Dick watched as the shadows lengthened across the ground as Helios drove the Sun beneath the horizon. Once the moon reached the peak in the sky and the Goddess Artemis gazed upon them with the huntress's eyes he would take his vows to the Son of the First Son.
He took a deep breath and exhaled the humid summer air as he tipped his head back and basked in the dying rays, enjoying the punishing heat on his skin.
"Son of Gray, it is time."
Dick took one last lingering breath and turned to the old man behind him and gave a tight smile. "Alfred."
Alfred smiled at him; his brown eyes drooped at the corners in sadness. "Let's get you ready for your troth, Richard." He turned slightly; his wiry browned arm parted the curtain of the large tent erected just for this purpose.
Dick nodded and ducked under the parting and entered the large enclosure, Alfred behind him, tightly binding the flaps closed. They wouldn't be opened again until the Goddess's eye rose in the sky.
He looked around him; bright rugs were thrown over the ground, their swirling patterns of reds and golds depicting the Gods and follies of men.
"Where do you want me, Alfred?" He smiled, arms outstretched, twirling in a circle, enjoying the way his chiton swished against his knees.
Alfred's lips twitched as he motioned to the woven pallet on the floor as he gathered his bowls and powders.
Dick let his smile fall as he eyed the pallet in the center of the tent and what it would mean to lie there.
They were the Yioi tou. The sons of the Oiorpata, a powerful clan of women who were blessed by all the female Goddesses and even the God of War himself, Aries. The Oiorpata were strong, ruthless and powerful. They were feared and respected throughout all of Greece for their battle prowess and deep philosophy.
They were a race of women for women. They would allow no man into their home of Themyscira, not even their own sons.
Dick slowly unclipped the scarred and beaten bronze broach hooked at his shoulder that denoted him as the General of the Yioi tou. He carefully rubbed the raised intertwining symbols against the pad of his thumb enjoying the feel of the slightly warmed metal against his fingers.
His father's troth had once worn this, as many others had before him. Kal El had been the most beloved and trusted among all the men, not only for his strength and kindness, but also for his wisdom. It hadn't hurt he'd been their strongest fighter, either.
As their voted representative of the Yioi tou, Kal El had pledged his troth to his father, Bruce, the Son of the First Son.
It harkened back to the time before time, when the first Oiorpata were created by the great Goddesses. They were made from clay, forged by their mothers to be without equal. They were shaped and formed in the sands of Themyscira and brought to life by the breath of the Gods. Until one day a Daughter of the Oiorpata fell in love with a human man and lay with him.
The Goddesses were angered greatly at their wayward Daughter to flaunt all her gifts and waste them on man. As punishment for her crime they cursed their women to feel pain as they birthed a child into this world since this was a battle like any other, why shouldn't they bleed? They also rescinded their gift of life from the clay and now all Oiorpata had to lie with man to gain more Daughters.
Daughters were not all the Oiorpata gained. Laying with man also created more men, but they could not allow their sons to roam free in the world and spread the seed of the Oiorpata to make others great. They also could not allow them to stay on Themyscira, so as not to incur more wrath, they had to find a home for their kin.
The First Son was called Wayne and they took him to a close island and taught him the arts of war, politics and survival. They also taught him loyalty to his mothers. He named this isle Gotham.
As Wayne grew, more sons came to the isle of Gotham and he took to raising and teaching his brothers, even those who came from the cities the Oiorpata conquered.
Soon, a rival clan attacked the Oiorpata. The war raged years and before long the clan was close to being wiped out.
Wayne, burning to use the teachings of his mothers, led his band of men and joined forces with his mothers and crushed the invading forces.
Hephesta, the Queen of the Oiorpata, gathered the men and bestowed upon them the name Yioi tou, the Sons.
