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snaileer · 7 months

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Call to My Bedside

When Danny wakes up with shackles around his wrists and chains pinning him to the wall, he’s not all that surprised to see his mother in front of him.

And no, he doesn’t mean Madeline Fenton, although he wonders if he’d be surprised by that either and really, what does that say about his life?

But no, he’s not all that surprised to be staring into the eyes of Talia Al Ghul right now.

Even if his heart stops at the sight of her.

Immediately, he tries to stand, shoulders pulled painfully behind him as he tries not to let her loom over him.

This is a woman he barely remembers, through no effort of her own, but that’s what happens when you left a kid to be trained by strangers before he’s whisked off to America against his will at age 5.

Really she was lucky he remembered her at all.

She crouches down slightly to make up for their height difference, face softening too quickly to be real, “I am Talia Al Ghul. Though you may not remember, you are my child-“

“I remember.” Danny cuts her off, trying to keep the anger from making his eyes glow. He does remember, he remembers enough to know that it would be dangerous for them to know he has powers.

He settles for glaring at her.

For a second it seems she just watches him, but the kindness drops from her face as she straightens.

The slap catches him hard enough to jerk his head to the side, chains rattling behind him as he unsuccessfully tries to catch himself.

Instead, they go taut behind him, leaving him to jerk sideways, breath rough by the surprise of the hit.

“Do not interrupt me, child.” Her voice rings cold in the air.

Danny doesn’t bother to lift his head, instead keeping his eyes pinned to the grimy floor. Had he forgotten how unforgiving this place was? What it was like?

“Look at me.”

Danny kept his eyes downwards. He didn’t want to look at her. He wanted to go home.

“Look at me, or suffer the punishment,” She said, voice steely.

He slowly lifted his head, eyes meeting hers.

“Good. You know who you are then, child? What place you are meant to hold in this world?”

Danny doesn’t answer, only glaring.

She barely blinks but her eyes sharpen in warning.

Danny grits his teeth, “I’m Danny al -Al Ghul, heir to the Demon’s head of the League of Assassins-“

The second hit is just as hard, but Danny is better braced for it.

“Your name is Danyal Al-Ghul, you are my blood and the blood of Batman, your heritage dictates a higher quality of discipline than this and you will show it.”

Everything in Danny’s being rebels against the name. He hasn’t been Danyal in years. And he refuses to go back to it.

He straightens his back, ignoring the ache of his shoulders as he snarls at her, “My name is Danny, Danny Fenton. I haven’t been your precious heir in years, and you can’t make me now.”

They couldn’t and he wouldn’t let them, not when he had the power to-

Talia idly pulls something from behind her and he feels the blood drain from his face.

It’s a picture of him, Tucker, and Sam, next to it is a larger grid of images, each making his heart drop further in his chest.

Sam. Tucker.

Jazz. Mom. Dad.

All of them in cells. Chained.

Hurt.

His family, his family-

“Did you think we would not know of your gifts? Would not know how you would think to leave us? You clearly do not remember as much as you think you do.”

Danny can barely hear her over the static rushing in his ears.

She grabs his face roughly, “We are the League, child, and you are one of us. You may have thought you were like them, but we are better. Meant for better, and you will not be allowed to squander the gifts bestowed on our bloodline through you. Until you can make the right choice yourself, as your blood, we will make them for you.”

Danny looks into her eyes, the certainty behind her words, and he feels a gaping emptiness open inside him. The kind that knows it’s not going away.

He wants to go home. He wants to see his family, and his friends. He doesn’t care that his parents don’t know his secret, that he’s just barely getting a handle on it himself, he just doesn’t want to be here. Not again. Please, not again.

Talia releases him, and he lets his body droop, sinking into himself as he crouches over the ground, the restriction of his arms keeping him from even fully curling around himself.

“Remove the chains, he will not be going anywhere,” Talia says, her shadow falling over him in the dim light of the doorway.

Danny barely moves as the cold metal falls away from his wrists.

And he knows she’s right.

He won’t be going anywhere. Not as long as his family is in danger.

—

The first months were hard. Harder than Danny remembers. Maybe his five-year old self had just had it easy.

He doesn’t now.

“Again!” His instructor shouts, bamboo staff coming down on the back of Danny’s knees.

He doesn’t let himself stumble. Not anymore.

At least his Arabic is getting better, he can understand it completely, as if he’d never forgotten it -as if it’d been his mother tongue- and he can speak it smoothly again, though shallow. You can’t even hear his American accent anymore.

Danny hasn’t spoken English since that first week, when they’d beaten it into him every time he’d tried.

When they’d beaten him for not understanding fast enough. Not reacting fast enough, not responding fast enough, to a language he didn’t know, hadn’t known for years now.

They’re right about one thing.

Pain is an excellent teacher.

“Again!”

He moves fast enough to dodge the bamboo stick this time, body shooting forward against his opponent.

Dodge, lunge, feint, block, swipe, block, block, block-shit-block, reach-

His back slams against the stone floor of the courtyard, knocking the breath out of him.

The instructor doesn’t step in. He won’t.

Not even when his opponent’s hands clamp around his throat.

Danny struggles, trying to use his inhuman strength to pull the arms away, but that inhumanity has waned since he’s been here, drained like the rest of his energy.

He feels the weight begin to build in his skull, he can’t breathe, he doesn’t have much longer, what can he- Danny forcefully moves his arms away, fighting instinct, instead pulling his legs up and rolling, just as they’d drilled into him, the change in leverage giving him the break he needed to be free as he stands-

The bamboo slams into his back, knocking him forward, “Again!”

Danny rolls with the momentum, ignoring the new throbbing in favor of dodging his opponent’s grappling fists.

Dodge, lunge, dodge, swipe, dodge, dodge, hit, swipe, block, forward, dodge, block-

Danny breathes through the sweat dripping down his skin, the way his ribs creak with every breath, the way his muscles feel numb and disconnected. None of it matters.

He just has to win.

He doesn’t have any other options.

He never did.

Not really.

This is why they brought him here.

Why he was born.

He has to win.

Danyal twists the arm of his opponent back until there’s a sickening crack.

“Again!”

A new opponent flies towards him with fists already raised.

He doesn’t have any other option.

He never did.

——

The next time he sees Talia is just before the ceremony to his next stage. She is waiting in his room when he walks in.

“Mistress,” He greets, bowing his head, feeling phantom pain bloom on his cheeks. It’s the only thing that makes him call her that.

“Danyal, your training is going well,” She says, voice idle in that meandering sort of way. This isn’t why she’s here.

“I will improve,” He says anyways. Because he knows he’s not meeting their standards yet, knows they’re disappointed by the heaviness in his bones that weighs him down and drains his energy.

She stands, making Danny go stock still as she approaches, featherlight touch on his chin as she tilts it upwards.

English drifts from her lips, “You have his eyes, his cheekbones…” her eyes drift down again, and it still doesn’t feel like she’s even really looking at him, “My chin and my jaw…not like Damia-“

Her hand drops.

Danny can’t figure out the change but he can feel it. Hesitantly, he asks, in Arabic still, “Talia, why… are you here?”

The steel returns.

“The bat is dead. You are the last of his power,” She says, then pauses. She seems torn about saying more.

She doesn’t, exiting silently as Danny stares into the air, unmoving.

His… birth father… was dead?

A man that was a great enough warrior to impress the Demon’s Head. Impress Talia.

A man… he didn’t even know the real name of.

It’s not like the Bat was anything more than a name to him.

A name he had to live up to.

Danny sighs and turns to his drawers. He has a training ceremony to prepare for.

——

Danny doesn’t resist the arms that hold him back as they swipe a broad slash across the skin of his back with the whip, simply letting himself curl inwards around the pain before he’s dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

He pulls himself back up just soon enough to see the next person dragged in and thrown in front of him.

The handle of the blade is pressed into his hand.

It wouldn’t be hard.

It should be hard. Right?

Killing a man whose crimes he doesn’t even know should be hard. It’s meant to be hard, right?

Danyal wishes he doesn’t know how easy it will be to fall into it.

