Sins of the Father
The children of Deathstroke never had a home to truly grow up in.
Their father was a rigorous man. Being the most desired mercenary in the world left no room for them to dwell in one place, entailing three of his spawns who had moved endlessly around the globe since birth. Towns to cities, cities to far away countries; as long as their father encountered a client with deep enough pockets to earn his services–-there is nothing that would stop the mercenary from going to such lengths to fulfill it.
Slade Wilson fathered three offsprings, two alpha sires and one beta dam. Two of which were born from his estranged wife and the other being illegitimate. Rose Wilson faced plenty of scorn from Adeline Kane for being the consequence of his disloyalty. Though the two were divorced even before Rose’s birth, something seemed to tell her that her mother was the cause of it.
After all, why else would Adeline gaze at her with such contempt and why else would his older brothers look at her with such disturbance? Grant had masked it with his anger while Joey avoided her as if his life depended on it—but her father. Her father was the only one who cared for her. She’d go as far as to say that he’s the only one who respects her even.
Rose wouldn’t deny that she was the one dearest to her father’s eyes. The way he held patience for her in no way he’d done for her older brothers. Of course, Slade Wilson kept the same indifference toward her as he’d done to the rest of his brood, but the forgiveness he had was undoubtedly a disparity. And Rose knew that only fools would think it was because she was a beta, a dam that opens his heart for an alpha’s protection. Laughable as it is because everyone knew that no one is ever spared with Slade’s stringency, let alone the sex of his kin.
But none of that matters for Rose Wilson never knew her mother. In fact, her entire life's knowledge of him consisted of the overheard whispers and the allegorical variations of who he was. So Rose understood why neither of her brothers ever tried to stop her when she attempted fruitless searches for the truth.
Tonight was no exception.
It was the pale moonlight piercing through the window beside her father’s desk that acted as her lamp while all light was shut. Rose kneels beside the open drawers of crucial documents, unlocking lock after lock to find at least a certificate of her birth.
“Father isn’t careless enough to leave something as important as your birth records in his office.” Rose freezes when she spots Grant leaning by the door frame, smirking as he steps closer. “Especially when its so easy for someone to just barge in and make a spectacle out of it.”
“Don’t you have other things to do?” Rose says, glaring at the folder in her hands. When she rips it open—she was disappointed but unsurprised upon seeing another contractor's roster.
Grant pretends to think about it for a moment and then whistles tauntingly at her. “I don’t know, sis. Don’t you have rules to follow?”
“Don’t you have a nose to keep in check?” Rose snaps back. “Mind your business, Grant. Since when have you ever cared about the rules anyway?”
Grant shrugs simply and shifts closer to sweep the document off of Rose’s hands. “This isn’t the way to go about it, little sis.”
Rose looks back at him questioningly as Grant’s face falls flat. Greyish-blue eyes narrow into something unreadable as he gazes down at the roster, not even reading the paper but blanking through it. Before Rose could open her mouth, Grant interrupts with a bored tone. “Taking a DNA test is the more practical option, Rosie.”
“I know that,” Rose says as she rolls her eyes. “Father has been scrutinizing my purchases since birth. He figured he couldn’t even trust me with that.”
“And he’s right.” Grant sniggers and slides the roster back to their father’s desk. “But I can help you with that.”
That startles Rose. Grant and help in the same sentence? What a joke.
Grant spent most of his life sneering at Rose. The most help her older brother had done for her was turning a blind eye to her searches and late-night escapades. And Rose knows that it was only because the older could care less about her. Grant may be honorable to their father but he vehemently dislikes the idea of him being some type of poster boy of the family.
“You?” Rose enunciates slowly. “Help me? Are you high?” She laughs incredulously while Grant glares at her in a warning. “I’m not doing you a favor.”
“You’re not.” Grant replies, his jaw clenched. “I simply think that this had been kept from you long enough.”
Rose purses her lips and pauses. She hopes that her scent wouldn’t turn as putrid as her mood. “You don’t care.”
“I don’t.” Grant agrees. “But sins of the past should come to light eventually.”
