You're Cold To Touch (But You Keep Me Warm), a batman fanfic

YOU'RE COLD TO TOUCH (BUT YOU KEEP ME WARM)

Disclaimer: Batman belongs to DC Comic

Genre(s): Hurt/Comfort

Warning(s): Typo is my most loyal fan, spelling mistakes because English is not my mother language, Possibly OOC. Not Beta.

Summary: Here is something that was kept secret from the world out there.

Talia didn't birth a son.

She birthed a triplet.

League of Assassin is a cold place.

It may be because Nanda Parbat is located on the top of a snowy mountain. No sign of sun that shone between the condensed clouds, peering on the pedestrian like a hawk latching onto its prey. Yet the cold he was talking about wasn't an environmental weather type kind of cold, but one that pierced through your very being. Prodding the skull, tightening its hold on your organs. It was cold. So, so cold, that if Damian was allowed to be a normal boy and hence, allowed to feel, he would tell the others that his heart is in need of a warm wool to hide.

Since the age of three, he was trained to hide his emotions. He was taught how to fight, how to defend. How to easily disarm the opponents and even put them out of misery in a single stroke. His world is colored grey and covered by a thick, thick liquid of blood. He knew not how to emote. He knew not how to care. He knew not how to be happy or angry or sad—

But it wasn't all bad.

It wasn't all that tasteless.

Because he has his siblings.

His older brothers, to be exact. Triplet, technically. Danyal and Jacob. With blue eyes that glittered like a sky (must've come from their father's side), kind and full of mirth (unlike his mother. Never like their mother), they were enough to fill the void inside Damian's core no matter how slight. Both of them trained with him. Patiently tutored him things that he couldn't understand in a single glance (it wasn't something that usually happen. And if Grandfather noticed, the punishment will be deadly). Solemnly bandaged his injuries, be that it originated from the strict training or not, sometimes even weep alongside him. They never think of him as less. Never treat him like he's an afterthought and was just a backup option if the oldest two ever fail their expectation to be the successor of the league. Never trying to usurp his authority or culling out competitions like so many other League members he heard from the bypassing.

He asked them before. In the silence of his private chamber, why they didn't do so. It isn't abnormal, to ascertain their position in this place. Authority means respect. And respect means fear. They should've coveted it. They should've yearned for it. Why would they care for him, the last son of the Al-Ghul and who was most likely to stab them in the back, in favor to gain the almighty Ra's approval?

Danyal and Jacob then looked at each other, holding a conversation with a stare alone (something that Damian still couldn't do. It cemented another worry of him that maybe, maybe, this is a twin thing. And if he's unable to do that, that means Damian might not be their other halves like Talia always led them all to believe. Maybe he really is just an accident. A setback—). Jacob was the first to speak, flipping his head aside and causing his brown hair that resembled the muted color of oak to sway. Whatever words that came out of that lip then was something he would never ever imagine.

"It's not like I want to be a leader of this cult anyway."

Damian gaped.

"Hah, understatement of the year," Danyal snorted, "If I know there are not a ton of guards roaming around the gate and even miles away after that, I'll take the chance and get the hell out of here. Maybe even calling a couple of security and asked them to apprehend this family."

"You can't do that. They're just going to get killed!"

"Yeah…unfortunately. We need help from a real hero."

"Maybe we should stage an escape instead."

"That sounds wonderful!"

"W-Wait a moment!"

Danyal and Jacob stopped their discussion and turned to Damian, who had his jaw dropped, "Why-Why would you ever think that?!" that was dangerous. That was borderline traitorous! Don't they realize that they could get killed for ever speaking out of turn in regards to how this League operated?! "Besides, being the leader is the highest prestige in this place!" how could they say that? How could they ever not have a shred bit of interest at how the position felt like?

"That's exactly it, Dami."

Huh?

Danyal put his palms on Damian's shoulders, gaze unflinching and incredibly kind. So out of place in this palace full of emotionless drone, "It's as you just said. This place. Becoming a leader is the most prestigious thing you could ever think of in this place."

"But the world is vast. The universe out there held so many things," he tapped their forehead together, nose almost touching. Both of their black hair mussed into one, though each green orbs could still pierce through the strands. Danyal always did this whenever he tried to make his point across, "Do you really want to cage yourself here? Surrounded by figurative chains and mindless murders? Forever?"

That's—he—

He didn't know.

He wouldn't know. His teachers never taught him about any of that. Never ask for his opinion or curious questions. In fact, they forbid it. Wanting only discipline and a hard yes. They didn't need unsated hunger for knowledge. They didn't need a subject who question an order. They only want a soldier. A soldier who knew how to succeed and never fail to deliver.

There was a different world out there. Different views and different customs.

And for the first time, Damian wondered.

So, even if the League is a cold, cold place to live, and it's a cold, cold place for something as mundane as emotion to ever fester, Damian was never frozen. It wasn't exactly warm wool that covered his shivering heart. But it was thick enough to shield him from the harsh never-ending tornado.

That's why when Talia, moved (like a pawn) by the smiling Ra', ordered him to fight his brothers and kill whoever left standing, his breath stuttered.

'The League of the Assassins is in need of a successor.' Talia intoned.

'And Ra' only wanted one.'

Danyal and Jacob are special.

They were cheerful, prone to tease, and eager to help. It is such a contrast to the bleak environment of the League. And some would say they're a shameful choice for the successor candidate, a disgrace and a blemish upon the cloth. But they were diligent. They were intelligent. They never shy from the harsh training slash torture. Nor did they whine when the instructor instructed them to finish the added workload.

Danyal is kind and charismatic. He could garner the attention of everyone, the respect of everyone, by his presence alone. Jacob is playful and trusting. He generates confidence with a single sentence and anyone who'll follow him will certainly share the positivity he exudes. They were fit to be a leader. They were perfect to be a leader. Much more so than Damian, who only knew how to follow, follow, and follow the order to a T, never straying from a path.

Don't a leader need flexible thinking? Don't they need the ability to bend the instruction when the situation calls for it? Danyal's charisma could solve that. Jacob's playfulness could give a false serenity to divert the enemies' suspicions. Damian is nothing but a soldier. Nothing—

('He's a good tool' an attendant, done with their tasks, said to her companion. Unknowing of a silent, little eavesdropper, resting on top of a tree branch after he was done re-evaluating today's kata.

'—but he's not exactly a leader material')

—but someone to use and never to pursue.

Danyal and Jacob loved their youngest brother way, way too much, however, that they prefer to sacrifice themselves instead of the other. Now.

Now Danyal had to lie motionless on the floor. Blood seeped through the open wounds.

(He tried to attack grandfather. He tried to kill him, just so he will null the order. Just so Damian doesn't have to dirty his hands with the blood of his own siblings. He's so brave and so, so naïve)

(Ra' hates naiveté)

Now Jacob had to stand however rigidly. Red liquid drip drip drip as Damian's katana pierced his open chest.

(He jumped in front of Damian's attack, who was blinded by rage. By anger and hate that snapped to the surface when he witnessed the death of his first sibling. He tried to attack grandfather as well (and silently follow Danyal to the afterlife))

(Jacob came. Stopping him and stopping Ra from counterattacking)

Jacob coughed and hacked, body trembling and the light inside those eyes was slowly diminishing. Yet he pushed himself forward. Deeper and deeper, uncaring as the sword planted ever further into his broken ribcages. He arrived in front of the shocked Damian. Cradling his face with his shivering palm, touching their forehead together like Danyal always did (he wasn't as touchy as their other brother. Never as intimate. He knew it was their thing, and Jacob never wanted to come between the two. Not when Damian always stared in longing whenever Danyal and Jacob did their silent conversation thing. So, when Jacob do this, when Jacob broke his own rule, Damian knew. Damian knew that this will be the last—), "You're…always… always the nicer one out of us…"

…what?

"See? You're crying…even now," his thumbs wipe away the, true to his word, tears running down his colored skin, "The two of us…were mostly numbed…by it all. Yet…when the League…ordered you to kill…animals…people, you always spare…your energy…to mourn over them…"

"Lead, Dami," Jacob slumped, chin was hooked on his sibling's right shoulder as his body lost his last will to live. The only thing that kept him standing were Damian and the katana, morbid yet did the unintended job, "Lead…and be kind…"

Then Jacob breath no more.