But he can’t keep doing this. Collecting scars because he’s clinging to morals that aren’t even his.

He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep doing any of this.

He has to.

Danyal slices the edge of the blade across the man’s neck.

The cut is clean. Deep.

He’s dead in less than a minute.

Danyal’s own blood continues to flow.

——

Danyal doesn’t know what’s happening. One minute he’s training, trying to push past the exhaustion lining his bones, and the next the entire west side of the courtyard is in flames, crumbling down the side of the mountain.

Danny runs through the rubble of the passageways, searching for the source, searching for reasons, searching for… he doesn’t know, but he knows he can’t be caught doing nothing.

He doesn’t find anything except ruins.

Danny is called to meet Ra’s Al Ghul two weeks later. His grandfather. The Demon’s head.

The man doesn’t even look at him.

Danny stays kneeling all the same, better safe than beaten again.

“Are you familiar with Red Robin?”

Danny inclines his head, just barely, “I… can’t say I am…Great One.”

The following hum is derisive.

“He is one of the Bat’s… followers. Recently, he has proven himself to me. His ruthlessness is impressive, his ability to pursue his goals: admirable. He would make the perfect heir,” Ra’s says and he must know it makes Danny’s heart drop, why else would he say it, “Do you know what Timothy lacks, Danyal?”

Danyal stays quiet, eyes tracking the grit of the floor.

After a pause, near silent footsteps enter his vision, “You are the culmination of his mentor’s blood and my own, blessed with the gifts of the Lazarus pits, and yet-“ the cape swirls as Ra’s turns away, “Yet it is squandered by the mistakes of your upbringing!” He yells.

Danyal clenches his fists, willing himself silent.

The air of the room falls level again, “I grow tired of your mediocrity, Danyal. You will advance, or I will stop wasting my resources keeping your baggage alive.”

Danny’s head whips up before he can think better of it, meeting Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes where they stare down at him.

“Do not mistake my past grace for mercy, Danyal. Mercy makes men weak. There is no room for weakness, and we are here to purge it from this world. Do not forget that.”

“Of course, Great One.” Danyal’s heart pounds in his ears, fear jumping across each beat sporadically, “I will do better.” He tries to fill his voice with confidence.

He’ll do better.

He has to.

Ra’s looks at him, then turns his back and waves a hand dismissively, finally allowing Danyal to stand and leave.

He feels Ra’s’ eyes on his back the entire time as he leaves. And no matter how much he wants to, he doesn’t stop in the hallway. Even once the door is closed, he continues forward.

In his mind, Danny stops and heaves a breath through the grief crashing over him.

In his mind, Danny is a million miles away, at home, with his family around him, happy and safe.

In his mind, Danny rushes back into Ra’s al Ghul’s grandiose throne room and attacks him with the sword he’s forced on him, not stopping until he’s free or dead.

In reality, Danyal breathes out with false calm and moves on.

He has training to get to.

——

Danyal can feel the pressure of the Leagues- of Ra’s’- expectations pushing down on him.

It’s not new.

But he doesn’t let it weigh him down anymore. He doesn’t have that luxury.

Instead, he uses it to push himself harder, farther, pushing until he reaches those expectations.

And surpasses them.

And keeps going.

He won’t-can’t stop. So he keeps going.

Moving up, learning, training, getting better, faster, getting stronger.

Getting weaker.

Danyal ignores the strained whisper of his core in his chest in favor of aiming at the target in his scope.

An Ethiopian politician, making a name for himself by drafting new acts supporting the build of a dam on the Nile River.

It would endanger the lives of thousands in Egypt, cutting them off from the water that has flowed through their country for millennia.

It would never make it through the legislative ruling without him.

This is their duty. To cull the disease. To burn away the parasites killing the world. The ones feeding off excess.

Danyal pulls the trigger and starts packing the gun away.

His hands move with robotic precision, even without his guidance. No, his eyes and his focus are elsewhere.

Instead, Danny stares at the newspaper laying damp on rooftop gravel, eyes scanning every detail, every line.

May 7th of 20XX. Almost two years.

Alien invasion recently. Superman.

New hero in Russia.

Multiple car crashes in Pakistan. All survived.

None of it really matters to him, not really, it doesn’t tell him anything interesting, nothing he needs to know. It’s not even an American newspaper.

But…It’s the closest he’s come to freedom in three years.

Is it bad that what he calls a taste of freedom is knowing how long it’s been since he’s been free?

The rifle case clicks shut beneath his fingertips and he stands without so much as a lingering glance at the newspaper.

Danyal leaps off the roof, scaling down the side, ignoring the way his legs want to collapse beneath him as he lands in an alley.

He heads towards the rendezvous, job finished. Efficient as always.

Exactly as is expected of him.

———

It is several months more that he begins to realize there may be something truly wrong.

He’s training-fighting, losing- with the Lady Shiva. If Red Robin could beat her, Danyal must as well.

He’s fairing… okay.

They’ve been engaging for a while now, for a fight, a minute at least, maybe two.

He feels his breath rough in his chest, his face slick with sweat, his body buzzing with adrenaline and the push to do better-

His heart squeezes, seizing up tense and frozen for just a second, his body following in surprise-

There’s a sword through his stomach.

Danyal tries to focus again, to swing his sword, like he’s been trained, but everything feels… loose.

The sword is removed from his stomach, wet blood sliding down his tunic. Cold floor beneath his knees, had he fallen? No, he had to stand, get up, get up, get up. Get up!

Please, you have to get-

There’s hands on him, moving him, the hallways are too dark, -get up, you have to get up- he can’t tell where they’re going. No they’re not dark, his eyes are closed, he pries them open, gasping for breath as the pain in his stomach tears deeper.

Please, he just wants to go home.

Darkness still clouds his vision, but the people carrying him barely glance back as he groans.

His eyes flicker shut, too heavy to keep open as he tries to focus on anything but the pain, on not bleeding out, on please don’t let him die here, not here, please.

They enter another door, letting him stumble across steps farther and farther down.

When they reach the bottom, it seems as though every sound is sucked out from the room. An eerie silence thick in the air.

It forces his eyes open, just a squint, darkness prickling at the edges of his vision.

He barely catches a glance of cave walls before he feels himself thrown forward.

And familiar green fills his vision.

Panic surges.

Pain in his stomach. -His hand. The button!-

Green water surrounding him. -The portal is on!-

Liquid fills his mouth when he tries to scream. -There’s no sound between dimensions.-

It feels like burning acid running across every nerve of his open wound, creeping into his pores like tar covering a dying animal.

But it doesn’t feel like death.

He would know.

It feels a little like life.

He doesn’t want it.

He doesn’t get a choice.

He never does.

It feels like a thousand screaming souls, begging for justice and for freedom, just as he is.

They shout and yell at him to do something, to fight where they can’t, why can’t they, they’re so helpless, angry at their helplessness, angry at their inability, angry angry angry

Their pleas fill his ears, louder with each passing second.

He’s angry, angry, angry- how dare they, how dare they- he could win, they can’t stop him, they deserve it-who’s they?- he’s going to kill them, they can’t stop him-

Frigid humid air stings against his skin, no longer submerged, and green fog tinges everything.

But he-they- need to fight, kill them, stop them, do something, do something because they can’t- fight!

Danny lunges at the first person he sees, an assassin in all black at the edge of green waters.

His fist nearly collapses his skull. It doesn’t stop him.

There’s another and Danny lunges again, ignoring the sword that slashes towards him, grabbing it and snapping the metal with one hand, the other around the ninja’s neck, gripping, cracking, breaking-

Something heavy hits him over the head, the world staticking for a second as his hand loosens, a body dropping to the floor.

Hands reach at him, pulling, holding, restraining, and he fights with sharpened claws and fangs and burning fists of glowing energy and hands ripping hearts from their chest- until there’s so many bodies around him and restraining him, that it actually slows him down.

Enough to realize his powers are flowing easily once more, surprise cutting through the fog in his mind.

He stops actively pulling against the arms holding him down, his cheek now pressed painfully against rocky floor.

Where is he?

