Chapter Text
It had been five years since Bruce had started his journey.
Five years since he’d last seen his hometown.
In Gotham, with its spiralling arches and gleaming spires resembling sharpened pikes awaiting patiently for new blood to be spilled upon them. Gotham with its cracked-up roads and its daunting bridges and the old Railway Station, towering above it all, decorated with more Gargoyles than probably reasonable, standing guard to every part of the city. With the glamour and glow of Bristol, contrasting with the weathered buildings and the dirt and smog sticking onto the denizens of the poorer neighbourhoods.
With the hulking Victorian mansion, he’d grown up in, which had born witness to the births and deaths of countless Waynes, greedy to swallow up more history, and more grief. The haunting old building would also be the one to witness his own demise, eventually.
With Alfred with his stiff posture and careful hands.
It was all part of that wonderful, abhorrent city. Part of the fabric of his own being.
Bruce, inexplicably, found himself yearning to return.
And he would. Soon.
There was one last thing he had to do before he’d be allowed to leave the compound. One final challenge.
According to the Demon’s Head it would be the most difficult one he’d face so far. A task only offered to the very best fighters the League had produced. Ones deemed worthy of it by the Demon’s Head himself. That count, as far as Bruce was aware, at least consisted solely of Ra’s himself, the man’s children and Lady Shiva.
None of the people who were familiar with the challenge would be willing to speak about it, which left Bruce with no real way to prepare himself for it. He’d tried to gather intel as well, but as it turned out this particular trial and its constituents were a better guarded secret than even the existence and locations of the Pits of Lazarus.
Bruce’s poking about had ended up with him being confined to his quarters for the remainder of the time before the trial, being instructed to take a break from his training and “settle himself down” as he waited to be called on. It felt an awful lot like being treated like a misbehaving toddler. He tried not to give his temper a chance to show itself, despite the burning irritation running under the surface of his skin. He still gave into the restlessness after the first day of forced seclusion and started reviewing kata, since he wasn’t allowed to properly work-out. It still left him with way too much time to think.
Three days passed before he got to see anyone other than the servants delivering his meals.
He was sat cross-legged meditating on the floor some time after he’d finished his breakfast of flatbread and cheese, when a knock sounded upon his door. He’d nearly jumped up to open the door and see who it was, anticipation fuelling him. But acting like a dog welcoming its master would do him no favours here. He stood up and steeled his features before calling out to whoever was there.
“Come in.”
The door swung open and in walked the most stunning woman Bruce had ever known - Talia al Ghul, daughter of the Demon’s Head. The rich copper of her skin was further accentuated by the deep olive-green fabric of the heavily modified oriental dress she was adorned in. Elaborate gold thread embroidery decorated the textile, looping designs descending from the V of her collar down to her stomach, as well as the hems of her sleeves and the slits added to her skirts for ease of movement. It was, as most of the Demon’s daughter’s outfits, tailored perfectly to her figure, the fabric swaying lightly with every movement of her body, meant to entice and blind her victims to the danger lurking just below.
“Talia.” he tilted his head slightly in an unspoken question.
“Beloved.” She greeted, eyes roaming along his body, an appreciative twist to her lips. “Father requests your presence. Follow after me.”
She left no room for argument, spinning on her heels and gliding out of the room, fully expecting Bruce to tail her. He had to widen his strides for the first few steps before slowing and still easily keeping up with her stride.
This would be his last chance to gain a boon for the trial.
“Talia, what is this test about?”
The Demon’s daughter stopped in her tracks, turning toward Bruce and placing a gentle hand on his chest, something uncharacteristically hesitant flashing in her eyes for barely a moment before being squashed under the more familiar icy composure. She shook her head and lifted the hand, facing the direction they’d been headed once again.
Bruce felt a tremor run over the base of his spinal cord. What sort of challenge would be able to fill Talia Al Ghul so… uncertain? She took a few more seconds before opening her mouth to reply.
“You know I cannot tell you, beloved.” The corner of her painted lips twitched downward. “However, I am certain you shall do what is necessary.”
Way too ominous and vague of a reply for Bruce’s taste.
He didn’t get the chance to question her further as she led him down an unfamiliar part of the compound, which was odd in of itself since he’d had the permission to roam freely around Shahr-e Qatelan in the past six months. His brows furrowed in confusion. He was certain he had passed by the fork in the corridor she’d led him down many times, and yet… he’d somehow never thought to go down that way?
