A/N:
Just a quick note before we begin, first of all happy holidays and happy new year, I hope you all have had a safe and wonderful Christmas or any other holiday you may celebrate! Secondly, this is technically the last chapter of the book, however there will be a short epilogue that will follow, most likely, tomorrow or the day after so keep an eye out. I also should warn you that this is quite a long chapter, and does switch P.O.V a lot (sorry in advance)
Anyway, thank you so much for sticking with this book, its my first book that I've ever completed and seen through till the end. I really hope you've enjoyed it and thank you so much for coming along on this journey with me! :)
So without further interruption, I hope you enjoy the final chapter of I'll be good.
***
Talia stood frozen, wide-eyed and openmouthed as she watched her son overwhelm every single assassin that charged at him. Damian was quick and light on his feet, manoeuvring his way through the masses faster than she had ever thought possible. His sword was swinging and slicing at lightning speed, disarming his enemies and leaving them down for the count in a matter of seconds before disappearing in a blur.
The devastating sensation of fury happened upon her instantly, but she was torn between feeling a sense of pride and a sense of anguish as she watched her son fight.
On the one hand, Damian was truly unrivalled when it came to swordplay, watching him parry and attack with ease and confidence forced a small smile upon her lips. But on the other hand, her son-- whom, despite everything, she still loved in her own twisted sense of a way-- had once again, turned his back on all of them.
And this time, there would be no forgiveness, no second chances. This time she knew what needed to be done, and it somewhat pained her that the task had fallen into her hands.
Conflicting thoughts threatened to enter her mind, forcing her to see reason, and she couldn't help but let them in.
After all, Damian was her son, and no matter how many times she threatened it or thought about it, no matter how many times she had been reminded of his expendability, Damian was the only son she would ever have. To her, he was irreplaceable.
Talia knew her father didn't think the same as she did, and she knew perfectly well that he would not hesitate to dispose of the boy and start again as though the past ten years didn't matter to him.
But they mattered to her.
They mattered a great deal, in fact. She was the one who raised Damian and loved him and allowed his entire existence to thaw what was left of her cold heart from the moment she laid eyes on him.
Still, the betrayal was fresh and wounding, and as she watched her son choose people he barely knew over her and everything she had built and sacrificed for him, it caused the anger and pure devastation to swell gruellingly in her chest.
She knew what needed to be done, and she would follow blindly even if everything inside her was screaming at her not to.
The heart and its emotions were a serious liability indeed.
***
Bruce jumped to his feet shortly after Damian had disappeared amongst the multitude of assassins that all seemed to be dropping like flies in his son's stead. Damian didn't kill any of them, though; he knew better now.
Bruce ran into the fray seeking out his son and helping to take down the remaining assassins that were advancing upon Damian.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Talia standing on the outskirts of the chamber, partially covered by shadows.
For a split second, Bruce felt the extreme desire to hurt her. To watch as that obnoxious smirk be wiped clean from her face and, instead, be replaced with fear as he held her life in his hands.
But that feeling was quickly gone when his focus shifted back to his son, who had been too preoccupied defending himself against two assassins wielding large swords, that he hadn't foreseen the sudden attack from behind until it was too late.
Damian was sent to the ground immediately after a well-placed strike to the back of his head caught him off guard.
Bruce was by his side in an instant, placing himself carelessly in the middle of the fight with his focus solely on Damian instead of the danger that surrounded the both of them. But Bruce didn't care; they could throw whatever attacks at him they deemed necessary, he could handle them. What he couldn't handle was losing his son for a second time. So, after checking to make sure Damian was in fact, still breathing, Bruce threw himself into an unfair fight where the enemy had all the advantage.
With great effort, Bruce managed to knock a few of them to the ground, but the onslaught didn't seem to cease. They swung their swords at him relentlessly, striving for a kill each time. Bruce, of course, managed to avoid every single one of their advances, even as he kept shifting his focus over to where Damian was on the chamber floor, still not moving.
He wanted so badly to scoop his boy into his arms and carry him away from the island where he would be safe forever. He wanted so badly to just run to him at that moment, but a swift strike to his abdomen forced him back to reality and back to fending against the League.
