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The world is dark and cruel. Damian learned this when he first came into it, silent and observant.

He learned this when his training to kill started with his first step. He learned this from broken bones and bleeding out on cold operating tables. He learned this with pain and age.

There are people in this world who fight to make it safer, better, happier. People like the Bat and the Birds in Gotham, like Wonder Woman, like the Green Lanterns. But there are also people in this world whose only goal is to make it more miserable. People like his mother and grandfather.

People like Superman.

Superman had first appeared long before Damian entered this world. Kal-El, he called himself. At first he had been a beacon of light, this great power which could stop tornadoes and catch falling buildings. Society had practically worshiped him for all the good he did. And then one day, it started with a death. One villain with a snapped neck found at the foot of a Superman statue. Everything changed.

Superman became a symbol of fear, of a cold regime. No government could stop him, and even Earth's greatest heroes had only been able to subdue him for a brief period of time before someone else came to free him. Someone identical, younger but just as cruel.

Metropolis lived in fear of the caped supers that ruled over the city. The world came to fear flashes of red and white that passed overhead.

Damian Al Ghul was born to Talia Al Ghul, daughter of the Demon. His birth was not of the natural kind, but it made him stronger, allowed him to grow and mature quicker. He was bathed in the waters of the Lazarus pit from birth, his pain washed away with each rinse.

He was given a mini mace instead of a rattle, and trained to use a sword from the time he could grasp and hold an object. His toys were weapons, and his nurse maids were instructors. He killed his first man at four, an idiot who had tried to steal him away from his umi. By ten, he was one of the League of Assassin's most successful assets.

"Damian, my beloved, your grandfather wishes to speak to you."

Damian looked up, blinking to get his eyes to focus on his mother.

"Yes, umi?"

Talia looked.... Not concerned, but she had an odd look on her face.

"I'm sure it is fine, Habibi, he simply wished to talk to you about your next mission. Get cleaned up please."

Damian nodded, putting down his charcoal pencil. He turned to go wash his hands. Talia followed him, gently running a hand over his short hair.

"Umi." He gave her a slightly annoyed look, but she smiled back.

"Sorry, Habibi." She pulled her hand away, stepping back but still watching him in the mirror.

"You know something."

She chuckled, turning to look at his drawing. "Your skills have improved. Did you use a reference for this?"

"No. What do you know, Mother."

"I'm sure it's nothing...."

Damian turned, raising an eyebrow at her. He was only nine, but he knew how to play his mother like a fiddle. Given enough pressure, she would fold to his every request, falling apart like a house of cards. He studied her face for a moment then snorted.

"You're worried about this mission."

"Habibi-"

"I will not fail, mother." He lifted his chin proudly. He hadn’t failed yet.

She turned back to him, smiling gently. "I know, my little prince. You do not fail. However, this adversary is great, and I fear what your victory may cost you."

Damian let out a soft chuckle. It didn't sound as intimidating as when grandfather did it.

"I doubt it will be anything great," he said stubbornly.

He turned, pulling off the shirt he had been drawing in and switching into his uniform. He turned back to Talia. She stepped forwards and adjusted his collar, then gently cupped his face.

"You're braver than your age, Habibi."

"I'm not a coward, mother."

"I never said you were," she said, sighing softly. "Go talk to your grandfather."

Damian groaned, pulling himself to his feet one last time. His body was screaming, his right arm bent in a position that was unnatural and spoke to the shattering he could feel in his elbow joint.

"You bastard ," the man in front of him hissed, the invisibility tech on his suit sizzling and glitching, turning parts of him invisible in flashes. "You're a child; you're nothing, you fucking brat."

"I am the heir to the demon, that is prince to you," Damian hissed out.

He reached down, grabbing the knife from his boot. Ducard was worse off than Damian was, a knife still sticking out of his back, his face mask fractured, blood dripping out of his nose and mouth. He was limping on a snapped ankle, and clutching a slice across his stomach. Damian's sword lay in two pieces on the ground not far from them, but he was still determined to be victorious.

He lunged forwards with his knife, slicing at Ducard's face again. The man crossed his arms, blocking it with his armored cuffs, and then surged forwards, body slamming Damian to the ground, jumping on top of him. He pinned the kid’s knife hand down, putting pressure on his broken arm with his knee. Damian hissed with pain, but it didn't stop him from struggling.

“You will never be a prince. You're going to die here and you'll never get to take over that twisted kingdom of your grandfather's," Ducard said, spitting blood in Damian's face in the process. "Ra's sent you here to die. None of his men have bested me yet, why would a child be the one to succeed?”

"I am no mere child."

Damian surged forwards, headbutting Ducard right in the nose. He yelped in pain and Damian mustered all the strength he had to yank his hand free. He sliced blindly at where he knew Ducard's throat was. He heard a cry of pain, felt a wet splatter of blood across his face, and then Ducard collapsed on top of him, body twitching.

Damian did not scream; he was not a coward. But he did rush to kick the body off of him, gasping for air. He rolled onto his knees, gagging a bit as he tried desperately to wipe the blood off of his face and away from his eyes.

He knelt there for a long time, staring blankly at the body beside him while the panic rushed through him. Then, slowly, it was pushed out by pain and the thrill of victory. He let out a laugh, grinning to himself. He beat Ducard. He had done what no other man had done.

Mother would be so proud of him.

He dragged himself, broken and bloody, back to his transport, and refused to let anyone tend to his wounds, Ducard's body was sitting at his feet. He would walk into his grandfather's throne room like this or he would die; there was no other option for him.

The trip was several hours, and by the time he arrived, he was lightheaded and his vision was swimming, but that did not stop him. Guards and doctors did not stop him. Other soldiers did not stop him. His body screamed at him to just give up, to stop dragging the cold corpse behind him. It was heavy and he was so tired. But he needed to show them all.