It stank of occult influence.
The corridor they walked through was significantly narrower compared to the rest in the compound, creating a claustrophobic feeling in the ones walking through. There was no light throughout its length, forcing Bruce to orient himself through touch. In contrast Talia was walking confidently ahead of him.
They finally reached what seemed to be the entrance to a chamber, the room itself obscured by heavy drapery hung from the ceiling, which Talia pushed aside upon entering. He followed her in.
The inside of the cavern was dim, the only sources of light being a couple of torches adorning the walls and several candles scattered near the spots where people would sit. There were sticks on incense lit somewhere along the back putting out clouds of cloying sweet-smelling smoke that fell on clusters around their feet. During the first few weeks he’d spend in Shahr-e Qatelan this many strong scents would have undoubtedly sent Bruce into a coughing fit, much to the Assassins’ amusement, but after a year and a half he’d become desensitised. It was far preferable than the constant subtle stench of death and decay that the Demon’s Head gave off.
The Demon’s Daughter separated from him, moving to stand by her father’s side. Satisfaction shone in the immortal’s eyes as he briefly held onto Talia’s hand before letting go and shifting his attention to Bruce.
“Detective.” He was sat upon the only chair in the room, modelled after the thrones of real monarchs, marble and gold creating sharp contrast with the rest of the furniture. He waved a hand, the movement of the sleeve of his robes, an identical green to his daughter’s creating enough wind to shake the flames of the nearby candles. “Take a seat.”
Bruce reclined his head slightly and stepped nearer, falling down to his knees on one of the pillows scattered in front of the throne. There was a gleam of what seemed like dark amusement in the man’s eyes, which made him wary.
“Ra’s.”
“How quickly time passes.” The Demon’s head mused, staring down at Bruce with eyes sharp as a falcon’s. “The hour has struck for your final challenge, dear detective.” He moved, reaching by his side and taking out an empty goblet and a beyond-ancient looking waterskin. He pulled the cork out with flair, an unexpectedly loud pop echoing around the otherwise silent cavern. “And the only thing you must do is accept it.” He poured a dark viscous liquid into the glass, before closing the waterskin, placing it back down, and offering the glass to Bruce. “What say you?”
“What does the trial consist of? And what of the drink you so generously offer me?” Bruce questioned. He didn’t like this one bit. There was an odd noxious aura emanating from the liquid.
Ra’s al Ghul laughed.
“Naturally, curious as always.” he shook his head in something resembling fondness, though Bruce was certain the man had long lost the ability to feel such things, if he’d even possessed it in the first place. “That is after all the reason I took you on as a student, is it not? But to answer your question…” the light seemed to dim further. “…you must prove yourself capable of defeating your very own demons.”
“I have a feeling this is not about conquering my inner demons.”
The Demon’s Head chuckled again, before waving his free hand noncommittally.
“Yes and no. It is nothing as common as what you’re imagining I’m afraid.” He gestured to the glass. “This is the… let’s say essence of a particular magical creature, which can no longer be found on this planet.” Bruce had a feeling as to why that was, but kept his mouth shut. “It allows one to… create physical manifestations of one’s so-called inner demons. And conquer them.” The cruel shine in his eyes was obvious even in the darkness.
Bruce would be lying if he said that didn’t sound appealing. Being able to physically defeat his own worst parts – his fears and negative traits? Wasn’t this exactly what he was attempting to accomplish before he returned back home to Gotham?
And still. Something didn’t quite add up…
“You mean I would need to kill them.” He guessed, watching the immortal for a reaction. He could see Talia shift slightly, eyelids fluttering closed for a second. Enough of a confirmation he was right.
“They aren’t human, young detective. You may think of it as… pruning. Simply cutting off the unnecessary parts to allow for growth.”
“They? It’s not only one manifestation then?” he pressed.
“Correct. Though only one will appear once you drink the concoction. The rest will follow only when necessary. When you lose the way and need a… reminder.” The man’s lips were pulled into a slimy grin.
Bruce glanced over to Talia, gaze roaming over her expression, and finding nothing to grasp onto. As fond as she was of Bruce, it would seem her love for her parent would triumph. It was a bitter reminder of the reason he could not allow himself to be with her as he wanted.
