Chapter Text
It all began when Damian had been in the middle of a lesson.
His instructor was a middle aged man with a cruel disposition; harsh in his teachings and quick to anger. He had only just become Damian's new instructor after the last one had been disposed of in a wayward mission.
The man was currently looming over Damian, watching with a critical eye as the boy moved through his katas, unhesitant to correct Damian with a swift hit whenever he showed the slightest bit of faltering. Damian gritted his teeth as he extended his leg at the awkward angle, the move not seeming quite right with his short limbs. His other leg that was planted firmly on the ground began to shake from the strain, making Damian wobble a bit, but he was quick to tense the muscles and fix his posture.
This fact didn't stop his instructor from sneering, and a quick slap struck Damian’s back as the man spoke in a clipped voice, “Wrong. Do it again.”
Clenching his jaw to stop a frustrated groan from escaping, Damian quickly reverted to the form from the beginning of the set. He learned in the early days of his training that public displays of exasperation were not taken kindly by instructors in the league. It would only make the lesson more difficult.
Just as he was beginning to make the first move again, the noise of purposeful footsteps sounded from outside the training room. Damian's instructor glared at the doorway as he made a motion to halt the boy from continuing the kata. He began to stalk forward, preparing to scold whoever was being this loud, but Damian already knew. He had memorized those steps ever since he was a child.
As soon as his Mother appeared in the arched doorway, his teacher's eyes widened and he took a hesitant step back before entering a deep bow. Damian followed in his lead, though his bow was not as low.
Talia slowed her steps as she came upon the teacher and student, stopping as soon as she was in front of Damian. “You're dismissed,” she said while vaguely gesturing to the instructor.
The man gave a quick, “Yes Ms. Al Ghul,” before scurrying out of the room and leaving the mother and son alone.
“Rise Damian.”
Damian lifted his head and met the piercing gaze of his Mother. The green in her eyes swirled as she looked at him and Damian tried not to shiver when he noticed the calculative look in them. It had been roughly five months since he had last seen her, during which Damian had not accomplished anything impressive, so he had nothing in mind for what this unexpected visit could mean.
Talia tilted her head slightly and gave a dull hum, “You are still quite young, only nine years of age… but we do not have the time to wait.”
This made his brows furrow, “Wait? Wait for what Mother?”
“Your presentation Damian. The Demon’s Head is getting impatient,” though she hid it well, there was a hint of stress lining her words.
“Will I... will I not present at 14?” Damian resisted the urge to fidget, keeping his arms still by his side, fists clenched, “That is the average age to present, is it not?”
Talia’s eyes softened around the edges and she dropped to one knee, putting her hands on both of Damian's shoulders as she leveled her gaze with his, “Yes Habibi, but your Grandfather, he grows restless. I would have you stay a pup if it were up to me, but he wants you on a strict training regime that requires your status to be known. We've.. we have found a way to onset the presentation process."
Damian worried his bottom lip between his teeth, taking a few seconds to process her words. A sense of wrongness filled him at the thought of no longer being a pup. Why did he need to present? What was wrong with continuing on as he was?
He could barely keep up with his studies as is, having only just gotten good enough to avoid punishment for falling behind. If he were to present and be put into a harder training regime, it would only lead to more discipline if he was unable to keep up. It would lead to more pain. More disappointment.
Damian didn't want that, but... but no, no he was an Al Ghul, he should be used to pain. It was an honor to be disciplined, to learn from his mistakes. He was the Heir to the Demon’s Head, how could he be unwilling to progress as swiftly as possible?
Ignoring the bubbling pit of anxiety in his stomach, Damian steeled his gaze and nodded, “I understand, it is my duty to the league and the Al Ghul name to advance my training.”
He had thought his words would bring pride to his Mother, but instead it brought out a deep sadness in her expression that confused Damian. Is this not what she was asking of him? Why would his obedience sadden her?
Talia took a deep breath in before letting out a forlorn sigh, “Indeed it is.”
She raised her hands to embrace his face, and Damian felt his breath hitch. Her thumbs traced his cheekbones and he stilled, fearing his movement would make her stop. Something deep inside of him was preening at the rarely shown affection. Talia leaned down and gave a soft kiss to his forehead, bringing a hand up to his hair and smoothing down the messy strands. He instantly became self-conscious of his disheveled appearance but that was washed away as soon as a floral scent of lotus, mixed with nutmeg, filled the air and embraced Damian.
The boy reveled in it, subconsciously producing a deep purr that started at the bottom of his chest and worked its way up. A subtle milky scent filled the air in response.
But just as quickly as it was given, the affection was taken back.
With a small pat to his still pudgy cheek, Talia abruptly stood up and turned around, hurriedly walking away. “Come Damian, we must go to the labs.”
Damian felt the purr die instantly.
The labs.
He hated the labs.
He did not truly know what had happened in his younger years, only able to recall a few fuzzy memories, but just thinking of the horrid place filled him with dread. Vague memories of being poked and prodded, cut open in some instances, for physical enhancements his mother said. The sudden shooting of pain in his limbs, fighting against a hand holding him down, clawing futilely at the muscled arm. A growl of an alpha as he was forcibly subdued, unable to move. Feeling his lungs become unnaturally compressed, unable to breathe.
Damian hated the labs.
“Damian.”
