Talon chapter 17

Chapter 17 - Aftermath

Warmth.

That was the first thing Harry felt.

It was gentle and soft, as if someone had wrapped the world in a blanket and tucked it into the one safe corner left in the universe. A faint smell lingered near him: old wood, clean sheets, citrus disinfectant. It didn't take him long to remember exactly where he was.

Wayne Manor.

Harry's eyes opened slowly. The ceiling above him was tall, and the distance between him and it was big enough that it was making him feel almost like he had dropped out of the air. The curtains to the room were thankfully still closed. His eyes had barely been open for a few moments when he remembered just what had happened, just barely more than 24 hours ago. As soon as the battle had ended, Harry and Bruce had left Scotland. Harry barely avoided falling asleep on the plane ride back and the drive back to the manor. He had even stayed upright when he got back and managed to stick through the welcome he got from Alfred, Barbara, Dick and Jason. Selina had apparently had to go out to a meeting of some sort, so Harry hadn't seen her, but he had spent some time with the rest before getting to bed at around ten and falling asleep.

Every moment from the underground cavern replayed in perfect detail—each clang of metal, each slip of stone, each breath he wasn't sure he'd get again.

Slade's sword glinted with pit-light.

His mother's bruised face.

The rock lifted over his head.

The crack of his banishing spell.

The sound—not a sound, really, more a feeling—of Slade disappearing under the avalanche of stone.

Harry exhaled, slow and long. He did that again and again and again. His eyes stayed open, fixed firmly on the ceiling above him.

"…I should've killed him." His voice sounded wrong in the empty room, too soft, too quiet. He wasn't even sure if he was talking out loud or just trying to convince himself. He wondered if those words were what he genuinely believed or what had simply been taught to him through a lifetime of war and a childhood under the care of Ra's Al Ghul. Despite everything that had happened to him and everything he had ever done, a part of him couldn't help but rebel against the idea of killing. He had seen enough death; he wasn't in a hurry to see more when it wasn't necessary.

He pushed himself upright, ignoring the stiffness in his ribs and the burning ache in his shoulders. He was wearing just his pyjama bottoms, his upper half completely bare with the exception of the clean bandages wrapped around his torso; Alfred had insisted on checking on him. Harry would have usually protested, would have told Alfred that his body healed far faster than the average person, but he had been too tired to resist the man's efforts. His mask lay folded neatly on the bedside table like a silent guardian waiting for him to put it back on.

A glass of water waited beside it, along with a note in Alfred's immaculate handwriting, which sat beneath the glass:

Master Hadrian — do drink all of this. You lost quite a bit of water, and I fear you will lose significantly more sense if you insist upon displaying the same stubbornness as your father by not following through with my reasonable request. — A.

Despite himself, Harry smiled. He lifted the glass, drank, and let the cold water steady him. But the moment he lowered it, he felt it again—the tremor just beneath his sternum, the one that didn't come from pain or exhaustion but from the remembrance of what had happened, despite his best efforts, the memories insisted on staying in the front of his mind.

He didn't kill Slade. Not on purpose, at least.

Even when Slade begged him to. Even when Slade attacked him again. Even when Slade lifted that rock with the intent of bashing in his skull. He still hadn't given in. It should have felt triumphant. Instead, it felt… complicated.

"What would Grandfather say?" Harry wondered out loud. Probably something about being soft. Weak. Unworthy. "What would she say?" His mind drifted to his other biological family. He wasn't sure what his Aunt Nyssa's feelings on the matter would be, but his mother...she hadn't scolded him. She hadn't looked disappointed. She had just held him. Called him her son. Said she was proud. And his father…his father had looked at him like...Well, Harry wasn't sure how to describe that look. It was hard to be sure he hadn't imagined it, given that his father had most of his face covered at the time, but it almost looked like pride. Not for the first time, Harry wondered if that was truly what it was or simply what he had wished it to be.

The bedroom door creaked, Harry's gaze snapped to the door, and he saw Bruce peek his head in. Upon seeing that Harry was awake, the older man stepped into the room, not wearing his bat suit or one of his business suits. He was dressed in shoes, trousers and a jumper over a t-shirt. All black, naturally.

"You're awake," Bruce said softly.

"I realise that," Harry said softly. "Given your upright posture and ability to talk, I'd be brave enough to assume that you are also awake."