***
After a successful-- yet harsh-- hit to the temple, the assassin tumbled to the floor with a thud. Somehow the numbers that had surrounded them previously were now dropping rapidly, and Dick couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit hopeful that they might actually win this fight against the infamous League of Shadows.
Leaving the assassins unconscious on the floor, Dick raced over to where Tim and Jason were making quick work out of their own opponents. He helped as much as he could, but it was safe to say that his younger brothers could easily hold their own in a fight.
Once the remaining assassins were down for the count, the three brothers followed Bruce further into the chamber, fists and weapons at the ready.
They sprung into action immediately, taking down as many as they could, but losing sight of each other and everything else as the disarray increased.
But not a single one of them had missed it, though. The image that had haunted them for days, replaying right before their very eyes.
As fast as it happened, it felt like time had slowed.
An attack from behind-- unsuspecting and brutal-- then Damian falling to the ground, landing against it with a sickening smack that seemed to echo throughout the chamber.
Jason had moved over next to Bruce, who stood like a protective shield in front of Damian, followed closely by Tim, all three of them lining a defence against the sword-wielding maniacs.
But Dick couldn't bear to take his eyes away from his fallen brother, nor could he stand to just leave him lying where he was, unprotected and out cold. So he ran, as fast as his legs could bear to move, over to Damian and brought him into his lap, cradling him in his arms. Dick quickly checked his pulse and was relieved to find it beating steady and strong beneath his fingertips.
Dick continued to watch the fight before him, watching as his father and brothers struggled to keep up with the wave of assassins. It was terrifying to think that Ra's and Talia had this many people who were willing to fight and kill for them. That were willing to die for them if need be.
"Dick?" came a hushed whisper from the bundle in his arms. Dick whipped his head down-- so fast, he was so sure he gave himself whiplash-- to see a pair of baby blues staring up at him in an unsteady gaze.
"What happened?" Damian reached his hand to the back of his head but winced when it came into contact.
"Don't worry, Dami," Dick began as he held the boy in his arms impossibly tighter, determined to keep him safe from everything that wanted to hurt him. "I gotcha. It's going to be okay."
He held him tight in his arms as he moved to stand, letting the boy's head lean against his shoulder, but Dick had no idea what his next move would be.
***
From his throne-like chair, peering down into the chamber like some sort of god, Ra's al Ghul watched as the fight raged tirelessly. He was losing, and it fueled his anger substantially.
The boy had once again betrayed him. Turned his back on his own family as though blood meant nothing to him.
Ra's had watched with an unblinking gaze, as Damian tore through every one of his assassins as though they were mere shadows on the wall. A boy of only ten effortlessly triumphed against those who had trained for far longer, who had experienced far more.
Ra's had done that-- he had made the boy far better than he could possibly comprehend-- and this was the thanks he was receiving?
He didn't have much time to ponder this betrayal, however, as most of his assassins had fallen and the rest would not last much longer against the enraged fists that belonged to the family of heroes he hated so much.
One thing was for certain, they would not be leaving Infinity Island with his treasonous heir. One way or another, Damian was staying there, even if it meant he had to be eliminated in the process.
No doubt his beloved daughter would object to her son's disposal, but she would come to understand, in time.
***
His grandfather was watching them from his perch, a small hint of an amused smile forming on his lips against the hideous scowl that currently resided there. He raised his hand, palm facing away, and as if by magic-- or some similar force that existed within both the island and his grandfather-- the fighting stopped.
"Well done, Damian!" Ra's hailed, his green eyes settling easily upon Damian's despite the distance between them, "an exceptional performance!"
Damian felt his eyes narrow on their own accord at his grandfather's praises.
"You get your wish. Bruce and his little sidekicks may leave freely, nobody will stop them."
The comforting weight of Dick's hand tightened on his shoulder just as the others moved closer, as though on instinct, forming a protective circle around him.
"If you think we're going anywhere without Damian, you are sorely mistaken." Damian could practically feel Bruce's displeasure radiating off him in waves at the sheer insistence of them leaving without him. And Damian couldn't help the sudden feeling of happiness as it fluttered in his stomach.
"I'm afraid this is not up to you," Ra's snarled.
But the sourness and the cold still lingered.
"Son, you've made your point," Talia interjected quickly, almost desperately before anything more could be said in the stand-off. She inched her way further into the light of the chamber, closer to Damian, a look of panic clouding her expression.
