The "Prisoner" Of The Justice League

Down Bad in Distress - Part 2

Part 1 | Masterpost

The many—MANY—instances of Bruce's bodyguard being terrifyingly brutal for him and his family and how that turns Bruce on.

Bruce isn't stupid. He knows Danny knows. It’s obvious—damn obvious—considering the way Danny just knows. There was that one time, the alley, Bruce barely holding himself together after 50-something hours with no sleep. He could barely stand, muscles sore and head swimming. And then, like some kind of twisted serendipity, Danny shows up.

Takes one look at the mess Bruce is in—Batman—and doesn’t hesitate. Not even a breath. Just pure, unfiltered instinct.

Danny moves like a blur, swift and terrifyingly efficient. A punch to the throat here, a knee to the gut there. A quick, brutal twist of a wrist. The next thing Bruce knows, the guys who dared lay hands on him are unconscious, twitching, moaning on the ground.

God, Bruce is so turned on.

Danny doesn’t even break a sweat.

"Bruce," Danny hums, voice steady despite the adrenaline. It’s a casual thing now—calling him by name, no more “sir” or formalities. It’s just Bruce.

Then, like it’s nothing, Danny looks at him with that grin—sharp, dangerous. “Ah, Batman,” he corrects with a wink, scooping Bruce up like he’s weightless.

Bruce can’t stop himself from groaning as Danny effortlessly pulls him into his arms. “I should get you a mask,” Bruce rasps, more out of breath than he should be. “Makes you less... noticeable...”

Danny just chuckles, the sound low and throaty, almost predatory. “I wouldn’t worry about that for now,” he whispers, brushing his thumb across Bruce’s cheek—the cowl was a bit damaged then— gentle for a moment before his eyes harden. He turns to the Batmobile, his gaze narrowing as he finds it.

Bruce doesn’t remember much of the ride after that. Just that Danny shut the door, locked it from the inside with an ease that makes Bruce’s head spin. Then, Danny was gone—just for a couple minutes.

And in that short span of time, Danny makes sure every bastard who dared lay a hand on Bruce pays.

Bruce tries not to think about what that means. But the sound… the crash of broken bones, the sickening snap of necks twisting the wrong way, the gurgling sounds of blood, the wet, gut-wrenching thud of bodies hitting concrete—

Danny’s movements are terrifying. Almost animalistic. Every strike, every slam of a fist into someone’s jaw, every bone-crushing hold, speaks of an intense, controlled fury. Danny is a blur of muscle and violence, one second here, the next there, and then there’s another man crumpling to the ground in a heap of broken limbs.

None of the blood on him is Danny’s.

Bruce should be terrified. He should be scared, heart racing with the realisation that this man—this force of nature—has just torn through half a dozen people who hurt him. Hurt his boss.

But instead, Bruce just feels fascinated. Mesmerized.

And when Danny finally returns, grinning with blood splattered across his face like some deranged warrior, his eyes are wild—alive in a way Bruce can’t explain. He slips into the driver’s seat, that same grin still there, as if nothing had happened at all.

And Bruce? He’s too exhausted to care. His body aches, but there’s a strange comfort in knowing Danny’s got this, got him. That no one can get to him.

Danny's here. Danny's always here. And Bruce can rest. He can finally—finally—breathe.

Another time Danny made it painfully obvious that he knew about their vigilantism—and didn’t give a single damn—was with Tim. Tim, who’d gone off on a mission for Young Justice, thinking he could handle it alone.

Only, it didn’t go well. Not well at all.

Tim ended up cornered, a stab wound slashing through his side, blood pouring out fast, dark, and sticky. He could feel it, the sharp sting, the coldness creeping in as his vision blurred. He was surrounded, and the world seemed to close in.

Until it didn’t.

Until something shifted. A glimmer of blue, a flash of eyes that—holy hell, they looked like Jason’s. But no, this wasn’t Jason. Not by a long shot.

Tim’s breath catches as he watches Danny step into the scene.

And then—shit.

Shit.

Tim can’t look away as Danny rips through his attackers like they’re nothing. A fluid, terrifying motion as he dissects each man with brutal precision, a graceful violence that makes the blood freeze in Tim’s veins. The way Danny moves—it’s like he knows exactly where to strike. One punch to the ribs and a sickening crack. Another knee, this time to a face, and the crunch of bone sounds like it could split the air. The men go down, every one of them, but not dead. No. Danny doesn't kill them.

Danny makes sure they’re never the same.

