Disclaimer: I only own the plot and my OCs. Anything you recognize as not mine belongs to Warner Bros. Entertainment, DC Comics, and/or their otherwise respective owners.
Author's Notes: And now, the sequel is here! Hooray! Sorry it took me so long – as I said in some comments, I had to figure out where to go next. I do have a pretty good idea of where I want to go after this, though, because the idea is absurd and in-character and it makes me laugh. More on that soon. ;)
In the meantime, story title comes from Waking Up the Ghost by 10 Years.
As always, I hope you enjoy,
~TGWSI/Selene Borealis
~in those eyes of his~
~waking up the ghost~
He woke up to the cold.
This was not unusual for him. As he had said before, the room that his coffin was in was always kept cold, in order that he be kept better subdued. He knew this, and he did not mind it. As a Talon, he was not supposed to mind it. Talons were not supposed to experience emotions outside of those that they were supposed to.
But what was unusual was that, even before he opened his eyes, which was hard to do because of the lethargy that the cold caused...he knew that he was not in his coffin in the cold room. The space that was above his face expanded beyond what it should've if that were the case, or so until he opened the coffin or someone else opened it for him; he did not need to see this to know it to be true. And the scent of the room was...different. It was not the sterile scent that he was used to, but...mustier, with an undertone of wood polish and another scent that made his nose tingle. The scent of rain and oakmoss.
Also, there was the distinct sensation of cuffs wrapped around both of his wrists, which would not be there if he was in his coffin in the cold room. So, there was that.
When he was able to open his eyes, blinking sluggishly, he saw that he was in a room that appeared like it was part of an older, private residence building – a manor. He was laying in a bed that looked like it belonged more in a hospital room, although he'd never had a need for such a place because he wasn't human, and his wrists were indeed handcuffed to the bed's rails. A vent that was close enough to his bed was revealed to be the cause of the cold, as he could feel its air coming down, making him shiver lightly. There was a machine next to his bed as well, which he was hooked up to, and it was registering his heartbeat, far slower than a human's, along with his other vital signs. The wall opposite his bed held two large, double-paned windows, and the curtains of them were open, offering a view of the outside. He could tell that it was sometime around mid- to late morning by the placement of the sun, but because of the cold his mind was too slow on the uptake to figure out what time exactly it was.
A secondary effect of the cold: he had no idea why he was here. He couldn't remember what he had been doing before this, the chain of events leading up to it. The last thing that he remembered was being let out from the coffin by one of the Owls from the Court, being told that it was finally time for him to...
The sound of footsteps coming down the hall that had to lead to his room prickled at his ears. His vision snapped over to the door in apprehension. He had to assume, whatever the reason why he was here, based on the fact that he was being held in conditions meant to subdue him, he had been captured.
His suspicions were confirmed when the door to his room – there were another two, but he wasn't subdued enough to not realize that they were most likely a closet and an ensuite bathroom, based on the design of the room – was opened. There, on the other side, was Batman, the man that he had been fated to kill ever since he had been created.
His upper lip curled into a snarl. "Batman," he started.
But he was not able to say anything more.
Because along with the man, the tingling in his nose increased in intensity as more of that scent of rain and oakmoss entered the room. It smelled so good, a heady sensation developed in his brain. He even felt something twinge within him, the organ that produced slick being given the indication to do just that.
Just like that, everything came back to him.
(Fighting with the Batman and Robin on the rooftop. Knocking what had to have been Batman's scent-blocker off his mating gland. Stabbing the man. Then, inhaling his actual scent and realizing that, even though he desperately wanted to rebel against the notion, the man that he had been trained to kill was his –
The woman with the dark blue eyes smiling down at him, her entire visage full of an emotion that could only be described as love, as she laughed and said his name. But that was impossible, because Talons did not have – )
"Talon," Batman returned. He grabbed the stuffed armchair that was in the room, located close to the windows, and pulled it over so that it was closer to his bed instead. The alpha was dressed in clothes that would make him comfortable to stay in the room, clothes that hid all of the injuries that Talon – Dick – whoever he was had caused him last night. Injuries that made guilt swirl in his gut along with the pride, because although he had almost accomplished his mission and he was ashamed to an extent that he hadn't, he had also almost killed his – "Or should I say, Dick Grayson?"
Talon – Dick blinked as the name nudged at something in the farthest reaches of his mind, like a shoe turning over a small pebble. It sounded...familiar. Like it wasn't just a name that he was imagining a woman had once called him, but that it was actually his.
But that did not make sense. Talons were made, not born. They were not human. He had not had a life before this one.
He decided to not focus on that subject for now. It was not hard for him to do. "Where have you taken me?" he demanded.
Enough of the shock that had shaken him to his very core last night had faded away. Regardless of him being his scent-match and soulmate, he could not trust the alpha before him. He did not know what his intentions towards him were, now that he had captured him.
(He could not trust anyone, not even the Court of Owls.)