"Your friends are free to go," she said before fixing her hardened stare upon Bruce, "leave. Now."
"I told you, we're not going anywhere without him," Bruce spat at her as he managed to push Damian further behind himself.
Talia's gaze hardened impossibly further, her lips curling inward into her mouth, baring her teeth. "If you think I'm going to let you leave with my son..." she trailed off, the threat lying dead on her tongue.
Damian could see the slight apprehension in her gaze, could hear it in her voice, and he had no idea what was making her so nervous.
Her eyes were calculating as she looked back at him. Her bottom lip was pulled between her teeth, worrying it raw. And for once, Damian wished he could see inside her mind at that moment-- to see the cogs turning as she processed her thoughts. He wanted to understand the reason for her hesitation, wanted to figure out the cause behind her transparent unease.
But most of all, he wanted to know why his mother wasn't acting like his mother at all.
Perhaps, he thought, just maybe, she was considering letting him go with them. Damian knew he shouldn't allow his heart to hope, but her eyes-- her entire expression-- were looking at him with something he had never seen before, something he couldn't quite place. And maybe, just maybe.
But then it was as though something in her mind snapped into place, and her eyes turned cold once more.
"You left once before," she said, fixing her gaze upon Damian, her eyes now utterly devoid of anything that resembled warmth," and you were foolish enough-- naive enough-- to believe that you could ever truly hide from who you are."
A sour taste had settled in his mouth, unable to swallow it down. He was trapped. Helpless. The walls were closing in, blocking the breath in his lungs, and this time, there was nowhere to run.
He couldn't listen to his mother but he couldn't stop either. Especially when the words that left her venomous tongue rang true.
"You cannot escape who you are, Damian. You are the heir to the Demon's Head. No matter where you are, or what you tell yourself, your nature will never change. It is in your blood. You can pretend to be something you're not if you like, but you can never change what is inside you, the water of the Lazarus pit made sure of that. You are not that same scared little boy who ran from his destiny; you are different now, and you're even more dangerous."
His mother's words were infecting him, settling like ice in the pit of his stomach. Maybe she was right, Damian thought. Maybe after everything, it didn't matter what he wanted, or who he wanted to be, or even how hard he would try to prove how different he was from his family.
It wouldn't change a thing-- and she knew that.
"Face it, Damian, they will be better off without you."
They will be safer without him. They will be better off without him, Damian silently told himself, repeating his mother's words, as his feet moved forwards, sluggish and hesitant. Dick's hand fell away from his shoulder, and with it, the comforting warmth he had felt-- the happiness in his stomach-- depleted bit by agonizing bit.
He was almost at his mother's side now, and he could see her eyes burning with a familiar mixture of disappointment and hostility. Or was it relief he could spot in the clouded spec of green?
Relief that she had managed to convince him? Relief that she had won?
It was gone quickly, whatever it was. Perhaps it was never there at all.
"That's not true!" Bruce's voice rung out amidst the quiet, stopping Damian in his tracks.
"You cannot manipulate him anymore, Talia. I won't let you," Bruce snarled, his voice like ice, and his gaze even more so, as he locked eyes with the woman.
"Bruce, it's okay," Damian tried, his voice low and timid, as though he had truly given up.
Damian wanted so desperately to leave the island with Bruce and the others and never look back, but he knew that he couldn't do that. His mother would never allow it. His grandfather had allowed them to leave freely, such hospitality would not be offered a second time. And if Damian attempted to escape with them, they wouldn't make it far, and his grandfather would show no mercy.
There was no other option, he had to stay behind.
"No. No, it isn't," Bruce reciprocated, his voice growing frantic. "I'm so sorry, Damian. I'm sorry for all the things I said to you, sorry for what I let happen to you, sorry that I didn't come for you sooner."
Tears had collected in his eyelashes and threatened to fall onto his cheeks with every passing second, but Damian refused to let them; he couldn't allow his mother to see it-- he refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing his weaknesses.
"Listen to me, You don't have to stay here."
"Yes, he does!" Talia fired back instantly.
But Bruce ignored her and kept his eyes solely on Damian, his voice gentle and reassuring as he spoke to him.
