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Ra’s is in his mid-thirties when one of the biggest turning points of his life sneaks up on him.
He’s been leading the League for just about twenty years by the time it happens. It’s longer than his own father’s managed to.
He doesn’t mean to troll the American. He’s just giving him a tour of the base. Bruce Wayne’s one of their most efficient recruits, powerful, proficient in every test Ra’s throws at him, and the same age as his daughter, to boot.
The kid could inherit his entire empire if he only asked for it. He’s certainly good enough for it.
His only faults are his naive sense of morality, and his tendency to dig deeper than one ought to, to uncover every conspiracy, to get lost too far down his own spiraling thoughts.
Bruce’s a little paranoid, but Ra’s figures it’s not such a bad thing to be in a compound full of assassins. Now, Ra’s knows that he had his daughter at an early age. The need for an heir is pressing when one’s life is constantly endangered. Being the latest in a heirline of leaders of an organization specializing in murder will do that to you. And maybe Ra’s already balding a little, or has a number of gray hairs. But then again, his job is about as stressful as they get.
Still, he can’t help but see himself in the boy. He can’t help but tease when given the opportunity.
But he’d never once thought Bruce would believe him.
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“What are those?” Bruce asks, gaze piercing, trained on the natural pools of the compound, like their green color holds the answer to every single mystery the world still hides.
Ra’s stops showing him around the base - the practical side of it, such as the actual infrastructure and passageways, training rooms and the likes, should Bruce actually decide to succeed him - and follows Bruce’s line of sight.
The truth of the matter is, the copper pipes that provide water to the staff members are old, leaky. They’re leaching, and the growing, glowing, algaes give the water an unnatural green color. All a perfectly natural, normal, process.
A flush of plumbers is supposed to fix that sometime in the next two weeks.
He takes another look at Bruce’s face, much too serious for the barely 19 year old boy he is, and puts on a grave expression himself. Ra’s thinks back to all the conspiracy theories, all the secrets the kid tries so hard to unearth, and-
“Lazarus Water.” he states, as blankly as he can manage to.
It’s hard to keep his composure when, immediately, Bruce’s hooked. Still, Ra’s not one to emote unnecessarily. He manages.
“Lazarus?” Bruce questions.
Ra’s spins a tale of immortality. Of ageless violence, of resurrections.
Really, how could he resist such a golden opportunity to mess with the future heir to his empire?
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He orders the plumbers to re-schedule.
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Bruce leaves the League behind to go back to Gotham, to his righteous crusade. His goals not so different from Ra’s’ own, even if his methods are still so frighteningly unjaded.
He does so before Ra’s can actually set the record straight.
He doesn’t think about it much, in the years that follow. He finally fixes the pipes, clears the natural pools of the algae. He spends his time productively, mission after mission focused on keeping the League afloat. On pursuing his goals.
It’s of no matter, as Ra’s’ sure that such a simple prank will have little to no consequences. It’s really just a pleasant memory to have a chuckle at, once in a while.
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Oh, how naive he’d been.
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He doesn’t think about it much for a while. He has other, more pressing, problems. Like the rebellion brewing in his ranks, the attempts on his life.
Attempts that cost him the life of his stand-in double, already. A defective clone. An early prototype of the Light’s latest project, bested too easily in battle.
He’d known something about that meeting had been fishy.
He’s back in his quarters now, back from squashing the poor attempt at rebellion from the inside. The dark strands of hair of his wig makes the skin of his skull itch.
“Ra’s.” The Batman says, stilling. Caught red handed in snooping around on his computer. “You’re alive.”
“With the means at my disposal, was there ever any doubt?” Ra’s asks, tired beyond belief. He’s stayed alive, stayed Head of the Demon for over a quarter of a century, now. Why do people still doubt his competence.
“You used the Pit.” Batman says, and-
What?
What even.
“Wonderfully done, Detective.” Ra’s says, sarcastically as he can.
The nickname somehow sticks.
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He’s been part of the Light for a while when he notices something’s wrong. He’s copying files from their extensive database - he’s often left with the missions requiring more stealth. God knows Bane’s not the one for the job. - when he sees his name on one.
