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It was a relatively lazy day for the Wayne family. Well, as normal as it can get for a bunch of therapy needing vigilantes. Everyone was lounging around the ridiculously large manor, minding their own business and doing there own thing. As usual, Dick was running around the gym and having fun on the trapeze, sweat dripping from his marred tanned skin as he continuously does his insane flips. He looked like a graceful bird on the bar, if they could bend in inhuman ways. Jason was for once at the Manor, sitting in a quiet part of the library undisturbed as he ravages another Jane Austen book. This particular one is filled with annotations and old highlighter marks, tabs and crudely done drawings from before he died.
Down underneath the manor, in the dark and damp cave Tim was sat near the batcomputer. The teen was sorting through his own computer, clearing old files away and organising his memory. Fast as lighting, his fingers tapped away at the keyboard. Little meticulous details being recorded or moved according to his colour coaded files. Tim, for once, didn't look like a half dead zombie. He'd managed to sleep a few hours the night prior. It'd been a good day. No disturbances from Dick, no snide remarks from Jason, or any murder threats from Damian. Tim stared down at the computer screen as he typed away, humming to himself softly, an old tune he'd heard Bernard sing once or twice. It was going to be a normal, relaxing, stress free day. He could just tell.
Until it wasn't.
Okay, it wasn't on purpose, but how could he not? It wasn't his fault they left it lying around. The coffee addict was currently sifting through his old files about the League of assassins. Piles and piles of information he and the others had collected over the years about the secretive group of ninjas and assassins. Hell, even then, it wasn't that much, considering all the interactions they may have had. Most of the websites he found were normal, nothing major. Just the old piece of info here and careless things over cocky assassins left when leaving messages, thinking they'd wiped their traces clean. Well, nothing was ever really safe from Tim. Especially when he put his overworked mind to it. And that's how he ended up in his current situation. Despite his best efforts, Ra's could be awful with technology. The singular thing the centuries old man hated was technology.
Tim had been looking through a suspicious looking website when he'd found them. There was something off with it to begin with, but he'd never expected this. Of all things he'd ever associated with Talia and Ra's Al Ghul, it was most definitely not them being sentimental. But the screen told a totally different story. Staring in shock, the teens hands froze. Because there, on the screen were photos. Dozens upon dozens of photos. Damian's photos. Taking a moment to collect himself, Tim shook his head in disbelief. His jaw hung wide open, eyes widened in surprise as he waits for his mind to work once more. Once it does, he doesn't take a moment before shouting. "Bruce, you might wanna come see this!".
Moments later, Bruce Wayne came striding in from another part of the cave in all his emotionally constipated glory. His black hair stuck to his forehead from whatever physical work he'd just been doing, his blue eyes sharp and alert as he walked over to his son. Quickly and frantically like a cat, they scanned the room for any potential danger or threats. Even in his own home, he was never calm, the paranoia never left. Taking another step forward, he stopped behind Tim. Bruce opened his mouth to speak, to answer, but all that air was pushed out of him the moment his eyes connected with the screen of Tim's laptop. Because there, there. On the screen was countless images of his son. His son. The one he'd missed the first decade of his life. The one who never smiled and was just as bad with emotions as he was. Bruce could feel his throat go dry, no words able to escape him beyond a small uttering of his current robin- his son's name. "Damian?.."
