."

Old memories slowly returned to him. Memories of being picked up by police. Memories of talking to social workers, of them telling him he was alone with no living kin. Remembered being alone, until Talon came to him.

But Talon didn't take him. Dick went with, willingly.

Dick remained silent.

"Could he possibly be mute?" the butler asked when there was no response. He raised an eyebrow at Dick.

"No," the pup said at once. "He can talk, he's just not going to. It's a code of silence. Some of the disciples in the stealth operations had to do the same in the League of Assassins."

League of Assassins. Dick's suspicion about the demon's head was correct.

"That or he simply doesn't want to speak to us," Bruce said flatly.

Dick just stared forward.

"We could make him talk," the pup said, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword. Even while bound and surrounded by enemies, Dick was hardly intimidated—even found the threat to be laughable.

Bruce looked back at the boy sharply. "Simmer down."

Dick was so amused by the exchange that he couldn't resist the single laugh that escaped. They all looked at him, alert, but Dick had already reverted back to silence. The pup scowled, annoyed.

"We can't force him to say anything," Bruce said, and whatever objections the others may have had were kept silent. "I'm going to keep working on refitting the bunker. Damian, keep an eye on him. Pennyworth… keep an eye on Damian."

"Yes, Master Bruce."

"Tt."

Dick's eyes followed Bruce as he left the space. The butler also disappeared from Dick's line of vision. The boy, presumably named Damian, meanwhile dragged a chair forward—the legs scraping against the roughly textured floor with a grating sound. He was at a decent enough distance, sitting on the chair with his legs drawn up, ankles crossed. He looked at Dick, bored.

Dick wasn't sure what to make of him. The boy's eyes were sharp, eyes lightly colored. The more Dick looked at them, the more he sensed what Talon was talking about. The familial connection. It was subtle, especially underneath the racial differences, but it was definitely there.

"Do you always stare?" Damian suddenly said. Dick hadn't even realized he'd been staring but he didn't want to back down, so he didn't move at the question. He continued staring, unblinking. Damian sighed, his eyes seeming to grow more tired. "Father seems to think you have some worth. I, however, do not feel similarly. If you try anything stupid, I will easily kill you without hesitation."

Dick just continued to look at him, indifferent. There was a shift in the pup's gaze. He seemed almost annoyed that Dick wasn't giving in to his goading.

"It wouldn't even be difficult," Damian said with a snort. He rested his chin on his hand. "Father and I were trying to spare you both—and you two were coming at us with the intentions to kill, and you still failed. Tt. If anyone in the League of Assassins failed so miserably, they wouldn't even bother returning to get reprimanded. They'd likely just commit suicide."

"Did it hurt?" Dick asked suddenly.

The pup frowned, clearly not expecting Dick to say anything at all—even though he clearly had been hunting for a response. He looked at him suspiciously but took the bait anyways. "Did what hurt?"

"When I cut your face," Dick said.

Damian sat up straight, bristling in annoyance. The cut was still fresh on his cheek, healing.

But he simply just narrowed his eyes and bit back, "I don't know. Was your feathered boyfriend hurt when I shattered his arm?"

At that, Dick was bothered, his gaze darkening.

"If my father wasn't there, I would have hacked it off too. What exactly happens to you freaks anyways, when your limbs come off? Do you just tie it back on? Or do you regrow them, like worms?" Damian said. Dick didn't answer. A sudden thought must have crossed Damian's mind, because he suddenly snickered to himself. "If I cut off his head, will he still run around? What's the phrase, a 'chicken with his head cut off'? Seems quite fitting, since your whole organization seems to want to mate with birds anyways."

"You wouldn't want to do that," Dick said.

"Why not? I think it'd be quite entertaining. I could even throw the head and see which of you could fetch it faster."

"No," Dick said, allowing his indifferent expression to fall into mock concern. "Because you might make Father mad."

