Fandom: Batman
Pairing: Bruce Wayne & Male OC, Damian Wayne & Male OC [Platonic]
Rating: Teen
Content: Amnesia, Loss of identity, Blood and gore, Graphic violence, Injuries, Animal abuse, Semi-verbal character
Date originally written: 12th January 2022
Summary: Omen awakens from his deep sleep...

Batman waits in the shadows..

The incessant chirping and croaking of the insects and frogs in his ear was what woke Omen up from his deep sleep.

Omen let out a big yawn, and slowly stood up, stretching his limbs and shaking his fur, trying to wake himself up.

Omen felt extremely refreshed from the sleep he had, but he still felt a bit warm and fuzzy, like it would be the easiest thing in the world for him to just lie back down and fall asleep again.

He almost did, too, but when he finally opened up his eyes during his second yawn, all the sleep washed away from him instantly.

The clearing looked different to what it looked like when he’d fallen asleep.

He looked around the clearing, drinking in all the details, and the changes that he could identify.

The grass was taller than it had been when he’d fallen asleep; It was at least a few inches taller. The leaves of the trees that surrounded the clearing had changed colour slightly. They were no longer a bright green, but rather a duller green, some closer to brown.

The biggest, and most obvious change, though, was the moon.

When he’d gone to sleep, the moon had been at its brightest and fullest, casting quite a bit of moonlight into the secret clearing he had fallen asleep in. Now, it was at its waxing crescent phase.

Meaning that Omen had been asleep for longer than just a day. He’d been asleep for close to a month, if his knowledge of the moon phases was accurate.

Suddenly, he stood up taller, more alert and worried and scared and anxious. He’d never slept for longer than a full day. The longest he believed he'd slept for was maybe two whole days, and that had been when he was recovering from his severely injured leg; sleeping for longer than usual was to be expected, then. His body had been tired and he’d not been concerned with doing much else than simply resting, and waiting for his body to heal.

But to sleep for a whole entire month? For him to lose so much time for practically no reason at all? It worried him greatly, and he just knew it had something to do with this clearing, with the water and the whispers and the healing properties that he somehow knew the water was capable of.

It was magic. It had to be. Omen had no other explanation other than the pool of water was magic, and that was why he’d slept for so long.

He’d never actually heard of magic before. No one that he’d ever eavesdropped on or overheard talking had ever mentioned magic since he’d woken up from that alleyway for the first time, but somehow, almost innately, he knew about magic.

Omen had an almost strange thought that maybe he was magic, but he wasn’t able to focus on the realisation at that moment. All he could think about was the lost time, the fear gripping in his chest as he thought about all the things he didn’t know or understand yet, and completely forgetting about the reason he had come into this clearing in the first place, he put one paw in front of the other and started to run again.

He ran straight towards Gotham, the city which he couldn't help but return to, even if he knew that consequences would await his return.

Omen’s powerful legs pushed him forward at speeds he knew most creatures wouldn’t be able to match. He ran as fast as he could, and the refusal to stop was what caused him to get closer to Gotham faster than he'd anticipated.

As he ran, he thought about all of the confusing and frantic thoughts that he’d had in his head since that fateful interaction between himself and the crocodile man.

Sometimes, Omen was terrified of the world around him. Terrified of people, terrified of strange sounds and strange feelings and the shadows in the night. Terrified of being hurt, of being killed, of being chased and terrorised by others.

Other times, though, Omen felt no fear at all, and seemed almost unaffected by the fact that people could see him sometimes, that he was a known entity in Gotham. The people named him, after all, and he kept that name, calling himself by it within his own mind. He likely still wouldn’t have a name, if the people of Gotham hadn’t decided to just give him one.

These conflicting thoughts made no sense to him, though, and neither did his knowledge. He wondered, not for the first time, if he was a ghost. But it was the first time that he wondered if perhaps he was a magic user, one who'd messed up a spell so horribly that it transformed him into what he was now. Or maybe...this was the exact outcome that he’d wanted? Or maybe he'd wanted the ability to transform, and had never intended to lose his identity and his memories? Maybe his current existence was the ultimate punishment for a crime committed in the past that he no longer remembered? Perhaps he'd flown too close to the sun and his wax wings had melted, and he'd fallen down down down....hitting the concrete of the alleyway below....

He wondered, for a completely mad and manic moment, if he was made up of more than one person.

The thought brought with it a feeling of great confusion and fear and he quickly discarded it as nothing more than a strange and unrealistic thought crafted by his lack of knowledge and understanding.

As he ran and ran and ran, with no place in mind and no goal or purpose to attain, he eventually made it to the familiar narrow alleyways he’d grown accustomed to, and he slowed down his running speed significantly until he was simply trotting through them at a leisurely pace. He stopped occasionally to watch and listen for something...but he wasn’t really sure what he was looking for. He wasn’t even sure why he was out here in the first place, besides pure boredom.

It was hard to figure out what to do when he didn’t even know why he existed. Why he was created. Why he was alive, and why he was so different to everything and everyone else in this world.

He stood still again, to listen out for anything, and for a few moments everything was completely silent. There wasn't even a small breeze or a honk of a car or a door slamming anywhere. All was quiet.

And from that quiet a roar of pain was torn out. A few blocks away, Omen could hear what he believed was a deadly fight, and only a few seconds later he heard a loud crash and thump, as though something had fallen to the ground or been thrown against a wall.