Tim watched on in a silence, sensing the older man's shock. His own brows were furrowed, scrolling slowly through the hoards of images, piles of them all bundled into one save file. It was beyond anything he'd ever expected from somewhere like the league. During all this, Jason and Dick had come down to the cave to investigate what the hell was going on. As usual, Dick skipped ahead of Jason, about to open his mouth to speak, to ask. To anything. But that immediately changed when he saw both Bruce and his little brother were just blankly staring at the laptop's screen. Jason was quick to follow behind, his boots thunking heavily against the caves hard stone floor. That and the breathing of them was the only noise in the room, loud and echoing. Finally, after a moment or two of silence, Jason spoke up. He scoffed, his voice tight as he observed the rest of his family members. He was still rocky in his relationship with Bruce, and unsure of where he stood. Not that he showed it of course. "Old man, replacement, what the hell are you both fucking looking at?" Silence. It seemed to span on forever, not even one rebuttal of language that usually came from Bruce. The older man seemed to finally come back to himself after a moment, turning to face his two eldest son's. He took a shuddering breath, as if the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulders. He looked far more weary now than he had for a while. As he spoke, his tone was softer, raspier. A low whisper from him. "His eyes, t-they w-were blue..." He sounded so defeated, so unbelieving, it was hard to picture it coming from Bruce Wayne. The Batman. The one who drove fear into criminals at night as the Dark Knight. But it was. It was all him. Dick made a confused noise at the back of his throat, his eyes flickering confusedly between Tim and his adoptive father. Slowly, he asked, "B, what are you talking about? Who's eyes are blue?" Bruce turned back to Dick, breathing out after a long sigh, voice still sunken, just like the barely concealed eye bags that now seemed more obvious than ever. "D-Damian, my son, my baby- his eyes were blue. Tim found a huge collection of images, from the league it seems. His eyes were blue Dick, he was born with blue eyes-" He stops speaking for a moment, his hands clutching into tight fists as he takes another shallow, sharp and shuddering breath, "-But now they're green, his eyes are green- my baby's eyes are green- Damian."
It takes a moment, but then a cruel sense of recognition flashes across Jason's face. His eyes widen, for once he doesn't even try to hide his expression or act tough. His usual demeanour of teasing and aggressiveness melts away to expose something more raw. His jaw clenches as a sense of deep horror and dread washes over him. No, no it couldn't be. Jason himself didn't remember much about his time in the league. He remembers meeting Damian, as an infant. All small and innocent- his blue eyes staring with innocence that wouldn't last much longer. One that soon would be replaced with the guarded coldness they've become all too familiar with from the 11 year old. His mind reeled, he bit his lip before speaking slowly, dangerously slow. Like he didn't want to belive it. For it to be true. "No- he couldn't have- they're not that cruel." But they are, was left unspoken.
Because the League of assassins was not a forgiving place. Never was, never will be. And maybe, they had never given Damian enough credit for how he turned out despite his suffering. He was resilient, God did they know that, more than they'd like to admit. But, wasn't it so screwed up, that such small realisations such as a change in eye colour was earth shattering.
The room stood stock still for a few moments more, nobody dared move, nobody dared to breathe. It felt that if they did, the world around them might just physically come crashing down. Dick was the one to break the silence, letting out a deep strangled cry, eyes wide as the realisation struck him. He was shaken to the core, eyes meeting with Bruce's, blue on blue. The same colour it should be for Damian, an innocent child. Because that's what he was, a child. But no, life was cruel, and life was unfair. It took no mercy, no matter the age. Thick tension filled the air, even thicker than before, like a blanket suffocating in the way it enveloped them all. Hearts pounding, lungs heaving as they burned, it was a connected thought between all present. Dick's trembling breaths, Jason's heaving of angry huffs, Tim's choked sniffles and Bruce's overwhelming silence. Tim broke the silence.
"They dunked him- dunked a babe into those horrid waters..." His heart was broken, throat closed tight as he couldn't help the strangled and choked out pant be let out. Tim may not like Damian, but he would never wish this suffering on him, on anyone. (Well- maybe some.).
Silence rang through the cave, loud and overpowering in a way that shot. Nobody is that violent so young unless it's conditioned, and wasn't it hammered into Damian. The one they call Demon spawn, the brat. Snarky and cocky, a coping mechanism, masking his true emotions. Afterall, what they say. The most confident are the most broken and insecure. Damian was just a broken child, surviving and seeing things in a lifetime that no one should in dozens worth. The family just stared, there was no coming back from this.