Guardian Angel

by Raberba girl

A "Dick & Damian as Court of Owls assassins" AU. Trapped in the soul-crushing life of an assassin, Dick does his best to take care of his little brother. He tries hard not to think about the way Damian's eyes sometimes don't match his expressions, or why the targets Dick can't bring himself to kill always end up dead anyway.

2. Damian's version

Guardian Angel (Damian's version)

(rough draft)

A Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

I hacked my implant the first week I was here, but unfortunately, they were expecting that.

It's such a complex design, I would be impressed if I wasn't so frustrated. I could escape, even with Grayson in tow, if I could focus all my attention on this project, but they are careful to keep me very, very busy. I'm given at least one mission every twenty-four hours, and I'm certain they saddle me with busywork when they don't have any actual assignments suited to my caliber. That in itself would be a full plate, but of course I have quite a lot of other work to do as well.

I realized early on that I have to plan for the long term. Patience is difficult, but I've learned to keep calm when I waste so much precious time just on daily maintenance, and to wring encouragement out of every small step of actual progress I manage to take. We are not escaping anytime soon, but as long as I continue steadily and carefully, we will someday.

I just hope that my partner survives that long.

Grayson is falling apart. Loss of perspective, dissociative episodes, panic attacks... I hadn't expected that of him, and I made mistakes at first that worsened his condition, but now I know how to handle him. He's damaged now, something broke inside him that night when he was forced to take a human life. He needs things from me that he never used to. There are some lines I still won't cross, and it's frustrating whenever he hits a particularly low point and drags me away from my work, but he's my partner and it's my duty to support him. Also...I don't like seeing him in such pain. Although humiliating, it's not actually difficult to satisfy his need for physical contact or pretend I need taking care of in order to boost his shattered sense of worth, so letting myself be hugged is the least I can do.

And it is convenient that he always has food available, and that he takes some of the research off my hands. It's not enough of a help to make up for the burden he's being, but he's not completely useless, either. Besides, I'd take care of him even if he was, since I know he'd do the same for me.

"Dami~ What's the mission for today?"

Dammit, I fell asleep again...didn't even finish today's hack before my tracker reset; I'll have to start all over again before I can even leave the apartment, I HATE this. "Mmrggh." My brain's still foggy. I need coffee, am outraged for half a second when Grayson pulls it away from me, then grateful when he offers me a fresh mug in its place. Mission...he's not talking about any Owl missions, though he pretends to think he is; he means the recon I keep giving him. Most of what I've learned about our captors, and a lot of the information I've gotten for my various escape plans, has been thanks to him. "Recon, right."

I have a whole file full of assignments queued up for him; I call up the highest priority one and send it to his wrist computer. "You want me to go over it with you first, or you just gonna read it on the way?"

He's in a clingy, needy mood, because he always is these days. "I've got a little time." Here he comes, enveloping me with his body like a really, really heavy blanket. In some ways, it does feel kind of nice, even though it's also annoying and restrictive. I know he needs the contact, so I don't resist as I lay out the instructions. "You got all that, Grayson?"

"Hm-hmm."

I can't quite tell whether he's actually listening, or just taking comfort from the sound of my voice. "Check in with me before you start yours."

"I always do." He was listening. "Love ya. See you later." He lets go reluctantly and drags himself to his feet.

I worry for him when he's out of my sight. I'm not always sure if I've made myself a solid enough anchor for him, whether he's still willing to keep going for my sake or has fallen far enough that he'll let the darkness take him. "Don't die, Grayson."

Once he's gone, I get to work cracking the tracker in my implant, but I can't alter it yet. First I have to finish my busywork mission, which is recon for the Owls. I draw it out as long as possible, trying to get the timing right. I have to finish up around late afternoon, do my real mission for the day, tell the tracker I've retreated to the Hiding Spot, head home in actuality, get there before Grayson, and make it look like I've been napping and lounging around for hours.

