Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

There was a time, not too long ago, when Damian wouldn't have thought twice about walking out of a debrief once his part was done. He had no interest in what his so-called "brothers" had been up to.

It's funny how time changes things.

Because there he was, ignoring his own body's need for sleep and rest, just to keep an eye on Richard.

Richard, who had been through the wringer during their latest encounter with a meta. The meta had powers of persuasion and had temporarily placed Nightwing under her control.

Against them.

It had been….tough. For everyone. 

But unlike him or Todd, Richard wasn't accustomed to having his autonomy taken away. He was taking it harder than they would have.  

Nightwing sat on a padded chair, legs crossed, leaning slightly forward with a distant expression on his face. He kept switching between his usual unbearably cheerful personality and this strange, pensive one.  

Damian was just relieved that the older robin had retained enough control not to significantly harm any of them. Who knows how much worse the aftermath could have been? It would already take Richard a long time to forgive himself for what had happened.  

“Who are we waiting for, old man?” Red Hood asked, his feet propped up on the table as he cleaned his gun. His eyes, however, were fixed on Nightwing.  

Batman stood at the far end of the room, arms crossed. “We’re waiting on Raven.”  

"Great," Red Hood muttered sarcastically, leaning back in his chair, "More magic. Because that's exactly what we need."  

Damian crossed his arms, his gaze flicking between Red Hood and Batman. “Are you sure she can handle this?” he asked, his tone skeptical.  

“She has handled worse,” Batman said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Right on cue, a small, glowing portal materialized near the door, casting a faint shimmer of light across the room. The air seemed to hum softly as Raven stepped through, her dark cloak trailing behind her and billowing slightly, as if stirred by an unseen wind. 

Her violet eyes moved across the room, briefly acknowledging each of them before settling on Nightwing.  

“This is about the spell you encountered?” she asked, her voice calm and deliberate 

“Yes,” Batman replied instead, his tone firm and unwavering. “We want to ensure there’s no lingering influence.”  

Raven gave a short nod, her expression unreadable. “I’ll take a look.”  

She moved toward Nightwing with an unhurried grace, her cloak trailing silently behind her. 

As she closed her eyes and began murmuring softly, her hands glowing with faint black energy, the air seemed to grow heavier. 

After a few moments, Raven’s eyes opened, the glowing energy fading from her hands as she stepped back.

“You’re fine,” she said, her voice steady, “No remnants of the spell remain.”

Nightwing let out a relieved sigh, his shoulders visibly relaxing. A grin quickly replaced his grimace, “See? Told you, B. I’m just fine,” 

Before anyone could react, he sprang to his feet and ruffled Damian’s hair.

Damian scowled and jerked away, a low growl escaping him. “Keep your hands to yourself,Nightwing, lest I remove them,” he snapped, glaring daggers at the older Robin.  

“But how else will I show that I loooove you?” Nightwing teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he reached out to do it again.  

He was stopped in his tracks by Raven’s voice.

"You, however,” she said, her tone pointed as her gaze locked onto Damian, “should probably get that block removed. Unless you willingly had it placed?”  

The room stilled, all eyes shifting to Damian—even Red Robin, who had been dozing with his head on the table, sat up, rubbing his eyes groggily but now fully alert.  

Damian’s expression darkened, his brows drawing together, “What block?” he asked, his voice low and edged with suspicion.  

“ A memory block, ” Raven replied evenly. Her violet eyes swept briefly over the room, gauging the reactions of the others before continuing. “A strong one. Layered and reinforced. It’s old, but still intact.”  

A memory block?  

The words seemed to echo in the room, hanging heavily in the air.  

How was that possible?  

“You’re just saying that to get inside my head,” he snapped, his tone sharp and defensive.  

Raven arched a brow, unfazed, “Why would I do that? You’re hardly the most interesting mind in this room,” 

Red Hood let out a low whistle, muttering under his breath, “She’s got claws.”  

Batman’s gaze shifted to Damian, his expression unreadable.  