"For someone who shouldn't be speaking—"Dick picked up on the raised volume of Damian's voice, and the way the pup's feet returned to the ground and his body leaned forward, and it was difficult to not laugh at his temper"—you're rather mouthy, aren't you?"

"For someone who claims to be from the League of Assassins, you're plenty mouthy enough for the both of us."

Damian got up and struck him, hard. Dick saw the blow coming but didn't bother moving, as it would have been futile anyhow. He took the strike, unflinching, the pain shooting across his jaw, and he felt blood begin to well up in his mouth. The sound of impact instantly alerted the butler, Pennyworth.

"Master Damian!" he exclaimed, rushing over. Dick spat out the blood. Pennyworth watched, sighing heavily. He pulled out a handkerchief but before he could get close, Damian held his arm in front of him, stopping him.

"Don't get close to him, Alfred."

"Then what do you expect of me?" Pennyworth said, taking a step back. His brow furrowed, adding, "Your father will not be pleased about this."

"Calm down, Pennyworth," Damian said, exasperated. "It was one blow. If I seriously wanted to hurt him, you'd need more than just your used handkerchief. You'd need a mop."

They left him alone after that. When Bruce came back around, he noticed the blood on Dick's face, frowning. Instead of turning to Damian, he turned to Pennyworth.

"I told you to watch him," Bruce said.

"With all due respect, Master Bruce, he's your son. Not mine. I've had my turn raising complicated teenagers," Alfred said, arching an eyebrow.

Eventually Dick was released from the chair, but only after he had been handcuffed. After his encounter with Calvin, the steel handcuffs seemed relatively flimsy in comparison—but Dick was in a strange environment, surrounded by enemies, so he didn't dare to attempt an escape. He would have to formulate a proper plan first. Dick let Bruce lead him to a small room.

Bruce had mentioned a bunker—Dick realized that this must have been it, only repurposed to become a cell. The shelves were stripped barren and the edges of the door were shiny and new—it must have been a solid door replaced with one of reinforced glass, although Dick could not be sure if the transparent material was for him to be able to look out or if it was for them to look at him.

It made no difference to Dick. Every night he had slept in a stranger's home. The main concern Dick had was being separated from Talon. As he sat in the cell, thinking of all the people he was estranged from, all of those strange owl faces, he quickly realized that was Talon was just about the only matter he was concerned with.

He sat in the cell at the edge of a cot. Even as hours passed waiting for something, anything else, to happen—he was not unused to the boredom. His childhood was filled with it. Between training, there was no room for him to make friends. The only people around his age had been the Owlets, who treated him as an anomaly when he was placed in their homes. They didn't talk to him, much less played games with him, and the few times they tried, it was usually in an attempt to boss him around—and so as a kid, he hated other children, and his only form of entertainment during the days were Talon's lessons. And even the lessons themselves were incredibly mundane.

The Owls only really seemed to show a personal interest in him after he hit puberty, when his shoulders had broadened and muscles had hardened. And even then, it wasn't so much as a personal interest but as a desire. Attention in exchange for something they wanted—not that Dick minded much, especially if it involved a pretty one dragging him into their bed. But at that point, he was resolute. His loyalty was to the Owls, but it was a strictly professional relationship. There was no friendship or love involved. Just a group of people with a common goal: to maintain order, control, and tradition.

So a cell was nothing to him.

As he sat in the confined room, with nothing to do, he kept this in mind—that this was easy. Because even in the hands of his enemies, he was not afraid—for the Owls had prepared him for much worse.

Dick slept longer than he intended, still sitting upright. The sound of the door opening awoke him and he quickly straightened himself, hoping that he had not been caught with his eyes closed.

"I hope you're not allergic to anything. I didn't think to ask before I made breakfast," the butler, Pennyworth, announced as he delivered the tray of food. Dick frowned, feeling skeptical, and the butler must have noticed. "Well, don't look at it as if it's poisoned… unless you're looking at it because you are allergic."

