Chapter Text
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Prologue
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The caves were pitch-black. The sound of bat screeches echoed; shattered sounds that raised the hair on the back of Alfred Pennyworth’s arms. His only guide was a tiny bead of light far ahead of him.
He staggered and stumbled forward unable to be sure of his footing. Slowly, finally, he got to the lip of the cave. There was a cavern huge and shadowed with a large opening high above showing a dark midnight sky billowing with smoke. In the centre of the cavern was a large fire and by the fire was a young teenage boy wrapped in a hooded cloak. Alfred looked at him sadly when he put the teen’s face together in the flickering light.
“I kindle the fire,” His usual confident cheekiness was missing, replaced with a blank seriousness.
“A metaphor for hope?”
The cheekiness crept back into his temperament.
“Nothing’s a metaphor here old friend.” Then sourness, “This place is an anchor, see?”
Alfred gazed into the fire.
A bloody broken body, fire, ash, screaming.
He stumbled back. He had his own nightmarish memory of that night.
“Good memories don’t work too well,” The teen explained, “Anchors need to be strong, permanent. Good times are easily forgotten, but scars cut into the bone. You will always carry them with you no matter how well they heal over. I am his deepest self-inflicted wound. He always returns to me.” He tilted his head, “No matter how many good acts he performs.”
“You hold the door way.”
“I can’t let you through. He wouldn’t want you messing with his stuff, and right now he’s not at home… so to speak.”
That’s what he was afraid of.
“Ten Forty-Seven.”
The fire keeper sighed heavily, “Understood, but I tell ya Alfredo, you do not want to go in there.”
Alfred smiled wanly, “And yet I must.”
“Your funeral,” the teen stood. He lifted a bucket and tipped sand on the fire.
It went completely dark.
“You know how to find me.” Jason’s parting words.
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Chapter One
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“So are we inaugurating the little demon then?”
“Jason! Don’t call him that,” Grayson…Dick said sharply.
“Fine, are we going to be inaugurating your baby bird or what?”
It was morning, eight o’clock. Damian could hear the voices murmuring in the kitchen. He hesitated in the dining room. Inauguration? He moved closer putting his ear gently to the door.
“Yeah, we can’t have him wandering in this world without a spirit name. That would be insane.”
“He may already have one.” Oh good, Drake was there as well.
“Damian you can come in!” Dick called. He jumped, startled and hesitantly opened the door, “How the hell did you—”
Todd was furiously waving his arms as if he were being surrounded by a swarm of bugs.
“I know it’s just shadows to you Princess, but this is disgusting and I’m trying to eat! Can you get some of your staff to leave already?”
“I can’t disband them, it took me months to get them all under one roof with a lot of favours I had to call in,” Tim replied, “They like Dick, I can barely keep them from dog piling on him, much less out of the same room.”
“It’s fine,” Dick said unconcernedly.
“—Oh, right.”
Dick talked to dead people. Forcing indifference, Damian took a seat around the kitchen island next to Grayson where a bowl of Crocky Crunch was laid out for him. Grayson was cheerfully eating his own. The taste was familiar and felt like home.
Since when did that cramped apartment become home?
He glanced over at Dick then quickly back down at his cereal. Maybe it was the company.
“I can’t believe Alfred actually lets you eat that stuff,” Todd said taking a ferocious bite of toast.
“Nah, it’s my own supply, I hide it in the back of the pantry behind the dollies,” Dick explained.
Todd sat across from Dick and Damian every now and then waving his hand in irritation. Drake was leaning against the counter drinking coffee like a prince surveying his kingdom.
“Oh,” Drake nodded as if this made sense, “For waffle days, right?”
Dick blinked, “What’s wrong with waffle days?”
Damian snorted. The other two looked at him incredulously, “You don’t know?”
“I like Alfred’s waffles! They’re the best!” Dick protested.
Todd and Drake burst out laughing. He only shook his head at his confused guardian.
“You really don’t have many taste buds do you Grayson?” He almost smiled.
Dick crossed his arms glaring at the older of his three younger brothers, “You two always say you love his waffles!”
“It’s because I’m the only honest one,” Damian rolled his eyes taking a sip of orange juice.
“They’re bad Dickie-bird,” Todd said.