("'List of known Metahumans in the world?' Where did you get this book?"

"I have my way~"

"What Dany meant is that he flirted with the attendant so she'll buy him the book."

"Jak! That was supposed to be a secret!"

"What is this book about?"

A grumbled and an acquiesced sigh, "It's about superhumans. Whether it be heroes or villains. They do actually exist in this world, you know."

They both aah'ed.

"How did they get their power?"

"The book said that they needed to be born with a genetic variant called the "metagene", which causes them to gain powers and abilities during freak accidents or times of intense psychological distress."

"Sounds painful."

"Is it as painful as our training, though?"

"Point taken."

"Do you think we can awaken one of our own?"

"What kind of power do you want, Dami?"

"Maybe fire? This place is so cold, I want to keep my bedchamber warm, at the very least."

A fond chuckle then a fond nuzzle, "You don't need fire to be warm. You have us!"

"GROUP HUG!"

"Ack!"

"Now you're going to be warm, safe, and toasty. Cute, little brother—"

"We won't be going anywhere.")

(Liar)

Danyal fell like an unwanted leaf and Jacob's bled like a broken cup.

(You left me)

"Good job, Damian," Ra' stepped closer, putting his callous hand on top of his messy hair in a misguided way of pride, "You've shown us that you are the true heir of the League of Assassins."

(You didn't keep me safe)

Ra's hand is so, so cold.

(You're not here to keep me warm)

Cold.

It's

Way.

Too.

Cold.

"Unfortunate, really," Ra' kicked Jacob's body away (away from Damian's body. Leaving his shoulder empty and c.o.l.d—)

Ah.

Someone.

Took my blanket away from me.

"That until the end, they still didn't understand. In this place—"

His heart—

"Emotion is unwanted."

Is now

An ice pillar emerged and pierced through Ra's unguarded torso.

("You three were put into contact with a piece of a chaos shard to accelerate your growth," Talia explained one day, a wooden sword moved with such speed that she managed to block all three attacks in one swing, "You might be four years old, but you are supposed to be one year old babies. You're artificial."

Damian almost missed how Danyal's teeth gritted, eyes widened in inexplicable horror.

"The might of the Chaos Shard is flowing through your DNA. So, don't disappoint It. And go rule the world.")

Ra' coughed. Red blood splattered.

"This is…impossible," he looked up, hazy eyes locked onto Damian's figure, who was now slightly hovering on thin air, "I have still…so much to do—"

"Then it's unfortunate, grandfather," Damian's voice echoed like a second sound. Green eyes glow toxic, tears that cascaded down his cheeks turned to ice before it plinked soundlessly over the tiled floor.

"If only you have an emotion, maybe you can gain a power such as I."

The wind whispered in his ear. It says 'I can help you bury your brother.'

Damian accepted the offered help.

They build a simple tomb for them at the very top of the mountain. So they can gaze upon the beauty of the marvelous Nanda Parbat.

He put a flower wreath made of clear ice—eternally frozen and will never melt away—on each of their graves, whispering a solemn, "Goodbye."

Then Damian flew to the sky. Away from home.

Away from the panicking League of Assassin that was now empty and leaderless.

Batman touched down with a silent thump and slowly approached the kneeling child, hand outstretched.

The said kid suddenly snapped his head upward, however, catching the vigilante's off guard when that green (blank) eyes buried itself into his own blues.

"You must be Bruce Wayne," the child said, not noticing how Batman immediately tensed ('my identity! How did he—'). He stood with his back straight, patting the accumulated dust off of his black pants as he declared, "Greeting. I am Damian Al-Gul. Wayne."

"It is nice to finally meet you, Father."

Living in the Wayne manor is…different.

First of all, they don't hold strength above all else here, unlike the League. You could be the strongest in the world for all they care, yet they'll shun you still if your morality is not in place (he learned it after, what he would call, 'first impression disaster'. Though if he had to be technical, it was all Tim's fault). Second, teamwork is important. You can hate the other guts at that moment, but for the sake of mission and, most of all, their safety and health, they have to listen to each other's opinions (don't be a sore loser when the other's plan is way better than yours). And last but not least, the most important aspect of becoming a Vigilante in this town is that you can not kill anybody.

Which is dumb, in Damian's opinion. Most of the villains they've faced so far weren't the type to give their criminal life up after a simple pep-talk. Showing mercy to small crooks whose bad deeds they've done so far was stealing a mere purse it's understandable, but someone like, hmm, Poison Ivy? That woman killed people before. Shouldn't they stop this menace of society permanently or else the body count will keep on growing?

Well, Damian digress. If capturing them alive is what Father's wishes, and if that is how he managed to rule over the crime-filled city, then so be it.

It was actually rather impressive, really, how Father was able to make the city dance within his palm. All, without having to shed a single blood. He's somewhat a caring man as well. Not perfect, God knows how many times he and Jason argued over the smallest things, but he did try to be a better parent to all the children he lovingly adopted.

Even Damian, the ex-assassin.

That…warmed him up a little.

(It wasn't even a year since The Disaster happened yet it felt so long—)

(Damian wanted more)

"What does 'being kind' entail?"

He saw Tim blink, a slice of bacon stabbed on the tip of the fork was halfway to his mouth while the said lips hang slightly dropped; maybe to eat the food, maybe incredulous after Damian's out of nowhere inquiry, maybe a bit of both. The dark-haired older teenager continued his halted meal, inhaled the chewed-up food into his stomach before he gave his answer, tone incredibly flat, "Try not to stab someone on your first meeting, maybe?"

Damian rolled his eyes, "I know that," he folded his arms, ignoring Tim 'could've fooled me' murmur as he spoke again, "Someone told me," (someone precious and always will be—) "that crying for those who you have killed is a kind thing to do. I want to know how a plebeian perceives their own version of kindness compared to mine."

"Well, not killing them in the first place is definitely better," Tim pushed the empty plate away and took a big gulp of coffee, "But then again, you were indoctrinated, so I can't blame you for that," here, Damian's eyes rolled for the second time. He's going to lose them both if Tim kept on talking nonsense, "It doesn't have to be that extreme, you know. Stop using the word 'plebeian' or 'lesser' to the other people's face is equal to being kind also."

"Continue."

Tim nodded at Alfred when the old man took the plate off of the table and into the dishwasher so he could clean it up for the next use, "Giving gifts, saying nice things, listening to other people's gripe without judging. Oh, stopping your friends from escalating their heated debate that could very well end in a real fight is a nice thing to do too," the teenager shrugged, "Frankly, 'kind' is such a subjective word. You could help a criminal escape from their convict and they'll tell you you're the kindest person they've ever met. Putting someone in jail after they've done a bad thing and their parents will call you the vilest human ever exists. You have to find the better side yourself. Even law can't help you with that."

…pardon?

Damian was just asking him how to be nice yet here he was, suddenly bombarded by philosophical speech instead. Looked like Tim is sleep-deprived, as usual.

He tuned the blubbering words of a madman and made a note of the kindness Tim had told for an example. It doesn't have to be that extreme, huh? A simple thing such as praising the best part of someone else is already considered as a kind thing to do. Halting a fierce verbal fight by becoming their middle man is considered a good deed as well.

Middle man. Damian contemplated, eyebrows scrunched, nose wrinkled. Middle man…

He knew someone who needed that the most.

"If this turns out to be useless, I swear, Demon brat, I'm gonna snap your—"

Damian ignored Jason's sleepy threat and briskly walked to Bruce's study. It was Sunday morning, eight o'clock. His father is usually sorting through the company documents around this time, helping on alleviating Tim's too much workload, along with checking out the vigilantes' reports if there were any. In conclusion, this was supposed to be his slow day. Where he can unwind, relax, and rest; at least, in Bruce Wayne's version. Today's the perfect day to be nice. So, when he arrived in front of the mahogany door, Damian put the phone on his ear, curtly said, "Don't you dare hung the call," then confidently entered the spacious room after three sharp knocks and a permission to enter rang from inside. As expected, Bruce was sitting near his work desk, smiling at him when he noticed Damian standing in the mouth of the doorway, "Father," he spoke, "I hope I didn't disturb your job."