"My home," Batman replied. So they were in the Wayne Manor.
Talon – Dick sneered. "And you have taken me here because...?"
Of course, he already knew the answer to that question.
But still, he wanted to hear the other man say it himself.
In this, Batman did not seem to mind humoring him. "I'm trying to figure out what to do with you," he said simply, honestly.
Talon – Dick suddenly realized that he did not have a good response for him. He knew what he was supposed to do according to the Court of Owls, the one thing that he had been made for. But he also knew that his own omegan instincts would probably not allow him to do that now...just the thought of killing Batman had them recoiling in horror and a whine threatening to come forth from his throat, though he was able to suppress it at the last second.
A solution did occur to him. He did not think that Batman would take it, but he brought it up anyways. "You should let me go."
A curious sort of amusement played out on Batman's features – because he wasn't truly in the persona of Batman anymore. Right now, he was Bruce Wayne – but not the Bruce Wayne that the public saw, either. Just his genuine self, with many of the mannerisms of Batman, but slightly more emotional range. "And why would I want to do that? You'll just go back to the Court of Owls."
"I will not," he rasped. The idea almost physically pained him, the notion of leaving his creators and their purpose behind. But: "I cannot fulfill their mission. If I go back unsuccessful and inform them I will never be able to complete it, they will terminate me."
He had seen it happen before. And although it was not like a Talon to fear death, and truly he did not fear death itself, he also knew that if he were to be terminated in that way, the Court of Owls would only replace him with another Talon. And that Talon would not have the qualms in killing Batman, and his instincts were viewing that just as unacceptable as if he was to kill Batman with his own hands.
Bruce – or truly, only his alpha instincts – did not view this as acceptable, either. His nostrils flared, a growl rumbling in his chest, which set Talon – Dick on edge, but not in a bad way. Rather, it ignited something within him, how his alpha wanted to protect him already in spite of how they had met.
But that was a foolish thought to have.
"...I still cannot let you go," Bruce said after a moment, once he had stopped his growling. "We are scent-matches. Do you know the full extent of what that means?"
"Yes," he said. But he did not see how that prevented the man from not letting him go.
The alpha leaned back in his chair. "See, I am not so sure that you do," he mused out loud. He clasped his hands together. The gaze of his brown eyes was penetrating. "You forget: I have dealt with the Court of Owls before. I know their methods. Tell me, Dick: do you know what you are?"
There he was, saying that name again. Saying it like it should mean something to him...more than it already did.
"I am a Talon," Talon – Dick said.
"Do you know how you were created?"
He...frowned.
He had never thought about how he and the other Talons had been created by the Court of Owls before. How they had been created had never been important, but rather the reason why. He supposed, now that he was truly pondering it, that perhaps it was something like from Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (his literary education, of course, had never been important, but the Court of Owls had not minded him reading books from time to time, especially if it was for the purposes of better learning the nature of his target), or even more scientific than that. Perhaps they had grown him in a lab from a cluster of cells at an accelerated rate until he had become the size that he was of his first memories – his first realmemories, not the fake ones.
Whatever the case, he was not human.
Bruce took his lack of a response as a reason to forge ahead. "I know how you and all of the other Talons were made. I can tell you, if you would like," he offered. "It will help you understand better what our status to each other means."
Talon – Dick hesitated. Bruce was his scent-match, his soulmate, but he had already explained that he could not trust him. He could be as devilish as the Serpent in the Garden of Eden, seeking to poison his mind with his words.
...Maybe he already had. The thought of learning something about himself that he didn't already know...
"...Alright," he agreed at last, and quietly. So quietly that he wondered if Bruce had even been able to hear him.
He needn't have worried. "For you, according to what you remember, it began with the serum. The serum is made from electrum, a metallic alloy," Bruce started to explain. His voice and heartbeat were steady throughout, showing that if he was lying, it was taking great effort, even for him. Even the Batman wouldn't be able to maintain those so consistently for such an extended period, as this would prove to be. That would become relevant later. "The serum is known for its regenerative properties, as well as its ability to make its host stronger and more durable. Its side effects include turning the skin pale, the veins black, and the eyes gold. The only weaknesses are exposure to the cold, but they seem to have modified that slightly with you. This is a much colder temperature than your predecessors would have been able to withstand."
Talon's – Dick's frown deepened. The furthest parts of his brain had already pieced together what Bruce was trying to imply, but the majority of his mind had yet to –
"But in order for the serum to work, there is a catch," Bruce continued on. "The host must die. I'm...not sure how they did it with you. Previously, they sliced open their hosts' necks, letting them bleed out. It allowed for a quicker transformation."
He was shaking his head now. "No. You cannot mean – "
The alpha spoke over him. "But before that, the part that you don't remember – or if you do, you only remember it very faintly. The Court of Owls has always been very particular about their choice of victims. They could not let people catch on to what they were doing. So their victims have often been from groups of people that the government would not look too hard to find the children of. The children of those in circus acts, or Roma. You just so happened to be both."