Rose didn’t like that. She hates the thought of her mother being seen as a sin, nothing more but a mistake, despite knowing that it’s the probable reality. Yet Rose still clings to the chance that he didn’t know who her father was and that maybe—just maybe—uncovering the truth was the reason why he’d left her.
“You had a fight with Dad, didn’t you?” Rose says finally. The snort that escapes Grant tells her all she needs to know.
“It’s more of a realization on my part.” Grant huffs out. “The offer stands up until midnight. I’ll be in my room in the meantime.”
Grant waves his hand dismissively at her when he walks off, closing the door shut while at it and leaving Rose to nothing more but the disarray of her father’s office.
She turns to check the clock which was slowly ticking to twelve, then back at the clutter of papers on the sheet vinyl floor.
It’s not as if her father doesn’t already know of her encroachment. Nothing ever gets past Slade’s watch despite of having one left.
Damian Al Ghul Wayne often prides himself for his prudence. He was skillful, efficient, and never the one to sway from his task. It’s merely what to expect of an alpha—the blood son of the Dark Knight and the heir to the Al Ghul line.
And yet, he wonders how they had gotten into this mess.
It was supposed to be a quick mission with the farm boy; their first solo mission together, more so to Jon to be exact.
Batman and Superman delegated them both to keep an eye on Deathstroke—the infamous mercenary who made a grand return to Gotham after years of divergence. It’s been a while since the mercenary had entered the malevolent streets of the land of crime itself and the suspicious movement he’d made all across the city meant that his employer must’ve offered quite a hefty price. Damian himself has an adequate amount of experience with the merc to feel confident that he could handle the games the fiend plans to play, dismissing the fact that both his father and Superman particularly instructed them not to interact with Deathstroke alone.
Unfortunately, that plan was abruptly discontinued when the two discovered a pile of high-quality bombs and alien technology that was stashed in an abandoned warehouse only a few meters away from Wayne Enterprises. Of course, it’d be a failure for him and Jon’s part if they were to cower away and let fools like Drake take over.
Damian hadn’t anticipated for them to be duped. Now he and Jon were cornered by dozens of Deathstroke’s filthy robot minions.
“How are we supposed to do this?!” Jon lets out a shriek as he dodges another blast of flaming attacks from multiple bots on the right.
Damian swiftly tumbles over to the sides for cover while Jon flies high to the roof to evade another heap of energy bursts that slam into a run-down hand truck.
“We’re screwed.” Jon whimpers. “Oh, we are so screwed.. Why couldn’t we have just listened to our dads and called for backup?!”
Damian growls at his whines but quickly rolls back to the field when a bot slams both of his fists at the shipping crate he hid over, seemingly being caught at his distraction.
“Will you stop that and focus?!” Damian barks. He whips as many shurikens as he can and strikes proficiently at each of their necks.
Jon breaks his swerves to open his mouth and tries to let out a retort—only to snap it back shut again when the wads of shots direct themselves back to him. He yelps at the close call and zips to the pallet racks and rips them apart and hurls them at the biggest batch he saw.
It hardly helped as the bots kept coming in like ants spewing out from a writing mound. Damian briefly wonders how many Deathstroke had of these and why he hadn’t used them as much to deal with his dirty work; only to put the train of thought to a screeching halt when one of the bots tears a large piece of metal and heaves it at him.
The metal hits Damian’s face in a harsh blow, rearing him to the wall with a slam strong enough to create a crate.
Jon ceases his throws as his expression gradually contorts into horror when he witnesses the painful blow. The bots took it as their chance to close in on him, but the shock and fear were quick to morph into fury.
There was a ringing in his ears and his instincts drove him wild. Jon grinds his teeth and lets his eyes turn red, seething in familiar sparks as his feet dig deep enough into the concrete floor. The omega launches himself from the ground and cuts the bots in half with his furious beam.
Damian, on the other hand, composes himself when the metal slowly slips off of him. His face was planted with a large bruise and his mouth spilled small spurts of blood—but despite the feverish pain and the clouding haze—he rose shakingly while his lips twitched into a manic smile.