"Damian, there's something you should know-- something that I didn't know about until just before I lost you."
Damian waited, listening intently, but deep down, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. Because whatever confession Bruce was about to make, Damian was more than certain that it wouldn't make the awful feeling in his gut go away, but he listened anyway.
And when it came-- the inevitable punchline to the absurd anecdote that functioned as his life story-- Damian didn't blink or move a muscle. He wasn't quite sure if he was breathing correctly.
Father.
Father...
The word didn't sound real.
Damian remembered asking his mother about his father when he was younger. It could have been his earliest memory.
He would ask her about the absent presence in his life all the time, and mostly, she would refuse to answer him. But one time when he was so young and had so much to prove, Damian had somehow managed to beat her during their training together, and so he asked again, and again, and again until she caved.
She wouldn't say his name or delve too far into what he looked like, but Damian would still ask every night before he slept so that his subconscious mind could conjure up something that would fill in the blanks until he had something that could resemble his father.
He would ask where his father was or if he knew about Damian. If he was ever coming back.
"He's dead," she told him once. "He left before you were born," she told him another time. It was a different tale always. And Damian knew he was never going to meet the man who helped bring him into this world.
Until that man just so happened to be standing in front of him, saying the words he had been longing to hear all his life.
He looked to his mother, searching her face for the lies in Bruce's words, but she would not meet his gaze, and he knew.
The words replayed over in his mind, annoyingly so, like a broken record. They sent a queasy feeling into his stomach but also sent warmth into his chest and happiness into his heart.
His father. His father. The very same man who he happened to run into by chance, who rescued him from the filthy streets of Gotham. The man who welcomed him into his home, let him be a part of his family-- no matter how damaged it was or how unsalvagable it seemed. Damian thought it was perfect. And it was his and had been all along.
"Son..." Bruce began, reaching out for him. Damian allowed himself to smile, no matter how small.
"Father,"
He was safe now. He was going home with his father and his brothers. He was going to see Alfred again, and sleep in that giant bed that swallowed him whole in a good way, he was going to be loved and protected, and nothing would ever be able to hurt him again.
He was going to be safe.
But then-
"Enough of this!" exclaimed Ra's as he strode into the chamber, the blade of his weapon glistening under the dim lighting as it swung at his hip.
On instinct, Bruce jumped in front of Damian, willing to protect his son at all costs, but Damian had his sword at the ready and rushed forwards to meet his grandfather, locking blades fiercely as the deadly duel began.
***
Talia surged forward, raising her own blade as well, but Bruce was in front of her within seconds, the anger and hatred he had felt before, swelling in his chest again and leaving absolutely no room for cohesive thoughts.
He called to Dick, Jason, and Tim to go and find Damian as the boy had disappeared from view once he had engaged with Ra's. The three of them left willingly, determined to help their little brother win his fight against the evil man, leaving Bruce alone with Talia.
Bruce-- though as capable and enraged as he was-- was technically unarmed and at a disadvantage, fighting with only his fists against Talia, who had a sword and was an expert at wielding it.
Statistically, the odds were never going to be in Bruce's favour, but he was angrier-- more furious-- than he had ever been in his entire life, and at that moment, from his point of view, the sword didn't seem all that mighty.
He dodged every strike and every swipe of her blade like it was child's play, causing her to cry out as she became even more frustrated. Bruce couldn't help the small bit of satisfaction he felt at her growing sloppiness.
With a heavy punch to her face, Talia was down, her weapon flung a few feet away.
Blood poured from her nose and her breaths were short and rugged, coming out in hitched puffs of air rather than complete inhales and exhales, as she struggled to stand to her feet and make a break for her sword.
Bruce didn't let her make it that far, however, as he kicked her to the floor and kept her pinned down, landing blow after blow on her already abused face.
He only managed to stop-- fist mid-air, ready to strike-- when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tim land roughly on the ground as though he had been thrown, smacking his head on the hard surface.
Bruce ran over to him immediately, forgetting about Talia the instant he reached Tim, his eyes focusing on a brand new situation altogether.
Ra's al Ghul, who was surrounded by Bruce's sons-- outnumbered and outgunned, as it were-- was somehow managing to oppose each one of them with astounding ease. And it didn't look as though Ra's was going to tire any time soon.