"Who cares? He's a prisoner. You should be feeding him the scraps from Titus' bowl." Dick glanced over, saw Damian observing from the doorway—likely to keep watch. And that he did—Dick wasn't sure if Damian was ever going to stop glaring at him.

"Master Bruce made it clear that Master Dick is not a prisoner, but a guest." In a lower voice, rather dryly, he said, "Our reluctant, tied-up, guest."

"What do you suppose they feed him anyways?" Damian said, snorting. There was a small sense of cruel amusement in his eyes. "Sunflower seeds?"

"Owls don't eat seeds," Dick said. He looked at him. "But they do eat bats."

The jab didn't go unnoticed. "I could get you some bats instead, if you prefer."

"Only if you feed it to me."

"Tt."

"Come now, Master Damian," Pennyworth said in a weary voice, eyes rolling back. "Let's leave our guest alone."

Dick didn't touch the meal. It was clear that these people weren't going to kill him, so he doubted the food was poisoned. But it could have been laced with just about anything else—things that could theoretically make him more complacent, where they could then interrogate him. Or things that could make him weak, where they could then force the truth. Above all, though, his reasoning had to do with the simple fact that they were his enemies. It had nothing to do with pride, though their protection of him did feel a bit akin to babysitting which was degrading. Moreso, it had to do with loyalty to the Owls. He wasn't going to add any reason, no matter how little, to be thankful to the Waynes.

Never trust a Wayne.

It was a few hours later that he was pulled, handcuffed, back into the center of the cave. At a round table, Dick sat with the Bat, the pup, and the butler.

Dick subtly glanced out of his peripherals, taking note of a shelf filled with arsenal and tools. It'd be too obvious of an escape if he tried to rush it. Down below were a series of vehicles—but while Dick knew how to drive, the technology seemed advanced, and even if he escaped, he was certain that the Bat would outchase him. Perhaps he could trick his way out—the butler seemed cautious enough, but he was still a lightweight. Dick could capture him as a hostage and then break his way out.

Dick's mental plans were cut short when Bruce slid a few papers and photographs across the table. Dick stopped—the first photograph his eyes landed on was a picture of his mother, hanging off a highly decorated trapeze by just her heels. Dick could pinpoint the exact tour it was by her outfit—they had travelled with a circus in Europe, in the autumn of his eighth birthday. Day in and day out, they performed—and at nights, they played a different show, where his mother did her solo act. She would climb onto her trapeze on the ground and would be lifted up into the air, in an outfit that cinched her waist to an hourglass, and golden slippers that matched the moons and stars embroidered on her chest and neck and arms.

It wasn't the last time he had seen her. The last time he had seen her, she was laying in a blood splattered circus ring. But with no photographs of his own, this was the first time he had seen her face since that day.

A mixed feeling rose up through him—a mixture of disgust and sadness. But he didn't express it. He simply stared down, his face a mask of indifference.

"I know that you're loyal to the Court," Bruce said, hands folded on the table. "I know that over all of these years, they raised you. They taught you how to survive, how to be strong. But you have to know that they did not do this out of love—they did it to make you a tool. They are not your family."

Dick stared blankly at the photos, not knowing where else to look. He looked at all of the countries he had gone to, the shows he had performed. Every spring, summer, autumn and even winter. He remembered the songs and choreography that had once been ingrained into his brain, the voices of announcers he may have heard only a few times, the heat of the trailers and the bumpy roads, the smell of popcorn. Crowds of strangers, standing and applauding and cheering, who loved him all in an exchange for a performance. And it hardly ever felt like a fair trade-off, or difficult despite the hours of intense training, because he would have flown on a trapeze willingly and freely whenever, wherever.

"I can't say it would have been easy living with me," Dick could hear Bruce say. "I can't say that I could have provided for you any better than your parents, or the Owls, did. But I would have let you made your own choices."

Choice.

At that, Dick stopped. Remembering.

A window slowly opening, in a foreign place where he could not sleep. The night of his parents' deaths. Golden eyes in the shadows, a gleaming owl engraved on an outstretched gauntlet. All, with an offer of a choice.

