[ VIII. Truth Be Told ]
Present Day…
The first time Batman met the White Ghost—who may or may not be an actual ghost— was about one year ago. It was a brief encounter— barely one at all, really; just the statuesque image of a black-clad assassin standing at attention by Talia's side, the full-white mask burnt orange in the setting sun. The White Ghost said nothing during Talia's exchange with Damian, only parting with a brief nod before accompanying Talia onto the submarine.
Batman knew, vaguely, that the White Ghost was with them in Deathstroke's underground research lab off the coast of the U.K. Though for unknown reasons, he never engaged with either Deathstroke, Batman, or Talia during the entirety of the event. The White Ghost's contributions were the hoard of broken and bloody man-bats thrown over the high-walkways that hung from the cavern ceilings, and a strange sonic based attack that managed to take down swathes of enemies in a single turn.
When asked, Damian only said that the White Ghost was "the shadow of the Demon's Head" and "a loyal member and protector of the al Ghul family."
The second descriptor is what's currently niggling on Bruce's mind as he finished patching up his bruises in the cave.
Damian was back up in the manor, wrapped up in blankets and nursing one of Alfred's signature hot cocoa. The boy was being uncharacteristically passive,when usually he'd be digging his heels into the cave and stubbornly insisting that he's fine and more than capable with assisting with the case, father.
After their encounter with the White Ghost at the Royal Hotel, Damian's been strangely silent.
It's reasonable to assume that if the White Ghost was the "protector of the al Ghul family" that Damian would know the assassin's real identity. But why Damian never offered that information up when he would usually be very willing to 'prove his worth' —Damian's words, not Bruce's— was the more interesting puzzle.
Much like how saying that the White Ghost was the "protector of the al Ghul family" as opposed to "protector of the League" was interesting in its deliberate specificity.
If the White Ghost was the main culprit of these 'executions' then that meant that Bruce had to reframe the motive. Since the White Ghost was the protector of the al Ghuls specifically, then that meant that all the victims posed in some way as a threat not to the League of Shadows, but the al Ghul family. The distinction was slight…but eye-opening all the same.
Bruce opened his case files again, combing over the list of victims. The majority of them were self-explanatory; not only did these people betray the League, some of them even abetted the murder of Ra's al Ghul one year ago. A protector would seek to avenge their fallen master. The reframing of the motive, however, casts a different light onto the one outlier victim in that case. Well, two now, with the attempted murder of Vlad Masters.
All files on Freakshow reveal no connections to the League of Shadows nor any dealings with Deathstroke, so his death would be less motivated by revenge (as Bruce first hypothesized) and more preemptively cutting off a possible threat to the al Ghul family. What threat he posed would be the question Bruce needed to answer.
He paused, stroking his chin in contemplation before creating a profile for Vlad Masters to add to his case files. Bruce quickly typed down all the necessary surface details for the profile, then pulled up multiple databases to begin his research.
Vlad Masters inherited his family's company at the age of 25 and since then has been involved in a streak of extremely lucrative business deals. No businessman in the midwest wanted to face Masters from across the board room, his skills in negotiation and manipulation so great that even some of the more ruthless CEOs would walk out of that meeting signing away more than they intended. One of his lesser known ventures was his shell company— DALV Co. (Bruce had to pinch the bridge of his nose at the name. The only veneer of protection they had was the owner's name spelled backwards. Seriously, he didn't know which was worse, this or Clark's glasses.) DALV Co. dealt in more underground and…less than legal business ventures, things that Bruce made a note to look at later. While Masters' assets did not seem to indicate any kind of dealings with the League of Shadows, there was something else that caught Bruce's eyes. A specific area in DALV's research and development division labeled Project Lemures.
Lemures…as in a reference to the spirits of the restless dead in Roman religion.
The files were heavily encrypted, but not the worst thing Bruce ever had to deal with. Within a few minutes, he was able to bypass its security and gain full access to the trove of knowledge Project Lemures had to offer. Weapons schematics, blueprints for some kind of containment device, cloning research, drugs— all things centered around spectrological research and ectoplasm.
Ghosts. The occult. Spectrology.
In his mind, he began tying a thread between Freakshow and Masters.
If Ra's al Ghul was interested in learning more about these ghosts, then why would Talia order his right hand man to eliminate those knowledgeable on them? What threat did Masters and Freakshow have on the League?
Knowledge is power.