"You are not, Damian. I need a break, anyway," the older man pulled the guest chair closer, beckoning him to sit beside him. Damian followed, "Is there something that you need?"

"I've been reading the logs of your previous mission for the past few days," he made himself comfortable, back straight, legs together. He put his palm on the thighs and balled it tight, "And…I noticed something."

Bruce's head tilted in silent question. Damian took it as a confirmation to plow on.

"It's about the missions whenever Joker was involved."

The billionaire tensed.

(Jason's curses petered off)

"I've noticed that every time the accursed clown escape from jail and you were tasked to bring him in, Superman is always close by. There, to be your partner in vigilantism," Damian blinked, noting how, as the seconds ticked by, Bruce's countenance got stiffer and stiffer, "It's confusing. Especially so when you had so clearly demanded from the League not to bring any meta here barring the utmost emergency," his green eyes flicked to Bruce's blues, tone unchanging, "Will you allow me to voice my deduction, Father?"

Bruce took a deep breath, hold it in seven, and released it in five. The tension on his figure was gone and he looked significantly tired, "Go on. I have a feeling you've already known."

Damian nodded, "You didn't ask Superman to help you out. The League was the one who foisted Superman upon your shoulders," his next voice was calm, yet in this choking silence, he was practically screaming, "Because, without him, you can not stop yourself from killing Joker."

(Damian felt Jason's silence just doubled)

Bruce hid his face behind his palms, letting out a voice that resembled a whine of a lost pup. One eye then peeked from between the fingers, lips thinly separated, "Are you disappointed in me? I try to help you reign in your instinct but here I am, drowning in my own bloodlust."

Damian shook his head, "I just wonder why you would betray your morality, is all."

The first vigilante of Gotham slumped further. In just a few minutes, it felt like he had aged several years, "Damian. He killed Jason."

He gave a sharp nodded, meant understanding. Jason let out a sharp intake of breath, meant he was listening.

"I always believed in second chance. Be it a mere bag snatcher or a murderer. That, if given enough time, they could turn for the better. Live a life of an upstanding citizen. But at that moment, I've come to realize how the family of the victims' must've felt," Bruce's eyes suddenly lit ablaze, anger evident, "I hate. I loathe. I spit at everything Joker has built. I want to wring his neck. I want to break his bone. I want to skin him alive. I want to make him taste his own fucked up game and realized how horrible he'd been towards those that he'd claimed prey. He's a serial killer anyway. The world will be a better place if someone like him is forever gone—"

"Then Superman came."

"They labeled me a liability. That I couldn't separate my work from my personal feeling. Saying things like 'do you think Robin want to see you like this? Blinded by anger and grief? Becoming a monster you promised to never turned into?!'," Bruce laughed. It sounded bitter, "Yes. Yes, he would. He wanted me to kill Joker so bad, he tried to do it himself."

After a significant amount of pause and unholy tension that choke the respiration, his father let out a long sigh, "I'm sorry. For dumping this on you."

Damian shook his head, "It is of no problem, father. After all, I was the one who asked." he closed his eyes for a bit, then let his eyelids fluttered open once again, "Why didn't you tell Todd?"

Their relationship was still in tatter, even after all this time. It isn't something to be proud of, but they can surely bond over their hatred toward the crazy insane clown murderer.

Bruce's head dipped, "He needs an outlet. To let his anger out or else the Pit will take over. If that means hating me, so be it. I—

"—I failed to avenge him, after all."

(Damian pretended not to hear Jason sob)

(As he step out of Father's study and away from the hallway where the voice could echo, he whipped the phone out of his pocket, "Did you hear all that?"

"Loud and clear, dipshit,"

Coarse. Stuttered. He must've just finished crying.

There was silence.

Somehow, however, it wasn't suffocating.

"Hey, Damian," the child hummed. Jason murmured, "Thanks. I'm…going to sort through my feeling for now."

"See that you do," he answered with a curt then ended the transmission.)

Since that day, Damian appointed himself as the bridge between the Wayne family.

Father has an intelligence of a mule when it comes to showing his affection. His adopted sons were not any better either. After what he did to Jason and saw how it affected their relationship for the better—Bruce looked like he wanted to cry when Jason initiated a contact without prompting; the teenager's awkward way of showing that he still cared for Bruce and forgave him for his blunder—he knew it'll do Dick and Tim good too. Every Sunday morning, he'll come to Father's room, asking his opinion about his sons while the said sons eavesdropped from his open phone.

("Dick looks happier now that he is his own superhero. But I wish that he rely on me a bit more. Just because he's the 'oldest', doesn't mean he had to bear the burden by his lonesome. It's fine to put the mask down in a presence of a family')

(For the next few days, Dick wasn't hesitant to share his dilemma with the attentive Bruce. Never dismissing and always listening)

("I'm so proud of Tim. He's clever, he's witty. He's the greatest at what he does and I will mow down anyone who says he's the plainest one amongst this family. Clearly, whoever wrote that tabloids are stupid and have no eyes.")

(For the next few days, Tim puffed his chest ever so proudly. Eyes shinier and smile a tad bigger)

Then new siblings come in—Cassandra, Duke. Stephanie and Barbara were not legally adopted, but they joined the vigilantism either way—and Damian dutifully gave them the same treatment.

It definitely raised morale. The atmosphere around the house wasn't as bleak as it usually was. Now, they weren't scared to play around a bit whenever there was a lull in patrol, cracking jokes and playfully teasing the others. Some even managed to slightly shatter Bruce's Batman mask as a low chuckle could sometimes be heard from the comms. An added bonus as well, as the criminals felt disturbed whenever Batman snickered out of nowhere; so out of character. It gave the vigilantes an edge in defeating and capturing the bad guys.

(It's nice)

"You're not letting your siblings listen in on our conversation today?"

Damian tt'ed, eyes busy staring at the words printed on the novel he brought from his room. Of course, Father realized. He was not called the greatest detective in the world for nothing. Though his adopted siblings were not subtle in their affection as well. Damian had a feeling Bruce knew about this 'middle man' business after Cassandra decided to teach him how to sign, so soon after their secret conversation was over. He flipped a page, "You're better at expressing your intention now," he really did, "I don't need to pull that trick sometime soon."

Not until someone messed up royally and they were too afraid to explain or apologize.

Bruce chuckled and tousled the youngest spiky hair, "You're a good kid, you know that, Damian?"

He buried half of his face lower into the book.

(This is nice)

(Warm and toasty)

(Damian hoped that this time, it'll last forever)

(Yet he should've known that everything is just a calm before storm.)

Damian let out a strangled yelp when a hand roughly snatched his blanket away.

(He should've known that a happy ending is wishful thinking for an accursed being such as he.)

He looked up. And wished that he would never. Because in front of him—

(He'd lost everything before.)

—was his late grandfather, glaring at him with such disgust, he felt a chill run down his back.

(What prevented the world to take his possession away once again?)

His new family was sprawled on the floor. Lifeless and unmoving, as blood tarnished his palm.

"Pathetic." The old man said, sneer evident.

Why are you here?

"Is this what you called improvement?" Grandfather swept his hand wide, showcasing the cooling corpses of the Waynes beneath his feet. Stepping on to them with the hard soles like they were nothing but unneeded trash, "Getting attached to worldly beings, accumulating weakness right and left for the enemies to take advantage of?"

I've killed you.

"You've become weak." There was a step.

Why are you alive?

"You've become clingy." Step.

Why are you tormenting me still?

"You've become dependent." Step.

Go away.

"You've become fragile." And step.

Go away.

"You've become unworthy." Until he halted right beside his hunching form, head slowly nearing Damian's ear and he whispered, "I should've not chosen you as my rightful heir."

"I SAID GO AWAY!"

STAB

Damian's breath stuttered as Jacob smiled, ice embedded deep into his chest.