How was he supposed to resist such critical information?
‘Ra’s Al Ghul’ his profile says. ‘ D.o.b: unknown. Leader of the League of assassins (cf: LoA).’
Next to that is a photo of his grandfather just before the start of WW1.
He scrolls through photo after photo of historical events, each of them distinct by the fact that they contain someone that looks vaguely like him circled in red.
He is aware he looks a lot like his father. Like his grandfather. He is aware old photos can be grainy.
But surely, surely, this is too idiotic for words. Surely, Bruce is just messing with him back.
‘Lazarus pits’ The file says. ‘Location unknown. Possible side effects: healing, resurrection, madness?’
Ra’s stares.
He stares for long enough that he nearly gets caught by Superman.
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The whispers start.
Head of the Demon.
Lazarus green.
Pit madness.
Unkillable.
Immortal.
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Assassins that weren’t under his control yet pledge themselves to the League. Other hesitate more before defying them.
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“Really, Father?” Talia asks, reluctantly amused. Her child looks almost as disapproving as she does, scowling up a tiny storm in his mother’s arms.
He’ll make a fine heir, one day.
“Come here, Damian.” Ra’s commands. His daughter puts him down, and the child toddles clumsily towards him. Ra’s picks him up, frowning. A fine heir, but far too trusting. “It’s high time you learned some discernement. Make up for some of your genes.”
“Baba.” Damian agrees.
“Yes, child. I’m talking about your Baba.”
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The problem is, Ra’s is in too deep, now. It’s been fifteen years since that day at the compound. He can’t come clean.
A little mystique’s never hurt anyone. His subjects believing that their leader is an immortal, not-so-benevolent, entity really doesn’t hurt with keeping them in line.
The other villains believing he’s got some kind of demonic, all powerful, magic pit he can use whenever he wants to doesn’t hurt either.
So the rumor spreads. He doesn’t encourage it. But he does let it.
Vandal Savage raises an unimpressed eyebrow in his direction during the next Light meeting. All Ra’s does is shrug a shoulder in a ‘what can you do?’ motion.
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As the Leader to the League of Assassins, Ra’s only employs the absolute best medical professionals on Earth. It’s a necessity, if he wishes to keep his employees alive.
And while, sure, there’s the occasional example or two to be made out of particularly disobedient agents; recruiting, then training them takes a lot of time and resources. So of course he wishes to keep most of them alive.
As the Leader of an ancient, secret, organization, that for years, has done exactly that, has always has the best medical professional on Earth as its disposal, is it really such a surprise that their knowledge of medicine is more advanced than most.
The Todd’s boy case is bad. But not beyond help.
The PTSD he suffers from afterwards is another matter entirely. The feelings of betrayal and hurt he turns towards his old mentor are absolutely valid, and also not Ra’s’ problem.
Beyond steering him a little in the right direction, but, that’s mostly Talia’s doing, really.
“You used the pits on my son.” Bruce growls, looming, ever the overprotective father.
“All magic comes with a price.” Ra’s replies, glancing cooly at him from above intertwined fingers. So he’s been binge-watching some shows, sue him. “This is one I’d thought you would be glad to pay.”
“I need a sample of the pits’ waters.”
Ra’s raises an eyebrow.
“Do you, now? Then I suppose you will have to procure one for yourself, won’t you, Detective?”
And good luck with that.
“Unless of course, you’ve not managed to find them?”
Bruce stays silent.
“And you expect me to reveal the League’s secrets to you?”
Ridiculous. How does he expects Ra’s to have gone at hiding a body of water, honestly. It’s not like he can move it around.
Batman disappears in a puff of smoke.
Ra’s sighs.
How is it that he cannot wrestle the control of one wretched city from this man?
How is that the man that still manages to outsmart him at every turn?
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The third Robin is a tiny slip of a teenager. A brave one. A brilliant one.
And yet.
Yet.
“Bruce’s alive.” The bird frowns furiously up at him. “And I can prove it. I just need to use the pits.”
“Well, Detective.” Ra’s purrs. “Shall we start?”