Bruce's eyes lingered on pages and pages of cloning research on his screen. (It never said whether the cloning process was successful—)
He couldn't say for sure what knowledge Freakshow guarded, but with Masters…
Did the League attempt to create their own version of the Amity Park ghosts? Bruce filed the hypothesis away in his mind. It required further proof. He pushed himself away from the desk, leaning back against his chair. One by one he cracked his knuckles in thought, letting his mind spin with possibilities, discarding pieces that fit, rearranging the ones that did. There were too many holes in this puzzle. There were too many uncertainties at the moment to say for sure.
Too many things that Bruce didn't know about.
There was one thing he knew for sure: The League would come after Vlad Masters again.
Bruce returned upstairs to the Manor, back aching and eyes weary from staring at the monitor for so long. He stifled a yawn. Running his fingers through his tangled hair.
He stopped as he walked past the doors to the manor's grand library, spotting a shadowed figure hunkered down within the large leather arm chairs. It was Damian, dressed in comfortable pajamas, a fuzzy blanket thrown over his lap, and Titus curled up by his feet. There was an open book nestled on Damian's lap, his fingers blanketed between one page and the next as if he was in the middle of flipping the page. But instead of being engrossed in his book, Damian's eyes were elsewhere, head pointed towards the large open windows of the library that looked over the garden of topiaries.
Bruce cleared his throat.
Damian's head twitched. He slowly turned to look at Bruce. "Father."
"Damian."
It's late."
Bruce blinked, flicking his eyes to check the time. There, on the mantelpiece clock—4:15 AM. "So it is. It means you should be in bed by now." He tilted his head, expectantly. "Unless you finally decided to tell me whatever it is you've been hiding."
"Hiding?" A wrinkle formed in the space between Damian's brows.
With tired grace, Bruce took the seat opposite of Damian's, settling into the old leather with a groan. "You're not good at playing coy, Damian."
Damian's frown deepened. "I assure you I am not 'playing' at anything."
"Playing dumb isn't a good look on you either." Bruce gave Damian a look. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows propped up on his knees, and fingers steepled together. "You know the White Ghost—"
"I don't—"
"You know more about this case than you let on."
"That's—"
"The question I have is: why are you holding this information from me?"
Damian seized back, as if struck. Green eyes shifted away to look at some dark spot in the library.
It was easy enough for Bruce to let his eyes pick apart every little twitch and microexpression Damian gave off. Eyes shifting— going dark, going blank. The clench of his jaw as he ground his teeth, the tension carrying down to the tight lines of his shoulders. The slight increase in respirations. Thumb fidgeted over the corner of the page. Feet braced against the floor as if ready to run.
Damian's stoicism was easy to read, if one knew where to look.
If Bruce let his mind wander, he'd be able to extrapolate from Damian's body language and circle the truth. Damian's willingness to talk about the League until the White Ghost appeared. The White Ghost was a guardian, a protector; Damian must have known him when he was young.
The League of Shadows valued many things. Chief among them are two traits: obedience and loyalty.
Children always loved the hand that cherished them.
Bruce tried to soften his gaze. To turn off the part of his brain that analyzes and calculates without end. "I hope you know that I'm not mad at you. That I won't be mad at you. But, Damian, the League of Shadows is planning something and I need all the information I can to stop them."
Damian bit his lip, shoulders hunched as he tried to shrink further into the chair. "I know," he said, voice almost wavering.
"Will you tell me, then?"
Damian stayed silent.
Bruce sighed heavily. "People's lives are on the line Damian. Perhaps even more than that, depending on what the League has in store." He could see the way Damian's fingers clenched the page, wrinkles forming on the pristine edges. "If I can't trust you to be honest with me right now, then I can't trust you to work with me on this case."
"What?" Damian jumped up, book clattering to the ground. Titus reared his head up, ears perked. "You can't— you can't do that!"
"I can and I will. You're off of this case and benched for a week. No patrols, no costumes, just monitor duty." He rose from his seat, eyes shadowed. "The appearance of the League has compromised you, Damian, and until I know for certain that I can trust you, this is how it is going to be."
Batman perched atop the head of a hulking gargoyle, surveying the unsleeping streets of Gotham. It was a relatively quiet night, by the city's standards. An evening of petty thieves and wannabe gangsters, easily frightened by the sight of a shadow that moved just a bit too unnaturally.
A flash of red in the air caught his gaze.
Robin.
Tim.
Robin swung from his grappling line, using the momentum to launch himself high into the air. As he reached the peak of his swing, he released the line, angling himself into a swan dive before his cape flared, the memory cloth charged with electricity as it became a functioning glider. Wind caught under his new wings, Robin glided across the rooftops, before rolling into a not-so-graceful landing on the rooftop behind Batman's perch with a yelp.