He was beyond enraged. He couldn’t believe he humiliated himself like that, in front of Jon no less.
Damian unsheathes his sword and drives forward to the largest bot’s chest. The impact of his clash was enough to carry other bots down alongside it. He quickly took the opportunity to zealously strike their heads and sever them from their necks.
He continues to lacerate erratically at them, waiting until Jon lowers himself to the ground. Once the Kryptonian was nearer to his level, Damian wisely scruffs him forcefully by the neck and snaps him out of his vicious stupor. Jon’s eyes were no longer glowing with his heating vision, though it was replaced with confusion.
“What are you doing?” Jon complains, jolting when Damian yanks him further in. “Hey!”
When Jon starts to flail around, Damian tightens his grip and hiss. “Quiet.”
He drags the taller to the exit while he fumbles for the explosive in his mask. A small thing with a shape resembling a bat and its end akin to blades. When they were a foot out, Damian shot the explosive into the warehouse and attempted to push both Jon and himself down the shrubs—only that it exploded before he could even touch a hair on Jon’s head.
The explosion pushes both boys forward and leaves their faces planted on the slowly catching fire grass.
Jon let out a low, exhausted groan. He keeps his face buried on the ground while Damian pulls himself up, wiping the dirt from his clothes in a fashion near dainty.
“What are we gonna do.” the omega bemoans, shifting his head just slightly to Damian. “Our dads are gonna kill us…”
“No.” Damian replies seriously. “Kent is far too ridden with Firstborn Omega Syndrome to ever punish you. The most he’d probably do is give you that saddened puppy look. My father, on the other hand…” he hesitates. “he’d forbid me from patrol for a week.”
“You do realize that FOS isn’t an actual syndrome, right?” Jon says, pulling himself up. He cozies himself by pressing his knees together and resting his bottom on his heels. “It’s just a joke people call alpha parents who are overly doting and protective of their omega pups.”
“That’s not true,” Damian argues. “Father had shown such symptoms toward Richard. It may not be as plain as the rest of you plebians, but I am observant enough to understand it as it is.”
That has Jon arching his brow. Suddenly, Damian feels as if he’s exposed some part of Bruce he wasn’t supposed to tell, let alone even know.
“Nevertheless,” Damian continues. “It’s important that we complete the task at hand and we should put great consideration on diverting our fathers’ attention from this too. It’s likely they’ll try to take it from us.”
“We don’t even know what we’re getting into, Damian!” Jon exclaims.
“Tt.” Damian clicks his tongue and folds his arms. “Don’t tell me you’re cowering away from your duty.”
“Did you forget the epic flop we experienced back in the warehouse?” Jon asks, also folding his arms to match Damian’s impassivity. “What do we do if this Deathstroke guy has a different bargain? What do we do if we need to examine the technology or, I don’t know, track him down with tools we don’t have?”
Damian remains silent, clearly thinking things over before huffing in annoyance. “Then we’ll call for backup.”
Now it was Jon’s turn to look unamused.
“Fine,” Damian relents with gritted teeth. “We’ll inform our fathers of this discovery and then insist on taking responsibility.”
Jon smiles and Damian grunts. “I hope this incident doesn’t escape either of us.”
“Duh.” Jon laughs. “How about we patch up in my house? Your dad just bought us a house in Gotham and this is your chance to see it!”
The Kryptonian turns around and gestures for his partner to hop on his back, which Damian does without much resistance. The other quickly elevates his speed and the two zip across the city briskly.
Jon’s Gotham abode isn’t much different from the one he has in Metropolis. It was the same, suburban house of an average citizen. Entrapped in a neighborhood with a small lawn and a small two-story construction.
He hoped that his father would’ve at least given his dearest friend a much more spacious home to reside in, but then he was reminded that would require an increase in taxes that Damian was sure none of them would be able to pay. Especially not with Clark’s journalist salary.
Upon arriving, Damian leaps off while the omega rushes to the entrance and eagerly knocks at their door. He wasn’t sure what he’d expect, but it did surprise him when it was answered immediately by Kon-El Kent.
