Wayne Manor Grounds - The East Woods - 02:00 AM
The moon was full. The woods bordering the estate were dark, tangled, and silent.
Damian Wayne sat on a fallen log. He was sulking.
His pride was still stinging from the loss to Tim Drake. Gadgets, he spat internally. Tricks. A true warrior relies on steel and bone.
He threw a stone into the darkness.
Grrrr.
The darkness growled back.
Damian froze. He didn't reach for a weapon—he had been forbidden from carrying blades on the grounds. He shifted his stance.
Analysis: Low growl. Large lung capacity. Predatory.
A pair of yellow eyes appeared in the brush.
A massive Great Dane stepped out. It was emaciated, its ribs showing through its black fur, but its teeth were bared. It was limping on a front paw.
"You are trespassing," Damian said calmly.
The dog snarled and lunged.
Most ten-year-olds would scream. Damian didn't flinch.
He stepped inside the dog's guard. He didn't strike. He grabbed the loose skin at the back of the dog's neck and used its own momentum to pin it to the ground.
"Submission," Damian commanded.
The dog thrashed, snapping at the air.
"Submission!" Damian pressed harder, exerting just enough pressure to dominate without injuring.
The dog whined. It stopped fighting. It looked up at Damian, ears flattened.
Damian released the pressure. He looked at the dog's injured paw. A rusty trap snare was dug deep into the flesh.
"You are hurt," Damian noted. "You fought well, considering your handicap."
He reached into his pocket. He pulled out a piece of beef jerky he had stolen from the kitchen (Alfred's reserve).
"Eat."
The dog sniffed the meat. It hesitated. Then, it devoured it in one bite.
Damian carefully began to pry the trap open. The dog whimpered but didn't bite. It sensed the intent.
Click.
The trap fell away.
"You are free," Damian stood up. "Go. Before the Groundskeeper finds you."
The dog didn't leave. It stood up, shook itself, and sat down at Damian's feet. It looked up at him with absolute loyalty.
Damian looked down. A small, rare smile touched his lips.
"You recognize strength," Damian murmured. "Smart beast."
The Discovery
"A Great Dane," a voice noted from the trees. "Impressive specimen. Though currently... pungent."
Damian spun around.
I was leaning against an oak tree, holding a lantern.
"Servant," Damian hissed, stepping in front of the dog. "You were spying."
"I was patrolling," I corrected. "There are coyotes in these woods. I came to ensure the Young Master didn't become a snack."
I looked at the dog. It growled at me instantly.
"He does not like you," Damian said smugly. "He has good instincts."
"He smells the sulfur," I said, walking closer. "Demons and dogs have a... complicated history."
I knelt down. The dog bared its teeth. I simply stared into its eyes. My pupils narrowed into vertical slits.
Sit.
The dog whined and sat down immediately.
"Obedient," I noted. "Did you name him?"
"No," Damian said quickly. "He is a stray. I was just... assessing his threat level."
"Of course."
I stood up.
"Master Bruce has a strict 'No Pets' policy inside the Manor. Alfred is allergic to dander."
Damian's face fell. For a second, he looked like a normal child.
"He is not a pet," Damian argued. "He is a tactical asset. He can guard the perimeter."
"And who will feed this tactical asset? Who will bathe him? Who will ensure he does not chew on the antique furniture?"
Damian looked at the dog. The dog looked at Damian.
"I will," Damian said firmly. "I will take full responsibility. If he fails, I will... dispose of him."
"Dispose of him?" I raised an eyebrow.
"I will release him," Damian corrected, looking away.
I smiled.
"Very well. I suppose the East Wing is currently unoccupied. If you can keep him contained there... I might 'forget' to mention his presence to Master Bruce."
Damian looked at me, surprised.
"Why?"
"Because," I said, turning back toward the Manor. "Every king needs a hound. It is a sign of status."
Damian straightened his posture. "Yes. Exactly. A status symbol."
"Come along, Young Master. And bring... Titus."
"Titus?" Damian frowned. "I did not name him."
"It fits," I said. "A Roman Emperor. Strong. Ruthless. Just like you."
Damian looked at the dog.
"Titus," Damian tested the name.
The dog barked softly.
"Come, Titus," Damian commanded.
The dog followed him instantly.
The Batcave - Dawn
Bruce Wayne was working at the console.
"Sebastian," Bruce said without turning. "The sensors picked up an intrusion in the East Woods last night. biological signature. Large."
"It was dealt with, Sir," I said, placing a cup of coffee on the desk.
"Is the perimeter secure?"
"The perimeter has been reinforced," I said. "Young Master Damian has taken... personal initiative in sector security."
"Initiative?" Bruce turned. "What kind of initiative?"
"He has recruited a lieutenant."
Bruce sighed. "Another assassin?"
I pulled up a security feed on the monitor.
It showed Damian's bedroom. He was asleep, curled up on the rug instead of the bed.
Curled around him, protecting him like a shield, was a massive, sleeping Great Dane. Damian's hand was resting on the dog's head.
Bruce watched the screen. His expression softened.
"A dog?" Bruce whispered.
"A Titus, Sir."
"I thought I said no pets."
"Technically, Sir, Damian classified him as a 'Biological Security Unit.' I found the paperwork quite convincing."
Bruce chuckled. A real, genuine sound.
"He looks peaceful," Bruce noted.
"He has found something he can trust," I said. "Something that won't judge him for his bloodline."
Bruce picked up his coffee.
"Let him keep it. But if that dog pees on the Persian rug..."
"I shall handle the cleaning, Sir," I bowed. "After all, cleaning up messes is what I do best."
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