***
It felt as though the ground beneath him was shaking tremendously as he made contact with it-- his body smacking violently against the cold terrain-- or perhaps it was the dizzying tremors inside his head as he struggled to recover from the impact.
Jason went down last-- easily the most formidable out of all the brothers, and the hardest to subdue, but it still happened and all within a blink of an eye. First, it was Tim, who still lay unmoving on the floor, then a few seconds after, Dick was hurtled against a wall and never got back up.
Damian saw it all and yet was powerless to help them.
Ra's stalked over towards Damian as he lay broken and bruised on the ground, struggling to move a finger let alone stand to his feet.
"You insolent child!" Ra's roared, grabbing Damian by the scruff of his collar and hauling the boy upright. "You see what you have done." The cool metal of his grandfather's sword pressed roughly against his throat as Damian's eyes blurred into focus, finally bearing witness to the destructive nature of Ra's al Ghul.
"You could have had it all, Damian," the man sneered, spitting out Damian's name as though it were acid on his tongue.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, tasting the sharp tang of blood as it left his mouth. The sword pressed impossibly closer-- the most comfortless feeling he'd ever felt-- breaking just a fraction of Damian's skin.
Was he going to die? Were his newfound family-- his father, his brothers who all fought so hard to bring him home, who loved him that much-- were they going to die? He couldn't bear to even stomach the thought, he couldn't let it happen. And yet, his body was refusing to break free from his grandfather's hold, like it had truly given up the fight.
"Now you will have nothing," the cold voice whispered against his skin, making his hairs stand on end, letting the feeling of fear ripple through him.
No... They all had to make it out alive; Alfred was waiting for them.
Pushing forward enough to create some distance but not enough to fully deepen the wound on his neck, Damian ripped his arms free from Ra's hold and swung his head back with enough force to make a painful connection with the man's face. He was dropped instantly, the sword landing next to him.
The back of his head was throbbing, his neck was sticky with blood, and his body threatened to blackout any second but he still made a grab for the sword, determination winning against everything else.
Ra's had only stumbled slightly and had managed to find his footing again within milliseconds, a murderous expression upon his face, a thirst for blood in his eyes.
Damian charged at him, weapon at the ready, swiping for a hit, but in his weakened state, missed his target every time, striking only the mid-air.
He was disarmed easily and his legs were wiped out from under him, causing him to fall backwards, smacking once again onto the solid ground, the wind knocked out of him.
Ra's was above him immediately-- a blurry form of his grandfather, who looked like nothing more than a shadow in Damian's failing vision-- prepared to deliver the final blow. Until suddenly, he wasn't.
The sound of fighting somewhere to his right filled the room, taunts and threats were made but Damian couldn't discern who said what to who. He tried to stand, tried to blink away the black spots that clouded his vision, begged for his brain to stop hurting.
Bruce put up a good fight-- managing to gain the upper hand for a split second, but his victory was short-lived; no matter how good a fighter his father was, his grandfather was and always will be better.
"No," Damian called weakly, seizing Ra's' attention once again.
With a swift kick to the face, Bruce was down, bleeding and gasping for air. "This is your fault, Damian," Ra's began as he slowly approached Damian, "you foolish boy! I gave you all."
Ra's took his now red-stained sword in hand as he neared his grandson. He was going to end this. He was going to kill him, and not a single hint of remorse or sadness entered his mind.
With one final glance at his father, Damian allowed for his eyes to close, accepting his defeat, waiting for the killing blow.
But the blow never came. Instead, in its place came a loud clatter as the sound of a sword hitting the hard flooring pierced through the dead air.
Damian opened his eyes, slow and hesitant.
Ra's was on the ground, blood curdling in his mouth and spilling onto his face, a look of absolute horror and betrayal on his face. There was blood on his chest that began to pool around him. It was strange for Damian to see him like that-- so human, so vulnerable. Damian used to think that his grandfather would live forever-- it was Ra's' goal after all-- and perhaps he might've, if it wasn't for the culprit who had stabbed him in the back-- literally and figuratively.
Talia stood now where her father had been standing just moments ago, her own sword-- now dripping with her father's blood-- dropped from her grasp, landing on the ground next to his body.
Ra's was dead.