"You assumed correctly," Bruce said with a small smile as he walked forward. "You've been asleep for twelve hours." He added casually as he sat on the bed next to Harry. "We were starting to get worried about you. That owl of yours had been watching you this whole time. It took Jason and the others a long time to coax her out of your room so she would eat. That's one loyal bird you have there."

"I know," Harry said quietly, his lips curled upwards briefly before he looked back at Bruce. "Deathstroke, I...really wanted to kill him.

"I know," Bruce said quietly.

"Then why did you...why did you tell me I did good?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"Because you did." Bruce's voice left no room for doubt.

"Why? I wanted to break the rule that you hold yourself to, the one you demand of yourself and your allies."

"Because you made a choice Slade Wilson has never made. Because you're ten, and you fought one of the most dangerous men on the planet and lived. Because you held on to the part of yourself that's trying to be better. That's not weakness."

"It felt like weakness," Harry murmured. "It felt wrong and stupid to try and spare him."

"That's the trap," Bruce said gently. "Slade wants you to think killing is strength. So did Ra's. So does half the League of Shadows. They're wrong. You didn't kill him, and that means you get the chance to decide who you're going to be. Every fight after this...you get to choose again. That's a strength. Killing is easy. Despite what people think about me, I have the urge to kill, each and every day. I've seen the worst that Gotham has to offer, and I've never been shy to admit that I've more often than not wanted to snuff them out, personally. But there needs to be a line, something that keeps us separate from them. A lot of times, it might not feel right. But I still believe that you did the right thing, because you chose to do what's right over what's easy, Harry."

"I..." Harry paused and looked at the man who had just paraphrased the very thing that he had said to Deathstroke. "You viewed a recording of the fight from the contact lenses, didn't you?" He asked knowingly.

Silence settled between them—comfortable, warm, and something Harry wasn't used to, yet didn't want to lose. Bruce was looking at him with a smirk that should have been pretty annoying. After a moment, Bruce stood up and patted him on the shoulders.

"Alfred's making food. He said he refuses to let you 'waste away into a broomstick.' His words, not mine." Bruce said, smirk still on his face. Despite his best attempts, an amused smile appeared on Harry's face. Bruce's smirk widened a small fraction, as if he had won a big victory. He turned and walked away, reaching the door when he suddenly stopped. "I'm proud of you," he said without looking back.

Harry froze. He could count on one hand the number of people who had told him that, told him without him losing something or doing something he didn't want to.

"I…" Harry swallowed. "Thank you."

Bruce nodded once and left the door cracked open.

For the first time since the cavern, Hadrian's breathing eased. He leaned back into the pillows and stared at the ceiling.

He wasn't sure who he was becoming.

But for the first time… he wasn't afraid to find out.

(.)

"Ah, Bruce, it's so good to see you again."

"You as well, Giovanni," Bruce said with a warm smile as he looked at the man in front of him. He wore black shoes, a black suit with a white shirt and muted-gold waistcoat. Around his neck was a red bowtie, and on his head was a traditional, black top hat. He had a thin moustache on his upper lip, and his blue eyes seemed to almost twinkle, as if the man hadn't seen dozens of horrors since before Bruce was even born.

Giovanni Zatara was an important person in Bruce's life; not only were they both members of the Justice League, but Zatara also happened to be one of Bruce's former teachers. He had first met the man during his parents' funeral and then again while travelling the world, and Zatara had agreed to teach him dozens of escape tricks. Eventually, Bruce found out that Zatara possessed magical abilities. He was a 'Homo Magi', a mystical species of humans who evolved with natural magical abilities—an ancient, rare lineage with deep ties to the supernatural forces that shape the multiverse. According to Zatara, 'Magic is not learned for them—not at first. It is innate, woven into their physiology and souls.'

It was at this point that Bruce noticed that the man wasn't alone, standing behind him, half-hidden by his coattails, was a young girl, one about Harry's age. She had clearly inherited her Italian roots from her father. She had medium-length black hair and bright cyan colored eyes with a slender build and fair skin. She was dressed in a miniature, female version of her father's outfit and was currently putting most of her attention on a pair of cards that she had in her hands and was shuffling repeatedly.

"Ah, you remember my assistant?" Giovanni smiled with the sort of pride that only a father could possess.

