I'll be good

Everything is lost

"Welcome home my son."

Damian couldn't breathe; it was as though somebody had gripped an iron-tight fist around his throat, blocking the oxygen from seeping through.

Talia stepped forward, emerging from the shadows and making her presence known, as a predator would when it had its prey cornered. No escape, nowhere to run.

"Where am I?" Damian tried his hardest to sound unfazed by his mother's presence, but his wavering voice had ultimately betrayed him. Watching as a sickening smile formed upon her lips, Damian's pulse began to race, and his stomach turned cold. Talia didn't answer him, but as he peered around the room once more he knew exactly where he was-- of course, he knew where he was-- the heat emitting from the pool alone was as much of a giveaway as any.

He remembered the first time he had stepped foot in this room when his grandfather had deemed him worthy to behold the infamous Lazarus pit. He remembered how his grandfather had reached his hand into the simmering water without any hesitation and pulled it away showing no signs of injury. It amazed him before.

It terrified him now as the realisation finally dawned on him, and memories came flooding back to the forefront of his mind. The fighting. The sharp sting from behind. The pain. It was all there as though he could feel it now. Except, he was alive, and breathing, and soaking.

"What have you done?" Damian whispered, bringing his shaking hands to press against a wound that was no longer there. When his question was met with Talia's silence, he whirled on her, forgetting about the sick feeling in his stomach, "What have you done!" he demanded this time, his growing voice echoing against the still walls.

Talia's smile softened as she observed him, studying the beautiful creation that was once again whole. That was at last back with her, where he belonged. She delicately removed the black fabric that was covering her head, revealing her silky, brunette hair underneath. Damian remembered when he was younger, around three or four years old, how he would stroke her hair to soothe him to sleep on restless nights. It was soft and smooth and belonged to his mother. His mother whom he loved so very much.

"I've brought you home, my boy. Where you belong."

"Why?" he asked, the fight and rage leaving him as he accepted defeat.

Talia raised her brow and scoffed at his question, "Why? Why did I carry you in my arms as you stuttered your last breath? Why did I bring you back to your home, to where you were raised? Why did I save you from dying?" She bellowed incredulously as Damian remained silent where he stood. "You're my son, Damian. No matter what, I will always come back for you."

"But you-- you tried to have me killed."

"No!" Talia cried as she crossed the room, bringing her son into her arms, "that wasn't my doing, I assure you. I would never."

Damian didn't return the hug; it all felt too... off. It was true his mother had always come back for him, even when he refused to go with her, she still pursued. There is nothing more powerful than a mother's love. Until now, Damian had always believed that she had only cared for him because it was her duty to raise the heir to the League of Shadows. After all, his mother would never forget to remind him of why he was here in the first place.

But he could remember things now, things he couldn't before. Memories of warm nights, snuggled against his mother's side as she hummed him to sleep. And now, with the newfound knowledge that she saved his life, that she wouldn't abandon him; it didn't feel like a responsibility heaved upon her shoulders, it felt different.

The same feeling he had felt with them.

The family who had welcomed him with open arms, and the same family who looked at him with abhorrence and mistrust as soon as they discovered his true identity. Just like his mother said they would.