Nightwing looked at Batman and knew exactly what he was thinking.

"You're sure about this Bruce?" He asked, concerned.

Between fastening the pouches of his utility belt and checking their units, Batman said, "He's my son. He's missing-"

"He left." Dick stopped him short. "Damian walked out to God knows where freely- and to do God knows what!"

The man placed a hand on Batman's shoulder and the Dark Knight paused, looking up. Dick had a wisdom about him, he knew. But in that moment, Batman didn't know if he cared to listen.

"Look, Damian's an adult and he knows what he's doing. How do you think he's going to feel when old bat-dad comes swanning in to his business, dragging him home before curfew?" Dick sighed. "This isn't the first time Damian has gone off on his own for a few days-"

"-two weeks-"

"-and we all remember how badly the last times went down..."

With a pop of bubblegum, Stephanie reminded them of her presence. She nodded along to Nightwing's words. Batman stared accusatorially at her, and, backed in to a corner, the Spoiler held up her hands, "Hey, he isn't a kid anymore. I say give him a week, and if he doesn't at least DM someone that he's alive, we go all-guns-blazing for him."

Nightwing tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, as if to say 'that's fair'.

With any other context, maybe. Maybe Bruce would have stayed home, tried to track his son down from there. But he had demons on his mind. Looking at Dick, he could see that the man wasn't going to let him follow Damian's trace. The bond between them was something Bruce knew he couldn't trespass on.

But if he couldn't seek Damian out, perhaps there was someone who could...

Zatanna Zatara was a phone call away. And then his son would be only a spell away.
***

A few days prior, Raven had been plagued, in her nights, by sordid tricks curtesy of her dear brother, Jacob.

She retained barely a wisp of their content upon waking, and huffed her frustration at not being able to piece the remaining feelings in to a full picture. All the empath had was a profound, confusing longing (she felt much more inclined to indulge it than be embarrassed) and the idea of it having to do with that man- the Robin...the Al Ghul.

Over a pot of coffee, one particularly groggy morning in Gotham, Raven resolved that it mightn't have been fair to stake all the blame on Jacob. For all she knew, that devilish Klarion could have sent them her way in jest, or fate of some kind. Then again, Raven snorted, it could've been her subconscious setting up its own theatre in her dreams.

Raven did her best to push thoughts of him away throughout the day. She ambled through her work, sorting through the magical transactions of her uncle Lucifer: checking and double-checking the fine-print. Magical legal business was no light matter, but it passed tiresomely. That it's, until a gentle tapping on the door sounded.

Zatanna was out so Raven opened it, pausing first to rub her eyes and stretch her arms.

At the sight of her visitor, Raven perked up instantly, "Klarion! That quickly?"

The Witch Boy leant on the doorframe and grinned, "Sweetheart you won't believe what I've found."

Raven practically dragged him inside, closing the door behind her with a flick of a finger. She beelined for the kettle, plonking Klarion on a chair at the small kitchen table.

"Tea?" She said.

"Oh bucketloads!" Klarion enthused.

The empath gestured to the levitating kettle, "I meant the drinking kind..."

The Lord of Chaos agreed to a cuppa, nestling in to the wooden chair and throwing his jacket over the back.

✨five minutes later✨

"Nooo... hold on, hold on a sec...so Talia Al Ghul had a thing with Bruce Wayne aka-"

"Batman! I know! It's crazy..." Klarion leant over the table.

"So..." Raven set her mug down and lay a finger over her lips. "Damian Al Ghul, heir of the Demon, Prince to a guild of murderous Assassins, is Robin...good-guy and Titan, Robin. Not only that, but both assassin prince and Robin are also charming...gorgeous...bachelor billionaire's son...Damian Wayne..."

"Yes! That's what I'm saying!"

Raven laughed incredulously, "I mean, I knew Robin was Damian Wayne, but connecting all three? Damian Wayne is an Al Ghul. Dick- Nightwing- never mentioned that."

"Oh there's more!" Klarion shushed her, waving his hands animatedly. "I forgot, I forgot- you won't believe this one!" He gushed. "Your Damian Al Ghul Wayne has his fingers in pies you couldn't imagine - no that's not a euphemism Raven get your head out of the gutter-" Klarion tutted and sipped on his tea to build suspense. "I mean...politically. Our kind of politics. In the magical realms.

