Chapter Text
"Your Highness..."
Komand'r pushed away the Tamaranean who had approached her with a gesture of anger. The wound in her shoulder had reopened, colouring her robe crimson, but she showed no sign of discomfort or pain. She couldn't do it.
There were eyes everywhere, waiting. She had to show herself stronger, untouchable, even when she was dirty with her blood.
In a harsh voice, she said, "I'm fine, there's no need to worry, Xalo’r."
"But..."
"I'm fine," she repeated, her eyes shining briefly, and Xalo’r took a few steps back. Komand'r rejoiced internally, pleased to be able to still arouse terror in her subordinates.
For the moment, a treacherous voice reminded her, and the brief complacency gave way to anger. Without deigning Xalo’r to glance, she left him in the corridor, heading for the communications room.
The pain in her shoulder came back with a vengeance, a stark reminder of her injury. Each step sent jolts of agony shooting through her body, but she gritted her teeth and marched on, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils, mingling with the stale, recycled air of the Garla ship. The fabric of her robe stuck to her skin, warm and wet, a constant, unwelcome reminder of her vulnerability.
Komand'r should not be vulnerable. Haggar's experiments were supposed to make her invincible. Stronger. More durable. More powerful.
So why was she bleeding?
Is it not clear? No matter how much you damn your soul, you will never be enough. There will always be someone more powerful than you, just like your sister...
She took small breaths to control her temper and not start firing beams everywhere, further damaging the ship. As if the disastrous expedition to Earth had not already put it to the test.
When she finally got to the communication room, she was relieved to find no one, and not surprised: there were few people available, and most were busy with repairs.
This left her the possibility of doing what she had to do without witnesses and prying ears.
"Let's get it over with..." she murmured to herself, sitting down to start the call that so distressed her.
The answer was not long in coming. In front of her, a hologram of an elderly General Galra was projected, looking at her, annoyed, "Queen Komand'r. I was waiting for the report of the mission to Earth."
Why didn't you call sooner? , was the implied question, What else have you failed?
Sendak never failed to remind her of her shortcomings in over forty years of working with the Empire, an attitude shared by the witch of Zarkon, always so attentive to her experiments, who looked at Komand'r and wondered why X'hal had cursed her with the other sister and not with the one she wanted.
Komand'r looked at the hologram, a carefully neutral expression as she said, "There was an unexpected reaction, general. The Earth was prepared and there were losses..."
"I don't want any excuses," the general cut short, his tone harsh, his body line revealing all his discontent and barely restrained anger, "Your inability has cost us indispensable resources for this war."
"What resources? The one with almost no army anymore is me," she thought, but wisely she did not voice her thoughts and kept them to herself. When you depended on the mercy of invading aliens, you learned when to speak and when to bite your tongue and endure.
Despite what the general would have you believe, the Galra Empire could not afford to deploy forces to an insignificant planet, not when it had to quell rebellions from the subject planets and face the power vacuum after the death of Emperor Zarkon, with uncertainty as to who should take his place.
All the highest-ranking generals looked at each other in a tralice, convinced that one of them would, with a coup de main, seize power and kill his rivals. It hadn't happened yet, but it was only a matter of time, and Komand'r wasn't betting on Sendak's success.
Sending allies – a nicer way of saying slaves – was the best option to save resources now more precious than ever.
And she knew well what her role was, and she had to take orders and obey.
You are a disgrace to Tamaran, Komand'r. You will lead us to ruin.
She hated remembering her father. She hated even more to think that he was right.
Tamaran no longer existed; the survivors were either soldiers or slaves of the Galra, while she was a puppet queen who kept her title only thanks to the Haggar and the Galra, but she herself knew how fragile that support was, and how unstable her throne was.
"If you want the Earth so badly, you're going to need so much more," she said in a measured tone, "As I said, the Earth is protected."
"According to Haggar, after Darkseid's attack, most of those protections fell," the general noted coldly, taking care not to remember how the Empire did not take advantage of the opportunity because it too had suffered damage from Darkseid's forces, and it had taken years to recover. "And yet, you failed anyway."
"On Earth they have reorganised," the queen defended herself, "There are other protectors. They are strong. They are determined. They destroyed the ships you gave me, eliminated my army. Moroever, they have the support of the Green Lantern Corps."
"How much can a decimated corp make?" Sendak mocked. "Even in the past, they were never a threat. Zarkon crushed dozens of them throughout his reign."