Tim swallows hard, fighting the tremble in his limbs. This—this isn’t just violence. This is... art.

Danny doesn’t leave any of them in one piece. They’re crippled. Broken. Their bodies are alive, but their spirits—those are shattered, scattered across the ground like so many forgotten things. It’s agonizing to think about, the kind of agony that Tim can feel deep in his bones.

And that’s what makes Danny so fucking terrifying. Because he doesn't leave bodies behind—he leaves wreckage.

"Hey, little red," Danny hums, a voice that cuts through Tim’s foggy mind. The next thing Tim knows, he’s being lifted, cradled with a tenderness that shouldn’t exist in a situation like this. Tim winces at the wound, trying to hide it, trying to do something—anything—but he’s too slow. Too weak.

Danny sees it instantly, those eyes of his—green and blue—zeroing in on the bleeding wound like a hawk.

Tim’s breath catches, but he doesn’t fight. He can’t. Not when Danny is already lifting him up, his hands gentle, soft in a way that feels so wrong against the violence.

And then—everything shifts.

In one second, they’re in the middle of nowhere. The next, reality seems to tear apart. Like it’s nothing to Danny, like he’s just walking through a door no one else can see. Tim watches in awe—horrified awe—as the fabric of the world bends around Danny, as he steps into that tear and pulls Tim through with him.

Tim can’t breathe. Can’t think. This isn’t possible.

Danny isn’t human. The family has known that for a while now.

But right now? All Tim can do is bask in the warmth Danny gives, listening to the soft hum of his voice, the way he whispers words Tim can’t even hear as they step further into the rift. The world warps with every movement Danny makes, every step a new layer of reality bending under his feet. And Tim? He’s safe. Safe in Danny’s arms. Safe in the strange, dangerous embrace of a man who would tear apart the world just to keep what is his from harm.

And for a moment, Tim can’t find it in him to care about anything else.

Jason’s been saved by Danny a couple of times now—he’s basically Jason’s emergency contact at this point. But it’s not just about the saves. Hell, it’s not even always about the blood and the violence (okay, mostly it is). It’s the fact that Danny won’t hesitate to fuck someone up—no hesitation, no second thoughts—just because they laid a hand on him.

Jason’s seen what Danny can do with his bare hands, and that’s impressive. Fucking terrifying, even. But there’s something else, something better, when Danny takes Jason’s guns and uses them. Every time Danny picks one up, it’s like the gun becomes an extension of him—like it was him. Jason’s watched him shoot with the precision of a trained gunslinger, every shot landing exactly where it needs to. It’s flawless. It’s beautiful.

And every time, Jason can’t help but feel this sick kind of gratitude.

His aim? On fucking point. And Danny—Danny’s so damn sure of himself, so sure that the bullet will hit its target, that Jason can’t look away. Can’t stop being in awe of him.

“Kid, you good?” Danny’s always smiling when he turns back to Jason, handing him the gun after the fight. That smile—there’s something about it that Jason just... wants to hang onto. He almost doesn’t want to take it back.

But he does. Because Danny always says the same thing.

“Take it back, kid. I ain’t using it anywhere without you. I know to not use guns around your dad.”

And fuck, that makes Jason flinch.

Danny. Danny.

For all the violence in the world, Danny’s the one who always holds back around Bruce. He’ll go feral, he’ll tear through anyone who dares hurt Jason—but never, never around Bruce Wayne. There’s no gun, no weapon anywhere near Bruce when Danny’s around. Even when it’s needed. Even when it’s called for. Danny won’t break that rule. He just won’t.

Jason once saw someone give Danny a gun during an attack at a Wayne gala. What did Danny do? He didn’t even think about it—just aimed it right at Two-Face’s head and then fucking beat the shit out of Dent with a fucking chair. Like it was nothing.

“Hey, kid? You know I ain’t as human as most should be, right?” Danny’s voice pulls Jason out of his thoughts, like he’s trying to make sure Jason’s still listening.

Understatement of the fucking century.

“Yeah?” Jason mutters, glancing over and blinking when he sees not the usual sharp blue eyes but glowing green.

“Wanna know why?”

Jason pauses, the weight of Danny’s words hitting him. He nods.

Danny ruffles his hair, that fangy grin still stretched across his face.

“I died at fourteen and came back different.”

And Jason? He freezes. His heart drops, confusion slamming into him like a fucking truck.

What the fuck?

Danny Fenton, what the fuck?!