From then on the women who were of age would come to the isle of Gotham twice a year and lay with the Sons to breed a new generation. To fight poisonous blood and deformities they would also bring boys from raids on other cities. Sometimes the Yioi tou would send a group of men who would go from village to village, city to city, recruiting young boys who had the potential to join them.
Dick himself was the result of such a search.
"Please lay down, Richard." Alfred's voice drove through his mind's wanderings as he winced, uncurling his clutching fingers from around the broach.
Dick quickly untwisted his belt and let the rest of his chiton drop to the floor. He watched Alfred gather up his clothes and tuck them away in a corner as he slowly spread his body onto the pallet beneath him. He pillowed his head on his arms and slowly let his breathing take him deep into a meditative state.
Alfred kneeled beside him, his brushes, needles and paints all laid out like soldiers on the field of battle.
Dick closed his eyes.
Alfred would decorate his body with colored swirls and designs to denote his clan and position. His history. So his worthiness could be read upon his skin. Then he would add the silver. The color of the mighty Goddess, the mark of his troth, his vow, to the Son of the First Son.
He felt the old man's hand softly brush against his brow in a light caress as he used to do when he was younger and just a boy. Dick had to screw his eyes tightly shut to keep from weeping at that familiar touch.
Alfred's voice was low and rough, almost as if he too had a hard time keeping the past from overwhelming their future. "Are you ready, Richard?"
Dick's throat moved tightly and he couldn't force the words out past his clenched teeth and instead just nodded tightly, head turning away from the older man.
He heard a sigh and the tinkling of pots. "Then let us begin."
Over time the Yioi tou grew larger with more men from the other realms coming to live with them. There were naturally many collisions of culture and beliefs. The outsiders and the native born Yioi tou rubbed together wrong and that eventually caused a rift in the isle of Gotham that could not simply be mended with words.
The leader of the Yioi tou, a Wayne, descended from the First Son, came up with a solution to stop the bloodshed.
He would make a troth to the leader of the outside men and they would both be binded by vows in front of the Goddess and rule the Yioi tou together, never to forsake one another, and as they became one, so would their people. Of course their vow made leeway for the twice yearly meeting of the Oiorpata.
Ever since the first troth a Son of the First Son had bound themselves to the chosen leader of the men.
Just as his father, Bruce, had done with Kal El.
Dick remembered first meeting Bruce when the Yioi tou had come to visit the orphanage he'd been forced into when his parents had been murdered. He remembered watching them from the trees as they rode past, eyes glued to the man wrapped in black with the symbol of a golden winged animal across his chest.
He also remembered how much the priests had hated him. Their lips curling upwards in disgust as their eyes filled with fear.
That, more than anything, had made Dick love Bruce even before he heard his voice. The priests were not kind to the orphaned boy of heathens who had died without family and recourse and leaving a child behind to burden them.
He knew his hiding places well, he wasn't seen when he didn't want to be seen. He was sure, quick footed and silent. He had enough practice hiding from the priests to be arrogant in his skills. Until Bruce tipped his head upward from the back of his horse, blue eyes boring straight into his and asking him if he'd like to come with him.
Dick had been floored, frozen in the tree's branches until he heard the priests' screeching at the group of men that they couldn't take him. He was unruly, a heathen, unworthy.
Bruce had flicked his wrist and imbedded a metal star into a priest's eye noting that the next one would take out one of their tongues.
"So," Bruce once again looked upwards into the trees, his men circling around him as the priests whimpered around their injured brother, "are you coming?"
Dick had shuffled his feet beneath him and launched himself into the air, flipping over to land on the back of the black man's horse.
Bruce had to swivel to get a good look at him, his face twisting in concealed laughter, "A performer, wonderful."
Dick had never had a reason to regret his decision.
He had been welcomed on the isle of Gotham. Bruce had taken a special interest in him, brought him into his home with Kal El and raised him.
He had been there when he brought home Jason and Tim. He still remembered when Lois had placed Connor in Kal El's arms. The pride and the fear in them as he held the tiny boy.