"A handful of Green Lanterns is nothing, that's true," Komand'r was forced to agree. After seeing the Green Lantern Corps at its peak, she had no particular esteem for them. "But an alliance between them it could be a risk for all of us."
"Are you suggesting that wretched earthlings can go against the Galra Empire?"
She almost wanted to laugh in his face for the offended tone used. Instead, with a carefully neutral expression, she replied, "The paladins were earthlings, weren't they? What's the difference?"
She saw him quiver, "Voltron's Lions are an ancient power, superior to anything else in the galaxy."
The Red Lion is powerful, my daughter. It's a greater power than you can hope to handle.
Her hands began to shake. It was hard to hide it. "They were an ancient power. The paladins are dead, and the Lions have disappeared with them.“
The general made an angry cry, "No, they aren't They reappeared, inexplicably. And it looks like they're heading for Earth."
They must have had second-hand news about Galra's plan to invade the planet. The fact that they didn't know about the failure of the invasion said a lot about both how the Empire handled information and propaganda, and where the paladins' priorities were.
It was logical that they would give priority to their home planet and not to the others who needed to be liberated. It was a weakness to be exploited much earlier, and she wondered if the reticence to invade the planet earlier was due to an error of judgment on Zarkon's part – very likely, if the rumors of his attempts to recover the Black Lion were true – or a serious underestimation of the paladins. Which could also be the case.
"They will find powerful allies waiting for them," she said with little interest, "We are just lucky that the earthlings will not attack us sooner. They won't dare, not when I have a hostage."
A hostage who was quite seriously injured, but this Sendak didn't need to know. And neither did the Justice League, if she didn't want them to try to attack her or the Galras.
She hoped that the doctors would give priority to the hostage. Negotiations over a corpse were useless.
"That's an advantage to use," Sendak agreed for once, "But we can't allow paladins to reach Earth. And as much as I would prefer to do it personally, circumstances prevent me from doing so. You will take care of it, Queen Komand'r."
This surprised the tamarean, "Is there no one else who can take care of it? At the moment, I don't think I can..."
"Of course you can take care of it," the man cut short. If it had been anyone else, disrespecting a queen in this way would have cost their head. But she wasn't a real queen, was she? Hers was just a title, nothing real, as well as her power over her people. "Despite your many failures, you are still one of the greatest assets of the Empire, thanks to Haggar. Prove your usefulness, and capture the paladins. “
"This is..."
"Remember the consequences of disobeying orders," he reminded her coldly, "Don't let us down again."
With that, he cut off communication, leaving Komand'r alone, silent. She ran a hand over her face, holding back a hysterical giggle with difficulty, the stench of blood filling her nostrils.
"Remember the consequences of disobeying orders," she repeated, in her best imitation of the arrogant general. Then her expression became harsh, "As if it were possible to forget Haggar's care."
She slammed her hand on the console. It was a mistake.
"Damn," she hissed. Maybe she will have to give in and get checked. Much later. When no other observers are hovering nearby, and she can afford a moment of weakness that she will make sure no one will ever know.
Damian floundered. He saw blurred. The world around him swam in a sea of indistinct shapes and colours, like a watercolour painting left out in the rain. He heard murmurs—voices, distant and muffled. They were discussing something important, something he couldn't quite grasp.
"The organs are failing!"
"He's losing too much blood."
"We have to stabilise it! The queen said..."
He lost track of what they were saying. His eyes struggled to focus, but the effort was futile. His head was a foggy mess, a pounding pattern of pain that made his thoughts crawl like ants through molasses. Damian's body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending a live wire dancing in agony. He gritted his teeth, willing the world to come into focus, but it remained stubbornly out of reach. The sounds around him grew louder, more insistent, yet no clearer. It was as if he were underwater, trying to hear a conversation happening above the surface.
"Last time it was faster," he thought indolently, as he felt his whole body spasms.
Dying was an unseemly affair, but in his line of work, it was common. He knew it was always a possibility. Men better than him had died, and they had not returned. Damian had done it twice, and some days he wondered why.
Why him and not father? Why him and not Richard?
If Waller was right and Earth needed Batman, why was he the one who came back and not them?