Dick Grayson is instantly reminded of Clark the first time he meets Danny. All smiles, sunshine, and that whole "I’m here to save the day!" vibe. But then Dick hears about all the crazy shit Danny’s done for his family, and—okay, maybe this guy isn’t just sunshine and rainbows after all. He can tear into people with detached precision if they touch Bruce. He tracks down Tim like a bloodhound, leaving a trail of broken bodies in his wake just to make sure Tim doesn’t get into trouble. And, hell, he looks at all the carnage around Jason and just dives right in, getting himself bloody for the guy like it's nothing.

Yeah, Dick wasn’t entirely sure about Danny at first. Too sunny, too good-natured, too... weirdly capable, you know? But then, one day, he gets the chance to sit down with the man during an outing—on a beach, of all places. Danny’s on duty, of course, but he’s hanging back under the shade of an umbrella like he’s chill about it. Not that anyone in the family needs to be guarded at the moment, but Danny’s still there, staying alert like a hawk.

And it’s… well, it’s amazing. And a little unnerving how dedicated he is. He just sticks around, no complaints, never asking for a break. Like, this is his life now—keeping them all safe, no matter what.

“You should go on vacation sometime,” Dick suggests, sidling up to where Danny’s lounging. He’s trying to be casual about it, but honestly, the guy works too much.

Danny raises a brow, his grin widening. “Are you trying to get rid of me, Boy Wonder?” he laughs, tilting his head like it’s some kind of joke.

Dick feels personally offended by that. “Ugh! How dare you think I’d get rid of our amazing bodyguard! What would we do if Damian can’t reach a kitten in a tree? Call Superman?” Dick presses a hand to his chest, dramatically swooning like Danny’s just committed a capital offense.

Danny’s grinning back, but he sighs. “You could. But honestly, I’d appreciate the vacation. It’s just… I can’t get a good night’s sleep if I leave any of you alone. It keeps me awake. Thinking about you people.”

Wow. Just… fuck, Dick has never heard someone say that about their family. Heroes and vigilantes, they’re supposed to be competent, right? It’s expected. But Danny? He looks at all that competence and still chooses to protect them anyway. He doesn't need to, but he does. What a fucking gem.

“Not that I don’t want to go home! My sister and kids keep nagging me about it, actually,” Danny adds with a huff, fond and amused.

Dick freezes.

“You have kids?”

Danny blinks, clearly confused. “Yeah? I have two. A son and a daughter… Erm… My son, Dante, is around Jason or Cass's age. And my baby girl—Janelle—is… a little older than Damian, I think.”

Dick blinks.

“Wait, you’re a father?!”

Masterpost

Masterpost: How to write a story?

Compilation of writing advice for some aspects of the writing process.

How to motivate myself to write more

How to get rid of writer’s block

Basic Overview: How to write a story

How to outline a story

How to come up with plot

How to create a character

How to make a character unique

How to name your characters (Masterpost)

How to start a story

How to write a prologue

How to write conversation

How to write witty banter

How to write the last line

How to write a summary

How to write a book description

How to write romance

How to write friendships

How to write emotions (Masterpost)

How to write an argument

How to write yelling

How to write anger

How to write betrayal

How to title fanfiction

How to write an unreliable narrator

First Person vs. Third Person POV

How to write character deaths

How to use songs in a fanfiction

How to name fictional things

How to write self-insert fics

How to write multiple points of view

Introducing a group of characters

Large cast of characters interacting in one scene

How to write dual timelines

Redemption arc

Plot twists

Fatal Character Flaws

Good Traits Gone Bad (x)

Slow burn

Explanation posts about writing terms

What is…

AU ideas

Favourite tropes

Tropes of the day

List of Genres

Drabble vs. One-Shot

Advice for writing relationships

Masterpost: how to write relationships + romance

More specific scenarios

How to write a bilingual character

How to write a character with glasses

How to write heterochromia

How to create a villain

Reasons for becoming a villain

How to write a morally grey character

How to write an inferiority complex

How to write a road trip

How to create and write a cult

How to write amnesia

How to write being stabbed

How to write a stratocracy

How to write a heist

How to write the mafia

Criminal past comes to light

Ideas for traumatic experiences

How to create an atmosphere (Masterpost)

How to write a college party

How to write royalty (Masterpost)

Paramilitary Forces/ Militia

Superpowers Masterpost (Hero x Villain)

Inconvenient things a ghost could do

A Queen’s Assassination Plot

Crime Story - Detective’s POV

Evil organization of assassins

Evil wins in the end

Causes for the apocalypse

Last day on earth

Liminal Spaces

Workplace AUs

Signs of co-dependency

What to wear in a desert

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Ok, hear me out. An AU where Janet Drake is best friends with Lex Luthor, Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen.