He had lost a family, but gained another, even if it wasn't by blood. He had many friends and his two brothers that he loved dearly. He learned to fight and hunt. How to lead and war strategy. It had been a good life. When he reached the age of fourteen and became a man he participated in the yearly ritual with the Oiorpata.
Some would think being taken in by a Wayne, the Son of the First Son, his life would have been easier. They would have been wrong.
Bruce was a hard taskmaster. As the leader he was expected to be strong, to be the best and Dick had to prove himself as better, faster, stronger than all the others. He would have done it all just for Bruce's nod of approval.
The problem was Bruce was the last Wayne. His father, Thomas, had been killed out on a campaign when he was a young boy. Bruce had never quite gotten over that loss. As the last Son of the First Son he had to take his father's place and had to pledge his troth to keep the vows between the people.
Alfred had told him that Bruce had kept the men twisted around for two years, playing them off one another, trying to wait longer until he had a power base beneath him. The last thing he wanted was to be tied to a man he couldn't trust, one that was too old, since he himself was only ten. Bruce had eventually ran out of time and a man had been chosen.
Bane had been a brute of a man and bullied his way to the title of General just by his sheer force and size. He was not kind and had broken Bruce's bones on more than one occasion in 'training accidents'.
Bane hadn't been chosen out of respect, but out of fear, and Bruce, as young as he was, was no match for him physically at twelve.
All of that changed of course when a fifteen-year-old Kal El had finally had enough and on the eve of the troth, challenged Bane and killed him.
Bruce and Kal had been together ever since.
Alfred also told him stories about their first couple years. It had been rocky with Kal El trying to win Bruce's trust and Bruce just being a regular porcupine. Eventually they worked everything out and their bond had been strong and the Yioi tou and grown even stronger.
Until this last campaign.
Dick hissed in a breath as a needle punctured his skin at the nape of his neck.
"Richard?" Alfred's worried voice soothed his ears.
"It's okay, Alfred, keep going."
He felt Alfred nod and continued chiseling into his back. He could feel the sting of the silver paint wet against the open wounds of the needle digging into his flesh. It almost felt like blood.
Dick took a few more steady breaths and tried to quiet his mind.
The Spartans had recently been encroaching on the Oiorpata's territory. Bruce had been dispatched with a large number of the Yioi tou to take care of their main army. The campaign was successful, but only a quarter of the men returned. Bruce and Kal El had not been among them.
Dick had to slow the beating of his heart at the memory as the pain squeezed his chest in an iron grip and wouldn't let go. Bruce and Kal were not the only family he had lost that day. Jason, Wally and many others had been taken as well. He was lucky Connor and Tim had returned at all.
If it hadn't been for a coughing sickness he would have ridden out with them. He would have died with them.
He could feel tears prick at his eyes as his inner voice whispered poison in his ears. It would have been better to have died with them instead of being left behind again. Who knows, maybe he could have saved some of them. Maybe Bruce would still be here even if he wasn't. If he could offer his life for his father's he would do it in a heartbeat, but bargains with Gods rarely went well and were never what the wisher had intended.
With the return of the Yioi tou and the disappearance of Bruce, there had been no Wayne. No Son of the First Son-no leader.
It had been chaos.
Dick, Victor, Conner, Tim, Connor and a few of his other friends had held everything together by a sheer force of will. It was a tentative peace. One that you could feel heating up under your feet ready to explode at any moment.
Then Queen Diana had come to the isle of Gotham.
She had appeared with her female shield guards. She was tall and bronzed. Her hair was wild like black fire, blue eyes clear and blazing. She was beautiful with her high cheekbones, straight nose and oval face. She wore long white robes trimmed with gold and light armor wrapped around her chest and arms.
Dick had never been in her presence before, but he had heard Bruce and Kal El describe her. They hadn't quite done her justice, but he knew they were right about one thing. No matter how she dressed no one would ever mistake her for anything other than a warrior.
