Trickery (A Damian Wayne Story)

Grayson

I turn to face the wall, looking over the books that are stacked neatly next to each other. It's a facade. If anyone were to find the secret compartment they would merely discover another library, with Father's personal favorite novels inside, and a chaise on one end. I had taken the liberty to code myself into the biometrics of this room, and all other secret rooms, when I'd first arrived here a few months ago. Now, I unlock the door, which opens silently, and stand in the more used room. The door shuts behind me and if I didn't know it was there the seamless wall would look like just that; seamless. I can hear voices on the other side, a voice that sounds a lot like mine, speaking in a kind tone. Too kind for the words he's saying. I wonder how long they bought it before the kid was forced to reveal himself as a fake.

I peer through the tops of the books, watching myself walk around the four bats who are tied in the middle of the room. Drake's head hangs low, unmoving. Todd looks defeated, and for the first time ever, so does Father.

"I'm glad Mother and I were able to trick you, Father." The boy circles and stands in front of Batman, who glares up at the boy tiredly. He's wearing a dark shirt and loose pants; casual clothes. Clothes he could wear to bed if he wished. The bats are all still tied, which means either the knots are the best knots anyone has ever knotted, or my family is injured somehow. They sit still, not even bothering to struggle. "I've upgraded the mansion," the boy says. "Your traps and security measures weren't nearly as morbid as they need to be. I always knew you were an imbecile, but it hadn't been entirely confirmed until Mother finally agreed to let me study you."

I watch Todd struggle against the ropes keeping his arms securely against his sides. "Damian snap out of it. Your mother brainwashed-" his voice is cut off in a scream, the crackling of electricity soaring through the air. A blue light illuminates the boy's victorious eyes.

"Oh Todd." The boy moves to stand in front of him right as the electricity stops and Todd slumps in his chair. "You've always been so rude to me, even when you thought you were not. You insist on playing the big brother, even after Grayson has taken claim to the role. You're still trying to follow in Golden Boy's footsteps. Pathetic." He raises his voice to address the whole room, circling back around to face Father, "The boy you wish to save has never existed. I am impervious to manipulations. No matter how much effort you fools waste on my peasant education I will never be retaught the things you wish to reteach. I am the son of Talia Al Ghul, and have trained under the regime of my grandfather, R'as Al Ghul. I'm sure you've heard of him. His life knows no bounds, of course, and neither does mine. It's something none of us in this room have in common."

So he's pretending he's me still. He's pretending that this has all been part of an elaborate plan. And he's threatening my family.

"What are you waiting for then?" Todd growls from the left side of Drake. He's facing away from me, so I can't see his face. "Why don't you just kill us already?"

"Well that would be no fun."

"I didn't take you as sadistic."

The boy steps forward, anger and aggression showing through the calm as he looks into Todd's face. "You didn't take me as anything," the boy snaps. "I'm better than you. I fooled you. All of you."

"Not me."

The voice comes from the other side of the bookshelves, where Pennyworth sits strapped to an armchair. The lights are poorer over there, so his face is shrouded in darkness. Obviously the butler is unimportant to the boy. An imprudent mistake.

The boy turns, "Oh?"

"You always were a troublesome little brat," Pennyworth says, and the venom in his voice makes my throat constrict. "I didn't trust you from the beginning, I didn't fall for your act. Instead, I watched you. You made yourself right at home here, never uncomfortable. I knew it couldn't be real. You had too much information on this place, too much arrogance. It was your first mistake."

The boy doesn't seem insulted. He nods, as if agreeing, "Yes I admit. I wasn't careful about hiding my tracks. I did everything in plain view. Honestly I didn't think it would stay under Father's nose, so I didn't bother with the extra precaution. I should have been watching you, Pennyworth."

"Indeed," the old butler agrees. "You should have paid attention to me. I knew exactly where you went when you went there." He looks up, directly at where I'm peering through the small slits between the shelf and the uneven tops of the books. "I know exactly where you are now."

I give him a small, subtle nod, unsure if he can actually physically see me, or if he has some superhuman sense that tells him where I stand.

I step back and send a powerful kick into the shelf, letting the books and splintered wood rain down into the floor in a thundering noise. The two conscious bats in the middle jump practically out of their skin. The boy himself whips around, startled beyond comprehension.

His eyes widen as they zero in on me. "But-you're supposed to be-"

I scoff, but no words escape my lips. I'm too furious to speak and I try to convey my anger on my face. The boy backs up, and it seems effective. He's going to call for help, send in reinforcements and I find myself wishing he'd get on with it quicker. I'm ready to stab a few goons. My sword sits comfortably across my shoulders.

"Maybe I underestimated you," the boy says. "But if I'm not mistaken your body isn't in that great of shape. How long has it been since Father saved me?"

Long enough for me to heal, I think. I jump forward right as the boy slams a hand onto his chest. I watch as his outfit morphs, bruises blossoming on his face to match mine and when I land on top of him it's like looking into a mirror. What kind of technology is this?

My fist swipes across his face twice before the boy manages to grab it and throw me off. I flip midair to face him, blocking the elbow he aims my way. We both land, spinning to perform the same kick and end up falling back in sync. We start forward again, like a projection of the same being. He's programmed with my moves. The ones Mother taught me. But he doesn't know Father's style. Or Grayson's.

Like playing rock paper scissors and throwing the same sign, we battle back and forth. I let myself settle into the rhythm, dancing with the boy around the room, before I'm able to predict his next move, since it's ultimately my move. I duck instead of block, surging the heels of my hands upwards to drive them into his nose. He dodges swiftly, but too late and I manage to land a blow on his chin that knocks him back. I jump forward with a kick he can recognize, before switching it midair, throwing my legs down and slamming my fists into his head. He falls down, fully down, a dazed look in his stupid fake eyes.

The library doors burst open with a palpable panic and I grab the boy off the ground, pinning his arms tightly behind his back with one hand and pressing the gun under his chin with the other. I face the door, surprised to see Grayson there, all decked out in his Nightwing costume, eyes wide.