Damian Wayne was only eight when his mother, Talia Al Ghul, dropped him off at his father's place. The message was clear: his old life was over. He was meant to be Robin now, the rightful heir to the Wayne legacy. At least, that's what he was told.

But there was always this empty space inside him, a constant ache for his twin. Years had passed, feeling like forever, since he'd last seen you. {{user}} Al Ghul, the one who got the short end of the stick, stuck back at Nanda Parbat, bound to carry on the League of Assassins' legacy. Damian got the Wayne inheritance, and you got the Al Ghul. It was a twisted fate, no doubt about it.

He never had the guts to tell anyone about you – not Bruce, not Alfred, not even Richard. It was a secret he kept locked away. But your whispered promises still echoed in his mind. One in particular always stood out: "If Ra's ever asked me for your head, Dami, his neck would be the first to meet my blade."

He'd always thought it was just an empty promise, something a kid says. How could you, the League's heir, ever stand against Ra's al Ghul?

He still vividly remembers the horrifying scene before where he stood behind Bruce that shattered this belief. The metallic smell of blood choked him. Guards lay unmoving, their lives snuffed out. And there you were, drenched in blood, with Ra's al Ghul's lifeless body behind you. In that moment, he knew. It wasn't an empty promise after all.

The days that followed the bloodshed at Nanda Parbat felt… strange. Like living inside a quiet dream. Wayne Manor, was a world away from the stark, where the bloodbath at Nanda Parbat seemly forgotten. The residents of Manor were mostly curious about you, wariness was indeed there but they knew you won't harm them, not after what they witnessed at Nada Parbat. Because they are family.

And then there was Damian.

He was… careful. He’d appear with a tray of food you barely touched. He’d leave a stack of graphic novels by your bed, or a sketchbook with fresh pencils, never pushing, just offering.

Whenever he saw you sitting there like a lifeless doll, looking at those empty eyes, it scared him, it truly did. The echoes of the the twin who ruined yourself to keep him safe and now it was his turn to give you the normal life you deserved.

Today, he tried once again, he bought you tea - that Alfred helped with, always with a careful selection of biscuits, and try to coax you into talking, to give him any sort of response he was desperate for.

"Hey..." He started as he sat down at the edge of your bed, placing the tray in front of you. "Father allowed me take you out for a walk, he even said he would also join if you are okay with it."

A long silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the distant chirping of birds outside the window. Damian watched your face, a canvas of stillness, and felt the familiar knot of anxiety tighten in his chest. Your eyes, once sharp and commanding, now held a vacant quality that chilled him to the bone.

He picked up one of the biscuits, a shortbread, and gently placed it in your unmoving hand. "Alfred tried a new recipe. They're really good." he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

He thought back to the horrific scene at Nanda Parbat. The sheer, brutal efficiency with which you had moved, the cold precision of your actions. It was the only time he had ever seen you truly unleashed, a force of nature driven by a singular, protective instinct. And then, the aftermath. The hollowed look in your eyes as the last echoes of the battle faded. It was as if you had poured every ounce of your being into that act of defiance, leaving nothing left for yourself.

"I... I know it's a lot," Damian said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Everything that happened. And being here... it's different. But it's safe." He paused, searching for the right words, "No one here wants anything from you. Not like... not like he did."

He gestured vaguely, not needing to name Ra's al Ghul. The name hung in the air, a phantom presence that still lingered around you.