“Wow…” the alpha drawls out, wincing in concern. “You two look horrible.”
“Kon, you're here!” Jon says excitedly. “How come you’ve never told?”
“I just needed somewhere to stay while being here at Gotham, kid.” Kon explains as he rubs the back of his nape in faux sheepishness. “Mission stuff.” he pauses to look at Damian and stretches his lips to a teasing grin. “Unfortunately, you’re big bro wouldn’t let me stay the night.”
“Disgusting.” Damian sneers, face scrunched up in aversion. “I had presumed that you two have broken up.”
“Oh, we are.” Kon agrees starkly. His smile went as quickly as it came.
“Right, he left you for that omega, didn’t he?” Jon says while looking at Damian sadly, causing Damian to give him a sharp and toothy smirk in return.
Sometimes Jon’s lack of awareness could be like salt rubbed on a fresh wound.
“He didn’t leave me for that Bernard or what's his face.” Kon grumbles, leaning rigidly on the corner frame. “We’ve already been months off when he got with the guy.”
“I do not care for you and Drake’s unfortunate love life nor do I wish to participate in learning more about it.” Damian snarls, grabbing Jon’s hand to drag him along. “Now if you mind to stop monopolizing the entrance space, we’d like to go on with our mission.”
“Whatever you say, demon brat,” Kon mumbles, his left eye twitching as he watched him and Jon stroll past him.
Damian settles on the couch as Jon zips to find the first aid. They occupy the cushions and focus on fixing themselves up, with Jon turning on the TV to watch that juvenile movie about an omega with spider-like powers who wouldn’t stop running his mouth when fighting his enemies.
It wasn’t bad, per se. The hero was charming in a way that reminded him of Grayson. However, Kon had to ruin his peace by invading their space.
The older alpha leans against the couch and hands him and Jon a glass, which the other accepts thankfully while Damian keeps silent.
“So mind telling me what this mission is about?” Kon asks, taking large gulps of his own glass.
Damian was about to drive him away, but Jon
has to ruin it by running his mouth before he could. “We’re hunting Deathstroke!”
“Jon!” Damian cries to him in outrage.
“What?” Jon had the audacity to look confused. “Kon’s no snitch!”
He turns to the older expectantly, eyes fully with trust, but ends up growing anxious instead at the gradually growing shock in Kon’s face.
“Wait, Deathstroke? You two are hunting Deathstroke?” Kon stares at them aghast, both concern and fury mixing in his tone.
“That’s none of your business, Kent.” Damian growls. “I’d have you know that I’ve defeated Deathstroke before and I would be more than capable of doing it again.”
Kon evidently didn’t appreciate that with the way he growls back in response. Jon quickly intervenes when he sense the growing heat between the two.
“You don’t understand!” Jon tries. “We have this under control!”
“The state of you both tells me otherwise.” Kon shot back, stepping away from Damian to loom preeminently at Jon.
Damian forces down a shameful growl at that. He looks down at his feet and purses his lips. “It was a foolish oversight on my part,” he admits abjectly. “I’ve made a misstep and now I have to live with the wretched humiliation of being bested by some mercenary. At the hands of Deathstroke, nonetheless!”
If Todd or Drake were to find out about this… he’d never hear the end of it.
“Tt. Measly bastard.” Damian so brazenly slips.
“Watch your mouth.” Kon chides tauntingly but Damian was too galled to form a riposte. “This all could’ve been avoided if you two just went for backup as you were supposed to do.”
When he sees Jon fidgets his fingers in regret, head low and eyes on his lap—Damian heaves in a breath and glares defiantly at Kon.
Apparently, he tipped a line of his because Kon began to look disgruntled. He turns to Jon in frustration. “Clark’s got it all wrong. That kid is seriously a bad influence on you.”
“Are you kidding me?” Jon complains. “No, you cannot start this crap again. I’m not a baby, Kon!”
“Listen here, you twerp.” he starts. “I’m only looking out for you. And that little shit you hang around with right there is the type of kid who would hang his brother for shits and giggles.”
