||Nightwing/Dick Grayson||one shots!||

A talon caught by a child- thats sad.

Ship: NONE!
Summary: an adult talon was caught by an angsty child. Damian sees this as an opportunity to acquire a new pet.
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3rd pov:
"You can't ground me! I am not a child," Damian seethed.

Father sighed. "Yes, you are, Damian. I am your father, and you will listen to me until you turn eighteen."

Damian scoffed. "Stop acting as if you raised me. You didn't."

"Damian, don't you dare leave," Father warned, but didn't follow him as he released his grappling line and swung off the rooftop.

It wasn't fair! How did Father expect him to be Robin, and yet not let him fight ever ? He was the son of Talia Al Ghul and Batman, he could take every goon in this thrice-damned city without even breaking a sweat. He was not just any other child, he was Damian Wayne.

...And Damian Wayne quickly realized he was being followed.

He sped up, jumping and swinging across rooftops, running every time his feet touched the ground. He was practically flying. Of course, it wouldn't stop his pursuer. He swung to the top of a building with a decrepit-looking facade-- the inside, of course, was perfectly livable, as this was a Bat safehouse.

"Leave me alone, Father!" He shouted, to no response. Damian huffed. "Fine! I promise I won't do any more patrol tonight, okay?"

Father usually left him alone when he didn't want to sleep in the manor. Despite the comfort of his pets, there were such factors as Drake and Todd and his father. There were times when he preferred one of the safehouses he had commandeered, where he was free to hide as many weapons as he wanted without anyone coming and taking them away.

Speaking of weapons, he wished he had brought more as a shadow fluttered in the corner of his vision. He whipped his head towards it.

"If you think you can sneak up on me, you're sorely mistaken! Come out and fight, coward," He hissed. Scanning the rooftops, he could see nothing out of the ordinary. A pigeon pecked disinterestedly at a plastic bag-- which made the same exact sound he had heard as it blew in the wind.

Alright. He was just being paranoid. Chances are he hadn't been followed at all, or perhaps Father had gone after him but turned back around.

He turned around to see a man standing not even ten feet away.

He was wearing formfitting black body armor that covered everything except the top of his neck, face, and black hair. Perhaps 'man' wasn't the correct word-- the suit was familiar to Damian, as was the unnaturally pale skin and the black veins that disappeared under his high collar. They were not usually exposed, but the gold eyes (bright, like molten metal) were a telltale sign.

"A Talon? We got rid of your kind."

The Talon stared blankly at him. Physically, he appeared to be in his mid-to-late twenties. He was lean and fit with a handsome face, although marked by silvery scars barely visible on top of his skin.

"The Court is gone. Demolished," Damian said (well, gloated). "I should put you out of your misery. A Talon, even without a master, is a danger." But upon drawing his sword, he reconsidered. Father had forbidden him from killing with it, saying that if he did it would be taken away from him, and although Father had no right to take anything away from him, it would still be an... inconvenience.

Perhaps Father would give him more freedoms if he acted in ways that would garner his approval without being told. In Damian's mind, killing the Talon would be a mercy. It was lost, and more than that it was already dead. But Father wouldn't have. Father didn't . The Talons that were not euthanized by the Court were still in their cryochambers, peacefully asleep.