I usually have to do my missions during the daytime, since Grayson tends to do his at night. I try to get as much real work done during recon as I can, though progress is agonizingly slow when I have to be sneaky and concentrate on so many things at once. It's almost a relief to send in my report and then go in search of my target. He is easy enough to find and eliminate; I'm done after a grand total of twenty-two minutes, 96% of which was travel time.

I used to relish fighting... All my teachers have trained me to be efficient, so I never play with my opponents the way Grayson likes to, but I did still enjoy the art of battle and the satisfaction that came from employing successful tactics and moves.

Now, it's just work, and every second that passes is a second that I am not on my way to join my partner. I don't have time to find the best path to victory or to appreciate the artistry, and I deliberately stopped thinking of them as people. Now it's just simple butchery, whatever gets the job done quickest. I could do my own missions in my sleep; it's Grayson's that truly need my attention.

A gun is easiest and often the only feasible weapon, but the problem at first was that Grayson never carried one. I knew the Owls would start asking questions if they noticed that all of his targets were killed by a weapon he didn't even have, so I had to convince him to at least keep a gun on his person. It won't hold up to inspection if the Owls ever get truly suspicious, but I've done my work well, and they haven't yet thought to run a deep analysis on that aspect of Grayson's missions.

I make it home in time. Grayson arrives soon after with groceries, and the sound of his constant, inane chatter is soothing. He starts cooking - he's a terrible chef and it's demeaning for someone of his adoptive heritage to engage in common housework, but I know such tasks are now essential for his mental wellbeing. Besides, the smell of hot food being prepared makes my stomach growl... Grayson's culinary skills need a lot of work, but I don't complain. My body is happy enough with the fruits of his labor, and the fact that he keeps me adequately fed means there's one less thing for me to worry about.

o.o.o.o.o

I fell asleep again. Not for long, the movie's credits are still rolling, but Grayson is gone and I feel a stab of panic. I don't have time to prepare properly; I simply jam on my boots, grab a gun, and run, praying I reach him in time.

There he is, still fighting, thank God. It's at the tail end, his opponent is dragging and my heartbeat hasn't quite slowed to a normal pace, but I made it in time.

This is the moment. His opponent can't get up; Grayson himself just stands there, waiting. He doesn't even try anymore, since he knows he doesn't have to. I aim and fire, the target goes still, and Grayson slowly sheathes his weapon.

I don't feel anything at all. I used to, back in the beginning. I'd grown too accustomed to the life of a technical pacifist; my first kills on the Owls' orders troubled me in a way my childhood killings had not. However, my stone core soon returned - what I just did was nothing more than finishing a job and protecting my brother, whose heart, damaged as it is, is still soft and full of light. Keeping that light safe is what I focus on, always.

I make it home before he does and am hard at work on the computer by the time he drags himself in. He doesn't look at me or speak to me before his shower, but afterward, he lies down on the floor where I'm working and hugs me tightly, pressing his face against my back, careful not to block my access to the keyboard. He doesn't make a sound, but I feel tears seeping through my shirt for a while before he finally falls asleep.

o.o.o.o.o

I drifted off again for about ten or fifteen minutes around sunrise. I'm alone, but I hear something in the bathroom...

He's having another episode. He sits on the closed toilet lid, slumped so low that the tips of his hair brush his knees, blood drying on his neck and hands as he whimpers softly.

"Grayson."

Tending to him physically is easy enough. It's his blank eyes and agonized expression that make my chest tighten with worry, but fortunately, it doesn't take long for him to come back to me. I talk stupidly about whatever safe topics I can think of, hoping that the sound of my voice guides him back from the memories that have ensnared his mind. It's a relief when he starts to respond, shakily at first, then slightly stronger. His eyes are clear again when he looks at me and says my name, but he's still weighed down with pain and grief.

"Wasn't there another movie you've been wanting to show me?" I try.