A choice that Dick took. A choice that Dick did not regret.

But then he remembered another window. A full moon glaring through the pane. He remembered the other half of the choice he made—warm blood and tears on a carpet. Talon by his side, an owl engraved on a cold steel blade.

His path could have gone so many other ways.

Still, he just stared.

Bruce leaned back in his chair, looking a little frustrated by Dick's lack of cooperation.

"Perhaps we should let Master Damian speak to him. He seems to spare no words when talking to him," Pennyworth said lightheartedly. It was a joke, but even so, Damian sneered.

"I prefer it when he's silent."

"Neither of you are helping," Bruce said, looking at them pointedly.

"Because you're wasting your breath, Father," Damian said, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. Even with his intense gaze, Bruce would not look him in the eye. "He's already been brainwashed by the Owls. He isn't going to join you, no matter how much convincing you try. We should be using him to find the Owls. Just use him to show us their nest, throw him in Blackgate, and be done with it. He's of no use to us otherwise."

"We'll find the Owls. Regardless, this isn't about defeating them. It's about helping him." Bruce stopped, sighing softly. He looked back at Dick with a hard gaze. "Now, I don't know everything about the Court. Their secrets run deep. What I do know is that I can help you escape."

Dick thought of Calvin Rose. He had managed to escape—but he was running still. Running and running.

"The Owls never die," Dick found himself saying. He meant it to sound intimidating, but it sounded damning instead.

"If you stay, they'll make you one of theirs, and I won't be able to reverse it," Bruce said, frowning. "It's permanent. You'll be their Talon. Their assassin. Their slave."

Dick's heart began to beat a little quicker. He wanted to vehemently deny it—but then he thought of Talon and his electrum tooth, how the Court had shut him off by their own hand. Dick wondered if he would end up like that. But leaving meant more than just not being able to escape—it meant that a lot of his training had been for nothing. It meant disappointing his mentor, the closest thing to a friend or family that he had since his real parents died. The one who held his hand as he executed his revenge on the people who made him alone in the first place. It meant removing his purpose—and for what?

Some stranger, and his butler and moody son?

Dick ceased speaking, eyes narrowing. He didn't even want to waste his breath arguing with the man—and it seemed his silence seemed to irritate the Bat more than any words he could scream at him anyways.

They were talking about him.

He could not hear the words but the glass door allowed him to see their faces, read their words. He could not understand everything but from what he could gather, it seemed that they were trying to decide their next plan on what to do with him. Eventually, much later, they finally opened the door.

Dick looked at them. Bruce and Damian were dressed in their uniforms. Bruce nodded with his head.

"We're taking you to Blackgate," Bruce said.

The man never seemed pleased. Still, Dick knew that this hadn't been part of his plan. He had hoped to give Dick a chance to become one of them, even willing to forgive his past transgressions—significant, considering the Bat was notoriously unforgiving. Dick kept this in mind, following them into the Cave. As they headed towards the batmobile, they passed a wall of equipment, and Dick's eyes landed on his own items that were placed neatly on the table. They were all replaceable—but he would, admittedly, miss the mask.

"Wait," he said, stopping. He felt both of their eyes on him. "You said you wanted to know how to find the Owls."

Bruce looked at him, not speaking. He just listened.

"I can show you—but in exchange, you have to spare me and my mentor," Dick said. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "And I want my mask, for sentimental reasons."

"Is this a joke?" Damian said, sounding almost amused.

"I don't want to be imprisoned," Dick said. "The truth is that the Talon and I have been making plans to escape for a long time. You're right. The Owls don't care about us."

At this, there was a pause. The pup's gaze was untrusting as always. Bruce, on the other hand, seemed to be deep in thought. He also seemed reluctant to believe—and yet, he seemed to want to hold on. Impatient, Damian huffed.

"It's some type of trick. It has to be. He didn't want to cooperate before, why would he now?"