She had glided into the middle of their camp, her shield guards behind her as she addressed the men.
"I have been made aware of the sacrifice of Wayne and many others of the Yioi tou. I know you have been through great loss, as have your mothers. However, Bruce was not the last Wayne."
A dull murmur had spread through the men as Dick had watched her with hope and weariness in his eyes. Bruce had never spoken to him about having any children. It had been a bone of contention between him and Kal El. A worry for another day.
The Queen had raised a fist in the air to quiet them and they listened. "One of my shield guards lay with Wayne ten years ago and gave birth quietly to a son."
The murmur became a dull roar.
Diana's face became slightly pinched, "This was concealed from Us and the boy had been hidden on Themyscira ever since."
Now men were openly shouting and some making signs of warding.
"This heresy has been avenged and now we bring the boy to you. This is his place. He is the last Wayne. It can never bring back the one's you have lost, but maybe it can start to repair some of the damage as we look forward to the future."
Dick couldn't focus and soon became aware that Tim and Connor stood at his side, taking on his weight as he leaned into them. They never looked at one another, too focused on the shield guards as they parted to reveal a small boy with dark hair, dark skin and Bruce's blue eyes.
He was short for his age. He held himself regally, as if he were a prince, his face tipped slightly upward in disdain.
Dick took it in. His small face, upturned nose, short black hair and tightly muscled body from active military training. And Bruce's eyes. Those blue, blue eyes.
How could this have happened? How could a woman, a shield guard no less, have hidden her son, Bruce's son on Themyscira? Let alone for ten years!
Ten years. Dick's eyes never wavered from the boy as he stood proudly surrounded by Oiorpata. Ten years that he could have spent with them. With Bruce.
Sadness flooded him in waves.
Ten years, Bruce could have taught this boy so many things. Sword fighting, horseback riding, pranks with Kal El and eating honey from the comb as a sweet treat after a hard day of training.
He'd never know Bruce's soft smiles when he thought his sons weren't looking. Or Kal El's loud laughter. Jason's dry wit or that he liked to sing lullabies to the young boys and had a voice that would make the Gods weep. Tim's smiles and jokes that were now permanently wiped from his face.
Overwhelming anger replaced sadness as Alfred stepped forward to claim the boy. Ten years Bruce could have known his son. Ten years that woman had stolen from them.
He couldn't do it anymore. The stress from holding the Yioi tou together, the strained relationship with Tim, Bruce and Kal El's deaths and now this-this boy with Bruce's eyes-he couldn't. He couldn't take it any longer. He turned and walked away.
He hadn't learned the boy's name until months afterward.
Damian.
Bruce would have named him Thomas. After his father. Even that was taken from him.
It was probably petty of him, but he avoided the child. He heard tales of his extreme fierceness, his inability to relate with others or just give a damn if he accidently hurt anyone during training. He broke people like others broke bread. Easily and with contempt.
He was vicious. The men said. Violent. Arrogant. Psychopathic. Cursed. The reason why men couldn't stay on Themyscira. A Wayne. The last Wayne, but a crazed one.
He ignored Alfred and Tim's pleas to at least meet the boy. Alfred thought it would do Damian good and Tim just couldn't handle him. Didn't like him since he had beaten him at their first meeting.
It had been completely by accident that they had met at all.
Dick had been on his way to the pools to clean himself after a hard days labor and had decided to take a walk along the sands of the beach before he gave into the need for a bath.
He had walked to the water's edge, enjoying the Ocean lapping at his ankles and the give in the sand. It was then he noticed something bobbing against the waves. A dark spot that shouldn't be.
He narrowed his eyes and raised a hand to ward off the light as he tried to focus his gaze. He sucked in a breath as he saw a hand arch through the water and didn't hesitate to dive in.
One of the boys must have taken a dare and gotten swept out too far to make it back.