The questions danced in Damian's mind, taunting him as the world faded to black, the heart that struggled desperately not to give in.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound of his heart echoed through his ears, a frantic rhythm that seemed to fill the vast emptiness around him. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic cacophony of the medical bay, a solitary beat that grew increasingly weaker. The thumps grew closer together, a race against the ticking clock of his life, each pulse a declaration of his body's refusal to let go.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The world outside his pain-filled haze grew quieter, the voices dimming to whispers. The pressure in his chest mounted, a crescendo that threatened to shatter the fragile cage of his ribs. His heart was fighting, refusing to fall in the face of defeat. Damian's mind floated on the precipice of consciousness, a silent observer to his body's desperate struggle.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The beats grew more distant, as if his heart was slowly retreating into the shadows of his soul. The fiery pain ebbed and flowed like the tides, each wave crashing against his sanity. He could feel himself slipping away, the cold embrace of oblivion beckoning him into its peaceful abyss.
Thump. Thump. Thump...
And then, there was only silence.
When Damian opened his eyes again, there was no cold embrace of death, but rather the warm, comforting light of the Wayne Manor's living room. It was a sight that brought a peculiar mix of relief and confusion. He took a deep, ragged breath and felt the soft fabric of a couch beneath him. The air was tinged with the faint scent of leather and the distant aroma of Alfred's cooking, a beacon of comfort in a sea of chaos.
Damian sat up with a start, his head spinning. He heard whispers and echoes that he was sure were calling him.
Rise...Damian Al-Ghoul ...rise...rise...
"I wouldn't listen to them if I were you. It's not the call you should answer," a painfully familiar voice said. The whispers stopped suddenly, and Damian looked ahead. A man was standing by the fireplace, the flickering light casting dancing shadows on the walls, and Damian knew him.
"Richard," he said, his voice breaking, feeling as small and helpless as a child again, like the first time they had met.
The man turned around and smiled at him, "Hey, little D. We haven't seen each other for a while. “
"Twenty years," he replied, his voice breaking. "Or ten, if you count the time I died. Too long, if you want my opinion, Richard."
"Too little, if you want mine," the other replied, beckoning him to come closer, "I would have hoped you would have reached eighty years of age, surrounded by animals and without having to worry about having to save the world."
"It's not in the Wayne tradition," Damian said, approaching cautiously. He didn't know if it was a hallucination due to the lack of oxygen in his brain or if he was really with Grayson after so long, but all gods be damned if he didn't take advantage of it. "I missed you, Richard."
"I missed you too, baby bird," the man said, ruffling his hair and struggling because Damian was so much taller than him, "No more baby now, huh? God, look at you. You're taller than me. Probably bigger than Jason."
"Unfortunately, Todd has remained superior to me in that aspect, despite abandoning his life as a vigilante."
"Really? Is he happy now?"
"He is," Damian confirmed, "Living away from Gotham has been good for him, as has the company of the Amazon."
"Did he and Artemis get together in the end? And did it last?"
The surprised tone was not so much disbelief at their brother's abilities as at the fact that life did not torment them all, making them unhappy at every possible opportunity.
"Yes, it lasted. They are together even though there is no marriage bond between them, and they have had two daughters. The eldest name is Rachel..."
He did not need to say in honour of whom the girl had been named, almost fourteen years old and with all the pride of her parents.
"And the others?" Grayson pressed, and Damian was happy to reply, "Drake and the clone married and have formed a family together, Cassandra and Brown had adopted another child after Crystal. Thomas, after a series of problems related to his powers and his biological father, has finally managed to build a stable relationship."
"None of the others hung up their mantle?"
Faced with his silence, Grayson sighed, "I had to imagine it. Sacrificial idiots, all of them."
"Earth needs heroes, Richard."
"I know, I know, little D. Why does it have to be you, though?"
It was a sensible question. Apart from a few of them, the others were not born with the weight of a legacy on their shoulders, nor with powers that were to be used for anything, preferably not to attempt world domination.
"We didn't choose it," he replied, inspired by what he had heard from the new Wonder Girl, "The circumstances didn't help. But once we're in it, we can't just not do something. I think that's the feeling felt by Drake and the others."
Grayson looked at him, "And you, little D? I remember you didn't want to be Robin anymore. You wanted to be a doctor."
"I have become one," he said, proud of his achievement. Pride that was immediately extinguished when he had to add, "Unfortunately, I don't practice, except when I help Dr. Thompkins in her clinic. I don't have time, and having a secret identity is not ideal with hospital shifts."