A nauseatingly familiar voice fills the room, “You managed quite the damage, Danyal,” Ra’s al Ghul stands in front of him, when Danny is able to lift his head and look, “Perhaps there is still potential hidden behind your weakness, the capabilities of your rage is akin to my first venture into these pools, so many centuries ago.”

The smile on Ra’s’ face sends twitches down his spine and confusion pools in his gut, “What…?” he murmurs, head still murky, but a bolt of fear races through his chest, and he forces his words into the League dialect once more, “What happened…? I..-“ His voice is small, and slowly he feels the assassins holding him release his arms and back away. He pushes himself upright to his knees, finding less strain in his muscles, in his bones, than he has for nearly two years.

“You failed your training, little Al Ghul,” A voice, Lady Shiva, speaks from his right. Her sword is still red.

Danyal’s eyes jump to hers, the memory rushing back- blood, the sword, falling, the water- his hand grips the side of his tunic even as his head snaps to the side, finally seeing the green waters lurking just next to them.

The Lazarus Pits, his training says.

Ectoplasm, his core whispers.

He looks down at the hole in the fabric of his tunic, any bloodstains around it all but gone. There’s not even a scratch.

The rest of his clothes are still layered with blood.

And Danyal knows it isn’t his.

He stands, watching as other league members file in, dragging away the bodies surrounding them.

There are too many to count.

He doesn’t even try.

Ra’s Al Ghul steps forward, drawing his focus once more.

He eyes Danyal critically, “Walk with me, child,” He says, already turning away with robes moving gracefully.

Danyal hurries to move with him, one step behind as they trail through the halls and corridors, slowly moving farther and farther up through the compound.

Finally they step out from an arch, the gentle late afternoon sun lighting up the sky with colors. Just enough light to see clearly, not enough to blind or burn.

It would’ve been a perfect afternoon to die on.

Instead, Danyal catches the sword thrown towards him with surprising grace. Ra’s face is filled with dangerous curiousity as he speaks, “Attack.”

Danyal doesn’t question it. Doesn’t wonder why Ra’s remains unarmed, doesn’t question if he might hurt him. He just acts, lunging forward at the command with nary a second thought.

“Starting today, you will train with me. Each week,” Ra’s speaks as he easily dodges and blocks Danyal’s hits, forcing him to take a new approach each time.

Danyal nods, “Of course, Great One.”

Ra’s knocks him to the ground, standing over him with sword drawn, “Call me Grandfather, Danyal. You’ve earned it.”

Danny’s heart squeezes.

He nods, “Of course Grandfather.”

——

After that, things change. Ra’s Al Ghul keeps to his word, calling for him each week, sometimes no more than a few days apart.

All too quickly it becomes a part of Danyal’s routine. The brutal training sessions of Ra’s beating him down and letting him up only to do it again.

He wishes he had it in him to question the Demon’s Head, but he doesn’t, so when Ra’s tells him to attack, even when unarmed, even when Danyal should rip his throat out with one use of intangibly, Danyal listens and attacks him.

Months into the now singular training, Danyal realizes that he hasn’t left this compound in a while, there hasn’t been a spontaneous move, or travel for a new master.

It’s just been… Ra’s.

He feels more stable, more stationary than he remembers being in so long. His youngest years had been the same routine of constant movement from base to base, compound to compound. And then he had lived.. in America, and had a single home, a house he knew the direction to from anywhere in town. For so many years, he been able to settle in one place.

Only to be uprooted once more, thrown back to everything he’d left behind, everything he’d-

Danyal enjoyed knowing where he would return to at the end of the day. The sense of familiarity that came with the same room, the same bed and halls, day after day, week after week.

Maybe that’s why it catches him by surprise when Ra’s calls for him at the base of a landing pad, jet idle behind him.

Danyal allows a nearby assassin to pass a pack into his hands, clearly full of materials.

For a moment, Danyal wonders where they are going? What new training awaits him at the other end?

Then Ra’s steps aside, dangerously graceful as ever, and reveals the bay of the jet to be not empty, but filled by assassins, each standing at command.

Danyal looks to Ra’s once more.

“An Al Ghul does not only follow, Danyal,” He says with a sharp smile as he approaches, laying a heavy hand on Danyal’s shoulder, “An Al Ghul leads. And as you are my heir, you must learn to command the respect of our members.” The hand squeezes on his shoulder, making him look up, meeting Ra’s in the eyes, “By any means necessary.”

Danyal looks away, looking back at the assassins waiting for him, for his command.

He’s not ready.

He has to be anyways.

The hand on his shoulder feels like lead as he steps out from under it, filling his voice with power he doesn’t feel, and sending the squadron scattering to new assignments.

Flight, equipment, weaponry, information, planning, infiltration, execution, all of it, it’s all on him to control.

Danyal turns back to gauge Ra’s’ reaction, only to find him already halfway gone, the sight of his retreating back the only response.

Okay, he’ll do this.

He can do this.

He has to.

What else can he do?

——

He takes to leading missions with the hand of a natural.

It’s easy.

Send these people here. These people here. Block every exit, erase every loose end, don’t leave any witnesses. Finish the mission.

Their missions are for the betterment of everyone, they are fixing things, getting rid of corrupt leaders, people unworthy of what they have, everything they’re doing is for a reason. It has a purpose.

He has a purpose.

So he ignores what’s behind every number he sends for each job. Ignores the calculation behind every call to secure the exit that has five private guards. Ignores the number behind the perimeter assignment because he knows the building has a late hour maid present each night.

They’re just numbers.

And he’s good at this.

At least he’s good at this.

He kills the first person to question an order.

They don’t question him again.

Everything runs smoother when they don’t question him.

It’s easier this way.

It’s always easier.

——

He’s traveling again. Spending more hours sleeping in hotels and safe houses than any bed he might deign to call his.

More and more time goes by, bit by bit, hour by hour, each filling his body with sand like setting concrete.

Slowly, Danyal feels it begin to wear on him. The exhaustion of the missions, his own body weighing him down with every strike he takes. Refusing to react with the speed demanded of him to succeed.

Danyal pushes past it. It doesn’t matter. This is his duty, it is all that is expected of him and he will do it. Even as he finds himself clutching his chest in the dark of a mission, blood still leaking from his target below him.

He forces himself past it, eyes flickering, steeling himself, then wiping down his blade and leaving, muscles tense and bones shaking.

He makes it as far as the car waiting in the near abandoned parking garage below, his chest continuing to tighten, heart erratic beneath his ribs. Danyal grunts, pain lacing up his arm, struggling not to stumble as he staggers into his seat with a near gasping breath.

He pulls himself together, his words as confident as he can make them as he speaks to the assassin in the drivers seat, “Call Ra’s Al Ghul. Bring me to him. Now.”

Danny feels his heart twitch in his chest, his hand flickering in his vision, or is it his vision that’s flickering, he can’t tell, still the cold leather soothes him, heart pounding louder louder, yelling, screaming in his ears, angry so angry so angry, rage rage rage, fix it fix it fight fight fight for us fight! Don’t let it go, never let it go, revenge, make them pay, they have to pay-!

He comes back with a gasp and a burst of pain across his shoulder, adrenaline and fury still coursing through his veins in equal measure.

His hair is wet, green liquid dripping down his face in sluggish trails mixed with foreign blood. It lays plastered on the curves of his face, framing his eyes as he stares up at the Demon’s Head.

The same malicious smile sits on his face, “Welcome back, Danyal.” The words are tinged with expectance.

Danyal pauses, collected his words around his tongue like a lead weight in his dry mouth, “I- Why was I put in the Lazarus pit again?” Danyal can only hope he’s showing the right amount of deference to even be allowed such a question.

“You were brought to me collapsed, and your heart failing you. The Lazarus pits provided a temporary solution,” Ra’s says, his eyes sharp, “But it is temporary. This problem will not be allowed to continue.”