He let his arms slice easily through the waves as they crashed into him, eyes desperately scanning the horizon for the small bobbing hand as his mind whirled. If he didn't reach the boy soon the tide would be too strong for them to make it back to shore, maybe even forceful enough to drag them out to sea.
There! A flash to his left as he watched a wave crash over a small dark head and he dove. His eyes squinted against the inky darkness of the depths of the water as he quickly calculated where the body would be. Arms outstretched as frantically grabbed for the boy.
His fingers tickled against hard skin and wet fabric as his lungs burned. He gave a swift kick and engulfed the small body under his arms, dragging him against his chest and spiraled them upwards. They broke through the top water and he gasped as he pulled the boy upward, tilting the small head up against his shoulder so he could breath as they bobbed in the waves.
Dick shifted the boy and brushed his dark hair off his face, ignoring the feeling of those slick dark waves tickling the skin of his neck.
"C'mon, kid, breathe." He squeezed the boy as he eyed the sandy beach far away from them.
The small body shook and then he was suddenly coughing, body hunching over and Dick had to lift him higher so he wouldn't fall back into the rushing water.
"Let me go, you insolent peasant!" Dick could barley soak in the words against the ringing in his ears, his face pounding against the backhand blow that had been delivered to his face.
He almost dropped the thrashing boy in shock when rage consumed him. He growled as he manhandled the little brat into a one-armed hold, ignoring how much water he was forced to swallow as they were treading against the waves. The kid tried to kick and bit his arm, drawing blood, all the while curses flew from his lips and he hurled them like well-aimed knives.
"Touch me again and you'll-"
Dick, finally had the kid pinned, dunked him beneath the waves and held him there as another wave crashed into the back of his head. He counted slowly and waited until the kids thrashing weakened before dragging him back up to gasp air.
"-kill you!"
He forced him back down.
"-whore's son-"
And again.
"-your head for this!"
And again.
Dick watched impassively, the boy's dark hair dragged over his face like a curtain, his mouth open as he gasped and his coughs rattled his small body against Dick's tightly circled arms.
"Are you finished?"
The boy's mouth clenched, his white teeth standing starkly out against his dark skin, but no smart remark came out as he let out a sharp cough.
"Good." Dick scanned the horizon and silently cursed as he noticed how far they had been drawn away from Gotham's shores. They'd have to spend the night in the caves. If they could get there.
Dick glanced at the now quiet and sullen boy clutched to him, his chin dragging in the water, face still covered by his hair.
"We're too far out to make it back to the beach tonight. We'll have to wait it out until the morning. You can either swim with me or I can drop you here and let you drown."
He felt the boy's body tighten as he gave a single nod and Dick slowly released him, not letting him get too far out of reach. He watched the boy tread and nodded slightly. "Okay. Follow me. Don't get too far away, with the Sun setting I'll never be able to find you."
"Fine." The boy's voice ground out between gritted teeth.
Dick gave a winning smile and turned, heading toward the caves where Bruce used to take them as children. It should still be stocked with kindling enough for a fire to get warm. He hoped.
Dick remembered that swim. How he always kept the boy in the corner of his eye. He took a deep breath of the overly warm air, Alfred's needles jabbing beneath his skin as he tried not to wriggle. He had not handled finding out that the boy he had saved had been Damian well. Not at all.
When they had finally reached the caves they'd had to climb. He'd made the boy go first.
They'd both collapsed when they'd finally made it to the cave's open mouth and wriggled their way to the very back. Dick had been grateful that they had left some blankets, a spark and some dry wood in the back.
He threw one of the smaller blankets at the boy and heard him catch it. "Take off your clothes. We'll put them closer to the mouth of the cave so they'll be a little dryer tomorrow and you won't catch a cold."
He quickly pulled his own over his head and unwrapped his chiton. "C'mon kid or I'll come over there and take them off."
He heard a quick scrambling and gave a quiet chuckle until the balled up clothes smacked him in the face.