They met in school, and she's a high society girl, not expected or allowed to be much more than a pretty face, but there's this trio of smart idiots (they did all sorts of stupid stuff at school, but they are overall very, very smart), and they're in all sorts of cool classes and extracurriculars, and she wants to learn

So, she snakes her way into the group with well-timed looks and blushes. They eventually include her in all their activities, and so she learns all sort of stuff that she usually wouldn't be allowed to learn, because they help her keep it in the down low. No, she's not taking classes with them, she's being a proper lady and cheering her smart friends on through the oh-so-hard classes.

At some point or another, they all develop a crush on her, fleeting as it may be (they're hormonal teens and they're required to flirt, it was bound to happen)

They flirt publicly, as it keeps the media from pressuring them into relationships— or so they thought. It backfires when they're adults, the media is demanding Janet settle down and stops leading all three of them on. But there would be a scandal if she picked any of them, so she picks Jack, someone who doesn't love her or she loves, but someone desperate enough to climb the social ladder to care if he loves his wife.

When he's not allowed to flirt anymore, that's where Bruce realizes that he actually liked her.

When Tim comes along, and Janet has to go on trips, she leaves him with her trusted friends. So, Tim learns a lot from his Uncle Lex, learns to shoot a bow from his Uncle Ollie, and loves staying with his Uncle Bruce and his children. He figures him out far too easily and does become Robin when Jason figures he's ready to pass on the mantle to his little brother (because they're brothers. Tim spends a lot of time in their house)

Bruce adores Tim, he really does. It just kinda hurts, that he's Janet's kid, but not his.

Eventually, Janet divorces Jack, and she gets to spend a lot more time in Gotham. But by now Tim is as much Bruce's as he is Janet's, so they co-parent the gremlin that is her son, which leads to a lot of time with Bruce.

Bruce treats her better than Jack ever did, and she trusts him far more. They have the memories of years together. Eventually, Bruce tells her the truth— that he never truly moved on from his best friend.

When they marry, sure it's a media circus, but also not a surprise.

She's also a good mom, to Tim as much as to Dick or Jason.

When Jason finds out Catherine is not his mom, sure he gets curious, but he has a mom already, he's happy. He does want to meet his bio mom, but he agrees to do so safely, not go alone. Fine, B, you can come with.

Joker never happens. Jason is disappointed when he finds his mom is not at all what he expected, and he has a much better one at home.

Eventually, when Damian comes into the picture, he's snappy with Janet. "you will never be my mother, you harlot!" but Janet simply puts a hand on his shoulder and speaks calmly, yet sharp as the blade he threatens her with

"You will not speak to me like that, boy. No, I am not your mother. But I am married to your father, and I hold the authority as such, so you will go up to your room, you will cool down, and you will never threaten or insult me again, or you will be grounded."

"You can't do that!"

"She can. She has my full permission to discipline my kids, Damian. In this house, she holds as much authority as I do." Bruce interjects

Damian, begrudgingly, learns to respect Janet, and eventually he does see her as a second mom

The amount of times Oliver or Lex visit the Wayne-Drake household is absurd, but sue them, they like their friends. This leads to a lot of chaos, because every time Oliver visits so does Roy, and Roy hangs out with Dick and Jason, while Damian sticks to glaring at everyone.

Meanwhile, they dote on Tim, because they sure as hell have a favourite nephew, and it's the one they watched grow inside the belly of one of their best friends, the one they all changed the diapers of, the one they've taught a lot of skills to, the one they helped raise in a way they never helped raise any of the other Wayne boys. They don't even try to hide their preference. Now, of course they like all their nephews, but it's always hilarious because when Tim is around his uncle Lex, he's ten times the evil mastermind he generally is, and Oliver encourages it, simply for the chaos, and so does Janet, while Bruce is downright terrified of the idea of Tim as a villain (everyone is)