“Of course, Master,” Danyal pulls himself to his knees, “…I believe it’s because of my accident-“ Danyal pauses, this is closest he’s come to actually telling them how he got his powers, what it did to him-, “There was electricity, and the shock, my heart was-is damaged. I don’t know why it’s getting worse-“

Ra’s hums, “The body can be fixed, child. The mind cannot. This,” Ra’s places a hand on his back as Danyal stands, “is merely an obstacle to our goal.”

“I will not fail you, Grandfather.”

“I know, child.” His words are a guarantee, an assurance to Danyal.

He will prove that the confidence placed in him is not mistaken.

——

It is barely months after that second time that Danyal once again feels his body’s failings encroach on him.

His heart beats off pattern, falling out of rhythm more with every passing day.

Danyal takes a deep breath, willing it to calm himself.

He will not let this stop him. He is an Al Ghul. He is capable. He is strong, and he will not be held back by his own body.

Danyal turns his focus inwards, ripples traveling along the surface of the ectoplasm in his core he’s left untouched for so long now.

He lets the ectoplasm submerge him, turning his form ghostly, his eyes sharper green than they’ve ever been before.

Danyal lets his feet lift off the ground, just for a second, weightlessness enveloping him, the buzzing of the world a background in his ears.

Then his toes touch the ground again and Danyal snaps into movement towards his closet. He puts on his usual league clothes over the old hazmat suit, feeling the layers lighten as he covers them up. Until it feels as though he’s only wearing the league clothes, and his white gloves stare in his face.

Slowly, he removes them, staring for too long at the green lines like cracks trailing up his arm.

Danyal turns away.

He has work to do, he can’t let himself be held up with small feelings like that.

As Danyal travels the halls, every step an effort to remain flat on the ground, he feels the ectoplasm within him roil, coursing faster and stronger than he ever had before, even in the Ghost Zone or in A-.

It revitalizes him and Danyal arrives to Ra’s Al Ghul’s training with bold confidence filling him.

Ra’s greets him an enigmatic smile and a challenge of his strength.

Danyal meets him kind, dodging every lunging, swiping every parry, light on his feet like he hasn’t been in years now.

Their fight lasts longer than any other they’ve had, his muscles able to hold up stronger in this form, his stamina infinite as the ectoplasm he draws from without any need for breathing or rest.

Ra’s Al Ghul is impressed even as he holds Danyal beneath his boot, his sword pressed to his neck.

Glowing green sluggishly leaks from the scratch.

Danyal pays it no mind.

Instead he stares at the small cut on the crown of Ra’s’ head, a single crimson red droplet crawling down the side of his face.

Danyal did not win. But he didn’t loose either.

Satisfaction fills him in a rush, carrying him through even as they reengage.

——

Danyal strives to reach his goals, to hit every target set out for him, beat every opponent put against him, to reach the expectations and the potential that the Demon’s head sees him.

To make himself worthy to be here, to stay.

And he knows his weaknesses hold him back, make him vulnerable, put everything-one- in danger.

So he stops being vulnerable. Stops letting his body, his weaknesses, dictate his capabilities.

Faster and faster his store of ectoplasm drains within him.

And Danyal makes himself stronger and stronger, short exposures of the Lazarus pits to keep it from stopping him.

He can’t stop.

So he keeps going, keeps training, fighting, growing- when had he gotten tall? When had he gotten older?

He keeps working, to be better, to be the best.

And as he approaches the Demon’s chambers weeks later, he is surprised to hear yelling.

More than that, he is surprised to hear Talia’s voice be the one yelling.

He pauses outside the door, eyes narrowed and body resting on the edge of invisibility.

He does not want to know the punishment for eavesdropping, nor for interrupting them… and yet…he hasn’t spoken to Talia, not truly, not since she told him the Batman was dead. Barely seen her except beside the demons’s head in ceremony as he stands at the edges of a room.

It has been entirely too reminiscent of his childhood.

Danyal’s ears prick up as the volume increases once more.

“You cannot ask me to bring him back to use him for-!”

“I do not ask for anything, Daughter! He belongs to the League! And the League to me! It was a mistake to allow you to keep-“

Ra’s’ voice drops too low to be heard through the door, muffling the rest of his words.

Danyal steps back from the door, standing in the hall with questions blooming in multitude.

Moments later, Talia Al Ghul steps through, a force of fury in every step. She catches sight of him immediately, and when Danyal makes eye contact, her eyes are filled with worry, stress, regret, a thousand what-ifs and plans and concerns.

Somehow he knows none of it is for him.

He bows slightly, and she passes by him without a word.

Danyal watches her hair flow as she retreats further and further down the hall until he finally turns around to enter the room.

Ra’s Al Ghul is waiting for him.

He gives no indication that he knows Danyal heard him, so Danyal doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t make the mistake of thinking that means Ra’s doesn’t know.

He always knows.

His training continues.

For days, and weeks, and months more, he continues.

But even a ghost cannot lie to himself forever.

——

When Damian wakes up with chains around his wrists and the familiar feeling of harsh metal beneath his knees, he is not surprised to see his mother standing in front of him.

He wishes it were only his mother.

Instead, his grandfather stands in front of him as well, eyes staring down at him with impassive judgement. Damian feels his spine straighten against his will, the feeling of ‘never good enough’ creeping through his limbs.

He glances at his mother behind Grandfather’s looming form. Her face is uncharacteristically open, the barest hint of tension evident in her jaw, her eyes almost brighter with the concern hidden behind them.

Damian forces his eyes away as Grandfather begins to speak.

“You’ve wasted your time with your father Damian,” he starts, “Letting your training go to waste as the league continues to work to better the world.”

Damian wants to sneer, a scowl forming on his face, “The league does nothing but hurt innocent people. My time as Robin has saved hundreds.”

Grandfather’s eyes sharpen, “And I see it has taken your discipline as well.”

Damian grinds his teeth, “Anything I have learned, I learned from my Father and my family,”

“Your family?” Grandfather says, his tone almost mocking as he raises an eyebrow, “You are an Al Ghul-“

“I am a Wayne too!” Damian says, straining as he rises to his feet, “I am Damian Al Ghul-Wayne! Just as you wanted me to be! And it is my choice to be a hero, to be Robin, and I stand next to Father and the others with pride!”

Grandfather’s glare intensifies, “Do not interrupt me again, Damian. You will not be exempt of the consequences.”

Damian stares him down, fear pressing against his insides with a scream too familiar to his youth.

He turns away with a click of his tongue.

Shame whispers at his cheeks.

Grandfather waves a hand blithely as he turns his back, “Bring him.” He pauses at the door, “He remains bound.”

Damian watches his Grandfather leave, his eyes drifting sideways to his mother.

“Mother, why am I here?” He demands, tone sharp and clear. He tries not to let show how lost he is.

Mother steps forward, laying a gentle hand on his face and the other at the crook of his neck, cupping his cheek as her eyes soften. Regret sits behind them.

“Mother.” He says again, pulling slightly away from her hand, “Why am I here?”

She sighs, stepping back, “The Demon’s Head has need of you.”

Then he watches her leave as well, and Damian finds his arms and hands grabbed as assassins unchain him and push him forward.

He reluctantly lets them lead him through the unfamiliar halls of wherever they are, just a few paces behind his mother.

They stop in front of an open doorway, and when Damian is dragged in front, the sight he is met with brings confusion over anything else.

In front of him is a young man, no older than Todd or even Drake, laying asleep in a hospital bed with a heart monitor attached to him.

The beeping that fills the room is shallow and unsteady, much like the boy’s breathing. His hair is dark with speckled streaks of grey and a natural paleness in his skin.

Worse than that is the IV Damian can see tucked into the crook of his arm, tube trailing up to a bag.

Slowly feeding Lazarus water into his veins.

Damian whips his head around to look at his mother, only to find her staring disdainfully at the boy in the bed.

It only serves to confuse Damian more.

What had this man done to cause his mother such ire?

“Take the sample.” His Grandfather’s voice commands. And Damian feels the arms holding him shift to a more secure grip, pulling him to his knees even as he fights them. A man in a white coat approaches him, and Damian fights harder when he notices the syringe in his hand.

The sting of the needle is dull against the fear crashing through him as his grandfather watches.