"Brat." He snarled as he narrowed his eyes at the darkened corner where the boy should be. His father should teach him some manners. Or beat them into him. A sly voice slithered into his mind.
He shook his head and went to lay the clothes closer to the mouth of the cave, careful to put rocks on them to make sure they wouldn't fly out in the middle of the night.
When he made it back he blinked in surprise at the boy huddled beside the fire, his face partially engulfed in blackness.
The boy noted his surprised expression and made a sour face. "I did not feel like freezing to death waiting for you to return."
The boy's haughty voice made Dick want to hold his head back under the water, but instead he forced out a compliment, "Not bad."
"Tt."
Dick sat down, wrapping his own blanket around him and studied the boy sitting across from him. "Why were you out so far? A dare?"
The boy hunched slightly, his face turned downwards, the blanket dragged over the top of his head.
Dick let out a sigh and gave a slight smile, scooting closer to the angry child and nudged his shoulder. "C'mon. We all do stupid things. This time it didn't turn out too badly." He'd ignore the throbbing side of his face and the bite mark which would likely scar. He bumped their shoulders again, "C'mon you can tell me."
"No."
Dick sighed. This entire kid's personality was sour. "Don't worry I won't tell your parents."
He could feel the kid smile, sharp like a knife, "I don't have any."
Dick winced. Great. Really stepped into it there. "Your guardians then. I'm sure they're worried about you."
The kid gave a snort, face never leaving the fire, "They're not worried. Probably going to be disappointed tomorrow that I'm not dead."
Something cold wrapped around Dick's stomach as he watched the boy, wide eyed. "Don't say that."
"Why?" The boy shrugged, "It's true."
Dick grabbed the boy's shoulders and shook him slightly, "Don't ever say that! If you died somebody's world would just stop." His mind turned thinking of Bruce, Kal El, Jason-
"You're a fucking liar! Everyone wants me dead!"
"That's not true!"
"Really?" The boy snarled, "Because that's what Tim said when he pushed me off the fucking cliff!"
Dick just stopped. Tim-Tim said-He blinked and took in the kid in front of him. The dark skin bundled up beneath the old blanket, the dark hair plastered to a small face with a slightly upturned nose and high cheekbones. He slowly lifted his hand and brushed back a lank of dark hair covering the boy's eyes. Ignoring the slight flinch he made.
Blue eyes. Cold-ice blue eyes. Bruce's eyes.
"Damian," He breathed.
Damian smirked at his stunned expression, his eyes growing even colder. "Going to finish the job now? No witnesses. The perfect crime." His smile became wrong and jagged, "Come on, Son of Gray, kill me. Finish the job your brother couldn't do."
Dick felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. He'd spent months avoiding this kid. He'd heard the rumors, had Alfred and Tim come to him, begging him to see him. Tim. Tim who wasn't himself anymore. Whose eyes were shadowed and desperate, who hated Damian.
"Don't say that." Dick's voice was low, almost a whisper. "Tim wouldn't-"
Damian sneered at him, "Wouldn't what? Be so sore about me being better than him in every way that he'd corner me and push me off a cliff? Insult me every chance he got? Wouldn't-"
Dick's hands were around Damian's throat in a heartbeat and all he had to do was squeeze.
Bruce was dead. Everyone he'd loved was dead or so broken they'd might as well be corpses. Their world had shaken and they'd tried to hold everything together, were still trying to hold everything together and then this-this boy was thrown at them. Dick looked at that face, small, sneering, cold eyes.
He heard all their voices, his families and the men he led. All the confusion all the hate and uncertainty aimed and condensed in this boy. He couldn't breathe.
He leaned back, hands unwrapping from the boy's throat as he struggled with himself. "Don't say that again."
Damian slowly levered himself off the ground, fingertips dancing on the bruises beginning to form around his throat. "You're all the same."