“They’re rubbery and awful,” Tim agreed.
“Now we know why he’s so proud of them though,” Todd snickered, “Bluebird praising them. It went to his head.”
“It’s not just Dick. Bruce likes them too,” Tim added.
“You guys really don’t like waffle days?!”
“No one does.” They all answered. Dick pouted into his cereal. He suddenly laughed, brightening. The other three waited for him to share his thoughts, but he didn’t. He just went back to eating trying to supress a grin.
“Fucking Ghosts,” Todd groused.
It was so normal. A family breakfast, but it wasn’t normal, not for them. When Damian had lived in the manor, when his father had been alive, such a cheerful conversation had never broken out. Damian would be doing his damndest to annoy Drake. Todd would go between sniping at his father and trying to get into arguments with Dick. This was so… domestic. Had it been because of Bruce Wayne’s heavy presence, or the secret they had kept Damian from? Maybe they had always been like this, but kept it hidden from Damian.
It seemed so unreal after his dealings with the Demon last night.
I shouldn’t tell them, He decided. It would only annoy Drake, put Todd on edge and worry Dick. In the end no deal was made and the devil shut up. That was a good thing.
“What were you talking about before? About an inauguration?” Damian asked to distract himself.
“Oh, yeah! Almost forgot.” Dick said. He swung around on his stool to face Damian. A big smile was on his face.
Damian was going to hate this.
“Close your eyes,” The eldest said eagerly.
“Dick, I don’t think we should actually give him a—”
“Tim, we talked about this,” Dick was still gesturing for Damian to close his eyes, but he had turned to look at his other little brother, “You’re going to trust me with what’s right for him and I’m going to trust you with what’s right for me. That was the deal.”
It seemed there were more bargains made than just the one with a demon last night.
“Okay, alright,” Tim held up his hands, but Damian saw Drake’s smile at his older brother’s excitement.
“Close them.”
He resignedly closed his eyes.
“Hold still, this isn’t going to hurt.”
He forced himself not to squirm when he felt something covering the upper half of his face.
“Open your eyes.”
He did so and was startled seeing Dick was now in a mask.
He must have put a mask on me as well.
Dick’s mask was dark inky blue made out of an unearthly material. What was disturbing about it was that his eyes had gone completely white. On his arms under his black t-shirt was blue… tattoos? Paint? The lines ran down his arms and split off curling onto his pointer and index fingers.
Nightwing. Damian instantly identified.
Wait I wasn’t thinking that—
Todd and Drake were now masked as well. Todd’s was more of a helmet, pure red and well-polished.
Red Hood.
Drake’s seemed to be a plain black domino mask made from the same unearthly material (no hidden eyes like Dick’s). Around his shoulders there was now a red and black feathered cape that resembled wings.
Red Robin.
“The hell?” Damian asked raising a covered eyebrow. The other three were staring at his face with some anticipation.
“Hah, knew it,” Di--Nightwing grinned stepping back again.
“Ugh, here,” T--Red Hood passed him a five dollar bill. Nightwing took it smugly.
“I can’t believe it,” Dr-Red Robin said. Bitchy again.
Apparently I can’t even wear a mask correctly.
“Am I missing something…again?” Damian asked resignedly. Red Hood held up one of Alfred’s shiny baking tins.
He was wearing a domino mask similar to Red Robin’s but instead of black it was green, around his shoulders was a bright yellow cape under his gray hoodie.
Robin.
“Wait, what?”
Those names. T-Red Hood said that they’re ‘spirit names’
“I look ridiculous,” Damia--Robin opted, “So, these masks?”
“Talismans,” Red Robin explained. He looked slightly pained, like a headache might be coming on. “They’re easy enough to make if you know how. They allow you to walk among the supernatural without revealing your name. It offers us protections formed out of our soul.” He was staring at Robin again.
“So what? Everyone else thinks we’re going to a costume party?” Robin asked lifting the cape.
“When we wear the masks civilians won’t notice us,” Red Hood explained, “And if they do they don’t really register we’re some weird guys wearing masks and capes. Only people that know and are looking will see—or if we allow them to see—or if we draw attention… It’s magic, don’t question it.”
Red Robin snorted at Red Hood’s muddled response.