Writing References: Character Development

50 Questions ⚜ "Well-Rounded Character" Worksheet

Basics: How to Write a Character ⚜ A Story-Worthy Hero

Basics: Character-Building ⚜ Character Creation

Key Characters ⚜ Literary Characters ⚜ Morally Grey Characters

Personality Traits

5 Personality Traits (OCEAN) ⚜ 16 Personality Traits (16PF)

600+ Personality Traits

East vs. West Personalities ⚜ Trait Theories

Tips/Editing

Character Issues

Character Tropes for Inspiration

Tips from Rick Riordan

Writing Notes

Allegorical Characters

Binge ED

Childhood Bilingualism ⚜ Children's Dialogue ⚜ On Children

Culture ⚜ Culture: Two Views ⚜ Culture Shock

Emotional Intelligence ⚜ Genius (Giftedness)

Emotions ⚜ Anger ⚜ Fear ⚜ Happiness ⚜ Sadness

Facial Expressions

Fantasy Creatures

Happy/Excited Body Language ⚜ Laughter & Humor

Hate ⚜ Love

Health ⚜ Frameworks of Health

Identifying Character Descriptions

Jargon ⚜ Logical Fallacies ⚜ Memory

Mutism ⚜ Shyness

Parenting Styles

Psychological Reactions to Unfair Behavior

Rhetoric ⚜ The Rhetorical Triangle

Swearing & Taboo Expressions

Thinking ⚜ Thinking Styles ⚜ Thought Distortions

Uncommon Words: Body ⚜ Emotions

Voice & Accent

Writing References: Plot ⚜ World-building

DPXDC prompt. Dead on main.

Okay, Danny’s revenge for Jason through the Joker murder is fine.

But imagine the wrath of the Ghost King who responds to a call for help from his boyfriend and finds Red Hood with his throat cut and bleeding. Aside from it, there’s a bloody batarang on the roof. And it just pisses the Phantom off. Bat just left main treasure of his core to die.

Danny is still terrified even when Frostbite confirms that Jason will survive. Dan’s future is still fresh in his memory. That’s probably why when the councilman takes him off hospital ward duty to clarify what His Majesty wants as the guarantor of the Peace Treaty with demon race and what price to set for summons from cults Danny answers without a second thought.

Phantom: Batman.

Ghost: From a cult, Your Majesty?

Councillors have long been accustomed to Phantom giving strange requests so that people would not have the opportunity to really summon him.

Phantom: From the cult, from demons, ghosts or elves. Whatever. I need Batman and I need him yesterday. I give any reward to whoever delivers him to me, the price will be fair.

Ghost: Your word is our command.

~~~~~

In Gotham it’s 4 AM when Constantine is calling an emergency Justice League meeting.

'What did you do, Bats?' Shazam asks with undisguised concern.

~~~~~

Bonus points if Jason has to teleport himself directly to the JL space station and stop his feral lover from murder. Yeah, this is definitely not how he planned to reveal who was hiding under the Red Hood.

I love Tim Drake, and I ALSO love Jason Todd, and I ALSO love Dick Grayson.

I also absolutely adore angst. Esp Tim Drake angst. Has me crying always.

ANYWAY my question here is: I know in a lot of fanfic, people demonise Dick for what he did to Tim (taking away Robin, trying to get him to a therapist, not believing him about Bruce etc). And I guess Jason is always there? In a majority of Tim angst I read, Jason is always forgiven, and is the best person ever, and they never have fights and they’re the best brothers ever.. and that makes me a little bit mad sometimes. Because HELLO, NO, Tim’s favourite Robin was DICK’s Robin NOT Jason’s.

Also, the Tower attack—I don’t care if you were under the influence of something, if you were manipulated or not, I would be absolutely terrified if you beat me up, and a few months/years later you’re sitting at the table having dinner. ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Please. Having Jason be Tim’s favourite brother is all well and good, but I’d love to see the FEAR Tim has when he sees him. The trauma response. I DONT want Tim to forgive him.

o/ <- person waving

o7 <- person saluting

ol <- person raising hand

o1 <- person scratching head

\o> <- person stretching

Since the booping has returned, reblog if it's okay to spam you with boops!

I wanna be polite and not spam random people without permission , ,

Soul-Stitching: The Heir and the Guardian

Masterlist

Chapter 1: the assassin and his servant | AO3

CW: Suicide, blood, injury, referenced childhood trauma, mild violence

It is no surprise that the League of Assassins has its own fair share of enemies at its tail. Yet recently, there has been an onslaught of attacks, prompting its members to switch between the network of bases—its young heir is no exception. The third base to house Damian sits between two frosted peaks towering over a Tibetan village, first founded by the demon's daughter herself. Though the instigator of the attacks is unknown, it seems that the abilities of the opposing group is nearly on par with the trained assassins. Damian has scoffed at this piece of information; no one stands at the same level as the League.  