“Why would someone block his memories?” Red Robin asked, breaking the silence.

Raven’s gaze didn’t waver from Damian. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”  

The silence stretched between them, the weight of the revelation settling heavily. 

"You can remove it?”

Raven nodded. 

Damian looked towards Batman.

“It is your choice,” His father simply said.

After a tense moment, Damian nodded sharply. “Do it.”  

His curiosity was stronger than his paranoia.

Raven nodded. “This might feel…uncomfortable.”  

She began to chant,the air in the room growing heavy with an eerie hum, her hands glowing brighter as black tendrils of energy swirled around Damian.

The process was slow, deliberate, as if peeling back layers of armor. 

Damian grimaced as waves of pain went through his head but didn’t make a sound.  

"That’s a strong block,” Raven muttered. “Someone went to great lengths to keep this buried.”  

With one final chant, the block broke. 

A small, glowing orb emerged from Damian’s head, hovering in the air like a will-o’-wisp. It pulsed gently and emitted a faint, melodic hum.  

Then, the sound came—a soft, bubbly laugh, followed by faint singing of a young girl.   

“What is that?” Red Hood asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Raven’s gaze softened as she studied the orb. “A collection of memories. Someone locked them away to protect them—or to protect you.”  

Damian stared at the glowing orb, his expression unreadable. “Who did this?”  

“That’s the question,” Raven said quietly, her eyes fixed on the wisp. “But whoever it was, at least they kept them locked instead of destroying them.” 

The room held its breath as the will-o’-wisp floated to the center and began to glow brighter and brighter. 

Instinctively, everyone shielded their eyes as the light reached an almost blinding intensity.

When they opened them again, the wisp had transformed into a large translucent, smoky screen.  

Inside, the faint clang of swords echoed, growing sharper as the image became clearer.

Two children stood facing each other, blades flashing in the dim light.  

Both were dressed in similar League of Assassins training garb, but with striking differences: the boy—Damian—wore green and gold, while the girl was clad in  dark blue and silver.  

“Is that you, Robin?” Nightwing said from beside him, but Damian was too locked on the scene to answer.

Who was that girl? 

He didn't remember training with anyone his age, ever. 

Their movements were fluid, almost synchronized, but the tension between them was palpable.

Then, with a sharp twist and an unexpected maneuver, the girl disarmed Damian, sending his katana spinning across the room. She lowered her blade with a triumphant grin.  

“That’s one each. Best out of three?” she asked, tilting her head, her voice light and teasing.  

Damian scowled but retrieved his weapon, muttering something under his breath. The girl’s grin only widened as she stepped back into position. 

Before the next duel could begin, the scene shifted.  

“Who-”

Someone shushed Nightwing. 

The smoky screen now showed a grand hall, dimly lit by flickering torches. Damian and the girl stood back-to-back, surrounded by nearly ten members of the League of Assassins. 

Their adversaries circled like predators, blades glinting ominously.  

From a throne above, Ra’s al Ghul watched in cold contemplation, his fingers steepled as he observed the children.  

Despite the odds, the two fought with deadly precision, their movements perfectly synchronized. They covered each other’s blind spots, turning their opponents’ aggression against them.  

Damian’s brow furrowed as he landed a calculated strike, and the girl mirrored his intensity, dispatching another opponent with a swift, graceful motion.  

Ra's lips curved into a faint smile.  

The scene shifted again.  

In a modest, dimly lit bedroom, Marinette winced as Damian carefully wrapped bandages around her hands.  

“You shouldn’t have said that,” he chided, his tone sharp but laced with concern, “I don’t need you to protect me, Marinette, I was the one who messed up.”  

“Marinette,” Damian whispered, the name felt so familiar on his lips. 

“ Your punishment would’ve been worse.” Marinette countered.

Damian’s jaw tightened as he secured the bandage. 

“Nyssa seems to hate you just a bit more than she does me,” Marinette continued with a wry smile. “So no regrets.”  

Damian sighed, his hands pausing for a moment before he muttered, “You’re reckless.”  

