Damian's Sister

The Girl

~ The Girl ~

"I need you, Daire," the mother said. "Damian needs you."

The girl couldn't look at her mother. Her glare pointed at the ground. Her fists were so tight, her nails bit into her palms.

Crying is for the weak; crying will get me beat.

She silently chanted the rhyme her mother taught her when she was two. Crying was forbidden. Any sign of weakness was. Of course, family seemed to give some leeway but not much.

Her brother's and her relationship seemed to be the exception. Once her grandfather realized it made the duo train harder, he allowed it.

"There's no way Dami is dead," the girl protested. "He can't be." Her brother was one of the best fighters she knew. At eight years old, he put up a decent fight against Ra's Al Ghul. He never won, but he did better than most of Ra's students. He had been trained since birth. The girl was good, too, but not as talented as her little brother.

The mother stepped forward, sorrow in her green eyes. She put a light hand on her daughter's shoulder. "He's dead, Daire. My beloved killed him."

"But- But his father doesn't kill. It's not his M.O."

Her rough palm gently cupped the child's cheek. "People change, Daire. My beloved changed."

"But how did he find Damian? I thought he didn't know about him."

"Slade Wilson. Now known as Deathstroke."

"Grandfather kicked him out."

"He came back. He killed Ra's Al Ghul."

"Unlikely. The Pit would bring him back."

Talia shook her head. "His body was badly damaged. Not even the Pit could save him."

Daire took a step back. "But- but Grandfather."

Her mother was a skilled liar. She never hesitated and had the eye of a hawk. Still, Daire trusted her. What reason would her mother have to lie? While it was unlucky Ra's was dead, it wasn't impossible. Daire had seen the impossible happen. But death was death. Her grandfather had cheated death a thousand and one times. But death eventually gets everyone. There is no escaping death.

That's why Ra's Al Ghul was training Damian. Damian was the heir to the League of Assassins. He was born to kill, and he was good at it. His cold eyes and isolation made it difficult for him to act like innocent child, but people still put their guard down around the boy. He killed like his mother and grandfather before him: without hesitation. Her little brother had a soft side. He was human. Actions based on emotions weren't encouraged, but there was little they could do to stop emotions altogether. Besides, his passion was his greatest weapon.

"He's dead, Daire. They're both dead," insisted her mother. Her green eyes swarmed with strength and determination. Strangely, her eyes showed barely any sorrow or grief. But that was to be expected of the woman. She was raised from birth to be an assassin. "Help me rebuild the League. Slade Wilson and the Batman made quite a dent. Damian would have wanted you to help. You know how loyal he was to the League. Join me. Kill your brother's killer. Avenge him. Save the League. It's what Damian would want."

"It's what Dami would want," the girl repeated, closing her eyes. It did sound like him. Dami never failed. Never. He loved Grandfather, Mother, and the League of Assassins. He would have died fighting. His father must have put up quite the fight. Dami was a skilled fighter. Not like Daire. Daire could practice more than Dami and still not be as good. Dami has the talent for fighting.

"Yes. It's what Damian would have wanted," the mother assured. Daire could hear the small smile in the woman's voice. Daire wasn't much of a killer- it was why she got kicked out of the League- but she would kill if necessary. "Join me, Daughter. Help me rebuild the League your brother loved."