“Okay… and why am I wearing a ridiculous cape?”
“It’s not ridiculous, it’s looks good on you,” Nightwing beamed.
“Yeah, you said that about all of us Bluebird, and every time you were wrong,” Red Hood said sardonically.
“Wear it with respect,” Red Robin muttered.
“So now I’m Robin?” Robin asked.
“When you wear that mask, yes,” Nightwing answered.
“So this is the mask you wore?”
Nightwing shook his head, “No, that’s not how it works. A spirit name is something shaped by the soul and the connections made by that soul. Because of our family ties, who you are, what this mission is you’ve taken on the mantel we’ve all worn. The Reds and I all grew out of Robin in one way or another. It only makes sense.”
“Please don’t refer to us as ‘The Reds’” Red Hood grumbled, “It makes us sound like the Wonder Twins and I hate those guys.”
“Hood, give him a crash course, I need to talk with ‘Wing before we go,” Red Robin ordered.
“Who died and made you leader? Oh, wait.” You couldn’t see Red Hood’s smirk under the red helmet, but you could feel it.
“Nightwing’s the boss while Batman is away,” Red Robin contradicted, “So if you can focus on the possibility of apocalypse and not pointless jabs I’d like to get down to business.”
Red Hood shrugged and Red Robin dragged Nightwing out of the room.
“Gr-Nightwing’s the leader?” Robin asked sceptically.
“Huh?” Red Hood glanced down at Robin as if he had forgotten he was in the room, “Oh, don’t let his happy-go-lucky air-head act fool you. Dick’s… smarter than he acts, but enough about that. Let’s show you how we do it.”
“Oh please sensei, do tell.”
“Brat. The mask is a protection from detection. You may notice you have trouble calling us by our given names. That’s because of the mask’s field or some such shit. You refer to us by spirit name instead automatically. It takes practice to be able to say a masked ally’s actual name. It’s easier to just go with it. I don’t really get how it works, Bats never told me, we didn’t get there. Main thing, when you wear it even people that know you will call you by your spirit name and, if they’re out of the loop, won’t even know who you are.”
“Then why do I know who you are?” Damia--Robin crossed his arms. This was annoying.
“Magic.”
“That’s not a good answer.”
“If you really want to know the ins and outs ask Robin—Red Robin, man that’s going to be annoying with you two.”
“It isn’t my fault Dra—Red Robin—the asshole doesn’t have a creative bone in his body—or soul.” Damian touched the mask. It felt strange, like it was a part of him. He knew he could take it off, but at the same time he knew it couldn’t just fall off. “Continue.”
“Now, if you concentrate and look over there,” He pointed to the door that Nightwing and Red Robin went through. “You’ll notice movement, little wisps. If you concentrate they’ll become clearer.”
He did as he was bidden and gasped.
“They’re the ghosts that are always following Grayson around, aren’t they? There are so many of them… how does he put up with it?”
“No clue, I hate the little bastards. Now look over at me.”
There was a strange red aura coming off Red Hood.
“What is it?”
“My aura. It’s telling you that I’m supernatural, a fiend. When you get better at it you’ll be able to know what a creature is by looking at it through the mask. Regular human auras are white light and almost impossible to see. Red Robin’s has a bit of black added in, it shows he’s a medium or has spiritual powers.”
“What about Nightwing’s?”
“Normal, human.”
He stared at him, not believing it.
“Yeah, I know, doesn’t make much sense. It looks normal, but looking at it there’s a magnetic pull. Like, for some reason it’s pretty to gaze at. No reason why. Magic.” He shrugged, “Anyway, the mask isn’t just for protection and detection. These particular ones also give us certain advantages courtesy of Daddy-Bats.”
“Like what?”
“You saw Bluebird’s symbols on his arms right?”
“Yeah.”
“He can form esckima sticks from them made of spiritual energy. They can basically slap spirits and other supernatural nasties while a solid one would just pass through. He can also electrify freaks if they get too fresh with him. Robin-Red Robin can fly. He was never the jumping over buildings type of guy so I guess it makes sense if he wanted to keep up with Bats and Dickie-bird.”
“What about you? All you have is that dumb looking helmet.”
“Right.” To-Red Hood pulled out a gun that was now holstered at his back.