“And you’re bossy,” she shot back, but there was a warmth between them that softened the exchange.  

The scene shifted once more.  

They were standing in a forest now, the air alive with the faint glow of fireflies. 

Marinette’s eyes were wide with wonder, her usual guarded expression replaced by a rare, soft look.  

“They’re beautiful,” she murmured, reaching out as one firefly landed briefly on her hand before flitting away.  

Damian stood silently beside her, watching her more than the fireflies.  

Another shift.

The two children were sitting by a campfire, the cold visible in their breath. Marinette pulled her knees close to her chest, staring into the flames.  

“Do you ever dream of leaving?” she asked softly, blue eyes leaving the flames to look at Damian instead.

Damian stiffened, “I do not see such treacherous dreams. You shouldn't either if you know what's better for you.” 

Marinette didn't balk at his harsh tone, like others would have. She tilted her head, studying him. 

A moment of silence passed. 

“You’re scared,”

He bristled. “Of what?”  

“Of me leaving.” She said gently, “You see how I admire life around us more than I do death. And it scares you. That one day that call will be too much. 

He didn’t respond, instead glaring at the fire as if it were to blame.  

Marinette smiled faintly, understanding more through his silence than with his words. “It’s just a dream, Damian, ” she said. “I wouldn’t ever really leave.” 

His gaze flicked to her, skeptical. “No?”  

“Not as long as you’re here,” she said simply. Her voice was steady as she added, “ Afterall you have half of my heart,Akhi.”  

Damian smiled—a small, fleeting expression, but genuine, “ And you have half of mine, Ukhti,"

Ukhti.

Sister.

Damian had a sister.

Chapter Text

The glow of firelight faded, replaced by the cold, unyielding stone walls of the League of Assassins stronghold.  

Talia al Ghul stood in the center of a well decorated chamber, her voice commanding yet calm.  

“You leave at dawn,” she announced. Her gaze shifted between Marinette and Damian. “This is your final test. Do not fail.”  

Marinette and Damian nodded in unison, their expressions betraying nothing.

As soon as Talia swept out of the room, the tension in their shoulders melted. Damian turned to his bed, inspecting the weapons and gear laid out on it. 

Marinette stood still, her hands clasped tightly.  

“I don’t want to go without you,” she said finally, her voice trembling despite her efforts to sound composed. “We’ve never gone on any mission without each other. We’re a team.”  

Damian didn’t look up from his work. “This is our final test before the coronation. You heard Mother. If we both come back safe, we can rule together.”  

“I’d rather you safe than a throne,” she whispered.  

He turned, his expression softening. “Marinette—”  

“I’m scared, Damian,” she admitted, her head bowing slightly. “I feel like… something horrible is going to happen.”  

“We’ll be fine,” he said firmly, crossing the room and pulling her into a hug. “You’ll see.”  

She closed her eyes, clinging to his words.  

The scene shifted.  

The hall was silent, save for the sound of Marinette’s steady footsteps. 

Blood dripped down her dirty face, streaking her cheek, but she held her head high, walking with determined steps. In her hands was a sword, its blade gleaming under the torches’ flickering light.  

She knelt before Ra’s al Ghul, presenting the sword.  

Ra’s took the blade, his piercing eyes inspecting it closely. 

After a moment, he nodded in approval.  

Cheers erupted around the hall, the sound deafening. Marinette rose slowly, her eyes scanning the crowd. A faint frown tugged at her lips.  

Damian wasn’t there.  

The scene shifted again.  

Marinette walked briskly through the corridors, her face pale. A servant hurried past, carrying ceremonial garb.  

“What’s all the rush?” Marinette asked, her voice cutting through the noise.  

The servant paused, bowing slightly. “For the coronation, of course.”  

Marinette froze, her heart pounding. “Right,” she said curtly, dismissing the servant.  

She turned sharply, making her way to Talia’s chambers.

Marinette burst into Talia's rooms in a way she never would have allowed herself to before.

Talia stood by the window, the moonlight casting long shadows across the room.  