"You weren't threatening to take me to Blackgate before," Dick said pointedly. "And I was unwilling to join your side, which still remains true. But I'm willing to give up working for the Court if it means freedom."

"I can spare you but I can't help the Talon. He's dangerous and could have ended his path many times—but instead, he chose to become a tool for the Court to use. He's been loyal to them for decades and I can't trust him," Bruce said.

"I can show you where the Owls operate," Dick said.

"I still say it's a trick," Damian said at once, eyes darting in Dick's direction.

"Show us where it is and I'll spare you, and I'll keep your words in mind when we go after the Talon, but I make no promises in that regard."

"And the mask."

"And the mask," Bruce said, shaking his head. Dick could sense his skepticism but he gestured at Pennyworth, who went to fetch it. Dick stood still as the butler adjusted it on him.

Once it was in place, Dick said, "I'm ready."

But just as they turned around, Dick quickly moved—linking his wrists near Pennyworth's throat, the chain that binded his handcuffs digging into the butler's throat so suddenly that he couldn't even gasp.

Damian immediately started forward, hand reaching for his belt, but Bruce stopped him.

"What do you want?" Bruce immediately growled.

"You're going to give me one of your vehicles. You're going to let me leave," Dick said. "In return, I don't choke your butler."

"It's because the eggs were runny, wasn't it?" Alfred said. Dick just pulled harder on the chain, cutting off his words.

"You can't be serious," Damian said, voice dripping in disdain. "Coward—"

"It was your mistake letting him get close to me," Dick said.

"Not a mistake. Respect," Alfred choked out. "In our short time together, I never got around to telling you my stories in the service—"

Then there was a sudden pain in his gut. Dick was staggered momentarily—he hadn't even processed that Alfred was the one who struck him until he managed to slip out. Dick moved to catch him but a batarang came hurling after him—which Dick lifted his wrists for, letting the batarang break through one of the links.

Dick didn't stop. Plan A failed, he still had Plan B. Bruce came at him but Dick deftly dodged around him, racing off. Damian caught up to him next, managed to grab ahold of him.

"What was it you said happened to League assassins who failed?" Dick said, breaking the hold. Dick caught a glimpse of Damian's glare, just as he slipped away. Dick couldn't resist goading. "I bet you are actually dying on the inside now."

They chased him to the edge of the platform. Dick didn't hesitate, hopping onto the railing that fenced off the area from the bluff. As he overlooked the rushing water, Dick's mind travelled back to his mission with Talon, and the last words Calvin said to him.

I'm never going to stop running.

Dick didn't know where he was running to—but the words still felt true. He leapt into the rushing waters, felt himself crash into the dark, cold waters. Sinking. He pushed through the water with all of his strength, breaking the surface and releasing the breath he had been holding. He struggled to stay afloat and dodge the jutting boulders as the current dragged and pulled him. Through his drenched bangs, he managed to catch sight of the exit—where all of the water in the cave tunneled out into the bay—and he held his breath and closed his eyes, letting the water plunge him underneath its surface, and secretly prayed that it'd carry him back into Gotham.

He had travelled on foot all the way into Old Gotham, drenched and freezing. He slipped into the nearest passageway he could find, following the cramped and dusty tunnels to the nearest Owls' nest. He gave the call and they let him in, their shock apparent in their unmasked faces.

He was situated in a bedroom, drying off, when the door suddenly opened. When he saw who entered, he immediately stood—but any words he wanted to say were instantly caught in his throat.

He hadn't expected the sudden surge of emotion in his chest when he saw Talon standing there. But even when the door closed and there were no Owls around, Dick knew he had to remain calm and composed. As always.

"They said you escaped through the bay," Talon said, breaking the ice.

Dick nodded, gaze lowering. "He had some type of a safehouse—far outside of the city. I have no idea where, but it's some cave near the bay. If we go back there, I might be able to find it again—"

"No," Talon said, holding his hand up. "It's too soon to go back out there. Besides, the Court has new plans for taking care of the Bat."