"Oh, little D. I'm sorry..."
He made a quick gesture with his hand, "Don't mind. I have taken up my legacy."
"You didn't want to do it, though. You wanted a normal life."
"I wasn't born to be normal," he would once say with the haughtiness instilled in him by his mother and grandfather. He was a prince, he was a superior being, he was someone to be feared, because the world would be his. Now he said it with resignation, aware of the cost of a birth like his, "I had to do it. The situation with Waller was just the last push I needed to take on the role."
"Has she tried to create a clone army of heroes again? It's amazing how, even after Brother Blood's spell, certain things don't change," Grayson tried to joke, but his tone lacked any hint of sarcasm.
"She created a clone of father. A defective teenage clone. He... He didn't survive," it still hurt him to say, thinking about how, if he had only been faster, he could have saved him. He had not succeeded, just as he had not been able to stop Waller in time. There had been others. Other experiments, other kids born only to satisfy Amanda Waller's megalomania.
"It wasn't your fault," Grayson grabbed his arm to reassure him, but Damian made a resigned expression, "Wasn't it? You would have saved him, Richard."
His brother squeezed tighter, and it was a strong, reassuring grip. He said, "Damian, I wasn't infallible. I haven't been able to save many people either. Hell, not even Superman could save everyone."
He opened his mouth to reply when Alfred entered the hall, carrying a tray of biscuits. When Damian saw him, he felt his eyes tingle.
"Pennyworth..."
"Young master," the butler greeted him, "I'm glad to see you again, though I would have hoped it would take longer. It's been too little time since the last time."
"I don't remember," Damian replied, feeling a lump in his throat. "I remember my first death, but the second..."
"Don't force yourself to remember," was another voice speaking. He felt his knees weak when he saw his father appear behind Pennyworth, the legend he had tried to live up to, and to whom he always felt compared, "Your mind is trying to protect you. The resurrection was complicated."
He clenched his fists, "I know. I was told that it took time. My soul was lost."
"It wasn't lost. It was hurt. You've had to endure so much, son. You just wanted to rest," father's voice was grave as he said it, and Damian couldn't help staring at him, impressing in his mind the details and similarities to the man he had barely known, "I'm sorry you still can't get the rest you want."
He frowned, "What does that mean? I am here with you. It's over."
"No, little D," Grayson turned to him, "It's not over yet. Bruce is right, there's still a lot to do."
He was afraid of hearing such a thing. Almost resigned, he said, "Earth is in danger, and the Justice League needs me..."
"No," his brother interrupted, surprising him, "You still have so much to do, Damian. You have devoted yourself completely to fighting crime, helping others, forgetting that you have a life beyond the cowl. The others are happy, but you?"
"I am... satisfied," the words came difficult to him, because deep down he knew it was not true. He saw the lives of his siblings, how, despite everything, they had settled into a sort of normality. They had moved on, while he was blocked. It was true, there wasn't much for him beyond the cowl, but as had already been clearly said, there was a need for Batman, not Damian Wayne.
"You know, for a professional liar, one can read it in your face when you tell a lie," Grayson tried to be cheerful as he said it, but his eyes were veiled and sad.
He was feeling pity for Damian, and it was almost unbearable to see.
"What your brother means," father interjected, before Damian began a philosophical disquisition on the nature of lying, "It's obvious that you've given up so much to be Batman. And you didn't live entirely. “
"Many haven't," he retorted, and instinctively his gaze fell on Richard, who, of course, noticed immediately, "Damian, I lived. I was also Dick Grayson, not just Nightwing and then Batman. I made my mistakes, I loved, I had a family..."
"Why then should I live and you shouldn't? Why should I come back when your child hasn't even had a chance to live?" he asked, not understanding the total illogic of it all.
Richard was about to answer, but no words came out of his mouth. Damian turned, and the faces of his father and Pennyworth were white masks.
The relatives in the room vibrated, starting to crumble, sending white flashes out of the ripples.
He felt Richard's hands grab him tightly on the biceps and force him to turn towards him. Half of his brother's face was gone.
"Listen to me, Damian. There's no time, you're about to go back. You won't be in a good situation, but I know that you will get out of it one way or another. I have so many things I would like to tell you, but I have to limit myself. First, give Jon a chance..."
"Have you gone crazy? That vile alien does not deserve ..."