Dick winced slightly and it wasn't because of the needles digging into his back. Even now he could still hear those words echoing in his head. It still made his stomach churn in knots. He slowly turned his head so he wouldn't disturb Alfred's needles. He felt the sweat bead against his neck and how his body had grown sticky stuck in this overheated tent with its pots of incense to cleanse him.
He thought of Damian who, even now, was also being tattooed in preparation for their troth. Damian who was eleven and still hated him. Damian who, in a couple of hours, would be his.
He felt his body tense and Alfred waited a moment until he'd unclenched his muscles to continue his work.
After that night at the caves their other encounters hadn't been much better. He'd returned Damian to Alfred the next morning and had noticed the naked relief on Tim's face war with resentment as he'd watched Alfred fuss over the wet boy. He'd known then what Damian had said had been true and felt shame and fear engulf him in equal measures.
He hadn't wanted to believe what Damian had said had been true. Hadn't wanted to acknowledge Tim's slide into darkness, but he couldn't ignore this. No matter what a pain in the ass Damian was he was the last Wayne. Bruce's son. He couldn't allow him to die even if that meant going against his brother to do it.
He'd tried to be around Damian more, but the kid was a master at evasion. The closest he could get was watching him spar. He'd also enlisted Connor's help with Tim.
That hadn't lasted. Tim and Damian were too volatile together. Every moment they breathed the same air became a fight-animosity permeated not just the house but the camp as well until it exploded.
He'd been working out hoping to corner Damian when he appeared that day, but after a couple of hours it seemed obvious that he wasn't going to show. Dick sighed and stretched. He'd been working on his combat skills, but it wouldn't hurt to work on the bars for a while just to make sure he didn't get rusty.
Victor dashed into the arena, knocking over an entire spear stand as he crashed into one of the trainees, his black skin sparkled with sweat as he yelled, "Dick!"
Dick and the other warriors in the arena jogged over to Victor. Dick's brows furrowed as he helped his friend to his feet, "What's wrong?"
Victor's chest heaved, his eyes wild as they looked down at him, "Tim and," he took a deep breath, "and Damian. Fighting."
He heard the murmurs behind him. Whispers of "Crazed. Demon. Cursed." And he knew they weren't directed at Tim.
He briefly closed his eyes, "Where?"
Victor showed him. The Quarry was the name they had given to the far part of the island that was nothing but steep cliff face and rocks prone to sliding. This area was a no-go zone for the youngest children and only used for extreme training that could lead to serious injuries or death.
That was where they found Connor watching the battle below.
"What's going on, Kon?" Dick asked as he took a look over the side.
Tim and Damian were screaming at each other. They'd gone from words to illegible sounds of furry. Tim had his bo staff up in defense as Damian leaped at him with his sword.
"They've both lost it." Kon said, his voice slightly shaky, "Yeah they always harass each other and trade insults. Sometimes they fight, but nothing like this. This is crazy."
Crazy. Like pushing a kid off a cliff into the Ocean crazy. Dick thought. "What started this?"
Kon gave him a look out of the corner of his eye, slightly guilty. "We were going for a swim when we noticed the kid down there, just hacking away at air. Training."
Probably because I was at the arena. Dick nodded for him to continue.
"Tim yelled at him to get his ass out of there. It's dangerous. Damian called him a coward. Said something about Bruce-I don't know I didn't hear all of it. It set Tim off and-" He gestured helplessly toward the two fighting below.
Dick growled. Tim wasn't stable yet. Not by a long shot. And then talking about Bruce dying?
"Okay. I'm going in. I'll separate them." He glanced backwards, Kon, Victor and a couple of the other warriors were standing behind him. Great. This'd be all over Gotham by the end of the night. "Vic, grab Damian. Careful he bites." He heard a small chuckle rumble through the men, "Kon, get Tim. Hold him. We'll get them both out in no time." Then I'm going to kick both their asses. They know better.
They nodded and they slowly started their decent into the Quarry.