"I do," Bruce said softly as he recalled meeting the girl once around a month or two after she was born. "She's clearly grown since."

"Alas, she appears to have inherited more from her mother than she has from me," Giovanni said with a mock sigh before clicking his fingers; the young girl finally looked away from her cards. "Zatanna," Giovani said, his voice a masterful blend of gentle but also chiding. "Don't you want to greet, Mr Wayne?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. The girl flushed as she quickly lowered her cards and bowed her head at Bruce.

"Nice to meet you, Mr Wayne, I'm Zatanna," She said, sounding somewhat embarrassed.

"I know," Bruce said with a small smile. "It's good to meet you. Please, follow me." He told the two before he took them over to the drawing room. Once in, he and Giovanni sat down; Zatanna did so as well. After taking a moment to look at them, she quickly went back to her cards. Bruce glanced at her and then gave her father a questioning look.

"New card trick," Giovanni explained with a shrug as if to say 'What can you do?'. "She refuses to let me help with it. Another trait that she inherited from her mother."

"I'm not sure," Bruce said with an amused tone. "I recall you being fairly stubborn as well on occasion."

"Pot meet kettle," Giovanni said simply. "Now, knowing the type of man you are, Bruce, I suspect I was not called here simply for small talk. When a friend says it's important, I come. And when that friend is you, I assume the matter is… delicate." He guessed.

"Dad, I almost figured out how to make the queen vanish," Zatanna announced, not looking up, spreading cards across her lap like a tiny gambler.

"Proud of you, pumpkin," Zatara said with the distracted fondness of a parent who had seen fifty such tricks today. He gestured for Bruce to speak.

"I called you here because I need your help and your discretion."

"Is this about your newest Robin?" Zatara asked knowingly. Bruce resisted the urge to pinch his nose and sigh. He knew that the rest of the League would eventually find out about his son, especially when one of its most important members met him; still, he had hoped in vain that it would still take more time than this for the news to be spread about. The next League meeting was sure to be interesting.

"Yes," Bruce admitted. "His name is Harry, and he has abilities."

"Abilities?" Giovanni repeated.

"Abilities he claims are magical," Bruce said with a barely noticeable nod. "He can summon things to his hands. He can blast things away, create force fields that protect him from harm, and I've been told that he can create fire from his hands. Powerful enough to blast grown men my size off their feet. Not to mention that he has an unusual connection with animals and a cape that he can summon at will."

"Well, well, I dare say you have my interest," Giovanni said, a thoughtful tone in his voice. "How old is the boy?

"Ten," Answered Bruce.

"So, he's my age?" The two adults quickly looked at the youngest girl in the room, who had finally looked away from her cards and was staring at the two with a curious look. Both adults were easily able to pick up the excitement in her eyes.

"It appears so," Giovanni said softly. He knew how much his daughter wished to show off her powers, especially to those her age. But she couldn't; he had expressed many times the importance of keeping it a secret. Which was why she was so glad to come. He had told her that Bruce knew about magic, so she had spent all morning rehearsing her card tricks so she could show him. So to hear that there was a fellow child in the building who knew about magic, well...he couldn't fault her for being excited.

"Awesome!" Zatanna lit up with joy. "I've got to make sure my trick is perfect before he comes here!" She said with a fierce determination that only a ten-year-old girl could possess, and quickly went back to her cards.

"Tell me, is this Harry a 'friendly' sort of boy?" Giovanni asked Bruce.

"If you're asking on behalf of your daughter, then I feel I should tell you that long-term exposure to him could result in a ten to thirty per cent increase in sarcasm and snark."

(.)

A.N: Hi guys, hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Yes, Harry is upset about not killing Deathstroke and yes, he has doubts about if he should or shouldn't kill have killed him As I believe I have stated previously, Harry in this story will not kill if he believes he doesn't have to. But will if he deems it necessary. I think this kind of works for Harry because I've always understood HP canon to say that killing can affect your soul, as that is literally the act helps you create horcruxes and Harry would do his best to refrain from it if he could. At least, that's my interpretation. So yeah, Harry and Bruce will at some point butt heads about it, but not now.

And yeah, I'm introducing Zatanna this chapter. The next chapter will be her meeting Harry for the first time (along with whatever chaos occurs when a ten year old zatanna meets a magical robin). Hope you guys look forward to it.

Thanks for reading, feel free to leave a review