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The first thing Dick notices when he opens his eyes is the smell. He's at Draper and McTwitter's place, obviously, but more importantly- Alvin has made The Good Coffee, the shit that he always sneaks Dick when Missy isn't looking, the shit that he never makes if Missy is within a two mile radius. Down the hall, he can hear someone cursing in Arabic, voice young and squeaky, while Missy cooes at them, and Dick's blood goes cold.
Because Missy is in the house, and Draper made The Good Coffee. Something was horribly wrong.
"Please tell me you didn't actually kidnap a child." He begs, a little desperately, because it's one thing to kidnap a bird and another to kidnap an unwilling civilian. Hell, they were only barely not being judged too much for the willing civilian, and that was only because Jason made friends with the kid to make sure he was fine.
Somehow, Dick has the sinking feeling that this isn't going to be that easy.
Alvin gives a deep sigh, silently pushes over a flash drive and a superman-mug full of The Good Coffee, and stares into his chipped cup like it has some sort of answer to life. Dick, with great trepidation, plugs the drive in to his arm-computer and reads through the files. The man shambles around the kitchen for a minute, before finally pushing the coffee pot and a bagel towards Dick, sitting down on the far opposite end of the counter, and patiently waiting as he nibbles silently at his own bagel.
Concerning.
'Ibn Al Xu'ffasch' The file is titled, which makes Dick's brain itch for a reason he can't quite place. He isn't in suspense for long; the file is almost unsettlingly clinical in it's explanation. The League of Shadows. Talia Al Ghul. Cloning. Heirs. Restrictions of Lazurus Pits. The son Bruce lost years ago in childbirth, alive and nowhere near well. Ra's being a dick. Special emphasis on that last thing- despite the detached tone, there's lots of passive aggressive snobby shade thrown at Ra's.
Pictures. A cobbled together medical file, told mostly through scars and the very few actual records the League had. Just as scattered and anecdotal records of his 'training'. a map of estimated locations and times the kid was there, along with records of local unsolved crimes or strange events that coincide. An estimated kill count for a child that has to be nine years old. Dick pockets the flash-drive with shaky hands, coffee half-drank and long forgotten. He stares into Alvin's soul, and Alvin meets his glare tiredly.
"How long have you known?" He asks first, because a file of this size is not built in days, or weeks, or even months.
"That's....a complicated question." Alvin sighs, like there's anything simple about the entire situation. "The easiest answer is...since we've met."
"And you never said anything?" He hissed, shaking with anger. Alvin tensed, ready for an attack, but didn't move to be able to dodge it. Just poured another cup of coffee.
"What did you want us to say?" He sighed. "God knows we couldn't go to Bats- can't afford to let him get his grubby paranoid mits on us, and I wasn't sure how much access Ra's has to your files, and we absolutely couldn't let the bastard know we were on his tail. You were a kid, we weren't going to tell you anything. We still didn't want to tell you anything, but...we weren't sure what else to do."
"Ra's- Ra's has access to our files?" He gaped, dread coursing through his veins. A realization that he probably should have long since considered fell on him. "Are- are you guys League?"
Alvin flinched, then smiled sharply. "Hm...I can't say. Sorry kid." He tapped his fingers, considering something. "I can tell you we haven't killed anyone. I can tell you that you won't find record or recollection of us by anyone associated with them, including Ra's. And I can tell you that one day I'm going to burn the whole thing to the ground with an entirely unprofessional amount of glee."
Dick considers this carefully, head whirling with speculations, but focuses back on the matter at hand.
"Why are you giving this to me?" He asked, trying to keep his tone level. Entirely unsure whether he's succeeding. "You have to know I'm going to take him to Batman. Aren't you trying to stop him from collecting kids?"
Alvin snorted. "Not really. Despite popular belief, we are self-aware enough to recognize an impossible goal. And I, at least, can recognize that he doesn't want you brats on the street anymore then we do, even if he does need it emotionally to stabilize himself. You all keep him sane against his will, and I understand that, even if I don't really....like it." Alvin shook his head. "But that's neither here nor there. The kid is, allegedly, his. He's Ra's chosen heir. For all of our talent and skill, we can't keep a kid like that safe and happy, and probably not even one or the other. Even if we hated Bats as much as Missy tries to, he's inarguably the lesser of two evils here. At least until Ra's is.....neutralized."
"Neutralized?" Dick pressed suspiciously.
"We won't kill him." Alvin shrugged. "God probably will, fucking finally, but that really isn't on us."
Carefully, Dick weighed the information he had, and decided that the less he knew about that, the better. "His name." Dick asks, instead. "What's the kid's name?"
Alvin looked absolutely manic, glowing with....some strange, probably-positive emotion.
"Damian. His name is Damian, and he's officially your problem now. Let's go break the news to the Mrs."