“Why is the coronation happening?” Marinette demanded, “Damian isn’t back yet!”  

Talia turned slowly. “Damian is dead,” she said, her tone devoid of emotion. “You will be declared the heir, Tomorrow” 

Marinette’s breath caught. “Dead?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “No. There must be a mistake. He’s alive—I can feel it!”  

Talia’s gaze hardened. “He failed his mission. He was captured. He is dead to us. He is dead to you.”   

Marinette took a step back, her face twisting with disbelief. “He’s your son!” she almost screamed, “He’s my brother! You know our intel was wrong. How can you leave him to suffer like that?”  

 “Your grandfather's decision is final. If you attempt to escape and bring him back, I will slit both of your throats myself.” Talia stared into Marinette's eyes, daring her to defy, “Is that understood?”

Marinette’s hands clenched into fists, tears brimming in her eyes, “Yes, Mother,” 

The smoky screen rippled and shifted once more, pulling the room into another memory

This time, the atmosphere was heavier.

The grand hall of the League of Assassins . 

Members of the League stood in disciplined rows, flames causing omnious shadows upon them.

Marinette stood at the center of the hall, the weight of handreds of gazes pressing down on her. 

Her face was calm, composed, but her hands were clenched tightly at her sides, hidden beneath the folds of her dark blue and silver robes.  

Ra’s al Ghul rose from his throne, his imposing figure draped in flowing black and gold. His voice, commanding and resonant, silenced the murmurs of the crowd.  

“Today,” he began, “we recognize the successor to the League of Assassins. A warrior who has proven her worth in battle and her loyalty to our cause.”  

Ra’s stepped forward, his piercing gaze locking onto Marinette. “Marinette Al Ghul,” he declared, his voice echoing through the chamber, “you have demonstrated the strength, cunning, and resolve worthy of leading the League. You are my chosen heir.”  

There was a moment of silence before the hall erupted in cheers and applause. 

As the applause faded, Ra’s held up a hand for silence. His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at her, his tone suddenly sharper. “But know this, my heir. Leadership is not just a privilege—it is a burden. Your loyalty to the League must be unwavering. Any sign of weakness, hesitation, or betrayal will not be tolerated.”  

Marinette nodded, her face a mask of resolve. “I understand, Grandfather.”  

Ra’s stepped closer, presenting her with a ceremonial dagger. Its blade gleamed wickedly under the torchlight. 

“Then take this as a symbol of your authority,” he said. “May it remind you of the power you hold—and the price of failure.”  

Marinette accepted the dagger. She bowed deeply, her voice steady as she said, “I will honor the League with every breath I take.”  

Ra’s smiled faintly, a rare expression of approval. “See that you do.”  

“But I remember my coronation,” Damian said, looking at his father with some desperation, “ I still have the dagger. How can so many of my memories be fake? Why?”

“Let's hope we find out, “ His father came to stand behind him and, in a rare display of affection, put a hand on his shoulder. 

The scene changed.

Marinette sat alone in her room, her face illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming through the window. Her gaze was fixed on the adjoining door that led to Damian’s room. 

Quietly, she slipped through the door, her steps light and deliberate.  

Damian’s cloak hung on a hook by the door.

Marinette reached out, her fingers brushing the material before she took it and fastened it around her shoulders. 

The fabric was slightly too large for her, but it brought her comfort.  

She turned back to the room one last time, her expression conflicted, and then she disappeared into the shadows.  

Chapter Text

Marinette stood at the edge of a cliff, bathed in the light of a full moon. Her brother's cloak was draped over her shoulders, offering little protection against the biting cold.

A piece of golden paper was held in her hands, shimmering despite the darkness of the night.

Moving closer to the edge, to the point that a heavy gust of wind could send her over, she took out some matches and lit the paper on fire.

As the flames consumed the paper, she began to sing, her voice soft, the words of an ancient spell in a language few would understand. 

The paper burned entirely, the ashes rose into the air, the wind passing it by as if it couldn't bear to touch them.

