Shadows, Half-Truths, and Rumors
Damian returned to Wayne Manor just before dusk.
Toothless circled once over the grounds before descending smoothly into the Batcave, the dragon settling onto his usual perch with a low, content rumble. Damian didn't send him back to the pocket dimension this time. He wanted him close. Grounded. Real.
Bruce was already waiting.
He didn't say anything at first—just watched Damian remove his cloak and gauntlets, studying him the way only Batman could.
"Are you alright?" Bruce finally asked.
Damian nodded. "I am."
There was a pause. Then Damian exhaled, slower this time.
"I think it's time I told you part of the deal I made with the League of Assassins."
Bruce's posture stiffened, but he didn't interrupt.
"For me to move freely," Damian continued, "without League oversight or shadows following me across the world, I had to give them something of value. Something that would help them survive the future."
Bruce's eyes narrowed. "What did you give them?"
"Technology," Damian answered honestly. "Neural augmentation research. Cybernetic interfaces. Enhanced reflex systems. Body-modification tech—advanced, but controlled."
Bruce processed that quickly. "Combat augmentation."
"Yes. But not that one," Damian added immediately. "I did not give them the Sandevistan. No blueprints. No schematics. Nothing."
That, at least, made Bruce visibly relax.
"The League doesn't have access to a time-dilation combat system," Damian said. "That stays with us."
Bruce studied his son for a long moment, then nodded. "A deal was inevitable," he said quietly. "I don't like it—but I understand it."
Damian didn't argue. That alone said enough.
The next week passed quietly.
No system missions.
No cosmic alarms.
No assassins.
Damian rested—for once.
Then, predictably, he grew bored.
By the end of the week, he was back in the Batcave, dismantling and rebuilding the Sandevistan prototype—not for himself, but for contingency use. He redesigned it to integrate into Batman's suit: dormant, sealed, only activatable in true emergencies.
Better to have it and never need it.
Than the reverse.
The quiet didn't last.
Rumors began circulating through the hero and villain networks alike—grainy footage first, then clearer images.
Cheshire.
Moving wrong.
Too fast. Too fluid. Bullets sliding past her skin. Blades glancing off like water over glass.
"She's not a meta," Artemis said, staring at the screen in disbelief. "She never was."
"No known magical artifacts," Zatanna added. "And trust me—I'd know."
Batman said nothing. But his jaw tightened.
The rumors escalated quickly.
By the next day, the underworld had a story.
Cheshire, sent on a secret League mission.
A Devil Fruit discovered.
Returned uneaten as proof of loyalty.
Permission granted by Ra's al Ghul himself.
Permanent membership earned.
The name spread like wildfire.
Devil Fruit user.
The Justice League reacted first—shock, concern, calculation.
The Titans followed—confusion, fear, anger.
Young Justice hit hardest.
Artemis didn't speak for a long time.
Then all eyes turned to Damian.
"You told us there were two Devil Fruits," Nightwing said carefully.
Damian nodded. "I did."
"And that there might be more."
"I said it was possible."
Silence stretched.
Superman finally spoke. "So… Cheshire found one."
"Yes," Damian replied calmly.
No lie.
Just not the whole truth.
Inside his mind, Damian allowed himself a single, private thought:
Perfect.
The story fit.
The timeline aligned.
Suspicion dispersed.
No one was asking how he kept finding them.
No one was asking why they appeared around him.
They believed Devil Fruits could be found.
That was enough.
Damian met Batman's gaze, unreadable as ever.
The world believed the lie.
And for now—
That was exactly how he wanted it.