Before this night turned even more fucked up than it already was, let Jason say this first.

He absolutely hated Scarecrow.

Just look at him. His face, his movement, his voice. Disgusting. Every single part of him is so gross to look at, he kind of wondered how someone could ever think that this is the stereotype of a 'misunderstood bad guy' type. The latter part? Sure. He's a bad guy, one hundred percent. The former part, however? Might've read too many sci-fi stories, dude.

It wasn't just his appearance that Jason hated, by the way. It was his power. Especially, the fear toxin. Just by its name alone, you immediately understood what was the thing supposed to do to you. Seconds after you inhaled it, it'll cause you to hallucinate your biggest, deepest fear. Jason lost too many counts of how he accidentally fell victim to that thing. Lost too many counts how he had to relieve the image of Joker and his maniacal laugh and the bomb and the hurt and the anger anger anger—

They have the antitoxin (guy escaped from the jail often enough, they memorized his MO) but it wasn't exactly a quick response drug. Depending on how long the toxic resides within your bloodstream, the medicine might not even kick in until the day tomorrow. Tim has been scratching his head in frustration in regards to this weakness, promising to himself that he and the lab's members will create an even stronger one so nobody would suffer from the never-ending nightmare when the reality is already harsh enough as it is.

That promise turned into a vow now—Jason discerned from his half-cursed half-choked sob that echoed from across the comm—as their hissy little brother, Damian, cried.

It wasn't just simple tears, cascading down his colored cheeks either. It was a bawl. Pure, unadulterated bawling that was full of sadness and guilt, Jason could feel his heart crack.

(Damian never cry before. Never)

It was painful to watch. Hurtful to see. It even made Jason, someone who likes to put a mask of a tough guy, long to wrap the kid's trembling figure under his broad chest. But he couldn't do it. No matter how his muscles dared him to, he can not do it. Not when a dangerous tornado swirled around Damian's body. Caging him in a prison of thorny breeze. Ice pillars sprouted from beneath the ground, frost crept on every surface that caused the temperature to dropped and dropped and dropped—

That wasn't the enemy's fault. Nor it was their ploy to hurt the already miserable little child. That was Damian's own doing.

Today, Damian Wayne Al-Ghul—Ibn al Xu'ffasch—is officially a meta.

Did he say he hate Scarecrow? Yeah, he fucking loathed the guy.

(What kind of nightmare Damian was forced to see, traumatic enough it awakened the power within him?)

"Dami!" Dick took a struggling step forward. Then was forced to take two steps backward when the wind roared and whistled, resembling a wolf calling for its pack. Every second they were forced to stand back or else they'll get shredded, Damian's power went even more out of control. Jason felt his legs skidded backward, having to actually hang onto the road with a grappling hook now as the gale was too strong to survive by the leg power alone. Dick tried again. Shouting over the ringing, trying desperately to wake their littlest brother up, "Damian! It's just a dream, Little D! It's not real! Or...or if it is real, it has already in the past! You're safe now!"

But it didn't work.

It never works.

"Akhi...[1]"Jason heard Damian's voice amidst his blubbering cry. Akhi? Jason's eyebrows furrowed. Brother? Is he calling for us? "Akhi…" Damian curled in on himself, fingers were now latched onto every single piece of his hair, "Akhi…" He scratched left, he scratched right, "Akhi…" before he then strongly pulled, "Akhi. Akhi, akhi, akhi, akhi—"

"'Ana asfu," Ah. Kid had ripped his hair out of his head. That is not good, "'Ana asfu," the ice pillar rose higher. The frost buried itself into the brick of the buildings, causing them to crumble. The tornado around Damian's body roared even greater. This time, it even injured their master. The one it should've been protecting instead and Jason thought okay, that's it. I'm going to get him out of that cage, screw my safety! "Min fadlik la tatrukuni.[2]"

Jason whipped out his explosion guns (Bruce gave them to him around the first year he was back within the manor. Said that it's a backup plan for his safety if he ever got trapped beneath the crushing rubble somehow. He was glad his paranoid ass brought this thing around with him because now—) he shot the round on the ground and let the momentum bring him forward. Closer and closer, ignorant of the rest of his family's panic calling, to his suffering little brother—

"…baridih. Anaha baridih," 5, 4. Only three chambers left— "'Ana burdan, ya 'akhi," Jason extended his hand, wincing slightly as the wind tore his reinforced armor, 'Ana barid jidanna[3]"

2, 1.

He is so closed—

"AKHI!"

"DAMI!"

WHOMP

WHOOSSH

SSSSSSSSS

Jason blinked owlishly when the momentum suddenly stopped. His hand was still outstretched, grabbing onto thin air instead of his brother. But he wasn't alone now. Damian wasn't alone anymore either, trapped in his own wind and hurt by his own power. Someone had come to stop the madness of the recently-awakened Meta. Two people, to be exact.

The one who was embracing Damian without fear of immediate stabbing was a guy with white hair. Clad in blue hoodie decorated by snowflakes pattern and tight brown tattered pants but no shoes in sight. He had a long stick that resembled Riddler's cane. Although the guy's version is taller and made of oak instead.

Then another one was also a white-haired teenager. He, however, dressed like royalty. Black and white armor that reminded him of a knight from the 90 wrapped his tone muscly body; the word 'DP', stylized into one, slapped upon his chest. A humongous white cloak that was strapped in place by a glowing green skulls necklace dangled over his back. The remnant of the wind made the black fur adorning the neck and bottom part ruffled ever so slightly. He had a crown, hovering over his head. And a ring, snuggling his ring finger. Those artifacts looked ancient. Yet it exuded the power still as a fiery green fire enveloped it whole. He had appeared so suddenly, just like the Blue Hoodie guy, and was the one who had stopped Jason from advancing further (and possibly killing himself as well. That tornado didn't exactly look friendly, you see) by half-hugging his unprotected torso, steeling his stance and turning himself into an impromptu wall that separated them all.

Fleetingly, Jason recalled how an American Football did their sport.

"Don't sacrifice yourself," the King spoke. His voice echoed. Like a thousand beings had spoken alongside him, "Dami won't like that."

"Wha—"

"La bi'asa, [4]" Hoodie whispered. One hand petting Damian's messy hair while the other rummaged through his jacket pocket. He pulled out an hourglass, filled with golden sand that seemed like it emitted its own ethereal glow. He put it on the ground, letting the content inside flow downward. Or, it should be, if they were following a scientific law of nature. Instead, the sand emerged from within, escaping its case. Flying, twirling, circling around Damian's sight. It wasn't long before his eyes droop (the sand motion did look kind of hypnotic.)

"A...khi…"

"Nahn huna ya, 'akhi alsaghir," Hoodie smiled, tucking the much smaller child and kissing his forehead as a way to calm him down when the kid started to whine,"Yanam[5]"

The ice, frost, and wind stopped.

And Damian fell asleep.

Both King and Blue Hoodie let out a relieved sigh. They then turned their attention towards the approaching Bats, giving them a full view of how otherworldly their eyes shone; green and blue, kind and playful. King patted Jason's shoulder and gave them a smile. Tired yet still genuine all the same, "Hello. You must be the Wayne family. My name's Danyal. You can call me Dany."

"And I'm Jak," Hoodie stood up with Damian, cradled in his embrace, "Short for Jacob."

(A breeze swept down. Did Jak's cane just move on its own?!)

"You must've had a lot of questions," King continued, bringing himself down until his foot finally touch the roof (Jason didn't even notice that the guy had been hovering inches away from the ground for however long). The reverberating effect in his voice was suddenly gone. Instead of multiple people speaking at once, they could now hear what was Dany's original voice supposed to sound like. A teenager, "We promised to give you answers. So, why don't we go back to the cave and let Damian rest for now?"

Bruce felt his world shattered into a million pieces. Crushed to dust and buried into the depth of an opened grave.

Damian had brothers.

Two brothers.

Bruce has three blood children.

And both of them were already dead—

His eyes teared up once again. It has been like that since Danyal—Dany—was done explaining everything. He still had his cowl on, mask still strapped in place, yet the vulnerability of one Bruce Wayne kept surfacing through.