Then the smell of blood filled his nose, and the fur and shadows on his back raised and shifted uncomfortably.

All of his senses were pointed towards the direction of that scene, of that fight, of the blood and the groans and grunts. Every single part of his body was telling him to move, and move he did.

Omen stalked his way towards the commotion he had heard, quickly and cautiously, getting closer and closer, his anxiety almost taking over him.

Truthfully, Omen wasn't really sure what he was supposed to do if he found an injured person. He had no way to heal others with his powers (at least, he didn't think he had the ability), and had only ever tried to heal himself...which had happened on its own, without his input. He wasn't sure he could do much else besides sit by and watch as the person died, if they were too far gone for him to do anything. The most he could do was to not allow them to die alone.

But he knew that despite not being able to do much, he couldn't just tuck tail and run away, just to let someone else less savoury deal with the situation. The very idea went against every single bone in his body, and it made him want to growl in disgust.

He got closer and closer to the scene of the commotion, and as he turned the final corner, he was met with a lump of dark fabric groaning in pain on the ground.

Omen got slightly closer so he could see the person better past the fabric, and as he did so, the person on the ground turned over onto their back, the fabric falling off of their body. The individual looked straight into Omen’s eyes, and he froze in place.

It was The Scary One.

Omen jumped back a bit once he regained control of his body that had been frozen in place due to shock, but he realised it'd been unnecessary. The Scary One did not move when he'd seen Omen, and he realised that The Scary One most likely couldn't move, and he seemed to be in quite a bit of pain.

Omen took in all the details of the scene that he could, and came to the conclusion that The Scary One must have fallen from the top of the building all the way to the ground, based on the blood that he could see dripping down the side of the building all the way at the top, as well as the large splatter of blood on the top of the dumpster that The Scary One likely fell onto before he rolled off onto the ground.

Omen listened and watched carefully above him, to see if he could hear or smell anyone, but all he could smell was blood, and all he could hear were the regular sounds of the city at night. Whoever had attacked The Scary One was long gone, now.

Omen looked back down to The Scary One, and he was looking straight back at him. They were caught in a staring match.

For the first time, Omen and The Scary One’s positions had been swapped. Omen now stood taller than The Scary One, as he laid on the ground covered in blood, unable to get up. Omen could tell that he was on edge, even if it didn't show on his face. The Scary One’s entire body was tensed up, and Omen realised that The Scary One must be afraid of him!

Omen didn't know what to do, but he knew that he couldn't leave The Scary One to die...so he slowly and carefully approached The Scary One, hoping that it looked less like stalking and more like a leisurely walk.

It didn't work, though. He stopped dead in his tracks when The Scary One flinched, his body tensing up more. Omen had no choice but to take a step back.

Omen felt at a complete loss. He wanted to comfort this vigilante, this person...this weird and mysterious creature whom Omen seemed to share a lot of characteristics with. But he knew that if he got too close, that The Scary One might lash out at him. Omen knew that he would too, if he were in The Scary One’s position.

Omen, however, was abruptly brought out of his attempted problem solving by the sound of The Scary One speaking.

“Omen...if there’s any intelligence within you, any compassion...any morality...then listen to me very carefully.”

Omen’s ears perked up immediately, and he stood taller, hoping that his body language showed that he was listening to him.

“I cannot move. If I do, I will only bleed out more, and then I will die here. I am entirely at your mercy if you decide to do anything to me...and I wouldn’t be able to stop you. I have no choice but to trust that you won’t hurt me, Omen. But I can’t trust anyone unless they give me a reason to...which is why I’m giving you the opportunity to prove you can be trusted now- to prove to me that you do not have nefarious reasons for being in Gotham like I think you do.”

“All I need you to do is keep watch...and make sure no one tries to finish me off, until backup arrives to take me home. Can you do that..?”

Omen gave The Scary One a nod, and started gently approaching him again. The Scary One let him do it, though Omen could tell that it was with extreme reluctance.

Then, Omen laid down right beside The Scary One, curling his body around him, his shadow-y tendrils curling over the dark vigilante protectively, covering the injury and the hand that The Scary One had placed over it to stop the bleeding. He laid his snout directly over the vigilante’s chest, and observed the details of his face. It was the closest Omen had ever been to another person before, besides the time when he’d torn chunks out of that crocodile man.

They were both looking at each other again, white glowing eyes looking into white glowing eyes, and this time they were simply looking in curiosity rather than in fear or in an attempt to gauge the other’s intentions or predict the other’s movements. They both seemed to come to some type of understanding.

“...Thank you...” The Scary One whispered. Omen let out a gentle rumble from his chest in response.

The Scary One reached up to his head with his other, free hand, and pressed down on something on the side of his strange mask, and began speaking again, though this time it wasn't towards Omen.

“Nightwing...need evac... now. Omen is here keeping watch, so don’t attack them.”

Omen could somewhat hear this ‘Nightwing’ responding over The Scary One’s hidden communication device...but he wasn't able to make out all of the words despite his sensitive hearing. Omen decided to simply rest there, keeping a gentle watch over The Scary One. He knew that no one would ever dare to attack him here in this narrow alleyway when he was in such a protective state, and so Omen felt safe to close his eyes, allowing himself to be slowly calmed by the feeling of The Scary One’s chest rising and falling as he breathed.

The Scary One sighed, and they both waited patiently for help to arrive.