“A gun?”
“Spirit gun,” Red HoodJasofuck Red Hood brought it up to his own forehead.
“WHAT ARE YOU—?!”
The blast rung in his ears.
Todd (Triumph!) was fine.
“Fuck.”
“Practically indestructible,” Todd sounded smug. He gripped the helmet and… pulled it back. It receded and became a hood, a fabric hood. He was also wearing a domino mask, but red this time and, like Nightwing’s, his eyes were whited out.
It was pretty amazing…
“Freak.” Wasn’t like he was about to admit that. “What about me?”
“I dunno. You’ll figure it out as you go along. Robin’s cape worked differently for each of us. It’s a piece of your soul so it’s really up to you. You get it?”
“Vaguely. Why is my soul yellow?”
“I guess you have a cheerful disposition, brat.”
“Well that’s not true,” Damian grumbled. “Alright, so the mask covers my identity. Why is it so important to protect my name?”
“Let me tell you the story of our Big Brother Nightwing.”
Damian stiffened. He immediately knew he didn’t like where this was going. Todd was still speaking with his usual cheerful venom, but something had shifted. Underneath the bluster was real anger.
“He’s the best example of this. Now, Big Brother Nightwing, as you may already know, is a trusting sort. He believes in people. Hell, he believes in not-people. Monsters, witches, red heads… he has friends in many circles which his has trusted with his name.”
“What determines that he can tell them? I can barely think my own name much less say it.”
“Magic.”
“I hate you.”
“So anyway, Big Brother Nightwing who was Robin at the time joins this little group of amateurs, the Titans. They’re all friends having adventures and shit like that. They’re mostly teens or early twenties. It was a fun time had by all I’m sure. They trusted each other with their lives, with their names. They were all friends after all.”
Damian frowned, he really didn’t like where this was going.
“But, as groups usually do, it shifted around. One guy left, Robin got a name change and they gained a new member, Terra.” Absolute disgust, “She was half earth elemental. Could cause earthquakes, could move rocks just by thinking about it. And she was—”
“A traitor,” Damian finished.
“A traitor,” Todd agreed. He was buttering more toast. “It almost serves him right. Bluebird was raised by the Bat. He shouldn’t have been so careless with his name, but they trusted her even though she was an outsider. She was a fourteen-year-old psychopath and a plant by a… I guess you could say he’s a man. Deathstroke the Terminator.”
“Another spirit name?”
“Yeah, just think how rosy that guy’s soul is with a name like that. There’s some backstory, but we’ll skip it. Bottom line, Deathstroke was an enemy of the Titans.”
“What was he?”
“A science project,” Todd said in revulsion, “Not even a real monster. He’s an artificial one. He has supernatural healing and reflexes. Nightwing said he was a manufactured monster hunter, but something went wrong. Now he’s a mercenary for any side that pays him enough. He’ll work for anyone. He’s still around. Deathstroke’s not an easy guy to kill,” Todd explained darkly.
“So this Terra… she told Deathstroke Nightwing’s name?”
“Essentially.”
“What did they do?”
“Attacked, what else would they do? The Titans had stirred up crap with another supernatural group, H.I.V.E. They were the type to do experiments on innocent people. World domination sorts. The Terminator took up their contract. He captured the Titans and delivered them wrapped in a bow. Everyone except Nightwing.”
“Why not?”
“Because Dickie-bird knows how to jump out of a building and keep himself hidden. The ending’s bittersweet enough. Terra dies, the Titans are saved, Deathstroke escapes and lives to scheme another day.”
“But he knows Nightwing’s name.”
“And that can never be taken back,” Todd agreed grimly.
His mind whorled at the implications, “Then… why has he left Nightwing alone, if this Deathstroke is such a villain?”
“Deathstroke is a mercenary. He does evil shit if he’s paid to do evil shit. He’ll do good shit if he’s paid to do good shit too I suppose—not that anyone on the side of light would actually hire him. Him and Bluebird have this… thing.”
“Another monster attracted to his essence?”
“No, I don’t know if that’s even an issue with him. It’s more… Nightwing’s that one black spot on a pristine record.”
“One he wants to eradicate?”