It's fine, right? He just learned the existence of his already-dead-cold-gone-gone-gone sons, he's allowed to mourn, right?

(Crying for the death of a too-young-children. Never be able to see the world as a whole. Or creating a relationship that'll last as friends or even partners. Causing mischief that could make the parents tiredly grin—

They might've been in the land of the living right now. Mingling with the moving animals and the alive humans. But they have no body. They have no pulse. They're lingering ghosts who cannot move on because their lives were cruelly cut short—

Bruce would never learn their likes and dislikes. Their favorites movies or games—

All because a greedy old man decided they were too much of a hassle to be kept alive—)

"I'm going to kill Ra'"

All the vigilantes present had their jaws dropped. It wasn't every day they sees Bruce lose his cool and let the bloodlust wash over, after all. That's Jason's role.

Jacob—Jak—laughed merrily. It sounded like a tinkle of a bell. A contrast of Danny's rumbling chuckle, "You're a bit too late, Mr. Bruce. Dami offed the old man already."

"And good riddance, really," Dany piped in.

Oh? Well, "That's good," his children stared incredulously at him and Bruce replayed his own word. Wait, "I meant, it's good that Ra' was already dead. Not good that Damian had to do the deed himself." That's what he meant. He never wanted his son to be a killer. Even he who was forced since toddler.

Dany let out another laugh, "Dami was right. Your communication skill needs polishing."

Jason snorted, Duke politely coughed. Bruce held himself back and try not to pout.

Then silence descended. This time, it was a bit more comfortable than the previous.

Bruce—and the rest of his kids, honestly—watched the two white-haired teenagers pitter-patter about. Dany, checking on Damian's injuries and wondering whether two painkillers are enough to keep the ex-assassin still as the kid kept on wincing, even when unconscious ('League's training. It rendered you useless with any type of drug'). Jak, making and remaking the blanket, second-guessing himself whether he did a good job in reassuring Damian's mental health ('We should add another one', 'This is his third layers already, Jak. Lay off your mother-henning a little. He's going to suffocate, figuratively and literally'). They hovered and pondered. Body fidgeted and filled with jitters. Jak decided that Damian really did need the fourth blanket and ignored his brother's chuff as he flew to the manor above, bringing another fluffy cloth for him to drape upon. Dany shook his head fondly and proceed to scour over the cabinet above the fridge, pulling out a jar of chamomile cookie—Alfred made those for the Bats whenever they were wrapped in anxiety after patrols; with their bloody experience and their bloody occupation, it is no wonder they developed mild (or acute, for some) PTSD—for Jak to consume. It was when Dany brewed a coffee for himself, using a hidden stash only known to Tim (and now everyone else, because King wasn't doing a good job at being discreet in pilfering the beans), that Bruce finally commented.

"You seemed pretty familiar with the Cave."

Dany nodded, grinning mischievously at Tim's exaggerated wail as he took a slow, big gulp, "We've been living here at the same time Dami come along."

Dick blinked, "But we never saw any of you?"

Both of them laughed, "Of course, you didn't see us," Jak grinned, "I'm a Spirit of Winter. Guardian of Fun and the Protector of Childhood Innocence. Only pure-hearted children can see me~"

(He then vaguely heard him muttered 'and a Man-Child. Ugh, Joker is so creepy')

"Oh, and this is my friend and companion," Jak continued, twirling his fingers to gathered the…wind? Yes, wind. It formed itself into a small, bobbing tornado, running around Jak's open hand like a kid in sugar high. Why did Bruce get an impression that that tornado is happy, now that someone other than Jak could see it? He didn't exactly comprehend. Wait a second. The wind is alive?! Jak, choosing to ignore the wide eyes stare of the other occupants, opened his mouth, closed it, then turned his attention towards the dancing tornado, "Do you really want me to call you Wind? We can try to search for a good name if you want."

The tornado shook its head (?) left and right, Jak shrugged, "If you say so. This is my friend and companion, Wind. Says hi to everyone~"

It twirled cheerily.

O…kay.

Bruce shouldn't be too shocked with the revelation that the wind around them is actually a conscious being. They lived in a world where Meta and Aliens exists after all. But still…what was the word nowadays youth usually use in this condition? Right. Mind blown…

Dany laughed a little at their gobsmacked expression before he puffed his chest and introduced himself, a wide smirk split his pale complexion, "I'm the Ghost King of Infinite Realm," his green eyes shone for a split second, green fire that surrounded his hovering crown and royalty ring roared a little brighter, "I'm more solid than a spirit, hence you can still see me if I allow you to. I may not have a cool friend such as Wind to help me up, but I'm powerful enough to fly by myself and keep my invisibility for a month. Spying on you guys is child play."

"Tt. Says you, who lost hold on that said invisibility when you stubbed a toe on the corner of a dinner table."

"Hey! That one was an accident!"

"I wonder what would your subordinates think when they know their King is a dork."

Gasp "Don't you dare tell Pandora! She's going make me do the etiquette training all over again!"

Bruce's kids winced. Cassandra shivered in fright.

Look like hatred towards formality is universal, even the King of death himself hated it.

"Wait," Stephanie exclaimed, pointing her index finger toward the Blue Hoodie boy, "Dany, I can understand. But how could we see you now? You said only kids can see you. A pure-hearted one at that!"

"Hehe. Dany is not the only powerful 'meta'here~"

"You're just using rainbow snows to colored yourself."

Huh?

Well. Now that he said it out loud, Bruce could see how Jak's skin, hair, and clothes sparkled under the light. A pattern that reminded him of jigsaw puzzles that were slotted perfectly decorated every inch of his figures. Unless someone purposely searched for it, squinting their eyes a little bit even, nobody will realize the weirdness of his feature.

"Don't tell them about my secret trade, dude!"

"Then burn all the blackmail you have on me! I know you hide the photos somewhere!"

A cackle, "Nah. Older brother's privilege. It's my job to tease the younger siblings."

"I'm the older brother here and you know it!"

"Says who? We're a triplet."

"Then you definitely do not have that privilege! For all we know, Dami is the oldest amongst us!"

"…"

It was there, where all hell broke loose.

"NO! I WILL NOT CONSENT!"

"WE'RE TOTALLY SCREWED! AAAARRRGGHHH!"

"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME, DANY?! THIS HORROR WILL NOW HAUNT ME FOREVER!"

"HEY, YOU MADE ME SAY IT! If you just relent and let me be the older brother instead—"

"I can see it on the headline now. 'Danyal and Jacob Al-Ghul. Died of exhaustion because Damian had forced them to study twenty-four hours without rest'"

"No, no, no. It'll be more accurate if the headline said 'died of shame because the brothers are way too stupid to answer elementary-school level questions'"

"Hey, I'm not stupid! You are stupid!"

"I'm a king. I rule over all the ghosts and anything dead! I can't be stupid!"

"We all know you dump all of your responsibility to Fright Knight anyway. Don't you dare lie to me!"

"Not my fault they appointed me as their leader when I was still fourteen, hmph!"

("Oh my god, these guys are too funny. B, hurry up and adopt them already."

"But they're dead?"

"Shush, replacement. I'm dead too yet here I am, still B's beloved son."

"Little wing, please. Stop making a joke about your utter demise—")

"Akhi…"

Everything stilled.

Bruce had to shake himself out of his stupor after that out-of-nowhere sitcom (so energetic. So free of burden. He was glad the unfair death that was inflicted upon them never diminished their peppiness for a bit) his sight immediately snapped onto Damian. The kid looked like he wasn't exactly there, green orbs glossed over and unseeing, yet his eyelids were indeed opened, looking at Dany and Jak like he was staring at the happiest memory became true. Knowing what happened—knowing that he is the only Al-Ghul alive—made that impression even more bittersweet, "Akhi," he smiled. Pure and innocent, Bruce wanted to cry—, "Laqad eudt."[6]

"Fi alwaqie. Ead 'iilaa alnawm, 'akhi alsaghir," Dany crooned. He placed his gloved hand upon Damian's forehead, eyes crinkled upward when his sibling leaned into it. He swore Damian even purr in contentment, guard down and posture incredibly relaxed, "sanakun huna eindama tastayqiz"[7]

"Uh-huh," Damian's head lolled to the side, eyelashes fluttered closed. He went back to sleep, but not before whispering, "Dafii. 'Ahibuk"[8] to the both of his older brothers.