His mother looks away.

Finally, Damian jerks as the hands he now knows are Ubu’s release him, still hovering close as he is dropped. He is surprised to see that they actually took blood, rather than dosing him with something. Sedative or worse.

Damian scowls at his grandfather, but he simply looks unconcerned as the assumed doctor moves forward to take a second sample, this time from the boy laying in the bed.

“Why am I here, Grandfather?” He asks, eyeing all parties critically.

“Haven’t you realized, Damian?” His Grandfather asks with a mockingly raised eyebrow, “His heart is failing, and the Lazarus waters can only fix so much by the nature of his defects. Your brother needs you, Damian,” Grandfather says, voice serene, “And you are going to help him.”

Damian barely has a moment to process his words before the hands are pulling him back once more, he yanks his arms from their grip, “Grandfather! What are you- let me go!” Damian turns fully to incapacitate the assassins, only to have Ubu pull his binds harshly sideways and give the servants leverage enough to actually tame his movements.

“Who is he?! Mother!” Damian turns to her, unsurprised to see her turning a blind eye once again, “Mother who is he!? What is Grandfather talking about?! What are you doing!?” The assassins pull at him again, successful in getting him through the doorway as he struggles.

Just before the door closes, he hears the Doctor speak to his grandfather, and his response.

“The boy is a match Great One.”

“Good, prepare Danyal for surgery. As soon as possible.”

The surprise is enough that the door closes in his face and he is dragged back through the hallways.

He stands as much as he can, walking at pace, refusing to allow them to disrespect him by letting them drag him.

He glares at Ubu as he shuts the door of his cell between them.

Once he knows he is alone, Damian takes a better register of his situation. He is still in his Robin uniform, so that means he was out with the family- he has a brother- they’ll be looking for him. He believes he’s on a boat, the rocking, the design of the doors and walls- a brother!- he has to make sure he can be found. Grandfather has plans for him-why tell him now- he doesn’t seem to be listening to Mother’s decisions- his brother’s name is Danyal- he might be in danger-they both could- how is he going to get out-

Damian stops.

He readjusts his clothing, feeling the minute shift once more. There’s something between the collar of his suit.

Slowly, Damian runs his hand along the fabric, finding a small bump he recognizes as a tracker.

One of his own bat made trackers. But how..?

Mother.

Damian scoffs to himself. Of course, he should have known she would never show such an obvious display of affection without reason. She was still largely loyal to Grandfather, but Damian was not so naïve as to think she did not care for him at all.

The vibration of the tracker is rhythmic beneath his fingers, the only solace he gets.

His family is coming.

He knows it.

He just hopes it’s fast enough.

——

Perhaps Grandfather’s first mistake was taking him as Robin, when his family was always the most on edge, the most prepared, the most connected.

Or perhaps his first mistake was training Bruce Wayne in the first place.

Either way, Damian watches from the other side of an observation window as his Grandfather and Father engage in a fight racked with fury on both ends.

Richard jostles him, bringing his attention back into focus.

Right.

His newest brother.

He mumbles an explanation to them, words slurred as they leave his mouth. But he knows they heard him. The shock-caution-suspicion painted across their faces could mean nothing else.

Perhaps his Father was under a curse. Surely there was a limit to how many unknown children one person could have in a single lifetime?

All the same, once freed, he moves to help Drake and Richard remove the boy-brother, Danyal- from the operation table next to him, stepping over the doctors knocked unconscious at their feet.

Reluctantly, he allows Drake to support him under one arm, the anesthesia still weighing down his eyelids.

They rush through the halls like a bull, both him and Drake separating to fight off more than one assassin. Even Richard has to set down Danyal to join the fight at least once.

But finally, they make it to the Batplane idling next to the hull.

The moment they are onboard, the plane starts to move away, but his Father is still on board.

Still fighting with Grandfather as they burst through the doors, fists and weapons engaged in equal measure.

Father dodges sideways, blocking hits until he reaches the rails, then he jumps over without hesitation. And just as Damian is about to shout for him, arm reaching out futilely, Richard blows past him.

He is leaping out of the open cargo door with just as much surety as his father leapt, a cord tied around him, and with perfect precision, he watches Richard catch his father at the extension of his swing.

It’s a perfect demonstration of their partnership.

And Grandfather is left scowling out at them from the ship.

His mother stands alone and calm on the upper deck, watching.

Damian turns his attention to his family.

And to Danyal with them.

——

Returning to the cave is less of an affair than Damian may have expected from such a mission.

His father is-has been- silent for most of the flight, staring at the body of Danyal with blank eyes.

Even Drake and Richard conspicuously cast a glance back every few minutes. Damian controls himself from doing the same. He is not so undisciplined as to be as obvious.

Still, the tension only rises the longer Danyal continues to remain asleep. Even by the time Damian feels the last of the anesthesia leave his own system, Danyal is unchanged.

Damian is certain his grandfather would not choose someone so sickly to be his heir, someone so incapable of protecting themselves in this state. Surely there was a reason he was kept, a reason he was allowed this weakness when Damian was-

Regardless, Damian didn’t trust it. The others could get pulled into this invader’s lies all they wanted, Damian would be there to stop him, he was sure of it.

Still, he watches Pennyworth dote over him in the medbay, Father laying him down on a medical bed with harried care, removing his cowl with barely a thought.

Damian ground his teeth, did they not understand that this was an operative trained by his Grandfather? An assassin with no attachment to them that was favored enough by Grandfather to warrant Damian being-

Damian turned to his locker, glad to replace his weapons stores and feel the weight of his sword at his side once more. It would be a pain, but he would have to find a way to receive a package from his mother if he wanted his other sword back.

It was merely a replica of one of his betters but the desire remained.

He watched from the corner of his eye as the family began to gather in front of the Batcomputer, the screen’s light casting shadows on them even in the artificial cave lighting. Finally, they were going to be doing something.

Damian approached, lingering at the edge where he could still see through the curtains of the medbay.

“I’m not the only one who noticed a suspicious lack of life threatening wounds right?” Drake began, turned away from the console with one hand still on the keys, “I mean, there was that first surgery cut, but that was the same as on Damian. It certainly wasn’t enough to necessitate Lazarus water being entered directly into this kid’s bloodstream.”

Damian scowled, “He was like that before they attempted this. Grandfather said that there was something wrong with… Danyal’s heart, said that I would be able to fix it.”

Father cast another brief look at the medbay, Pennyworth’s shadow still moving within. “I’ll have Agent A call Leslie. Robin,” he turned towards Damian, “Did Talia or Ra’s mention anything else to you? Where .. he’s been this whole time?..Why you didn’t know of his existence?”

Damian shook his head, “No, only that he was my brother and that the pit water was being used to fix him somehow. That I was needed to save him.”

Father hums, turning back with pensive silence.

“B, we don’t even know how long this kid’s been there, he’s older than Damian,” Richard pleads. And it makes Damian duck his head with clenched fists. Who was he? Why was he so much more favored by Grandfather?

Why had they told him he was the firstborn of mother? Of father?

“He could always be a clone with advanced aging, we know Talia is capable of it, she’s done it before,” Drake adds. But the theory sits uncomfortably with all of them. Something just not quite right.

“But then why did they need Damian?” Richard says back.

Father grunts.

“Is it really…” Richard starts, “I mean, we have to consider that she actually kept it secret again. Even from Damian.”

“But B wasn’t even with Talia before that, Damian was the first time they… y’know.” Drake says, a grimace on his face at the end.

Father hums, “But I’d fought Talia before. And I had trained with Ra’s.”

“All it would have taken is one DNA sample, right.” Richard says with a sigh, carding his fingers through his hair, “Well, we might as well-“

There’s a slight clatter on the medbay level, silencing everyone as their heads snap to the sound.

When nothing follows, Father motions them all to head up, flanking the room.

Damian is the closest, entering first. No sooner does he notice Pennyworth laying on the floor before he feels a hand slip around his neck and another quickly snatch the sword at his side. Within seconds, Damian feels his back pressed against another body, the cold steel of his own sword stinging at his neck as he stares into his Father’s eyes.