Dick relaxed. He tossed his towel on the nearest surface. "I'll be honest—I've wanted to go swimming for awhile, but that wasn't what I was hoping for."

Talon wasn't laughing. He never laughed.

"I wasn't sure what happened to you," Talon said, quietly. Dick looked at him, taken aback by the subtle emotion in his voice. Talon stared off in another direction and continued, "I looked everywhere. I regret not chasing after you."

"How could you?" Dick said, shrugging casually. But in truth, Talon's unusual display was confusing him. He didn't seem to be speaking with a sense of shame in his failure to defeat the Bat. Instead, he seemed to be speaking of his shame in not finding Dick. It was the first time, in a long time, that Dick had shared empathy with another being.

Save for those moments with Bruce, that is, but Dick still wasn't sure how he felt about that situation. He thought briefly of his mother's golden slippers.

"What happened to your face?" Talon said, tapping lightly on the bruise on Dick's cheek. Dick touched it, at first thinking maybe he had gotten it when he was getting tossed around in the water, but when his fingertips touched the skin he suddenly remembered. Dick couldn't resist smiling at the memory.

"The pup has a temper."

"So they tortured you? I don't understand."

"No," Dick said, taken aback by the insinuation—but then he remembered that they were his enemies, and there was nothing surprising about Talon's assumption. He fixed the expression on his face. "They were—"welcoming? Amusing?"—not a threat. Also, you guessed right—they are related. Father and son. And they have another ally as well—Bruce Wayne's butler, who's a bit stronger than he looks."

"Damn the Waynes," Talon cursed anyways, stepping back. "They spoil everything. I should kill the pup too. End the bloodline, once and for all."

Dick tried to understand—he had been granted his vengeance. Talon, for whatever may have caused his grievances with the Wayne bloodline, had never been granted the same satisfaction. Still, Talon was talking crazy. His sudden ferocity was not like him. Dick tried to reason with him, "The Court did not order for it. They only asked for Batman's death."

"If I explained to them that his child was in the way too—"Talon started and Dick suddenly realized, with fear, that he did not want that. His mind briefly went back to another day, with steel in his grasp and a bleeding girl on a carpet—back to a time, in what felt so long ago, that he had doubt about the ethics of his actions. Batman was an enemy, his death was necessary, but the others—Dick stopped, trying to erase his thoughts. He knew he wasn't allowed to feel that way, so he found an excuse instead.

"The Court isn't going to accept you making demands. We both have taken too many liberties."

Talon paused for a moment. Finally, he resigned. "You're right. But if he gets in the way, I will not hold back."

"The Court wouldn't expect you to," Dick said, frowning. "But they want Batman dead before anything else."

"So what did they do to you? Did they say anything noteworthy?"

Dick's heart began to thump a little. There was another reason why he was afraid that Talon would kill the Waynes. Dick still had unanswered questions. In that moment, Dick knew he should tell Talon the truth behind his capture. The truth about his importance to the Waynes.

"No," he said instead, after a moment. "Nothing important."

"I see," Talon said. He seemed to have questions but he accepted Dick's answer. He quietly said, "The Court has been talking about you."

Dick looked at him, did his best to remain composed and not alarmed. The Court could mean good or bad news—never anything in between, and almost always the latter. Considering how solemn Talon seemed, he wasn't sure what to expect.

"Our failed plan has them worried. They want to make you a Talon as soon as possible. They want you to start your trials."

"I see," Dick said. Even though becoming a Talon was his only goal since joining, and the only thing his entire world had revolved around since he was ten—knowing that the trials were now within his grasp suddenly wavered his confidence. He wasn't sure if he was ready.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to do it.

"Our training is going to end soon," Talon said after a moment. Dick looked at him curiously. The Talon seemed to want to say more—but whatever it was, he did not speak it. He revealed too much of himself that night. He said, stiffly, "I hope you're ready."