Jon’s cheeks are suddenly stained with pink. “You can’t just—!”
Damian was far too irritant to bother and listen to whatever the two Kents were squabbling about.
Instead, he focuses on the ringing buzzing on his back pocket. Damian only takes a minute to ignore it until he picks it up and softens gradually at the caller’s ID.
Richard Grayson.
He stalks to the kitchen to answer, keeping quiet as the melodic voice tunes in his ear.
“It’s getting a bit late, don’t you think?” he says. “Dinner’s getting cold and so is your seat!”
Damian arcs to where Jon and Kon were at, two of which still talking but in a much calmer manner. He deduces that he couldn’t care less. “Richard, I specifically informed you of the mission Farm Boy and I are tasked.”
“That can wait.” the latter replies curtly. “Apparently we’ve received a very eager guest who demands the entire family’s attention. She’ll be joining us for fare and so will you, little D.”
Damian blinks questioningly at his phone. “And why are we entertaining this guest?”
“Dami.”Richard begins lowly. “She knows our identities.”
He tries not to double over at that. “Excuse me?” Damian sputters. “You’re telling me this lowlife knows of our—!”
“Hurry home.” Richard continues. “Or else Jason would beat you there.”
Damian hangs his phone and reels the knowledge all in. The possibilities rushing into his head like a tide.
He didn’t think the day would ever come, especially not with his father’s dedication and immense vigilance. He’d go as far as to say that he was obsessive. Paranoid. Because who else would create contingencies for everyone he knows, including himself, for the sake of preparation? He wouldn’t lie and say that he wasn’t unsettled at seeing his own name in one of them.
He returns to the living room and motions to Jon that he’s leaving. He comes to the porch and waits to be picked up by his… friend, only for the door to creak open and show Kon and his frivolous and willful clothing instead. “Alright kid, let’s go.”
“You?” Damian grimaces.
“Yes. Me.” he deadpans. “I’m not in the mood to deal with a tantrum, especially the assassin Al Ghul kind. So if we can just both be agreeable…”
“Don’t treat me like a child.” he snaps. He lours at Kon who only looks at him in doubt. “Get it over with.”
Kon begrudgingly follows his command, kneeling down by a foot for Damian to ride his back. Plainly, he understood his urgency as he made no room to flounder. He drops Damian by the courtyard of Wayne Manor and makes no response when he hastily shooed him away.
It was getting late, around seven he supposes, so Damian didn’t worry about walking around as Robin near his civilian hearth. Not that it’s as if Wayne Manor was located in any nearby houses or communities anyway. Simply just rules set by his overly deliberate father. If there’s anything he appreciates, it’s his father’s history of generational wealth that was refined enough to know where they truly belong. That is the outskirts of Gotham, on a hill where no one but those closest to them can enter.
However as he steps closer, he sees a girl standing by their entrance. A beta with the smell of ozone and gunpowder dripping out of her stoutly that it itches his nose. She has a peculiar mop of long white hair, dressed in a black and orange leather crop and short sleeves that were worn over fishnets with grey fabric so dense her skin was hardly shown. An orange utility belt was wrapped around her waist, her black leather pants tight on her legs, and her thick boots with sharp bottoms rose nearly to her knees.
She stood with such seriousness, waiting, that Damian unsheathes his katana in caution. He creeps behind her and points his sword directly at her neck, eyes slit dangerously, and the girl wisely raises both hands in surrender.
“Who are you?” Damian demands, pressing in that the end of his blade grazes her tanned skin. “And what is your purpose here, wretch?”
She turns her heel and Damian hardens.
What greets him in return is a face with one eye, the other patched but unable to cover the long slit that was up to her furrowed brow and down to her upper cheek. Her expression was strong and striking and her remaining eye was a radiant blue, only darker than the mesmerizing ones Damian was familiar with. It was clear that she was only a few years ahead of him like she is only a few years younger than Drake.
“I’m not here to fight,” she says solemnly. “I’m here to see my mother.”