Then his breathing evened out once more.

There was a significant hush within the med bay before Barbara huffed, "What I would do to get the little runt smiles at me like that."

Dick instantly guffawed.

Jak grinned rather sadly at that, twirling his oversized oak cane as he silently ordered Wind to bring the dirty dishes to the nearest sink, "It's not often Dami shows his emotion, but…it's there," he smacked Dany's hand away, who squawked in indignation, and rest his own palm on Damian's forehead. The purr didn't let up. The youngest brother actually curled toward the blue hoodie teen, "He's kind. So, so kind that he cries for the victims still every time he was forced to kill."

Tim jolted at that information, pointing at the Spirit of Winter just like how Stephanie did mere minutes ago, though less accusing, "You were the one who told him that mourning for those he had slaughtered is equaled to being kind!"

Jak stared, "He told you that?" Tim enthusiastically nodded, "Huh. He must've trusted you enough for him to share that."

"Damian? Trusting Tim?" Jason's tone was one hundred percent disbelieving. And, much to his chagrin, Bruce agreed with his second son's notion.

Rather than Dany or Jak who answered their doubt, however, it was Tim himself that nodded, "Yes. I got a feeling he didn't actually hate me."

"Even after the stab?"

"That was the only aggression he showed toward me if you must know. So, I've replayed that scenario from time to time. And that's where I realized," Tim scooted closer, patting Damian's covered leg with sympathy clear, "I think I might've accidentally destroyed his determination to stay strong when I thoughtlessly called him 'little brother'. "

It didn't take long before everyone let out a small ah. Understanding bloomed at each of their faces.

Dany's head lowered, the fire on his crown gave a somber hue to his entire countenance, "We did just die…" he muttered.

"That must be the reason why he didn't tell us he's a meta either," Duke chimed in, voice low, "It'll just remind him of the departure of his siblings."

Another silence descended upon the atmosphere.

It was suffocating. Cloaked in guilt and grief.

Bruce decided they cannot do this. They shouldn't hang onto the past (however their core wishes to be. God knows how many dreams he wishes he will never wake up, as long as his parents are present; alive and happy—), they have to cherish the present instead. They may not be able to save two innocent life, may never be able to patch the hole in Damian's heart after the death of his siblings, but both Dany and Jak are here now. They are close to touch—never to grow, never to age—but corporeal. Exists and there.

And it seems Dick realized the same too as he stood up from the chair and pat Dany's shoulder, saying, "You're going to stay."

It wasn't a question. Not even a suggestion. It was outright an order. One, that Dany and Jak instantly followed without a hint of any childish argument, "Of course," the king assured, "It is time for us to integrate ourselves back into his life."

"We may have our responsibility, so we'll be away most of the time, but he's not going to get rid of us that easily," Jak mischievously (or evilly) cackled, blue orbs shone, showing them the invisible prankster hidden within, "You guys are not going to get rid of us that easily either~"

Bruce felt like he should be worried. His adopted children are a menace already, he should've been more concerned that another two will join in on the rooster. Not to mention, a meta with the ability to fly, invisibility, creating ice, and skill to manipulate the weather. Yet even with the prospect of future problems, the only thing Bruce could've thought of at that time was—

'All of his children are all here.'

'His life is now complete.'

Now, where was that adoption paper again…

Jak cheerily waved at the Wayne children as they ascended to the Manor proper. When the last of them were finally gone, Jak's smile slowly vanished and he turned toward Dany, "You sure you don't want to tell them?"

Dany hummed, absentmindedly petting Damian's messy hair. He saw the crown on the top of his white hair spin by itself; an obvious telling that Dany had slightly lost control of his telekinesis power, busy with his inner thought, "I don't think it's necessary."

"Even to Bruce, our biological dad?"

"That's exactly why I cannot tell him," he looked at Jak's open face, expression non-telling, "I can feel the grief wafting off of him when he learned about our apparent death. What would you think he would do—"

"—when he knows that you and I had lived a life before the League of Assassin?"

A life, where it was filled with rainbow and happiness and never the bitterness of a lost, lost childhood?

Danny Fenton, a normal, awkward teenager that just want to pass his high school in peace, did not appreciate all the plot twists life loved to throw at him.

First of all, his parents are firm believers in the existence of ghosts. Something so unscientific for well-known scientists. That alone had labeled them as freaks, causing most of the population to view their children as much. Danny got bullied. Jazz's reputation was ruined (though fortunately, got raised once more when she show wisdom and intelligence above her peers. Unlike Danny). Worse of all, their parents' negligence in everything got their son killed.

Or half-killed.

Semantic, really. The excruciating pain was blinding still.

Becoming a half-ghost might be the only great thing that had happen over the last couple of years. Sure, all the battles exhausted his energy, and his grade took a nosedive for all the absents and late homework. His parents, classmates, and shady government agents tried to re-kill him too, just because he exists. Creepy 'uncle' tried to destroy his already dysfunctional family then claimed Danny as his. Don't ever forget about the alternate timeline where he destroyed the whole world, leaving only Valeria behind. Yet everything turned out alright in the end. After he saved the earth from the incoming meteor, he finally gained the townsfolks' trust. Ghosts vowed to not take over the world (though they'll promise to come back just so they can spar with him) and people hailed him as a hero.

But then Clockwork informed him that at the end of his life and per the right of conquest (stupid Pariah Dark), he'll be appointed as the King of the Ghost.

Oh, and he's unable to go to heaven as well. When he kicks the bucket one day, his body will relinquish his half-ghost status quo and enter the phase in which he'll become a full-on ghost.

It was annoying. It was saddening. He just wanted to die peacefully and be reunited with his family in the afterlife once again.

So, imagined his surprise when, after old age claimed him and he was ready to do his duty as the leader of all things that dead, his consciousness caught the sight of an unknown chamber—covered in real gold and green, luscious curtains—instead, rather than the throne that was made of bone he was forced to familiarize.

It wasn't just that. His blue eyes widened imperceptibly the moment he caught his reflection on the big mirror mounted to the wall. It was a kid. With a small, pudgy body and no scars on the skin. Smooth and inherently fragile.

Reincarnation. His mind supplied. A common happening to the ghosts that decided it's finally time to move on and enter the cycle of life.

For the love of Holy Ancient—

Sometimes, when this kind of thing happened to him, it made Danny wonder whether life is a sadistic mistress who loves to see their favorite character suffer.

(Or She just hated him that much. One way or another)

Danny is born as a quarter of a triplet.

One of the boys is a teenager around his height. Brown spiky hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes. The other is actually shorter (and might be the youngest. They don't know, Talia never deemed it important to know who's who). A spiky hair also, although his was jet black, tan skin, and green orbs that almost shone with otherworldly light (did his ghost form affect his sibling when they were birthed somehow?). Jacob and Damian Al-Ghul. Cheerful and thoughtful. Like a different side of a coin.

Danny loves them to bits.

They were the rightful heir of an enormous cult. Lead by the mighty fist of their grandfather. Talia is his right-hand (wo)man. She was their mother and also the appointed mentor for most of their early life before the cult threw totally unknown strangers as their next teachers. They taught him how to fight, how to blend. How to spy and how to act. This cult's name is the League of Assassins. And Danny, Jacob, and Damian were expected to continue the legacy of a bunch of mindless killers.

Danny despises them so much.

The reason why he survived the electrification in his past life, turning him into an entity that straddled between life and death, was because he had mourned. He lamented over the fact that he was going to die. The prospect of a brighter future slipping and slipping. He cannot joke around with his friends. He will not listen to another Jazz's concern lecture. He may not even be there to enjoy his parents' frantic activities. Most of all, he'll be responsible for the grief that will descend upon them. Jack and Maddie, hating the technologies they've made after all the sweat and tear. Jazz, hating their parents for killing her only baby brother. Sam and Tucker, hating themselves for peer pressuring him. It was just too much. Danny felt too much. So, he mourned. And he became a ghost.