"No," Talon – Dick whispered. "Stop."
"The ringmaster sold you to the Court. He did not tell your parents. The Court of Owls intended to murder them, but before they could, they came across the Red Hood one night whilst he was in the midst of a burglary. So, he murdered them." Bruce's tone abruptly became regretful. "That happened not too long before he died and then came back as the Joker. Your parents names were John and Mary Grayson. And yours is – "
"Stop!" Dick shouted. "You're lying! I am not human!"
Tears were beading in his eyes, blurring his vision. He did not know why.
Bruce did as he was told, regarding him with what might have been sympathy. But then the illusion of that was shattered. "I know that's what you think. I know that's what they told you. But – "
"It's the truth!"
"Do you have proof of that?"
The question caught him off-guard so much, even his tears temporarily ceased. He stared at Bruce.
The alpha smirked, just a little. "I do," he said. He stood up from the armchair, walking over to the hospital bed. Dick flinched back, which made him pause briefly, before he finished the rest of his motion. He picked up something from one of the nightstands that Dick had somehow not noticed before and held it out to him.
It was a manilla folder.
Dick did not want to take it. He did not want to see the "evidence" that Bruce had concocted to go along with his lies.
And yet his right hand, trembling, reached out of its own accord as best as it could. It accepted the manilla folder and brought it into his lap, where the omega could both better read it and use both of his hands to look through it.
Against his will, those same hands of his opened up the folder.
And there, on the first page of the contents of the folder, was the reflection that he remembered. The reflection of himself with tanner skin and dark blue eyes. It was just as he remembered, and no technology could do that, could go into the deepest reaches of his mind and produce something so thoroughly. Especially not when, standing on either side of him were his parents, including his mother, with her blonde hair and the same color of his eyes that he had.
To the left of the photo was the title in red RICHARD JOHN GRAYSON – MISSING SINCE 03/31/1999. Below the title was a series of identifiers for him – his hair color, his eye color, his weight, and where he had last been seen, which was at a specific location in Gotham.
The rest of the contents of the folder were revealed to be of similar detail. There were newspapers about him and his parents and their acrobatic act, the Flying Graysons. There was an obituary for his parents, in which he was noted to still be missing. There was an announcement by the Gotham PD in 2004 that, after five years, although they were not declaring it so, they were acknowledging that the chances were high that he was dead. This was only reiterated in another article from last year, in which the ringmaster of his and his parents' circus had been arrested for the rape and murder of a twelve-year-old girl who had only just presented as an omega. He wouldn't confess to killing Dick, but the assumption was that he had, since the modus operandi was similar.
Dick closed the folder when he could not take it anymore, which was not long. "Wh – why?" he whimpered, his throat tightening around his vocal cords.
And despite them having known each other for less than twenty-four hours, Bruce already seemed to know what he meant by that question. "Because you deserve to know the truth," he said simply, taking the folder away from Dick. The omega let him. "You would've even if you weren't my mate, but trying to explain to someone how they have been abused and brainwashed for years is complicated when they are in the midst of trying to kill you." He seemed to mean the last part as a joke, but it fell flat.
Dick tried to lift his right hand up to his face so that he could wipe at his eyes, but the handcuff prevented him from doing that. Bruce did not seem too willing to give him his freedom yet, either. "But why does this mean you won't let me go?" he insisted. "Why does the fact that I'm human matter?"
"It's not that you're human," Bruce corrected him. "It's that you have been in captivity for nine years. No matter what you think you know about the real world, you're not going to be prepared for it on your own. You need time to adjust. And since we are scent-matches, it would...harm both of us to spend that period of time away from each other. Not physically," he assured Dick as the omega looked at him sharply, "but emotionally. Our instincts would view it as a rejection of each other after too long."
"That is why I must remain here with you."
"Yes."
"And if I want to leave after this 'adjustment period' is over?"
Bruce's expression became pained. To be fair, so too did the prospect cause pain to Dick. "I would allow it," the alpha said nevertheless. "You would be able to fend for yourself then. I do not want to end up your warden like the Court of Owls were. But I don't want you to end up putting yourself or others into danger, either. You deserve to have a life where you are free, and you will not get that if you are locked away in prison – especially Belle Reve, which is where metahumans are being sent now instead of Arkham Asylum or someplace similar. I have heard that Amanda Waller is planning certain...things there for the inmates."
Dick thought about it. Specifically, he thought about his chances of weaseling his way out of the handcuffs right here and now, incapacitating Bruce once more, and escaping. He also thought about waiting until he had earned Bruce's trust and then escaping later.
But his instincts did not like either of these options. Once again, they metaphorically scratched at the walls of his soul, letting him know their displeasure.
"Fine," he snapped, giving in, at least for now. "I'll stay."
Word Count: 3,311