They're twins!?

Chapter 2

"It's been a year since my granddaughter, Dahlia Al Ghul, was taken from us. I can confirm to you, that all who were involved have been given what they deserved." Some cheered, hearing that the ones that dared attack them were now dead. "However," Ra's silenced them. Damian, who stood to the left of Ra's, saw the man give him a devilishly amused glance, "I must sadly declare that Dahlia is dead leaving Damian Al Ghul, my grandson, the sole Heir to the Demon's Head." Ra's finished off, putting a hand on Damian's shoulder.

The seven year old boy was frozen stiff, he refused to believe his grandfather, and looked quickly over to his mother who stood to the right of Ra's. The woman didn't acknowledge her son, she didn't even spare him a glance, as she turned around and walked away.

{Flashback Over}

He despised him, he hated the man who declared her dead with such smugness he almost seemed delighted. Hated the man who would hurt his sister. He hated him, despised him, loathed him. Calling that man 'grandfather', was only a formality to keep up appearances. But, oh, how satisfied he was when Deathstroke killed him; his only wish was that he had done it himself.

Calming himself down slightly, he stripped himself of his Robin suit, and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, careful to not pop the stitches on his abdomen where he had been shot by Penguin. He sat on the edge of his bed, contemplating whether or not he should simply go to bed, or sneak out and go to his sister Cassandra's apartment for the night.

Looking at his desk, he saw his sketchbook, and decided to look at what he had drawn over the past few days. Flipping to the most recent drawings, he found simple things such as Alfred the butler, carrying Alfred the cat, Titus and Ace playing with a ball, and finally, his sister. He had apparently drawn three pictures of her without realizing he had been doing so, until Dick pointed it out.

The first was her sharpening her favorite dagger, the same dagger he had been sharpening the other day. The second, was a simple picture of her wearing a flower crown they had made on one of their secret adventures outside of the compound. The last, and final drawing, was a rough sketch portrait, she had her signature smile and her hair was down, which didn't happen often, and around her neck, sat the emerald necklace he had given her.

"Master Damian," a voice called out from the other side of the door, "Master Bruce wishes to see you in the study." Damian, having been snapped away from his thoughts, scowled, placing the open sketchbook on his bed and exiting his room.

"What, father?" He questioned, as he entered the room Bruce was waiting for him in. In the man's hand was a small piece of paper that he seemed to be examining as he motioned Damian to sit in one of the chairs in front of the large, oak, desk he was leaning against.

Once Damian was seated, he spoke, "Who is she?" his eyes never left the paper he was holding.

"Who is who?" Damian questioned, rather confused until Bruce turned the paper over for him to see. It was the picture kept in his wooden box, which he now realized he had accidentally left out on his desk, unlocked. "Where'd you get that? Give it back!" he quickly stood, but Bruce moved it away from his son's reach.

"Who is she?" Bruce repeated the question, surprised to see Damian openly express so much emotion, and over a single picture.

"It's none of your business!" he responded, trying to get the picture back. Noticing the earrings Jason had pointed out, he realized they're the same ones the younger Damian wore in the picture, with a girl of similar age with deep brown hair, and bluebell eyes, contrasting Damian's black hair, and forest green eyes.

"Damian, the two of you were clearly close, and this was taken before I knew about you. So, who is she?"

"It doesn't matter who she is! Now give it back!" Damian was frustrated, Bruce could see that, but he could also see tears beginning to appear in his son's eyes.

"And why is that?" he asked quietly and calmly, as he slowly moved his hand with the picture closer to his son.

"Because she's dead! Dahlia's dead, okay?!!" Damian exclaimed, a few tears escaping, ".. matat 'ukhti alsaghira*.." he whispered the last part so quietly, Bruce almost didn't hear it. Realizing what he said, he took back the picture and ran out the room.

He did not speak to anyone, nor leave his room, unless absolutely necessary for the next week or so, and while Bruce's Arabic was rusty, he still heard what his son had said and began a new investigation. One concerning Damian's long lost sister. 

~~~~~

A/N: Damian's earrings are at the top also if I have this wrong please correct me!

matat 'ukhti alsaghira = my little sister died