Ghosts are made with pure energy and utter spite, for the lack of a better word. Things that they regret before death will tether their soul into the land of the living. It'll then become an obsession. Usually selfish, some, unfortunately, ruin other people's life; his parents weren't exactly wrong when they said Ghosts are malicious ectoplasm that needed to be purged. Danny wasn't that much of a special case either. He may be half alive, but he is still a ghost. He still has his obsession.

He wanted to be a hero.

He wanted to save people.

He wanted to protect innocent citizens.

He didn't want to be born in an assassin cult and be forced to kill a living being just for the sake of morbid curiosity—

Danny hated this family. Danny hated the blood that seeped through his fingers. Danny hated how the broken bones of rabbits, dogs, pigs, cows, humans feel in his palm (gross, disgusting, horrifying). Danny hated how the lifeless eyes of his targets stared back at him. So dull and blank. Danny hated, hated, hated—

…how Damian silently cried.

How Jacob became numb as the day passed by. Staring at a wall with hands clasped together, mouth moved to uttered a passing prayer. Begging to the God above to let the victims rest. Bring them to heaven. Forgive all their sins and gave it to their murderer instead—

Danny felt something shift within him.

Ah. He stared at his trembling hands. I don't like how I understand how Vlad feels now.

He closed his palms, imagining Ra Al-Ghul's neck trapped within his fists as he tried to stamp down the euphoria bubbling from beneath his chest to no avail.

"Make a wish!" Jacob grinned animatedly, shoving a plate full of chocolate cake decorated with strawberries and burning candles.

A year had passed since Danny was born in this universe. A year had passed and their birthday is today. He didn't even realize it has been that long; days in days out, everything blurred into a shade of black and white and the occasional red. Just that one day, Jacob asked them to meet in his bedchamber in the dead of night because they have a surprise for them both. Sneaking past their guards was easy. And when they arrived, they were met with a bunch of balloons, decorating every inch of the surface—glued on the wall, hanging by the window, rolling on the floor—with Jacob himself dwelled upon the tiled floor, smiling so widely while a delicious cake was placed in front of his folded legs.

Where did he get all of this? How did he have time to set it up in the first place either? With all their strict schedule...

And more importantly, did Jacob just say—

"Make a wish?" Damian frowned rather cutely, his nose scrunched, "I never heard of that before."

(Because it's not our tradition.)

"Because it's not our tradition," Jacob ushered them, unknowingly repeating what was on the ex-ghost's mind, "But we're all atheists anyway, right? Although, now that I said it out loud, who'll grant our wishes? Eeehhhh…who cares. Just blow the candle and pray for something! Don't tell it to us when you're done though, or else your wishes will not come true."

Damian looked at Danny for confirmation, as he nodded in encouragement.

It's nothing bad anyway. The guards were unaware. No chance of them telling this little escapade to Talia or, worse, grandfather. Damian looked mystified too, curious with the song Jacob sang, overwhelmed with the gift he received (a bracelet made of yarn. Easy to hide, and won't be used to take advantage of). Danny spot wonders glittering beneath those green eyes. He may not smile, yet this is the most expressive Damian ever got since the start of their harsh life. Danny was glad.

'Although there is something that I needed to confirm…'

The party lasted for a full hour. After he was done putting Damian on his own bed, covering his tiny body with a bunch of blankets (kid never usually complain about things (when you don't have anything, you tend to not have any expectation) but he did whisper before that this place is cold), he went back to Jacob's chamber. His sibling was in the middle of cleaning, expertly jumping up and down and snatching the decorations in a single flick. Danny wordlessly helped, sweeping the confetti off the floors and the bed, washing the dishes in the bathroom's sink. Jacob was hanging out near the window, tidying the balloon not by exploding it to pieces—the noise will attract unnecessary attention—but by letting the air inside out ever so slowly. Danny leaned on the doorframe of the bathroom, watching his brother work serenely before he let his lips apart and said.

"I didn't know you're a reincarnator too."

The balloon slipped from his fingers and it flew to the sky.

Jacob blinked, eyes widened into a round ball. His mouth opened and closed. Then when he managed to utter a word, it was only a stuttered, "W-Wha—"

"You've done the entertaining better than I. Must be an older brother," Danny continued, picking up a discarded balloon and letting it deflate as well, "Mind teaching me your method? I am the youngest one in my previous family, unfortunately, and my older sibling was too serious for her own good. We need Damian to unwind and not stress himself more than he already should've."

It took a while for Jacob to respond. And Danny spent the rest of that minutes picking up the kid's pace as he tidy the place. When the shock of knowing someone other than him had been reborn disappear, he eagerly nodded. The tension that wrapped his figure—something both of them didn't even realize existed—vanished. He walked, skipped, to Danny, flinging half of his weight onto him while laughing cheerily, "Of course!" he guffawed, "Just let this brother of yours take care of you, my precious siblings!"

"Name's Jackson Overland Frost. You can call me Jack."

"Mine's Daniel 'Danny' Fenton. So please, please, don't call me Daniel. Danyal is bad enough!"

Chuckled, "Alright, little brother~"

"Hey! Since when are you the oldest?!"

Having someone who knows what's going on lifted the invisible burden that weighted his shoulders.

Of course, they're still trapped in this cult. Of course, they still have to kill whoever their grandfather wanted them to kill. But at least, he's not alone. He doesn't have to keep himself steady always, becoming the pillar for them the lean on. He can crumble sometimes too, hanging onto Jack to internally cry, calming his erratic heart while imagining that the hand stroking his hair was actually Jazz's. That he was back home. Still in Amity Town, still with his loyal friends, and lived with his weird yet precious parents.

Over time, they formed a bond unlike any siblings. They could understand each other's intentions with just a single glance. Doing the rapid talk that was borderline a comedic routine that'll lift anyone's spirit. They're able to finish each other sentences if they want to as well. All those 'abilities' that he had acquired reminded him of how the stereotypical twin usually acted. And Danny felt bad because he is a triplet, not a twin.

Jacob recognized Damian's jealousy too, no matter how hard the child tried to hide it. He trained twice as hard. Finished the missions twice as many. Maybe, if I was as strong as Danyal and Jacob, or as accomplished as Danyal and Jacob, I could join in their bubble, Danny could figuratively guess what his younger brother thinking. Maybe I will be noticed. And nobody will dismiss me any longer.

Danny didn't want Damian to be like them. Didn't want him to be jaded, determination long gone, and was left with only bitter resignation.

But Danny didn't want to isolate him either. Never want to leave him alone in the first place. Because he is his brother, his family. And a Fenton never leaves a family behind.

See. In this place, result is everything. Danny and Jack retained the teaching more quickly than Damian could ever be because they lived a life before. They have experience. Especially Danny, who spent most of his life being a superhero in hiding. It is of no wonder they blossomed and leaped through the chasm, while Damian is practically just started skipping rocks. Failure is non-negotiate. Failure will be punished till they learn their lesson. Danny and Jack had bloomed.

And so, they decided to wilt.

It was slow. Unnoticeable by others. They started making mistakes. They started lagging behind. They started to slow down. Their progress stagnated—like a runner who finally exhausted their energy after a non-stop sprinting—while Damian soared.

They were the heir of this disgusting league. It was expected of one of them to succeed and lead the pack one day. Result is everything. And Danny and Jack agreed that Damian should be the one to rise. It'll be ground-breaking, isn't it? The youngest, able to conquer the oldest. All, without any cheap trick like stabbing through their back or killing them in their sleep. Damian could be the boss as the rest of the siblings become some measly guards. They worked so hard. They sacrificed so much—

Yet Ra' ruined it all when he proclaimed that he only needed one heir.

Danny saw red.

And then, he saw green.