Unfortunately, Damian has been kept away from the frontlines under Talia's strict instructions despite his insistence to fight. Knowing his status, Damian begrudgingly complied to escape and hide. Even if the food is cold and the night wind sometimes sneaks in to bite his bones, he sits still to wait for news announcing that it's safe to return to the main base.   

He sits up on his creaky bed. The ends of the sheets are fraying, and the floors are ice cold, with the gray and brown meshing into a drabby color. The only semblance of a decoration is his twin katanas leaning off the side of his bed frame. It's a far cry from the home he knows, though his routine is mostly unchanged: training from dawn to dusk. But he can tell this day is different. From the commotion happening outside the room and the lingering tension in the air, Damian deduces that another attack is on the way.  

Finally, his thoughts are confirmed when he hears the door open. "Master Damian?"  

He has his back turned to her, his servant, but he can already picture out her presence. An unsteady stance dwarfed in a thick coat, calloused hands wrapped in fingerless gloves, cheeks that have lost a tad bit of their rosiness nowadays, and hair pushed back into twin braids. A child just like him, but raised an assassin nonetheless. "Lady Talia wishes for you to be relocated again. We will use the back tunnel and rendezvous with our guides halfway down the mountains. They will escort us to out—"  

"Where are we relocating to?"  

". . . I don't know, Master."  

She swiftly moves to the side to pack his things. Damian picks up his weapons, biting back the habitual click of his tongue. He's sick of the cycle, feeling like a coward running away endlessly. "And why can't we hold them off?"  

"We do not have enough people. Between guarding the Demon Head and the Pits, and covering all bases . . . The enemies have become too much to handle." Marie ties together the strings of the backpack, before strapping a rolled-up sleeping bag on top.  

"If our assassins are competent enough, we would not be struggling ," Damian hisses.  

The servant doesn't reply, but he catches the twitch of her upper lip. Like him, Marie has been forbidden from fighting the enemies, but she has been helping with the supplies and cleaning, apart from assisting him in training. She should know how weak the League has become.  

"We will leave in five minutes," she says, offering his coat to him.  

"What if I don't want to leave?" 

"I am sorry, Master, but Lady Talia said—"  

"Nevermind what Mother said. I can do it. I can fight."  

Marie's expression changes just a little, and her hand reaches up to clutch her sleeve. He knows that even though she serves under him, she mostly answers to his mother. And defying Talia had greater consequences. It is not the first time Damian has wanted to go against higher orders; Marie has often eased him into not breaking the rules. 

"I think it is better for you to reserve your energy for training, Master. Let the rest of us worry about the enemies." 

"Tt. Grandfather should do something about this."  

When Marie finally persuades him, they venture out to the winding halls. She navigates expertly, avoiding the rings of the gunshots and clashing of swords. Damian knows that they are near the exit when he feels the chilling gust of wind. The rocky snow-topped terrain welcomes them outside—there is only white and gray for miles that everything looks like a lifeless desert. Damian blinks against the sunlight, puffs of fogged breath floating along his vision. In the snowy landscape, Marie looks even paler, as if her skin has become translucent.  

The swords on Damian's back feel heavier too. He has found that fighting in the cold is more troublesome—his joints are hardened, and the blood rushes out of his limbs. The stiffness of his muscles limit his movement and the thin air makes it difficult to breathe. Their escape party is too vulnerable, and if they were to encounter a hostile group, he will have to make the kill quick.  

He glances at Marie every now and then. Her skills are average, and she looks smaller when bundled up. He doesn't miss the way she favors one foot when she trudges in the snow. Though she has been mentored by Talia, she is not like his mother, nor like the other women he is familiar with, like Nyssa or Lady Shiva. She's practically dead weight for Damian. An easy target.  

He doesn't remember when she first started serving under him. He only recalls huffing in annoyance seeing the tiny girl hanging around on the sidelines as he trained, occasionally joining him for a spar. He only knows her as the one who brings his food, supplies him with his secondary weapons, escapes into other bases with him, and acts as his mother's slave. She looks more attuned to the civilians in the towns Damian sees during his missions, not someone who has blood in her hands. Rarely does she show emotion, not even some annoyance or defeat when he easily beats her during practice, not even flinching when the other servants delivered sharp slaps on her arms, not even a hint of awe like when Damian first gazed upon the second League base in Nepal. Her expressions are usually blank or incomplete, as if she suppresses her reactions.  