“No… it’s more complicated, ask Bluebird, maybe he’ll tell you the whole story. From the bits I’ve heard it borders on creepy. The point is, one day years later Deathstroke’s pulling a job in Bludhaven and needs to distract its guardian, our very own Dick Grayson soloing alone in the big city. Lucky for Deathstroke he knew the perfect guy for the job. There was this demon, Desmond. He owned half the city supernatural and otherwise. He gets his eyes set on the pretty bird that had been causing him problems. Desmond was licking his lips every time that pretty bird got within his sights. Such a rare creature that he could break and consume. All Deathstroke had to do was whisper in Desmond’s ear and Nightwing was his.”
Damian shivered, “What do you mean his?”
“Names carry weight and control in our world. A witch’s spell has that much more power with a name. A fey’s enchantment is that much stronger. You become a demon’s doll, a plaything when they know your name. They can do whatever they want to you and you won’t be able to stop it.”
“But Nightwing’s fine!” Damian protested. He was standing now more upset than he should be. Nig-Grayson was fine. Ni-Grayson was smiling all the time. He couldn’t have been— “If he went through something like that surely—”
“Dick hasn’t put on that mask again until this very day, kid. He left our world because of what Roland Desmond did to him. A world he loves.”
“No, that’s—”
Todd seemed to be getting angrier the more he talked and Damian realized it wasn’t towards Deathstroke or Desmond, it was towards him.
“That’s one of the reasons why that demon inside you is so scary. It knows all our names. I have a bit of defense against it because of my own nature, but Dick and Tim don’t. They in turn are the secret keepers of many in the supernatural community, hell, the majority. Batman was paranoid. He had to know who everyone was so that he could make countermeasures if they ever went bad. He trusted Nightwing and Red Robin with those names. Your demon could do horrible things to them, make them talk. You’re the perfect plant in the perfect family. Bat’s code dictates they can’t kill you, and I can’t kill a human and, besides all that, Bluebird’s too attached to you to let anyone hurt you. Meanwhile, he’s watching in the back of your head knowing everything you know. You need to understand the danger you’re putting us all in. If that thing comes out and takes control he wouldn’t have to touch a hair on their head to cause damage and if he’s powerful enough then even I won’t stand much of a chance.”
Damian stared at him angrily.
“That’s why you don’t tell people your fucking name,” Todd finished. He seemed to calm down a bit. He sighed as he realized he had ripped up his last piece of toast.
“It’s not your fault,” He said grudgingly. “It’s the Bat’s. I shouldn’t be so harsh. I know how having a stigma like demon blood can be, but you shouldn’t be coddled. You should know how it stands. You’re dangerous to more than just yourself, Dick or the rest of this family. If he’s powerful enough and smart enough your demon could deal a huge blow to the side of light.”
But that’s not what he wants—
Dick and Dr—Red Robin Drake re-entered the room both looking more frustrated than when they left. Dick hid it better. He smiled at the two of them.
“You cover everything?” He was looking at Damian when he said it, maybe realizing Todd’s explanations on the hows and whys tended to be jumbled.
“I learned to never share my name,” Damian replied. “And that apparently ‘magic’ is a suitable answer for everything.”
Dick chuckled, “Well…”
“I also learned it is important that others don’t share their name with me.”
Dick frowned and glanced at Todd.
“What does he mean by that?”
“I told him how it is,” Todd replied. “Him knowing names is dangerous.”
Dick looked more resigned than angry. “Good,” he finally said. He looked down at Damian, “It’s … I don’t like blocking you out, but this one’s important. Don’t go looking for people’s real names. We’re going to stop the thing demon, but—”
“—Better not to risk it. I get it Grayson. Todd’s right, there’s no need to coddle me. I want to know all I can so I can arm myself against it. If it means there are things you can’t tell me then I understand. Just be straight with me, please.”
Grayson nodded seriously, “Okay.”
“Is it talking to you now?” Drake asked. He had been unusually quiet up until that point. Damian shook his head.
“When I woke up it was silent. It feels like it was never there, but I know it hasn’t left me. It’s biding its time. I think it’s waiting for something.”
He still expected a smug snarl from the demon, but it was silent.
“So what do we do?” He asked.
“We go see Oracle,” Drake replied.