Batman pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, turning to see Robin dusting himself off.
"That design hasn't been properly field tested yet," Batman stated. While previous renditions of their capes had included functions that allowed them to glide for short periods of time, the recent breakthrough with the memory cloth promised a longer and more sustainable glide while remaining lightweight when not in use. He and Lucious Fox had run simulations of the design but had only started field testing a few weeks ago.
Robin quirked his lips up in a cheeky grin. "It's been field tested plenty."
Meaning that he took one of the prototypes for a test drive.
Batman sighed louder. It was a small mercy that Lucius had yet to add the mini-jetpack to one of the prototypes.
"Well," Robin said. "My route's all clear. Only things of note were a couple of teens about to rob a convenience store— easy enough to scare off—and how much I miss doing patrol without the Demon Brat trying to one-up me every time."
He leveled Robin a look.
Robin returned it with a raised eyebrow. "What? You know what he's like. It's honestly a miracle he didn't come out of his room to gut me when he heard I'd be doing the rounds with you today. Whatever it is he's hiding, he's willing to sacrifice his pride for it." At Batman's downturned expression, Robin's gaze turned inquisitive. "You know who it is."
"I know who it is not. And it's given me an idea of who it might be." The previous White Ghost was Damian's uncle, Dusan al Ghul, who was less loyal and more a fanatic. Whoever the current holder of the title was, they would have been equally trained to take over the role. "And your case, Robin?"
The pride in Robin's voice warmed Bruce's heart. He could already tell that Tim had prepared a ninety eight slide PowerPoint presentation on this case back at the cave. He made a mental note to clear his schedule for tomorrow.
"Brief me."
"The two culprits are Kiarra and Isadora Lee, two retired career criminals with a pretty impressive track record. They took the job as a 'last hurrah' before officially retiring, but there was a lot of incentive for them to hijack and steal government property than just for the thrill of it."
"They were hired."
"Yep," Tim said, popping the 'p.' He adjusted his position on the gargoyle, setting down properly and letting his legs swing from fifty stories up. "I found a few of their off-shore bank accounts and saw a significant sum of money being deposited at around the same time frame, only a few weeks after the robbery. The money was deposited via a dummy account that pinged me around to a few other shell companies, but eventually led me right back here to Gotham."
Tim laughed. "Wanna know who it was? August Lupton."
"Lupton?" Batman raised an eyebrow. "Their family deals in real estate."
"I know. When I dug into their company's files, I didn't see any projects that would even hint at weapons involvement, and while the Luptons aren't clean, their crimes are more towards the white collar variety than anything else. Which got me thinking that maybe they're acting as an intermediary for another party. And that's when I found August's dirty little secret."
He pulled out a small tablet and showed it to Bruce.
There, on the screen was a very distinctive owl mask.
A cold wind swept past them, their capes whipping like dark flags against the building's limestone walls. It had been years since the Court of Owls first attempted to seize Gotham for themselves. Batman thought they'd disbanded after their failure, and their leaders were poisoned by one of their own
And now they dared try again?
He'd like to see them try.
But investigating the Court was a dangerous undertaking to do alone— especially if they've managed to successfully rebuild their Talon army. It might be better to pull Tim from the case and reassess the situation—
"I can do it."
Batman blinked.
Tim looked at him with a knowing gaze. "You're thinking that it's dangerous to continue on my own. That maybe I should step back. But this is my case, B, and I'm seeing it through to the end."
There's a look in Tim's eyes that Bruce is far too familiar with. A kind of fiery determination that burns through everything, consequences be damned. He'd seen it in Damian, when he ran off to rescue his mother. In Jason, when he took to the streets of Gotham as Robin. In Dick, who threatened to go after Zucco with or without Batman.
Every bone in Bruce's body tells him to say No. To say Wait. But Robins rarely listen when they have their minds set on something, but better that they go with Bruce's approvals and stipulations than have them disobey and go at it alone.
"Investigation and observation only. Assuming they haven't caught onto us yet, we'll have the element of surprise on our side. I want no direct confrontation with the Court until we're certain of what their plans are."
Robin grinned. "I might actually have a lead on that. The items were stolen en route to a new Task Force X facility— four trucks loaded with government research and tech and escorted by a federal convoy, with seven potential routes to their destination. No matter how impressive the Lees were, they couldn't have intercepted and stolen those trucks with just the two of them. At the very least, they would've needed an informant on the inside to tell them what route the convoy was taking, the arrangement of the trucks, and possibly how to disable any trackers." He held up a finger with every item that he listed.