She marches close to him, head darting around to check for danger. Damian stops and asks, "How long until we meet the guides?"  

"We have one day of travel, Master."  

"One day? Could they have not sent a plane?"  

"It's too risky…"  

Damian clenches his jaw. A day of hiking through frozen hell. He pulls his hood over his head and quickens his pace.  

"Wait, Master, we should slow down." Marie calls after.  

He doesn't care. The faster they walk, the faster they can meet up with their allies and get out of there.  

"Master, wait—" A thump sounds out. Damian looks behind him to see Marie scrambling to get up. 

"Tt. You could have stayed behind if you can't even walk."  

Marie mumbles her apologies while catching up to him. "We should keep ourselves from tiring out quickly. There is still a long way to go."  

"What if the enemies catch up to us?" 

"They will not." She purses her lips. "They should not know you're escaping. They should not know you're here in the first place."  

"They always know." Damian continues along the nonexistent path. "I'm certain there are moles here."  

As they keep walking, Marie sometimes wobbles with the humongous bag but she doesn't trip again.  Damian doesn't keep count how many steps they have taken or how long they walk, but soon he starts to stagger and shiver, and the sun fades away slowly. Marie directs them to a small cave carved out on the side of a cliff. It is small and still cold, but it will do for the night. Damian gives in to his aching legs, putting his swords in front of him, while Marie sets up the camp. She kindles a humble fire and takes out the supplies to make a meal.  

"A seating mat, Master?" Marie lays out a folded cloth off to the side. Damian crawls to it wordlessly, leaning against the bumpy wall and draping an arm over his eyes. 

She hugs her knees and watches the boiling water. "There might be a storm tonight. I can cover up the entrance, but I do not know how well it will hold up."  

He doesn't reply.  

"Any food you prefer, Master?" 

"What difference does it make? It's all tasteless meal kits."  

"But—" 

"I don't care. Whatever you can make."  

"If we wake up early, we can reach our destination in time," Marie continues, "It is colder in the morning but I have heat packs in the bag."  

“...” 

Damian peeks as she cooks a simple stew. The aroma spreads around the cave, mingling with the shadows created by the fire. The warmth chases away the chill just a little. His servant seems to note his unwillingness to make small talk, so they eat their meals in complete silence, basking in the crackling flames instead. Marie unrolls the sleeping bag and positions herself near the opening of the cave with a knife in hand.  

"Please get some sleep, Master Damian. I will keep watch," says Marie.  

Damian rolls to face the ceiling. Camp-outs are often bleak, and he practically has to sleep with one eye open. But owing to the soreness of his body, he drifts into deep slumber. He has no clue how long he sleeps but when he wakes up, the fire has gone small and the numbed pain in his back has become more persistent. Damian sits up to see Marie staring off blankly into the foggy snowstorm. She's trembling badly and her chapped lips have turned into a light shade of blue. They make brief eye contact before she jumps up to push out the little snow starting to pile up at the opening.  

Damian averts his gaze, buries deeper into the sleeping bag, and thinks to himself how foolish it is for her to stay awake and away from the fire.  

He lies awake instead of going back to sleep as the  cold has won over his drowsiness. An eternity of gazing up at the darkness, his eyelids begin to feel heavy— 

Damian's hand darts up to grab the wrist hovering over him. “What are you doing?” 

Marie recoils back in surprise. "Hea—heat pack, Master. You looked cold."  

"Tt. Forget it. I will get one myself if I'm cold."  

Marie nods weakly, lowly muttering her apologies again, and returns to her post.  

***

The next time Damian wakes, it's from noises nearby. The morning light has spilled into the cave, and the fire has reduced into ash and some smoke. The second thing he notices is the lack of Marie's presence—Damian scrambles up and runs towards the cave opening to see his servant locked in a fight with a stranger just on the edge of the cliff. An enemy assassin perhaps. He has her pinned to the ground, but her fingers are tightly wound around his neck. Marie lets out a choked scream when the man jams the hilt of his weapon on her injured foot.  

Damian immediately pulls out his katana and swipes at the enemy's neck. He tugs Marie by the collar and kicks the man's large body off the drop. After looking around for other assassins he looks down on his servant, who's already making a makeshift splint from her knife holder despite her ragged breathing and the cut running across her hairline. 

"Where's the bag?" Damian asks, wiping off the hint of blood from his blade.  

Marie's eyes widen up at him, and they slowly follow down the height of the cliff.  