Except his father is not looking at him, he’s looking at the person holding him.

Danyal.

“Where am I!? Who are you!?” The voice behind him demands, the vibration buzzing against him with the familiar staccato of Damian’s native league dialect.

His family shares a weighted look, clearly hesitant to say anything. Already Damian can see the way their fingers twitch towards weapons and utility belts.

The steel at his neck tightens, “Tell me now or I slit his neck and deliver your bodies to the Demon’s Head myself.”

Father’s stance tightens, anger pulling at his gloves even as he forces himself to put his hands up in surrender. When he answers, it is in the League dialect, “We’re not a danger to you, Danyal,” the blade doesn’t so much as twitch, “Put down the swor-“

Stephanie Brown’s voice rings out across the cave, “Hey, Kate and I just finished patrol and-“

Damian doesn’t pay attention to the rest of the sentence because the moment Brown starts speaking, his assailant’s group loosens just a bit, accompanied by a low, broken whisper of, “English?…”

Damian immediately jabs the flat of his arm up, putting the blade farther from his neck as he begins to grapple with him.

In the blur of movement, Damian sees his sword coming at him, throwing his body back with a barely a second to spare, feeling the supporting hand of Richard on his back as he joins their combined front.

Danyal now stands alone in front of them, stolen sword extended in warning.

And now that Damian can see his face, he knows why his family was hesitant… Danyal’s eyes flicker a bright Lazarus green.

“What do you want from me? Why am I here?” he demands once again.

His Father steps up, “I don’t know how much know about me: my name is Bruce Wayne,” There’s barely even a flicker of recognition, “But you might know me better as Batman.”

The eyes widen, eyes scanning them with fervor before narrowing with suspicion and denial, “The Batman is dead, the Demon’s Daughter told me so herself.”

Drake steps forward, “She was wrong. He came back-“

Damian rolls his eyes, “Clearly Mother must have told you. Do not be stupid.”

Danyal’s brow furrows, silently mouthing the word ‘mother’ beneath his breath.

“I don’t-“ He cuts himself off with a grimace, hands tightening on the shaft of the sword, “I don’t believe you, what-“

“What happened? Did we bring back the demon spawn, why are you all-“ Brown bursts into the room, words already filling the air. Only to stop when she sees Danyal.

He raises the sword at them again, noticeably less stable as he supports it with two hands, “Who are you!? Why am I here!? Tell me-“ He grunts again, putting a hand to his chest, “Tell me, now! I-“ the sword drops, Danyal using it to support himself like a cane. Father steps forward, hands extended. It only serves to make Danyal lift his head to glare at him.

“Stay back-“

“We’re only trying to help-“

“I said-“ Danyal grunts, hand clenching at his shirt as he drops to his knees, “Stay- Stay back- I’m-“

The sword falls from his hands with a metallic clatter on the stony ground, Danyal gasping for breath.

“Back- off..” He whispers, the English falling from his lips with desperation as he curls in on himself.

Father rushes forward the moment Danyal’s body goes limp, lifting him onto the medical bed as the room bursts into motion. Richard is grabbing medical equipment as Drake helps father with providing CPR as Brown moves to get Alfred, all of them quick to jump to action.

Damian slowly steps forward, picking up his abandoned sword from the floor.

He turns it over in his hands, making sure it is unharmed from the ordeal even as he watches his family rush to help each other.

Just what had Grandfather been doing to Danyal?

#the way I literally was just going towards that last scene #and just had to get there #this got so obscenely long but I love it #dpxdc #dp dc #Danny phantom crossover #league of assassins #Talia Al Ghul #Damian Al ghul #Danny Al ghul #Danyal Al ghul #Ra’s Al ghul #Batman

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twistiraki · 5 months

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🎀The Twisted Wonderland housewardens save you from your bullies 🎀

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗ TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ Characters Riddle, Leona, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, Malleus x F!Reader Warnings bullying ‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The cold, oppressive atmosphere of Night Raven College bore witness to the relentless cruelty inflicted upon Y/n by the three Savanaclaw students. They were a toxic trio, reveling in the sadistic pleasure of tormenting the lone soul who dared to be different.

In the shadows of the twisting corridors, the bullies cornered Y/n with malevolent grins and whispered taunts. "Look who we have here, the little misfit," sneered one of them, his words dripping with disdain.

Y/n, a stoic figure determined to withstand the onslaught, clenched her teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing her crack. The leader of the tormentors, a sinister figure with a twisted smile, circled her like a predator closing in on its prey.

"What's the matter, Y/n? Cat got your tongue?" another jeered, causing the trio to burst into mocking laughter. The echoes of their cruelty resonated through the desolate halls, amplifying Y/n's isolation.

Their torment wasn't limited to words alone; the bullies seized every opportunity to strip Y/n of her dignity. One day, they snatched her bag, rifling through its contents like scavengers pillaging a carcass. They tossed her belongings carelessly on the cold floor, savoring the sight of her distress.

On another occasion, the trio targeted Y/n during a public event, exploiting the vulnerability of the crowded space. They humiliated her with disparaging remarks, their malicious words cutting through the air like a relentless storm. Y/n, standing alone amidst the sea of indifferent faces, fought back tears, unwilling to grant them the satisfaction of witnessing her vulnerability.

The torment escalated when the bullies, driven by an insidious desire to break her spirit, attempted to steal Y/n's clothing. The malicious intent behind their actions was clear, pushing her to the brink of despair.

In that harrowing moment, as they tugged at the fabric that shielded her from their malicious intent, Y/n's defenses crumbled. The tears she had fought so hard to contain spilled over, marking her surrender to the relentless darkness that engulfed her.

The bullies reveled in their perceived victory, their laughter echoing like a haunting melody. Y/n, now defenseless and broken, sank to her knees, a shattered reflection of the person she used to be.

Yet, as the trio reveled in their malevolence, the distant echo of approaching footsteps disrupted their sadistic revelry…

The cold corridors of Night Raven College seemed to intensify as the bullies' attention shifted from Y/n to the unexpected intruder, Riddle Rosehearts. The leader of the trio, emboldened by a sense of defiance, sneered, "What's the Heartslabyul housewarden doing, playing the hero? Is this your new pet project, Rosehearts?"

Riddle's stern expression remained steadfast, a protective shield against the barbs directed his way. "I'm enforcing the rules, something you three seem to have forgotten. Now, leave her alone," he retorted, his tone laced with an unyielding edge.

The bullies, undeterred by the stern warning, turned their attention to Riddle, attempting to humiliate him in the same manner they had targeted Y/n. "Maybe Rosehearts has a soft spot for misfits. Or is there something else going on here?" one of them jeered, a malicious glint in their eyes.

Riddle's gaze hardened, but he didn't allow their words to rattle him. Instead, he focused on Y/n, offering her his cape for warmth and comfort. "Ignore them," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm in the aftermath of the storm.

Y/n, still recovering from the emotional turmoil, met Riddle's eyes with a mixture of gratitude and curiosity. "Why are you helping me?" she asked, her vulnerability laid bare.

Riddle hesitated for a moment, his stern exterior cracking to reveal a hint of sincerity. "No one should be treated like that. Besides, it's my duty as the housewarden of Heartslabyul to enforce the rules," he replied, though the subtle inflection in his voice hinted at a deeper, unspoken truth.

As the bullies persisted in their attempts to tarnish Riddle's reputation, he remained resolute. However, the time for words had passed. With a swift and practiced motion, Riddle invoked his unique magic, "Off with your head," causing ethereal sparks to materialize and collar the bullies as a consequence for their actions.

The trio, now restrained by red head’s signature spell, looked to Riddle with shock and fear. He addressed them with an unwavering gaze. "Learn to respect others, or face the consequences," he declared, his authority unshaken.

Turning back to Y/n, Riddle offered a reassuring smile. "You don't have to worry about them anymore. Let me help you and walk you to your dorm," he said, a subtle undertone of warmth in his voice.

Riddle thought to himself that the bullies were right. He did have a soft spot for misfits. In particular this misfit. He had always liked Y/n. As they walked to Y/n’s dorm Riddle tried to hide his face, which was now as red as his hair.