Honey I've heard about coups and government collapses and sex scandales and..." he smirked, "Brace yourself-"
***

A bag slung over one shoulder, a pin in one hand, Raven tapped her boot on the floor and bit the inside of her cheek. She knew the spell; she'd devoted hours to the theory of it. Now, standing before the miniature globe, Raven steeled her nerves.

She closed her eyes and drew her hood over her head to block out as much light and sound as possible. This wasn't her Azarathian cloak, worn with its accompanying suit and gloves; Raven needed to look like...like nothing to be looked at. Pedestrian. A grey hooded jacket she owned, loose trousers and a light t-shirt would suffice, she reckoned.

The pin, green-headed, hovered before her. Raven's signature purple glow encased it. She breathed. Her hand rose, fingers peeking out of ripped gloves, and the pin lifted high.

She spoke the words and her gut tugged with the magic drained from her.

The globe spun on its axle until the pin jabbed in to the wood.

Huh, Japan.

That's where Damian was.

Raven shut her eyes tight again and tethered her energy to the fine point of the pin, putting her palms together. Scrunching her face tight, Raven pulled her middle and pointer fingers away from that of the opposite hand. She peeked one eye open.

A circle of grass faced her, blowing gently in the wind. The breeze passed through the window a million miles away, kissing her face with a more refreshing air than she'd tasted in months in Gotham.

Raven grinned and dropped her hands, satisfied. A success!

But there was caution to be had still. Raven moved about, squatting and squinting to see more around the place from her peephole. And there it was, the crest of some abode close by, behind some trees. Certainly Japanese by the style of the roof alone. And occupied to, by the thrum of auras that beckoned her from so far away.

One of them ought to be his, she thought.

Tapping back in to the magic of the portal, Raven pressed her hands together again; she threw them wide open and the portal expanded, large enough to walk through.

Bag on her back, grey hood over her head, Raven passed through with ease, stepping from wooden floorboards on to springy grass. From then on, it was a quick, cautious march to the building,

Overwhelmed was a feeling Raven more-than understood. She'd known 'overwhelming' that had crawled in her skin and compressed her soul. 'Overwhelming' that stabbed at her until the torture was enough to shatter the chains of her demons.

This was its antithesis. Oh the whisperings of wind-spirits through the leaves... Raven wondered that she'd never put more thought to pursuing the life of a witch of nature. To learn in green faerie groves like this, live in their dainty streams and motherly oaks, would be a serene life worth living.

But there was a time for wistful thinking, and a time for keen senses and a level-head.

Raven darted through the comfortable foliage and came at once upon stone. Grey cobbles paved a fine courtyard, ringed by wooden pillars from which hung unlit lanterns awaiting sundown. Waiting, imposing, at the top of the courtyard was the building that she'd seen. A single storey, stretching widely in a perfect picture of craftsmanship.

Raven rued that she hadn't worn a cloaking spell. A figure clad in uniform white ran in to the building. They'd seen her.

She could retreat. She could run out of the trees and through the valley- or better yet, straight in to Zatanna's living room via a kindly portal. But Raven ha learnt long ago that she was strong- stronger than was ever anticipated of her. She had purpose and instinct enough to deliver her to what she wanted. Pride didn't run away.

Besides, the Fates had to be a little kind to her now- they had a dept in her favour. But that's another story for another time.

Forcing calm upon herself, Raven stepped in to the centre of the grey courtyard. Head lifted, she walked forwards, at a careful pace she forced on her legs. There was no point in looking pedestrian now. In a glimmer of purple, her Azarathian cloak draped itself comfortable over her shoulders.

The doors to the building slid open with a vengeance. The two of them moved so quickly that Raven almost staggered.

A dagger pressed to the small of her back; a sword lain against her throat.

Raven's eyes glanced to the edge of her periphery. He stood behind her, unmistakeable.

"I'm here with a proposition," she began, "not an attack. Can we talk inheritance, Damian?"

A.N:

Hello guys!

I hope you liked that chapter! I promise much more of Damian in the next so stay tuned! Thank you all :)

-Bats