The cold voice of his Mother snapped him back to the present.
Right, that didn't matter now. He had a duty to fulfill. He quickly fell in step behind his Mother, having to stay in a semi sprint to match her long strides. He lowered his eyes as they continued forward, already knowing the route, and watched as the embroidered bottom of his Mother's green robes fluttered over her grey hashimi dress.
His eyes lifted and he took note of the way she walked, elegance in her every step. Although dressed more subtly than usual, she still exuded that venomous regal air that all the Al Ghul’s held. Damian lifted his chin and tried to copy her elegant movements as they walked through the winding hallways of the compound, hoping he embodied half of the regality she had.
As they continued on, Damian began to ponder.
What would he present as?
Daring to look at his Mother again, he tried to take note of anything that gave away her status. She was an alpha and so was Grandfather. As far as Damian was aware, all Al Ghul's had been alphas.
He nodded his head confidently. He will be an alpha.
If not?
Well…
A beta would be the next best choice. An omega,,, Damian did not want to think about it.
Mother had told him long ago about the league hierarchy. How they were what people called traditionalists. Grandfather held alpha's to the highest standard and they therefore had the highest rankings. If you were an alpha in the league, it was without a doubt that you would be trained to be an assassin.
The training mainly focused on ways to harness their instincts. How to dominate any field they stood in, even from the shadows. How to oppress weaker opponents with their pheromones, with their commands. While a person in a pack would be less likely to actually follow through with any commands due to the nature of pack bonds, it could still lead to a moment of hesitancy that allowed for a swift execution. Along with this, brutal acts of violence were rewarded and one's dominance over another was how they moved up in rank. Mother said it was a savage and ruthless system, but the rewards and the recognition gained in the higher ranks appealed to an alpha's pride, making the risk worth it.
Betas in the league were more typically used for espionage missions. They were taught to be more subtle in their ways. While an alpha assassin was used to send a message, to brutally tear up the target, beta assassins were used to gather information, to sow seeds of doubts in their targets, and tear an organization apart from the inside out.
While they did not often get the natural glory of an alpha, they could still become well respected enough in the league if they garnered enough feats under their belt. In fact, a good majority of Damian’s teachers were such beta’s. They were more patient in their training, better equipped to handle an inexperienced pup. He had to be extra careful around his alpha instructors, for they flew off the handle more often than not when faced with failure in their disciples.
Omegas, however, were never assassins. In fact, there were very few omegas in the league. They were the servants, caretakers of the young, the cooks, the gardeners, the ones who maintained the bases instead of defending them. They had their place in the league and it was to cater to their masters.
Mother said Grandfather was ridiculous for keeping this system in place.
Damian had overheard her say it once, slinking in the shadows as he watched with wide eyes as she wrecked her office in a fit of rage. She had trained a young omega girl behind Grandfather's back, sharpening her into a weapon she claimed to be more deadly than even a well trained alpha. Mother had taught her how to use her pheromones to subdue others, make them fall for her meek act, fall for the comfort of an omega, before brutally stabbing them in the back.
After all, who would suspect a poor weak omega?
Mother had claimed excitedly that they could train a group of omegas and make them the deadliest assassins in the league. She believed that this would set their enemies off balance, make it harder to calculate and predict the movements of the league from an outside view. She had sent the young girl out on a mission. The assassination of a prime minister from a random country who had become a bit of a pain, sticking his nose in places he had no business being in.
The girl had returned successful. It elated Mother. She had triumphantly stormed into Grandfather’s office with the news, revealing what she had been doing in secret. Proving to him that his ways were outdated, that they could be progressing faster if he simply conceded to her new plans.
It didn't end well.
Grandfather did not take kindly to the perceived blatant disrespect. Damian still did not know exactly what happened or how it went down, but there was supposedly a public execution held for the omega girl.
That night had been the first time Damian had ever seen his Mother lose her temper. The first time he had ever seen her curse Grandfather's name out loud. It was the first time he had ever given a second doubt to Grandfather’s ways. The first time he-
“Umphf-” Damian let out a surprised noise as he ran into his Mother's leg. She looked down at him with a raised eyebrow and he felt an embarrassed burning sensation take over his face. Damian scurried a small distance away and straightened himself out, dusting nonexistent dust off his training robes. He braced himself for a scolding but was surprised when Mother simply let out another sigh and turned back to the doors they had stopped at. “We have arrived.”
The forgotten dread rushed back into Damian's body and he nodded as he tried to mentally stamp the unwanted feeling back down.
As they entered the room, Damian took note of the eerily sterile white walls and beeping machinery scattered about. Worst of all was the distinct smell of disinfectant that oozed off every surface in the room. There were a few people meandering about, most likely working on the next experiment issued by the league. That experiment being him now, he supposed.
A man in pristine white doctor robes spotted them and grinned brightly when he locked eyes with Damian. From the calming pheromones he was purposefully secreting, Damian naturally assumed he was a beta. The man came close and lowered himself down in front of Damian, probably a tactic to try and soothe him, but it felt demeaning. The skin on the back of his neck prickled at the eager gaze on the man's face.
Damian did not feel comforted like when Mother had knelt before him. Instead, he felt scared as this unknown man leaned towards him with his wide smile, too straight teeth, and overwhelming smell of syrupy sweetness.
“Are you ready for your first injection my little prince?”