Slowly they started coalescing until a glowing light took their place, like a will-o’-wisp.

The wisp hovered before her, pulsing faintly.  

“I greet you in the hope that you may grant my request,” Marinette began, her voice steady despite the trembling in her hands. “This wish wasn’t originally mine. It was gifted to me by a man whose life I spared for the sake of his daughter.”

“Equal exchange,” the wind whispered, though no one was there.

Marinette nodded, she knew there was going to be a price, that's why she had waited so long to use the wish.

“What if I simply ask for Damian back?” she murmured, then shook her head. “No… there is no exchange occuring. And even if I managed it, Mother wouldn't hesitate to fulfill her promise. She'd kill us both. Such disobedience would never go unpunished.”

The wisp pulsed again, as if waiting.  

She hesitated before speaking. “What would the cost be for Damian to escape wherever he is imprisoned, to come back here—to be safe from the League's reach?”

“Equal exchange,” the wisp whispered.

“Equal exchange.” Her voice cracked as she echoed the words, as realization dawned her just as quickly as acceptance, “An Al Ghul… for an Al Ghul.”  

The light brightened, its glow reflecting in her tear-filled eyes.  

Marinette swallowed hard. “Even if I agreed, they’d kill him, thinking he orchestrated the exchange.”

“Memory,” the wisp whispered.

She closed her eyes as realization sank in. Her shoulders straightened, solidifying her trembling form.

“Bring him back,” she said firmly. “Let Damian Al Ghul be the only heir of the League. Erase me from his life, from their lives. Erase them from mine.” 

An Al Ghul for an Al Ghul.

An Heir for an Heir. 

Her brother's life for her own. 

Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. “Let my victories be his. Let his crimes be mine.”

The wisp pulsed, a whisper of confirmation in the wind: “Imprisonment. Eternal.” 

“So be it,” Marinette whispered.

“So be it,” the voice echoed.  

The world around her faded.  

When the memory reformed, they were in Damian’s room. His unconscious form was sprawled across the bed, his chest rising and falling as if in deep sleep.  

Marinette appeared at his bedside, gasping softly. She dropped to her knees, clutched his hand and pressed a kiss to it.  

“Akhi,” she whispered, her tears falling freely as a small smile formed on her lips.

She kissed his forehead, “Stay Safe, Damian. I love you more than you can ever know. ”  

The wisp hovered behind her, brighter now. 

She placed her dagger in his hand and whispered,“ Forgive me for leaving you lie this…but how could I live without half of my heart?”

Marinette stepped back, her tear-filled eyes never leaving Damian’s face. The wisp rushed forward, merging into her chest, and her body went slack.  

The scene dissolved.  

In the present, the glowing wisp surged forward and struck Damian in the chest. He gasped, falling to his knees as the memories overwhelmed him.  

He is stealing a weapon for his grandfather, there are more enemies than reported.

He is stealing a weapon for his grandfather, no one told him there was magic involved. The monks captured him before he could get half way. 

He is victorious. Everyone is cheering. He is an Al Ghul, it's his birthright. 

He has failed. He is imprisoned. He keeps escaping, they keep bringing him back. They won't let him get away. He is an Al Ghul, it's his penalty.

There is a coronation.

There is a judgement.

He is the heir.

He is the prisoner.

He makes a wish.

He is the wish.

He is Marinette Al Ghul.

He is Damian Al Ghul.

“No,” Damian whispered, his voice raw, staring down at the floor. 

“Robin,” Nightwing said gently, his voice cutting through the heavy silence.   

Nightwing moved to kneel next to him on the floor, and pulled his brother into an embrace. 

Damian trembled, his voice breaking as he whispered, “She was my sister. My equal. She shouldn’t have had to pay for my life with hers.”  

His grief echoed through the room. For the first time in years, Damian felt helpless.  

Batman placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder, his touch grounding but light. “Imprisoned doesn't mean dead. She could still be out there.”  

“She is,” Damian said with certainty, “I know she is.”  

“Then we’ll find her. ”