"Really? You can barely hold off an enemy and you've lost our supplies?" Damian's hand clenches around his sword.  

"I am sorry, Master, I was packing up and—and I was about to wake you." Her voice wavers. "I—I still have some food in my belt—" 

" Save it," he cuts her off. "We have to get down from here as fast as we can."  

Even if that assassin is a lone wanderer, they can't risk another similar encounter. If that happens, Damian isn't certain if he can keep himself alive, much less the both of them, especially if they're overwhelmed by numbers. He curses at his stiff hands; he could've been much faster if it were any other circumstance.  

"I—I am sorry, Master," Marie gasps out.  

"I said save it." Damian begins to hike again, and she follows while limping after crawling into the cave and packing up his sleeping bag.  

He's surprised that she survived and held off the assassin, but she did so sloppily that her injury was aggravated. Because of that, they will be slowed down indefinitely, unless he chooses to venture on ahead. That is the truth in the League of Assassins: that kind of weakness isn't tolerated, even if she has some ability to defend herself. Those incapable are quickly rooted out, and those who are prodigies train to become more vicious.  

Damian momentarily halts when he observes that the path has narrowed down. They can still cross and climb down, but after one wrong move, they will be falling into a merciless death. He tests the rock, moving one step at a time and clinging onto the shallow crevices of the wall.  

He turns to Marie. “Climbing gear?”  

She bows her head in guilt. “Inside the bag . . . Master.”  

“That is your own fault,” he spits out. “If you cannot cross this, I'm not helping you.”  

He feels her trying to follow closely, but her balance is dangerously off. Damian watches as she struggles to walk through. Her breaths are unsteady as she keeps her gaze on her feet. On top of that, she's shivering more than the previous day.  

When Marie makes a misstep and gasps sharply when she slips, Damian jumps in to grab her sleeve to keep her from falling. She swallows and thanks him, to which he sternly directs to hold onto him as they cross. It takes them a longer while than he hoped for, but they finally come towards a more spacious and safer landing. Still, the bottom of the mountain is still too far to see.  

“I thought Mother sent you to escort and protect me,” he tuts, looking down at her as she collapses on her knees to catch her breath. “Yet you are slowing us down and putting both our lives in danger.”  

“You . . . you are right, Master. Forgive me.” She coughs a little, rubbing the area near her wound. “But I was trying to protect you—”  

“You were as good as dead if I had not stepped in. Who were you trying to protect?”  

“I apologize for my inadequacy.” She has lowered herself into a deep bow, head touching the snow. “Please punish me or kill me as you wish. We are nearing the meeting point anyway; I will be of no use soon.”  

“Tt. You don't even deserve to perish by my hand.” Damian looks down at her in distaste. The heir of the League should not be accompanied by such a servant in the first place. It's already a miracle that she has survived for this long, and he doesn't want to get rid of the little help she can offer. Perhaps as a convenient shield if they encounter enemies again.  

“Stand up,” he orders. “You are delaying us again.”  

She carefully does so, but when she shows her face again, Damian is nearly taken aback, seeing her again up close. Her forehead is smeared with dried blood and the side of her face is slightly swollen. But what surprises him is her usual dead eyes are now glistening with tears.  

“You are right, Master. I should not delay us any longer.” Marie sniffles, moving over to the edge.  

“Wh—what—”  

“I am sorry for not meeting your expectations. There is no excuse for my actions.” She takes out her knife.  

“Wait—” 

“Our allies are nearby; it will not take long.”  

Red. All that fills his vision is red: bold, flowing red against the canvas that is the frost. The intricately-carved hilt sticks out of her abdomen, spreading the ghastly color into her clothes. The blood isn't anything new for Damian to see, but he has never seen it like this.  

The white sky and red.  

Her white fingers and red.  

The white shine of the blade and red.  

Heavy drops spill onto the snow, then crushed underneath her boot as she sways backwards.  

“Please take care . . . Master Damian.”  

Before he can tell his body to move, she has disappeared by the hand of gravity, falling until the fog covers up. Damian wonders where the scream he hears comes from until he realizes his throat is hoarse.  

***

Damian jolts awake, cold sweat slithering down the nape of his neck. It takes him a second to realize that he is in his bedroom in the Wayne manor, and the sun is yet to rise. He shivers even though he feels warm, as if the memory of the cold has followed him back to reality. Frustrated, he tugs hard at his hair as he tries to even out his breaths.  

He just dreamed of that again.  

Next Chapter →

Mae's Writing

Mae's Writing

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