“I am awaiting an answer, Detective.”
This was it.
He turned away from Talai and back to Ra’s al Ghul.
“I will do it.”
The man’s teeth were borne in a satisfied smile. Like the cat who got the canary.
“Excellent.”
Bruce could almost see his own blood staining the man’s teeth as he was handed the glass.
“Drink up.”
He took a moment to stare into the glass before swallowing his trepidation and gulping the contents down at once.
The taste of it was horrible, more similar to rotten meat than anything remotely consumable, it burned his throat like acid going down, making him choke and reflexively try to spit it back out. Ra’s al Ghul moved quick as a viper, grabbing onto his chin, tilting it up and clamping his other hand like a vice on top Bruce’s mouth, forcing him to gulp it back down.
He clicked his tongue in a chastising manner.
“Now, now, Detective. Where are your manners?”
Bruce tried to struggle, feeling his thoughts get blurry and limbs lose their strength. As a last resort he tried to bite onto the offending limb, rage and panic clouding his judgement and ability to plan. Ra’s only grimaced, moving his hand for just long enough to avoid the younger man’s teeth.
“Don’t fight it, boy.”
He wanted to curse at the man. But with his mouth obstructed, the only thing he could do was glare.
“Don’t be like that, Detective. You agreed to this.”
The Demon’s Head loosened his hold at last… only for Bruce to lack the strength to even support his own weight and drop to the ground once the man’s hands left his face. Dark spots started creeping into the edges of his vision.
The last thing he saw before entirely losing consciousness was the remorseful frown etched onto Talia’s features.
------------------------------------------
When he finally came to, he was alone in the cavern.
He rolled over and carefully sat up, taking account of himself as well as the room. He felt… mostly in shape, there was still a slight weakness in his legs and an added dryness to the horrid aftertaste sitting in his throat.
Judging from the fact that both the torches and the incense had already faded out, long enough ago that even most of the lingering smoke had faded, he’d been unconscious for at least a few of hours. Most likely three or four.
At least some of the candles hadn’t completely melted, the flickering flames providing a small measure of light which let him see the general shape of the room.
Bruce braced himself on his hands and got both of his legs under him, standing up and taking a few unsteady steps towards the candleholders. He kept close to the ground, not willing to trust the solitude of the chamber just yet. It would be just like Ra’s to make something like this his actual final test – fighting off ninjas while mostly blind and incapacitated.
Bruce scoffed at himself; how dumb did he have to be to not only drink the mystery liquid the man had offered but also believe in the tall tales the immortal had spun about it. Manifistations of his inner demons, his ass. It was likely just an overly-gross sedative.
He was beyond ticked.
Just as he was about to reach out for the base of the holder a small hand darted out of the darkness, grabbing and pulling it roughly, almost making the flames blow out from the rapid rush of air.
Bruce instinctively fell into a defensive stance, keeping a keen eye on the figure that had somehow evaded his attention up until now. The second the actually registered the… size of the person in front of him he dropped it in shock, eyes widening.
This was a child.
A tiny one, too. The top of his head barely reached the bottom of Bruce’s chest. Dressed in a dark linen shirt and what was fairly reminiscent of the loose sparring pants League trainees wore in the same colour as the shirt.
He had to squint to see any identifiable features, even with the child holding the lit candle dangerously close to his face, there was only so much one could make out with such limited light. Especially with the… admittedly unsettling shadows being cast around.
It was a child. In the middle of a League of Assassins base in the Arabian desert. With soft cherubic cheeks, messy curls falling into his face and, and a very, very wide grin stretching his mouth out to the brim.
Bruce was admittedly not used to being around children, much less interacting with them.
“Hello.” He greeted, trying to make his voice as mellow as possible. “Can you tell me how you got here?”
The boy blinked in confusion, head tilting in an oddly birdlike motion and his smile dropping several degrees. Bruce’s heart sank thinking he’d done something wrong, mind immediately starting to work overtime to come up with a solution but before he could even attempt to remedy it, the boy’s lips stretched back up… even further than they had been prior, revealing a pearly row of unnaturally sharp teeth.
The man’s breath hitched lightly as the child(?) started giggling, slightly distorted voice echoing around the room.