"Second," Grayson didn't give him a chance to list his rightful grievances against the alien, his face was turning white faster and faster, "You're a detective, little D. Look. Who is missing in this room now?"
"What..."
"Who is missing, Damian?" he repeated, and before Damian could understand the answer, his face disappeared, and the whole room was swallowed up by the light, forcing him to return to the other side.
Damian's mind dwelt on his brother's last words as life claimed him with arrogance.
Who is missing?
"The paladins have been successfully captured, Queen Komand'r," a soldier told her, after Komand'r sent a message to the Justice League that can be summed up in the always effective formula: attack us, and your friend will die.
The Kryptonian had not reacted well and had promised her a very graphic death, and she believed him. She had a wound that was still bleeding thanks to him. But not even the Kryptonian would have been foolish enough to attack her, risking the life of his beloved.
She had gained precious time, which she intended to take full advantage of, using it for the mission that Sendak had assigned her. A mission that her soldiers had already completed while she was busy.
Komand'r didn't expect it would be so easy. To be honest, she expected more from those who were proving to be a thorn in the side of Sendak and the Empire, not that they would be surprised as amateurs.
It had been an unexpected stroke of luck for her, and Komand'r won't complain, nor will she wonder if, perhaps, there was a chance for her to overthrow the Galra and save her people, if those were the Empire's most formidable enemy.
She won't give in to temptation, not again, but the thought was so sweet, so...
“… besides, there is a half-Tamaranean between them..."
"What did you say?" she asked, realising that the soldier had continued to speak while she was lost in her thoughts (daydreams barely touched, the song of freedom that was heard, but she could not give in, she could not, she could not...)
The soldier pursed his lips but repeated, "Based on the scans we took when they arrived, one of the paladins is a half-Tamaranean. What should we do with the traitor?"
She was about to answer nothing. After all, the Galra would soon take care of the paladins. But she felt a feeling of unease.
A half-human, half-Tamaranean paladin. It could not be possible: that day, the Galra took everyone, killing those who opposed, and leaving those too sick to be useful to perish. There was no way anyone could have reached Earth. And the only hybrid she knew of had died with his mother.
"Your Highness?" the soldier repeated, waiting for orders.
Komand'r should leave the matter to the Galra. She had done her part. But there was a Tamaranean hybrid on board that shouldn't exist, and twenty years had passed, and if he was the right age, it would have meant that in the end, it was always her sister who had to have the last word.
She needed to see the half-breed herself. She needed a DNA test.
If he turned out to be who she feared, there was only one thing Komand'r should do.
Kill him.
Coming back to life and being thrown into a cell without too much ceremony, was at the time a 4 in his experience of resurrections.
Drake would have added something shrewd on Not Funny, I wouldn't do it again, but Damian was beyond such baseness.
Although he felt inclined to leave himself in certain comments, his mind was not fully functioning.
Damn drugs. The aliens were right to give him some, since he was perfectly capable of escaping from there even without any device, even in a currently altered state like his.
He only needed a minute. Maybe a few more. But he had a plan. A plan that he intended to implement at the right time.
And when he heard voices outside his cell, he knew the time had come.
“… there might still be someone here..."
“… we have to reach out to others..."
“… I know, I know... Quiznack, I'm not stupid..."
Damian would attack his captors, take whatever weapon he could use, and get out of there. Grayson was right to say that he would get away with it one way or another.
He would not have waited for help (help that would not have arrived, he would not have come, it was useless to rely on someone who had made it clear what he thought of Damian and the disgust he felt towards him.)
When the cell door opened, Damian froze. It was not a Galra or Tamaranean soldier who looked at him, but Grayson. Even wearing a helmet, Damian couldn't go wrong. He would recognise that face anywhere.
"I'm hallucinating now," Damian muttered to himself, as the boy stared at him, uncertainly, "Mhm, pretty sure I'm not a hallucination."
"That's what a hallucination would say, Richard," he said, knowing he sounded petulant. Whatever the Galra had given him to keep him quiet, it was stronger than many of the drugs he had become accustomed to during his training with the League of Assassins.
It was only for this reason that he risked falling forward. Fortunately for him, he was promptly grabbed by the boy. It was a strong, solid grip, and not a hallucination.
Damian looked up, meeting eyes that reminded him of a dead man, and the other said, "You confused me with another person. My name is not Richard. It's Lance."