In the dimly lit corridor, Leona Kingscholar, the formidable housewarden of Savanaclaw, stood between Y/n and her tormentors. The atmosphere crackled with tension as the bullies, momentarily taken aback, decided to redirect their malice towards the imposing figure that stood before them.

"So, the sleepy lion decides to play the hero," one of the bullies sneered, attempting to mask their unease with false bravado.

Leona's emerald eyes narrowed, a low growl escaping his throat as he stared down the trio. "You've got a problem with how I do things?" he challenged, his voice a menacing rumble that reverberated through the corridor.

The bullies, perhaps underestimating the fierce resolve that lay beneath Leona's laid-back demeanor, stepped back. "Why are you protecting her? Got yourself a new little plaything, housewarden?" one of them jeered, a sinister grin stretching across their face.

Leona's expression darkened, his patience wearing thin. "I protect what's under my care. That's all you need to know," he replied, his words carrying an implicit warning that sent shivers down the spines of the tormentors.

Undeterred, the bullies attempted to taunt him further, their words laced with a futile attempt at intimidation. "Maybe you've got a crush on her, huh?" another one jeered.

Leona's growl intensified, his dominant aura radiating an almost tangible threat. "You're pushing your luck, buddy" he warned, his gaze flickering dangerously.

As the tension escalated, Leona stepped forward, looming over the bullies with an imposing stature that left them visibly unsettled. "Consider this your only warning. Cross me again, and you'll regret it," he asserted, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

The bullies, realizing the gravity of their situation, hastily retreated, their bravado shattered in the face of Leona's unwavering dominance. As they fled the scene, fear etched across their faces, Leona turned his attention back to Y/n.

"You alright?" he asked, the harsh edges of his demeanor softening as he surveyed her. Y/n, still reeling from the confrontation, nodded silently.

Leona, surprising even himself with the depth of his concern, took a step closer. His hand gently cupped Y/n's cheek, his touch surprisingly tender. "I hate to see this pretty face upset," he murmured to himself, his voice a low, soothing rumble.

As the lion helped pick up Y/n’s stuff from the ground, the situation made him angrier and angrier. He’s going to make sure to teach those punks a lesson tomorrow morning during training.”Got yourself a new little plaything?” those words lingering in Leona’s head. Plaything. He scoffs at the idea. Y/n is so much more than that…

In the dimly lit corridors of Night Raven College, the relentless torment aimed at Y/n had attracted the attention of Azul Ashengrotto. As he intervened to protect her, the bullies, recognizing the charismatic housewarden from Octavinelle, shifted their focus to the unexpected adversary.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a hero," one of the bullies scoffed, a malicious glint in his eyes. The leader, emboldened by the presence of a new target, attempted to humiliate Azul. "What's your game, Ashengrotto? Trying to play the savior for this loser?"

Azul's gaze remained unfazed, his smooth composure undeterred. "I suggest you mind your own business," he retorted, his voice carrying a subtle warning. However, the bullies, now fueled by audacity, turned their attention to Y/n once more.

In the face of the renewed onslaught, Azul stepped forward, shielding Y/n with a protective stance. "It seems you're mistaken," he said, directing his attention to Y/n. "This isn't about playing the hero. No one deserves to be treated like this."

The bullies, sensing an unexpected vulnerability in Azul's defense of Y/n, attempted to exploit it. "What's the matter, Ashengrotto? You fancy this loser here?" they sneered, hoping to provoke a reaction.

Azul's gaze flickered, a subtle hint of discomfort betraying his composed exterior. However, he quickly regained his confidence, addressing Y/n with a more reassuring tone. "Don't pay them any mind. Let me take care of this."

Turning back to the bullies, Azul's expression hardened. "You might want to reconsider your actions. I have quite a bit of dirt on both of you, and I'm not afraid to use it. And let's not forget about the Leech Twins—they're always hungry for interesting tidbits."

The mention of the Leech Twins sent a shiver down the bullies' spines, their confidence crumbling in the face of potential repercussions. Sensing their defeat, they slinked away, leaving Azul and Y/n in the now empty corridor.

Azul turned back to Y/n, his usual confidence giving way to a more genuine concern. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice softer now. "Trash like them need people like us to torment, to make themselves feel better.”

Y/n, still reeling from the emotional turmoil, nodded appreciatively. Azul continued to guide her to the Mostro lounge, knowing she will be safe there. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the commanding presence he displayed moments ago.

As they navigated the halls together, Azul couldn't help but feel a twinge of awkwardness. He was normally confident and composed, but Y/n's presence seemed to unravel his polished exterior. He knows all too well what it’s like to be treated like that. And the thought that Y/n had to endure the same thing made him want to protect her more. Like a precious pearl he can’t stand to share with anyone.

In the dimly lit corridors of Night Raven College, Kalim Al-Asim's radiant presence cast a warm glow that contrasted with the shadows of cruelty that clung to the bullies tormenting Y/n. As Kalim approached the scene, unaware of the tension, he couldn't fathom the depths of their malicious intent.

"Hey, what's going on here?" Kalim's voice echoed with genuine curiosity, a beacon of positivity in the oppressive atmosphere.

The leader of the bullies sneered, seizing the opportunity to redirect their malevolence. "Well, well, if it isn't the Scarabian sun himself. What's it to you, Kalim? Lost your little guard dog?"

Kalim chuckled, oblivious to their attempts at humiliation. "Nah, I was just passing by. Just got back from the pop music club. What's got you so worked up?"

Unperturbed, the bullies turned around to face Kalim, attempting to exploit the vulnerability they perceived in his sunny disposition. "Oh, look, he's trying to play the hero. Say, does the housewarden of Scarabia like this little misfit?."

Y/n, still reeling from the earlier torment, looked at Kalim with a mixture of gratitude and surprise. Kalim, however, beamed back, seemingly unaffected by their insinuations.

"What? Well, who wouldn't want to be friends with someone as amazing as Y/n?" Kalim responded, his sincerity disarming in its authenticity.

The bullies persisted, their cruel words attempting to chip away at Kalim's unwavering spirit. "Heh. Do you hear that, Y/n? There’s finally someone willing to put up with your pathetic act of a personality! I guess our little otter here is too stupid to see how worthless you are."

It was when they directed their malice back at Y/n, their words a venomous assault, that Kalim's carefree demeanor faltered. His eyes narrowed, the red glow dimming as a protective instinct took hold.

"Enough is enough," Kalim asserted, his voice carrying an unexpected edge. "You don't get to treat people like this."

Undeterred, the bullies persisted, casting disparaging remarks at both Kalim and Y/n. In response, Kalim maintained his composure, shielding Y/n from the verbal onslaught with unwavering resolve.

When the bullies continued to escalate the situation, Kalim took charge. "That's it. We're done here," he declared, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. He offered a hand to Y/n, helping her to her feet with a reassuring touch.

"Let's get you out of here," Kalim suggested, handing Y/n her scattered belongings. "If you ever feel unsafe, Jamil and I are here for you."

The unease in the bullies' expressions was palpable as they realized their words didn’t affect their targets anymore. Kalim's protective stance and genuine concern for Y/n had disrupted their cruel narrative.

As the bullies slinked away, annoyed by the outcome, Kalim escorted Y/n back to Scarabia. Their walk was filled with moments of comforting silence, punctuated by Kalim's attempts to lighten the mood with his infectious laughter. When Y/n finally gave him a smile back he perked up. “It’s so nice to see you smile again!” The sight gave him new confidence to land a kiss on Y/n’s cheek.

Within the dark corridors of Night Raven College, the tormentors faced an unexpected obstacle in their pursuit of cruelty: Vil Schoenheit. As the charismatic figure stepped into the scene, the bullies exchanged uneasy glances, momentarily thrown off balance by the interference.

"Are you so starved for attention that you resort to tormenting others?" Vil's voice, laced with disdain, sliced through the air. His steely gaze met the bullies', challenging them to proceed.

