Damian only recalls seeing his mother near death two months before his sixth birthday.

She had played off her deathly state with a bloody smile. Someone supported her, a stranger Damian had never seen before, while his mother leaned heavily on their shoulder. Confusion had sparked in his blood after she had been laid down on a queen bed in the middle of her room.

"What happened?" He had asked, clueless, and upset.

The stranger, a woman with short black hair, had turned to him with lips pressed together in a thin line.

"Your family," she had answered him, "is a cruel one."

Damian would never quite understand those words until now. Seeing his mother brought back the memory that he had buried in the corners of his mind. His mother had always seemed untouchable, but seeing her vulnerability had put him into a shock. His image of her, just like in his past, shattered. No longer was his mother an immovable force to be reckoned with. All he sees, as he watches his father place her down on a metal examination table, is someone who could have her life easily taken away from her.

The rest of what happens is a blur.

Someone guides him to a seat after ten minutes of standing by his mother's side. He doesn't remember who it was, but logical deduction pointed at his father. No one else except for Alfred had followed them, and Alfred had left the cave for emergency bandages elsewhere after directions to do so.

Damian watches his mother's rising chest. He stiffens if she stops breathing even for a second. His eyes take a careful watch of her every movement.

His father works quickly when Alfred returns. Now his mother would have proper bandages instead of a bleeding wound pressured underneath the fabric of his father's shirt. Damian watches his father's hand work in practiced movements as if he's done this many times before until nearly an hour passes.

"Damian?"

His father's voice is soft.

He doesn't touch him. Damian prefers it that way.

But he does crouch in front of him, breaking his attention from his mother.

"She's going to be okay," his father promises.

Damian sees the slight outlines of his mother's form over his father's shoulder. He blinks, swallows air, and then lowers his gaze from her.

"Good," is all Damian can muster.

Damian takes a good look at his father.

Damian had not talked to his father for what felt like a long time. He had been eager to be rid of the man after being trapped in the mansion against his will. Now? Now, Damian wasn't really sure to feel. His father had taken away his freedom. Damian knew that. Damian could not forgive him for that.

But his father had also come to rescue him and went through the effort of healing his mother.

The only other who had done as such was his mother. That had been before he had even known the other half of his family. There had been no one else who would go out of their way, risk their lives, to save him from a troubling situation.

Damian is confused. He is not sure how, or what, to think anymore.

"She'll be up on her feet in a few days. You know your mother best. She's tough."

Damian hears his father's words and wonders if he truly knew his mother best. There were many things that his grandfather had hidden from him. Could the same be said of his mother? It's not as if this was the first time he had considered such things.

His father leaves him to his lonesome for the rest of the night. Damian, a natural insomniac, finds that he can not even consider sleeping with his mother's irregular breathing. Others will sometimes shuffle around him. Bodies would come in, he'd hear the wheels of a wheel-chair squeaking, and soft-spoken voices come trying to comfort him.

He does not need comfort.

If he receives comfort - it will be in the form of his mother recovering.

It is early in the morning when his mother breathes in a sharp gasp.

No one is around them. Even if there was, Damian would not care if they saw him in such a concerned state as he shoots up in his spot. He is next to his mother's side in an instant with her hand in his own.

"Adored?" She whispers.

"Here," Damian replies.

He rests his forehead on the back of her hand.

Her touch warms his cold body.

"Where…?"

"Father's cave," Damian finishes before she can properly end her question.

"I see," she whispers.

Damian admires his mother's blackened eyes as they scan their surroundings.

"What caused you to fall?" Damian asks, interrupting her examination.

She grunts and her hand tightens around Damian's.

"Your grandfather," she breathes out heavily, "and Lady Shiva. While your father was distracted by Lady Shiva's advances - I saw your grandfather aim to critically wound him. The rest can easily be connected."

"You protected him?" Damian simplifies.

"I did," she sighs.

"Why?" Damian begs to learn.

"He is your father," she says shortly.

"And you are my mother," Damian is quick to return, "therefore marking you irreplaceable and…"

And precious.

His mother summons a smile.

A silence falls over them as they both are lost to their thoughts. Damian thinks, imagines, of a world without his mother. Had anything turned out differently, had his mother been lost to the blood that had escaped her body, he would have been considered motherless.

His mother, on the other hand, thinks of something considered… questionable… in the Al Ghul family.

"Damian," she begins, breaking their quiet atmosphere, "there is something that you must have."

"Mother?"

His mother sucks in a shaky breath and withdraws her hand from his grasp.

"There are some things you cannot do without a shadow."

He doesn't like where this is going.

"I have abilities that our family does not have," Damian inserts into the conversation in an attempt to dissuade whatever her ultimate reason was for bringing up such a topic.

"I have seen," his mother says, "but it is not enough."

Damian embraces silence.

"My shadow. Take it. Claim it as your own."

Damian stands up from his kneeling position and glowers at his mother.

"That is taboo!" He shouts.

"You will consume it-" his mother tries to continue.

"I will do nothing of the sort!" Damian growls out.

"You are not powerful enough to protect yourself from your grandfather," his mother struggles to make him understand, "and he will come for you. He will hurt you. My son, please, put your mother's mind at ease."

"Then what of your defense?" Damian is beyond angry with his mother for even considering this possibility, "You will be rendered powerless!"

"Sacrifices must be made," she claims.

"When necessary, " Damian counters.

"Does your inability to protect yourself not count as necessary?"

"It is not necessary for you to give up your own protection for mine," Damian grounds out.

"A mother protects her brood," Talia raises her voice, sounding borderline frustrated with her rebellious son.

Damian can no longer look at his mother's face. He turns his chin sharply away and disregards the searing heat that boils in his body. After seeing his mother as is - what good would it do to take away what minimal abilities she had to protect herself from her own father? Giving away her power was enough to disown her from the Shadows entirely.

If anything - Damian doesn't want to see her like this again - and he can't accept the way she pushes her shadow upon him.

"I will not do this," Damian decides aloud.

"You must."

"I will find another way," Damian puts out stubbornly.

"And if there is none?"

"There is one."

"Which is?"

Damian returns his attention to his mother.

"I will inherit the other half of my blood."