"...Yeah. Yeah, I...here, help me up, will you?"

o.o.o.o.o

I designed the Hiding Spot to mask my true whereabouts. It's one of the few times my size has been an advantage - only small robots or another child could follow me down into the hole, and I've booby-trapped it as well.

I had to keep replacing the traps at first when the Owls' robots were persistent, but they've since given up. My hacked tracker convinces them that I curl up to hide there when I'm not on the clock, and all they can find when I'm gone are harmless things a child might bring to comfort himself when he's alone. Since they can't find any evidence that I'm using the Hiding Spot for secret communications or electronic work or anything other than a place of quiet refuge, they have no idea that it's just a decoy - it frees me up to attend my brother's missions undetected.

o.o.o.o.o

There is no way Grayson doesn't know.

The lengths he'll go to not see, to keep his back turned, to laugh or talk loudly or turn up the volume in order not to hear...

At first it troubled me that he was so uncharacteristically oblivious, but I know now that he denies the truth deliberately. There are certain questions he never asks, and he cheerfully accepts the most blatant of my lies.

I still keep a silencer on my gun so that when we're walking away from a successful joint mission, and he's chattering happily about whatever treat we're going to buy on the way home, and I'm dropping behind and taking aim at the targets we've left tied up behind us, he has no reason to turn around until I've finished the job and resumed my place at his side.

o.o.o.o.o

I've been staring at a computer screen for five hours straight, which wouldn't mean much if it wasn't also coming after two-and-a-half missions and 51 solid hours of no sleep. Grayson's hands touch my shoulders, shifting me a little. I don't resist because he doesn't try to pull me away from the computer, and it feels...pleasant as he gently works at my hair with a comb. He hums under his breath, taking his time to tease out the tangles, until he can run the comb through the full length of my hair without hindrance.

...51 hours. It's finally hitting me.

"G...Grayson..."

He doesn't say a word, just holds me. I slump against him like a sleepy baby, I'd hate it if I wasn't so tired.

"Jus'...fifteen minutes, Grayson...fifteen. Wake me up."

"Twenty," he murmurs.

"...'Kay, twenty...promise...?"

"Promise."

He lets me sleep for thirty minutes. I yell at him a lot for that, but to tell the truth, I don't actually mind too much.

o.o.o.o.o

"Yet you understand why we are puzzled, Xu'ffasch. Your average time for solo assassination missions is 29 minutes from start to completion, and 30 seconds for actual target engagement. Your average time for joint assignments with the Talon in question is 166 minutes total, 54 minutes for target engagement. Why on earth should we see any advantage in pairing up the two of you when he is the cause of such an abysmal drop in performance on your part?"

The Owl addressing me is masked and cloaked, but I'm still fairly certain that he's a man named Darrell Wilcox. The ones on either side of him are Christine Maranya and George O'dell. I'm not as positive about the small one skulking in the background, but I'd make a good guess that he or she is from the Kress family. I'm not yet sure what use it is to be able to identify them, but it can't hurt to be armed with as much knowledge as I can get. "You assume that I have the same priorities on joint assignments that I do when working alone."

"Meaning?"

"I'm eleven. I get bored. My former partner livens things up a bit, makes me enjoy the work again."

"There is no place for carelessness in this organization, Ibn al Xu'ffasch."

"Just because I like to play with the toys sometimes doesn't mean I don't take the job seriously. Everyone you want me to eliminate ends up dead, period."

"...We're watching you, Xu'ffasch. Get too careless, and access to your pet Talon isn't the only privilege you'll be losing."

"Save the threats for when I actually slip up - which will be never, since I'm the best man you've got."

"You don't know that. We have many agents, all of them far older and more experienced than you."

"I am the Son of the Bat. I am the best man you've got."

"...That will be all, Xu'ffasch."

o.o.o.o.o

It takes me too long to realize that the noises in the background aren't the usual sounds of Grayson training anymore. The thumps are erratic, his vocalizations desperate. I hurry into the equipment room to find him striking the wall instead of the punching bag, a knife gripped the wrong way in his other hand, his face rigid and his eyes dangerously blank.