However, their malevolence knew no bounds. Unwilling to be deterred, the bullies redirected their scorn towards Vil, attempting to humiliate him for daring to protect Y/n. "Look at this, the pretty prince thinks he can play hero. What, do you like the little misfit?" one of them jeered, the venom in his words aimed at both Vil and Y/n.

Vil, however, remained unfazed, ignoring their attempts to provoke him. Instead, he focused on Y/n, helping her up with a gentleness that contradicted the harsh reality they were facing. His fingers delicately corrected her clothing, fixed her tie, and smoothed her tousled hair. Vil's eyes met hers, a silent reassurance passing between them.

"Pay them no mind," he whispered, his breath brushing against Y/n's ear, a gesture that held an undercurrent of intimacy. "They thrive on our reactions."

The bullies, frustrated by Vil's indifference, resorted to physically assaulting Y/n, grabbing her by the shoulder. Before their cruelty could escalate further, Vil's hand shot out like a viper, gripping the offender's wrist with an intimidating strength.

"It's in your best interest to leave," Vil asserted, his voice low and threatening. "I won't tolerate such behavior. Choose wisely."

The bullies, now cowed by the unexpected turn of events, hastily retreated, leaving Vil and Y/n in the aftermath of their confrontation.

Vil escorted Y/n to his dorm, a haven away from the oppressive bullying that had sought to consume her. Inside his room, he offered her a seat and gently handed her a towel, his eyes reflecting genuine concern.

"Take your time," Vil said softly, his hands meticulously tending to a small cut on Y/n's cheek. "You deserve better than the cruelty of those einzellers."

As Vil carefully cleaned the remnants of the bullying, his thoughts betrayed the secret that he harbored in the depths of his heart. He cared deeply for Y/n, and every gentle touch, every word of reassurance, echoed the silent confession he dared not speak aloud.

"You deserve to be treated with kindness," he murmured. “Just make sure to stay by my side, Y/n.”

The dimly lit corridor was transformed into a battleground as Idia Shroud stepped forward, his normally reserved demeanor overshadowed by an unexpected fierceness. The bullies, accustomed to preying on the vulnerable, saw an opportunity to assert dominance over someone they perceived as even weaker — the introverted Idia.

"You think you can protect her?" one of the bullies taunted, a malicious smirk on his face. "What's the weakling going to do?"

Idia, his disheveled hair falling over his determined eyes, stood defiantly, shielding Y/n from the impending storm. The bullies, sensing a perceived vulnerability, closed in on the pair, their laughter echoing through the corridor.

"Why are you even bothering, Shroud? What's in it for you?" another bully jeered, the air thick with arrogance.

Y/n's heart sank, anticipating the onslaught of mockery that was about to befall them both. Idia, feeling the weight of their poisonous words, clenched his fists, his usual anxiety exacerbated by the confrontation.

"Why would someone like you bother to protect her?" another bully chimed in, his tone dripping with contempt. "She's not worth it, and you're just making yourself look like more of a loser."

The bullies, emboldened by their perceived victory, closed in on Idia and Y/n. The pressure intensified, and Y/n's distress became palpable. Idia, however, couldn't bear to see her suffer any longer.

In a moment of unexpected defiance, the blue flames in Idia's hair intensified, shifting to a fiery orange. The air crackled with newfound energy as Idia's eyes blazed with determination. He had reached his breaking point.

"What do you know about worth?" Idia snapped, his usually timid voice cutting through the tension like a samurai sword. "You think you can just waltz around, tormenting others without consequence? Well, think again."

The bullies, now faced with an Idia they hadn't anticipated, faltered as he unleashed a verbal onslaught more cutting than their own. "You want to mock me? Fine. But lay off her. You have no idea what it's like to be her, to carry the weight of your cruelty every day."

As his words hung in the air, Idia's threat escalated. "And if you don't back off right now, I'll make sure your precious devices become my playground. Hacking is my specialty, and trust me, I can make your lives a living nightmare."

The bullies, genuinely frightened by the unexpected turn of events, retreated in haste, leaving Idia and Y/n alone in the aftermath of the confrontation. As the echoes of their footsteps faded, Idia's fiery aura subsided, returning to the familiar blue and turned his attention to Y/n.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softening as he reached out to gently wipe away the tears that still clung to her cheeks.

Y/n nodded, a mixture of gratitude and admiration in her eyes. "Thank you, Idia. I didn't expect..."

Idia cut her off with a dismissive wave. "It's not like I did it for you or anything. I just couldn't stand their stupidity."

As the tension eased, Idia reverted to his introverted self, a visible anxiety settling over him. "I... um, well, I should go. Just forget about it," he mumbled, glancing away.

But as he turned to leave, Y/n caught his hand. "Idia, wait. Thank you," she said, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "You didn't have to do that, but you did."

Idia's eyes met hers, a subtle warmth beneath the layers of his usual aloofness. "Just don't make it a habit of needing my help," he quipped, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. Even though those words escaped his blue lips, in his heart he hoped that Y/n would come to him in her days of need.

In the gloomy halls of Night Raven College, the three Savanaclaw bullies tried to justify their actions as mere play, their voices faltering under Malleus Draconia's piercing gaze. "We were just messing around, no harm intended," one of them stammered, attempting to downplay the cruelty they had inflicted upon Y/n.

Malleus, his patience exhausted, snapped his fingers. In an instant, the bullies were suspended above the ground. The Diasomnia housewarden wasted no time; his eyes met Y/n's, and the look on her face spoke volumes. This was not mere play; it was torment.

Outside, the atmosphere shifted, echoing Malleus's wrath. Lightning flashed, and thunder roared, a visceral manifestation of the storm brewing within him. The bullies, now terrified, were at the mercy of the fae prince's judgment.

With a graceful motion Malleus offered Y/n a hand to help her up. The warmth of his touch was a stark contrast to the chilling air of the college. "Are you hurt?" he asked, genuine concern evident in his eyes.

Y/n shook her head, grateful for Malleus's intervention. As they stood together, the fae prince surveyed the bullies with a cold, calculating gaze. "Explain yourselves," he demanded, his voice like the rumble of distant thunder.

The bullies, now realizing the gravity of their actions, stumbled over their words. Malleus's patience waned, and with another snap of his fingers, he immobilized them once more, this time freezing their levitating bodies.

Turning back to Y/n, Malleus took a step closer, his eyes softening as he surveyed the emotional toll the ordeal had taken on her. "I can make them feel the pain they inflicted upon you, Y/n," he offered, his voice low and filled with restrained fury.

Y/n, however, shook her head again, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and reluctance. "No, Malleus. I don't want that."

Respecting her wishes, Malleus released the bullies, who fell to the ground with a thud before scrambling to flee. The housewarden, however, wasn't finished. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned Y/n's scattered belongings, collecting them with a gentle sweep of his hand.

"Allow me," he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers as he gathered her things. Malleus, his expression softening, lifted Y/n into his arms, carrying her bridal style.

As they navigated the corridors, Malleus's gaze remained on Y/n, a silent promise of protection and comfort. "No one should be subjected to such cruelty," he stated, his voice a low growl.

Once they reached a more secluded spot, Malleus gently set Y/n down. "If ever you need someone to shield you from the shadows, know that I am here," he confessed, his eyes revealing the depth of his emotions.

The lingering thunder outside echoed the storm within Malleus, but his gaze softened, and a hint of vulnerability appeared as he regarded Y/n. "Do you feel safe now?"

Y/n nodded “T-thank you, Malleus… You’re my savior.” Upon seeing her smile Malleus felt his worries wash away. To reflect this new found emotion the storms outside seem to lay down, making way for the sun to reveal its face once again. Malleus kneeled before her, cupping her face in his hand. “I won’t let anyone harm you ever again.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twst fanfiction #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #kalim al-asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #reader insert #twst x reader #this came to be because of my nightmare last night about my bullies from high school #if only a pretty boy would save me then LOL #this is just me reflecting just let me be #vil is such a gentleman i love him so much!!!!#i could do the vice housewardens too if people like to see more!#Tomorrow finally arrives my matras. no more couch!

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