Bruce got to his feet-- scrambling quickly over to Damian-- as Talia dropped to her knees. The room was eerily quiet; nobody knowing what to say. Bruce helped Damian up, letting the boy put as much weight on him as he needed, and held onto him. And for a while, it was just the three of them, the sound of quiet breathing filing the emptiness.
Damian had no idea how to react to his mother's actions. He wasn't sure how to feel about her sudden change of heart-- her complete one-eighty decision to save his life from her father, whom she had been the most loyal to.
"Why?" he asked, his voice raw and scratchy and almost, completely inaudible. But Talia raised her head, looking into his eyes; she'd heard him perfectly fine.
"Why did you do that?" Damian asked again, elaborating his question. He had to know, and he wouldn't accept any answer other than the truth this time.
"I couldn't let him kill you."
"Why?" Bruce chimed in, "you didn't seem to have a problem with letting him die in Gotham!"
"I would've never let him die," Talia snarled at the man before returning her gaze back to her son, her blood-shot eyes softening along with her tone, "I would never. Please, Dami..."
"Don't call me that."
Talia's eyes pleaded for him to see reason, but Damian had no interest in her little redemption tale. She had forced him to live a life no child should live. She raised him to become a killer, something he tried so very hard not to become but had become anyway. He blamed them both-- her and Ra's-- he hated them both, and he wanted to be free of them forever.
With his mind seemingly made up, Damian slipped away from Bruce's protective hold, much to the man's protest, striding over to his mother and grasping her sword from off the floor, leveling it over her heart. His gaze hardened, and breathing heavy.
Talia smiled softly at him, relieved, as though she had anticipated his actions, the fight to resist or retaliate leaving her entirely. "Do it," she said, taking ahold of the sword's edge that was pressed aginst her chest, "do it, Damian."
Make me proud.
She had already lost. Her father was gone, her League of Shadows was gone, and Damian had no desire to spare her the misery she was due. But he wouldn't kill her; that would make him like her-- his mother's son, her perfect creation-- and he was nothing like her. Not anymore.
He wanted to be better than the person she was, wanted to be better than the person she wanted him to be.
He lowered the sword as he lowered his now softening gaze.
He wasn't like her or his grandfather, he was so much better than that.
"You were wrong about me, mother. I was never born to spill blood, I've made mistakes but I will never become the monster you tried so hard to raise me to be."
He threw the sword to the side, not bothering to see where it landed. Talia stared back at him, not with anger or resentment in her eyes, but disbelief, and at an apparent loss for words, Talia simply tore her gaze from her son and let her head drop in defeat.
She may be his mother, but as it stood, Talia al Ghul meant nothing to him now.
Niether of them had anything more to say to each other, and although it still pained him slightly, Damian turned away from his mother's crestfallen demeanour, looking instead, into the eyes of his father, nothing but pride and love shining through them.
They left her there, nothing but ghosts and empty walls surrounding her now.
Enjoy the silence, Talia.
***
They arrived back at Wayne Manor just as the sun was beginning to rise over the city. Alfred was waiting for them in the cave, and when he spotted Damian, he immediately gathered the boy in a tight embrace.
Damian smiled against the fabric of the butler's coat; he had truly missed Alfred and he was so glad to be back where he truly belonged.
"You're never leaving again, Master Damian," Alfred decided, releasing a chuckle.
Damian agreed almost instantly, "I never want to."
He was home now, surrounded by the people he was very happy to call his family, and no matter what his life was like before, it would never be like that again. He was free to be a normal child-- well, as normal as he could get away with having Batman as his father.
In the end, all Damian wanted was a home. A real home filled with warmth and laughter and sometimes, the occasional screaming match between the ones that loved him.
He wanted a family. A real family who cared so deeply and loved with every fibre of their being that it was embedded into his very skin. A family who loved him always.
And now, he has that. And he would have it forever.
It feels like a punch in the chest as it hits him, but in a good way-- in a great way, really-- in a way that leaves the feeling of warmth in his belly and makes his lips twitch into a smile. That feeling, he thinks, he's never really felt it before, and as he smells the familiar scent of cigar smoke on Alfred's clothing, as he looks around at his little family he has all to himself, his eyes burn with the first tears of happiness he's probably ever cried in his life.