"Grayson." I remember to adopt my 'child in need of big brother' persona, since that's the only thing he responds to these days. "Grayson, I need a hug."

After a moment, his eyes move jerkily to me, and his face slowly softens from that mad look to something warm and relieved. His arms encircle me, holding me close. I wait, feeling him calm down, a little curious about why something as simple as physical contact can have such a deep effect on him. Relaxed now, his voice sounds normal again when he whispers, "You okay, Dami?"

'I'm the one who should be asking you that.' But pretending he's doing a good job as my protector is all part of it. I have to say something to make him feel needed, to give him a reason to be strong. "I get sad sometimes," is the best I can come up with.

He starts rocking slightly, and I have to repress a sigh at being treated like a frightened four-year-old. "I know. I get sad, too. I'm here for you, Damian."

"You get angry...sometimes you're hard to reach..."

He squeezes me tighter. "I'm sorry. Sometimes it's... I'm sorry. I promise I'll never leave you."

"Good. Don't."

o.o.o.o.o

The man takes a flying leap over my head. Such a stupid move - it's the easiest thing in the world to hook the tip of my sword into his chest and split the skin down to his waist. The harder part is doing so without actually killing him. His blood rains down on me; my sword catches on his belt and rips out of my hands; he collapses in a heap and shrieks in pain. I'm down to just my fists and the gun in my belt, but the gun is for later.

It's times like these that I remember why I was annoyed with Father's philosophy at first... Fighting is so much more difficult and time-consuming when your goal is to incapacitate rather than kill. I've since come to recognize that being successful despite the extra challenge is a strength, not a weakness, but elements of it are still exasperating.

Like when I've used up all my throwing knives before the fight is over, and don't have any left to stop Grayson's opponent from shooting him.

No matter. Improvisation is an essential part of combat. None of my knives are in reach, but something sufficiently small and sharp is, so I can continue to keep up my 'I'm not the one who shoots all your targets' ruse to Grayson. I grab a shard of jagged metal off the ground and hurl it.

It embeds itself in the man's forearm, knocking the gun out of his hand. He screams in pain, but in the second when Grayson is leaping at him...I see it. Another gun, in his other hand. He swings it up, in one more second it's going to fire, I don't think Grayson even noticed it-

Screw it. I just hope that either Grayson's denial is strong enough to hold up to such direct evidence, or that being inescapably confronted with the truth won't break him.

No point in continuing to toy with my own opponent now. I retrieve my sword and cut off his head, then glance over to check on my partner.

Damn... Grayson is frozen, possibly traumatized. I take my time wiping the blood off my sword, but Grayson hasn't pulled himself together by the time I sheathe it. I approach cautiously, hoping I didn't make a mistake, wondering if I should have saved at least one killing for when his back was turned after all. "Talon..."

His eyes, when he finally turns to me, are full of anguish. His mouth drops open in horror, and I remember what I look like at the moment. "Don't worry, it's not mine."

"Damian..." His hands are shaking as they reach for mine. I know he probably needs me to hug him, but I'm not sure if I should when I'm covered with my latest victim's blood. "I...I'm sorry...we'll...w-we'll get this, we'll, don't worry, I...!"

He no longer even has the strength to keep up the dependable big brother act, and I worry that he's broken beyond repair now. I have to get him home...get us both cleaned up, do my best to revive him. I can't lose him, not after how hard I've worked to keep the last flame in his heart alight.

He clings to me despite the blood, sobbing. I do the best I can, using all the tactics he usually uses on me - if he thinks they're comforting to others, it stands to reason that he himself finds them comforting. I even resort to his nickname, the one used by everyone else who loves him. "It's not your fault, Dick," I try, hoping it's the right thing to say. When at last he grows quiet, I help him to his feet and let him lean on me as we make our way home.