(It swirled and twirled. Purple doors hang around like stars on a sky)

He sighed demurely as his body slowly flipped upward. The pain of being stabbed and slashed (courtesy of the biggest jerk in that world, stupid Ra') rang dulled after a couple of seconds. Chest that usually went up and down was now incredibly still. His black hair and blue eyes were once again gone. Swapped with a white strand and green orbs that he, unfortunately, knew very well.

Danny flew to the King's lair—just up above his sight, crowded by, what appears to be, his future subordinates. They must've guarded the place when the supposed successor never shows up, even after his death—letting the feeling of Crown of Fire to washed over his head while the Ring of Rage latched onto his finger, "Man," he muttered, "What a short life…"

Finding Jack wasn't hard when you have Wulf and Clockwork, but what he didn't expect from his simple excursion—except for giving his grievance to the corpse because Jack, most certainly, died too—was finding out that his sibling is now a Spirit.

In a way to educate the King, Ghost Writer gave him knowledge; common or uncommon. The latter part included the actuality of a 'Spirit'. Spirit is a nice little being. As powerful as full ghosts who had lived for millennia, but not as hostile (not intentionally, at least). They were bound by their duty and never an unstable feeling such as Obsession. They're natural, they exist side by side instead of back to back. Danny had always thought that Spirits are just a personification of nature (or kids' overactive imagination. Where would Santa, Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, Sandman, and the big bad Pitch appear if it wasn't because of the children, hm?), except not even once he ever thought that you could create a Spirit from a wandering specter.

Jack Frost, huh? Jack is a playful character. Good with children and always ready to have fun.

(But it did make him wonder why. Why Jack Frost, specifically? From Clockwork's monitor, he knew Damian had awakened ice power in a time of his grief. And now Jack. Did his status before as a half-ghost with an ice core had influenced the Chaos Shard and caused an anomaly in their birth?)

(And he has white hair too. Palette swap may actually be a common troupe in the afterlife. At least, he still got his electric blue eyes.)

Danny slowly approached a slumping figure hovering over the edge of a lake. His attention was solely on Jack who silently acknowledge the king's existence with a tilt of a head, "When I woke up as a Spirit," the teenager started, "I knew you're not going to be in the afterlife too. Our death is not exactly peaceful."

"But you see," He stood by the spirit's peripheral. And Jack used that chance to rest his head on Danny's broad shoulder, staring at a particular spot on this frozen water, "I didn't know my previous life didn't have much of a peaceful death either."

Ah. Danny understood. No wonder his core had been screaming since he set his foot here, instinct tickled his fancy.

Ghosts can sense each other's presence. It wasn't a leap of logic when, apparently, they can sense the remains of a person also.

(Danny got this ability after his full death, however. Especially so the moment he became a king. It was their job (something Pariah Dark deemed beneath him) to give the victim a proper burial, if one ever came upon a makeshift grave that was made not of heartfelt prayers.)

"I never regret saving my little sister," Jack continued, "Better me drowning in a frozen lake rather than a ten years old kid who still had so much to live for. But you know what I regret the most from my first life?"

"It was leaving my family alone."

PTSD and survivor guilt. Misplaced anger would descend if someone push their buttons too far.

"She's pretty, Danny. She grew up so beautifully. She has a family, surrounded by mischievous grandchildren and loved by a lovely husband. Yet I can sense a melancholy wafting off of her. Recognizing her guilt no matter how faint," he buried his nose deep into the ghost's neck, a choked hiccup rose from behind his throat, "She still felt responsible by it all even though it was just an accident. What would happen then, if my next death was purposely caused? No matter how deliberately?"

The image of a tan skin child who never put on a smile yet held so much curiosity within that tiny body flashed.

"We'll find him," Danny whispered, rubbing circle on the other's back as Jack lost all pretense and proceeded to hug his brother (ex-brother?) to oblivion, crying and sobbing for someone else's lack of happiness, "Don't worry, we will find him."

They will find him.

No longer will they be shackled by uncertainty nor apprehension.

The Fenton and Frost, no, the Al-Ghul siblings are ready to flip everything upside down as long as what's theirs are safe within their reach.

Here is something that was kept secret from the world out there.

Talia didn't birth a son.

She birthed a triplet.

Nobody needed to know that two of them came from a different life, living in a much better environment. They knew what it be, to be born into a loving family. And they knew the League of Assassins is anything but a loving family. That's why they'll show Damian. What it felt like to be cared for by someone who genuinely appreciated you.

When the child woke up—for real this time—tears of joy immediately sprouted from behind his eyelids. He embraced his long-lost older brothers, begging him to stay and to never leave him behind. Danny and Jack offered assurance. And an apology for making him wait so long.

With the help of the Wayne family and the protectiveness of the vigilantes of Gotham, Danny was sure they could create a better world for everyone involved.

Maybe this time, their second chance at life will not be so brief.

*DickieBird: [attachment. It was a close-up photo of Damian Wayne running around the backyard of the mansion, laughing merrily even though he got peppered by snowballs from all directions.]

Oh my gawd, Damian is so cute! Help, I'm dying of cuteness overload!

*DamianWayne: Delete this! :(

*DickieBird: No `3`

*3 replied to *DickieBird: AAAAAAAA WHAT?!

*YaYaYaYash replied to *Dickiebird: Such. Gap. Moe!

*FuckThePolice replied to DickieBird: Holy guacamole, to think Damian Wayne could look like an angel o.O

*JasonNotDeadTodd replied to *DickieBird: The f*ck, this is disturbing!

*StephSteph replied to *JasonNotDeadTodd: Aw. You're just jealous you aren't as cute as him~

*DamianWayne: I'm not cute!

*StephSteph: keep telling yourself that~

*GothamSuckButItsMyHome replied to *DickieBird: Wait. This is summer. Where the heck did those snowballs come from? O.o

*IStandTheWayne replied to *GothamSuckButItsMyHome: You're seriously asking that? To a billionaire?

*GothamSuckButItsMyHome: …you know what? Fair

(A/N): (Those are Tweet, btw Stupid fanfic dot net, can't put a symbol in this site :/ )

Inspired by this post: tristicorde dot tumblr dot com/ post/ 675770591417139200/ something-interesting-i-noticed-in-this-update-is

I think it's just art style. But whatever it is, that post is the reason why this fanfic is born. And when you tantalized me with that idea, of course, I'm gonna crossover it with something `3`

Namely Danny Phantom and Rise of the Guardian~

Hey. 'Danny is Damian's sibling' is a pretty common troupe in Ao3, I'm just adding another one. Found family FTW :'D

Translation:

1. Brother.

2. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please, don't leave me.

3. ...cold. it's cold. I'm cold, brother. I'm so, so cold.

4. It's okay.

5. We're here, little brother. Sleep.

6. You came back.

7. Indeed. Go back to sleep, little brother. We will be here when you wake up.

8. Warm. Love you.

Correct me if I'm wrong. This is google translate, after all. I may learn Arabic in my high school, but I don't remember jack shit lol. My teachers will be so disappointed in me :'D

This is the serious version of my previous fanfic. And also a slight AU as well!

(Although, if I have to be technical, everything is an AU cuz I don't read Batman comics and the 'facts' that I used came from fanfictions lol. The only Batman comic that I read is Wayne Family Adventure)

Because Ra's gone, he cannot 'kidnap' Tim and such, he didn't lose his spleen.

Jason was still dead, however. And the Pit still resurrected him. Talia was trying to fill the hole within her heart from losing all of her children by making Jason her own. But of course, he escaped soon.

I've read a fanfiction about Bruce actually trying to kill Joker after what he did to Jason yet Superman stopped him. I like that idea so much (as I am pro good father Bruce. Fck canon!), I added it to my own story. Unfortunately, I cannot remember the title of that fanfic cuz I've been reading Batman fanfics these past few weeks, everything is a blur to me :'D

If you know that story and remember the title, do please tell me.

Oh, also. The hourglass that Jack's used to put Damian to sleep? That was Sandman's sand. Jack asked him some just in case (kinda get a feeling he'll need it, knowing his youngest sibling is now an illegal vigilante, lol). I want to explain this in the story yet somehow can't. Danny stole all of the POV, Jack. I'm sorry :'D