“What are you?” he whispered, falling back into a loose defensive stance.
Because whatever this was, it was no human child. No human child had a smile that could stetch this wide, with needle-sharp canine teeth, nor glowing blue eyes, the colour like polished sapphire. Its features were sort of flickering like a corrupted broadcast, giving the impression of being in the process of settling into its form.
“Oh, come on! That’s a silly question!” the boy thrilled, tilting his head to the other side before alternating to the first position again. He paused, seemingly waiting for Bruce to answer. Bruce… who hadn’t the faintest idea where the demon child had come from kept silent, tensely stared into the being’s eyes. After a few seconds the creature’s brows furrowed, its grin shrinking into a pout. “Oh. You really don’t know?” There was a tense note of… irritation? Maybe sadness? In its voice.
Bruce glanced over the kid appraisingly… whatever it was… it didn’t seem to wish him harm. He’d travelled the world for five years, met all kinds of people… he’d long since learned that inhumanity was not proof of a lack of personhood. More often than not it was regular humans who held the largest capacity to cause harm. He let go of some of the tension, shaking his head in response to the question.
The boy’s frown grew deeper.
“I’m… an aspect of you. You created me.” The child explained. “To destroy me.”
“…What?” he felt his blood drain from his face. There was no way… Sure, the boy shared some features with Bruce but, but it just wasn’t physically possible. As for the second part he would never even think about hurting a child this small. Or any child. Kids were precious, meant to be protected not harmed, much less ‘destroyed’ as the boy had put it.
“You drank the suspicious magical potion.” His nose scrunched up. “Willingly.”
He could barely think past the deafening sound of blood rushing in his ears.
Ra’s… hadn’t been lying?
The drink had truly created a flesh and blood manifestation of his… inner demons? Except… why had said manifestation taken the form a child? It made no sense…
Unless…
His eyes widened again as he stared at the boy, anger and betrayal rushing in waves from somewhere deep in his core, crackling like hot lava.
Talia’s parting expression.
It was always kids.
The manifestations took the form of children.
His teacher and the woman he… could have fallen in love with, had he only had more time had expected him to murder a child in cold blood. Just as they had when they’d gone through the trial themselves.
It wasn’t surprising from the immortal. Shocking, yet not unexpected. But Talia…? He forced himself to turn his thoughts away from their… connection. He knew she was a thorny rose, ready to spill blood if necessary. And yet… How could she be so vicious as to take away the life of an innocent?
Human or not… this was an innocent life.
He stared at the gradually steadying form of what was an approximately eight-year-old child balancing on the tips of his toes, unable to keep still, looking about ready to start poking Bruce for answers if he delayed it any further.
He took in a shaky breath, falling to one knee and desperately attempting to pull his emotions back together. He owed it to… whatever the little inner demon-child’s name was. Did he even have a name…? A question for later.
“Are we gonna fight now?” the boy chirped, miming several boxing moves, uncaring of their only source of light, before turning those big bright eyes to Bruce and tilting his head at a concerning angle.
He choked on his words.
“NO!” Bruce exclaimed, steadying himself again before finishing. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The boy shot him a disbelieving look. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt, just a tiny bit.
But this wasn’t about him.
He hoped he was doing the correct thing. He tried for a grin, failing miserably, judging by the utterly stupefied expression on the child’s face.
“I have another idea.” he slowly stretched a hand out for a handshake. “How would you like to come home with me?”
The kid fell still, blinking owlishly at him.
Bruce felt an odd twinge in his heart at the possibility of refusal. He didn’t know what else he could do if the child didn’t agree. He was… responsible for the boy’s creation, no matter if he’d done it willingly or not.
“Could I fight other people, then?” the boy questioned, voice hopeful.
Bruce blinked… That wasn’t what he’d expected to come out of the boy’s mouth.
And yet…
…It wasn’t like he could leave him at a League base, nor could he, in good consciousness just let the literal child go off on his own somewhere.
There were martial arts classes for kids in Gotham, weren’t there?
“Sure.” He nodded.
The massive grin that he got in response was almost blinding, candle-light reflecting off the kid’s teeth.
“Okay!”
A much smaller hand clasped onto his own, fitting neatly within his palm.
The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitched up involuntarily.
This might just end up going well.