For an instant, he looked started and disheveled but he quickly shook off his surprise. He was used to be people trying to kill him or defeat him. He hadn't expected it from this quarter but that was his own naivete. (The League certainly hadn't taught him to be trusting.)
There was barely any time to react. He brought an arm up to block her strike but he was too slow, saved only by Cassandra's own control. His eyes widened just before she stopped, a note of clear concern and fear across his face. He knew she moved faster than most but he still hadn't acclimated to the reality of it.
He exhaled as she apologized and took a few steps back, bringing himself out of striking distance. He averted his gaze, studying her trembling form, the dead bat, and the space between them, looking anywhere but her face.
"Cannot give back after."
"Obviously," he muttered. He finally lifted his head to look at her again. He resisted the urge to bring his hand up to his throat. She wasn't saying anything he didn't know... but there were a few exceptions.
Grandfather in particular had cultivated a whole lifestyle upon cheating death. Granted, he had more resources than most and the Lazarus Pits were most likely a finite resource but by the time they were all exhausted, Ra's would probably move onto the next technique. He'd survived for this long, after all.
Damian frowned as Cassandra talked. It wasn't as if he didn't understand the concepts of life or death... because he did. He had even studied various religious beliefs on the matter. Notions of an after life, heaven or hell, reincarnation, various mythology and theory, et cetera. In fact, what he knew about existentialism probably went over her head. All the various interpretations just served to complicate things more.
He understood death and he understood life. It was his value of such that was circumspect.
Damian understood from a very young age that not everyone was created equal, despite any altruistic notions to the contrary. Not everyone could stand on equal footing. Moreover, combat situations were hardly a time for reckless heroism or insufferable optimism. He wasn't so warped as to think killing could be an art, but it was a skill, and he'd found that pragmatism went hand in hand with the notion.
Which was one of the main reasons why he was struggling to understand his father's crusade. He could understand protecting the populace but to not take a decisive blow against his enemies... especially when others didn't have the same restraint. Einstein had defined insanity as "doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results" which seemed to be the crux of his father's mission.
So no, he didn't see the value in safeguarding the life of the Joker, nor of a useless flying mammal of which there were hundreds clustered about. The former had forfeited his right to mercy through his repeated actions and the latter didn't seem to have anything of value in the first place.
"Understand?"
"Who did you kill?" he asked, more curious than anything.