From his perch, Robin leaned in closer. Despite the white-lenses of his mask, there was a familiar conspiratorial gleam to his gaze. "And don't you think it's weird how…bloodless it was? While the Lees are usually pretty clean with their crimes, but with something of this caliber, you'd expect more casualties than a couple of knocked out agents and bruised egos. I had a hunch—" which in Tim's language, meant 'I took a wild leap in logic that I can't explain' "— and after a bit of digging I discovered a connection. While the two stolen trucks did have a couple of unreleased or cut military projects, the majority of the items that were taken belonged to a sub-branch of Task Force X: The Agency of Paranormal Investigation and Spectral Affairs."
Batman's mouth pressed into a grim line.
Robin narrowed his eyes. "I take it you know them, then, and that it's not a good sign."
"They were mentioned in my own investigations."
"Well then, you're not gonna be happy when I tell you that the majority of agents selected to guard the convoy were former APISA agents. All of them had gone underground when their employment ended." Robin tapped his fingers against his arm. "You think there's a connection?"
Batman's silence gave his answer.
Robin let out a low whistle. "The Court of Owls and The League of Assassins? Gotham never has it easy, does it."
With an almost silent hiss, the top of the Batmobile opened up in the silence of the Batcave. Waiting for them in the hangar was Damian, arms crossed and brows furrowed.
"Looks like the demon brat finally got over his tantrum," Tim huffed. He hopped out of the Batmobile and headed straight for the showers.
Bruce took down his cowl before approaching his youngest. "Damian."
Damian looked away. "Father." His grip over himself tightened, the fabric of his black turtleneck bunching between his fingers. "After much…deliberation…I came to see that it would be prudent to inform you about the identity of…the White Ghost."
Bruce stayed silent, sitting down on a nearby chair so he was eye-level with Damian.
"The White Ghost's name is—" Damian paused to swallow a lump in his throat, eyes skittish. "He was once known as Danny Fenton, from Amity Park, Illinois. Grandfather considered him a person of interest for years, up until he came under the League's influence about three years ago. He was personally taught by my uncle, Dusan al Ghul, and then eventually succeeded the title of the White Ghost upon uncle's death."
"Why the vested interest in him?"
"I don't know!" Damian exclaimed. He snapped his mouth shut, face drained of color. "No, I do know but— I've always been told how important it is to keep Danny's secret, and if anyone found out what he was then he'd— he'd be…"
Damian's shoulders shook, like brittle leaves of a dying tree. His fingers gripped to his sleeves like a lifeline, fingers wound tight that Bruce was afraid the fabric might rip.
He's never seen Damian so distressed.
Not since…
Bruce pulled his son into a tight embrace, letting Damian bury his face in the crook of his shoulders. He rubbed soothing circles along the space between Damian's shaking shoulders until he could feel his breath even out.
His son. His poor son, raised on secrecy and strict obedience. A lifetime of conditioning could not be so easily forgotten, and seeing Damian like this made Bruce's heart ache. He almost regretted being so strict.
But this was information he had to know.
"Who is he, Damian?"
Damian let out a shuddering breath.
"Baba. He's my brother, Baba."
A/N: And so the truth comes out, but there are even more mysteries to solve...
Lemures - considered to be the shades/spirits of the restless or malignant dead in ancient Roman religions. Fun fact, this is also where the name for Lemurs (the animal) came from.
Memory cloth - a gadget from the Nolan trilogy. In terms of this fic's world, the concept of the memory cloth is still new, but the Bats have used other means to glide for short-periods of time. I thought it fitting to have Tim be the one who unofficially it out, considering that his Red Robin suit is well known for flight (or at least extended gliding).
Kiarra and Isadora Lee are completely made up for the plot. You can find the first mentions of August Lupton in a brief throwaway line from Tim in Ch. 7 An Expression of Synchronicity.
The Court of the Owls - For comics people: pretend that in this universe, the COO plot happened before Damian joined the family.
Baba - the arabic equivalent for 'papa'
It's so good to get back into PC:R! You guys have no idea how much I missed this. Trust me, I did *not* expect to go on a 5-6 month hiatus, but college really do be like that. Life updates: I've gotten into my dream nursing program! It's super time intensive so I can't promise regular updates, but I *do* promise to complete this fic. Progress might be slow, but it'll get there.