Once there, I wash off the blood as quickly as I can and am glad when, subdued as Grayson is, he at least has enough presence of mind to take care of himself. But then the water is still running half an hour later, so maybe he's not doing as well as I thought...

Sure enough, I find him curled up on the floor of the bath, and he's unresisting but unresponsive when I haul him up and wrap a towel around his shivering shoulders and use another to dry his hair. Even children aren't this docile... "Grayson." He doesn't bother looking up, but his eyes aren't blank, either...they look pained and lost, which is almost worse. I don't know what to do other than more of the things he usually does for me: food, rest, movie. I can't think of anything else. I work on the computer and support his weight and try to ignore the growing worry that my partner, my brother, has suffered a blow he can't recover from.

No. Richard Grayson Wayne is stronger than that. He helped me survive my worst experiences, and now I will make sure he survives this one. "Grayson, listen to me. You can't give up. I'll always be here for you, so don't give up. Just hang on until... Just, please, keep trusting me." He shifts, and I'm relieved that he seems to be listening now. "It's difficult. Their system is tough and I don't have enough time... I have to cover both my missions and yours-" For the first time, I explain everything openly, but then worry that I'm just making it worse. I shouldn't focus on how hopeless our situation seems. "But I'm not giving up, Grayson. I will never give up. I will get us out of here, I swear to you."

He says nothing, but his hand on mine tightens. He's asleep soon afterward, and I let him rest as I continue to work, even when my leg starts to go numb from his weight.

He sleeps for hours, longer than he ever has during our captivity. When he finally does wake up, I'm startled and cautiously relieved by the huge smile on his face. "Dami~ Good morning, kiddo!"

"Grayson...how are you doing?"

"Whoo, is it really almost nine?! Regular Sleeping Beauty I am, hah." He jumps to his feet and stretches enthusiastically, then whirls and fires another sunshine-filled smile at me. "What'cha want for breakfast?"

"Anything's fine." So are we back to the 'Let's pretend Damian's not the most ruthless killer in the Court of Owls' show, or no...?

"Breakfast tacos it is! Coming right up~" He patters around the kitchen, whistling, and I try to get back to work, but my eyes are bleary and it's hard to concentrate. I'm exhausted, but I have to keep going...have to push through...

The plate of only slightly singed tacos he eventually produces gives me an extra boost of energy, but it wears off too soon. The third time I nod off, I'm outraged to find Grayson easing the computer away from my hands and trying to press me down on the couch. "Give me the-!"

"Just for a little while, Damian," he says softly. "You've already been working all night. You can go at it twice as hard when you've had a little time to recharge."

"...At least let me...give you today's recon..."

He sighs. "Don't bother. I know it's just been to keep me out of your hair. I'm sorry for putting that extra burden on you, Damian."

Ah. "No...it's recon for me, not them."

A gleam sparks in his eyes. "Really?"

I smile. "Really. It helps me out."

"Really?!"

"Well, a little. I haven't actually found a use for most of the info yet, but I will. It really is stuff I would have looked up myself if I had time."

He exhales and looks relieved. I give him the assignment, then finally let myself relax against the couch pillows. He leans down to murmur a goodbye, and rests his cheek against my hair for a long time. Finally he whispers, "Well...guess I'll see you tonight, guardian angel."

It's hard to talk when I'm so close to falling asleep, but I manage it. "Better me than you..."

"No. No, it's not. I...I'll never be able to live with myself for making you... I'm sorry-" He takes a deep breath. His voice is steadier when he speaks again. "But I promise I'll do everything I can to help from now on. I can't...do the actual killing...I've tried, and I can't...but anything else, just name it. I'll help with the hacks, your real missions, anything. I won't weigh you down anymore."

"Never did...Grayson..." I hate wasting time, but part of me does feel relieved to let myself rest. A bigger part of me is relieved that my oldest brother is finally back, and I don't have to do this alone anymore.