The guards outside the throne room saw him coming and threw the door open. One stepped forwards to try and help him, but he gave them a sharp look and they backed off. He could hear Talia's heels as she rushed down the hall towards them, but still he did not stop. He did not stop when he saw a man bowing in front of Ra's, he did not stop when Ra's looked up at him. He just kept marching forwards.

Damian tossed the body with what little strength he had left, letting it roll to a stop at Ra's feet. The old man looked at it for a long moment, then up at Damian, and he actually looked shocked. Damian smiled, pride rushing through him. He had done it. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head.

"Grandfather. Nobody, dead, as you requested. And there is your proof of my kill."

"Indeed. . ." Ra's reached out, pushing the body with his foot as if to check.

He scanned over Damian for a moment, then smiled. Ra's stood, stepping over the body, and gently cupped Damian's face, making him look up.

"I knew you would not fail."

"I would never fail you, Grandfather."

Ra's nodded softly, then looked past him.

"Talia, you may do as we agreed. Damian, go with her. Guards? Clean up this mess. Make sure it will never bother us again."

Ra's turned, sitting back on his throne. Damian felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Talia behind him.

"Come," she said softly.

He could see the worry written all over her face.

Damian pulled himself to his feet as smoothly as he could, holding his head high as he followed her out. The pain was almost blinding now, the edges of his vision darkening. The moment the doors closed behind him, he stumbled a bit, tripping into Talia. She didn't hesitate to scoop him up, carrying him like he was a mere toddler.

"Umi," he complained, weakly struggling.

"Shh, habibi."

So he didn't struggle anymore. She carried him for a while, down passages and stairs he’d never been allowed in, even though he had complete freedom of Nanda Parbat. He soon found out why, when she pushed open one final stone door, and he saw the green fog filling the room.

“Your grandfather agreed that if you were successful on your mission, you may use the Lazarus pit to heal of your injuries, should you wish,” Talia explained, shutting the door behind them again. 

She walked over, setting him down on the edge of the bath. It was a large stone bowl-like shape, burbling ever so softly. He stared down into the neon green waters for a minute.

“I want to keep the scars if possible.”

Talia smiled and nodded. “Let me set that arm.”

The pain of having his elbow forced back into place was nothing compared to the pain of feeling his skin knit back together, his tendons magically heal themselves, cartilage reforming. And then that too was gone, the pain melting off his body with the blood that temporarily stained the lazarus waters. Damian closed his eyes, sinking underneath the surface, letting himself soak in it for a time before sitting up and taking in a big breath. 

Talia was sitting nearby, waiting patiently. Damian stood, letting the waters run off of his small body. He had several fresh scars on his chest and face. When he stepped out, pants dripping wet, Talia stepped over, wrapping him in a towel.

“You did so well, my prince.”

He smiled, just slightly, raising his chin a little. “I told you I could do it, mother.”

“I know, habibi. I’m so proud.”

This got a full grin, an odd stabbing warmth growing somewhere in Damian’s chest. He had been right.

Years passed and Damian proved himself on every mission Ra’s sent him on. Trained from birth, he was the greatest soldier the league had ever created. There was no doubt one day he would take over the League, and with that... he’d have to replace Ra’s. So he wasn’t that surprised when he found out that Ra’s was planning to dispose of him. He was 12 when the first direct attempt was made, and he was 13 when Talia helped him escape. 

Damian had long ago learned of his father, the Batman. He hadn’t had much interest in meeting the man; however, Talia’s great plan for protecting her son consisted of just taking him to Bruce Wayne. So they packed up what of his belongings they could easily transport and headed to Gotham. 

His father was a strange man, and the family he collected was even stranger. Bruce Wayne, a CEO of an international corporation at 23, Batman at 24. He was one of the richest men alive, but the majority of the money his company made never saw his bank account. Half of it went directly back into the company and its employees, while the other half went to charities and scholarships and other funds.

Bruce Wayne had lost his parents at 8. He had never married, yet he had taken legal custody of children who looked oddly similar to him. More similar than Damian himself did. His family was odd, but yet they seemed happy, and worked together to battle crime in Gotham.

They welcomed Damian in with open arms, even knowing his history. Of course there was whispering behind closed doors, wary looks, poorly hid defense reactions. Damian didn't miss how he wasn't allowed in the "Batcave", or how certain dangerous items disappeared, as if he needed weapons to dispose of any of them. He didn't belong here, he knew that. They all knew that.

Damian had been there two months at this point, and he was being so good, or at least he thought he was. He was playing nice, using his manners, not threatening anyone even as he constantly thought about how easy and satisfying it would be to watch the life drain from them. He thought he was doing so well, yet he was still being held at arms’ length, he could tell.

He was picking at his dinner, watching them all finish scarfing down their food so they could rush down to the cave. It was just Drake and Bruce tonight, Todd and Grayson off with their teams of superheroes.

"Father."

"Yes, Damian?" Bruce asked, pausing.

He had been about to stand, no doubt to rush down to the cave without a second thought.

"I would like to come down with you."

Bruce frowned, then sighed, sitting fully in his seat.

"Damian..."

"Yes?"

Bruce looked apprehensive, then he finally spoke.

"I want to trust you down there, Damian, I do. But you have to understand why..."

Damian scowled. "You can't trust me if you never give me the chance, Father."

"Maybe we can't trust you because you've got a higher body count than years you are old," Tim snarked, pushing his chair back into the table.

"Tim!" Bruce exclaimed. "That was uncalled for!"

"It's the truth and he knows it!"

Bruce's hesitation to deny it spoke volumes. Damian scoffed, throwing down his napkin on his unfinished plate.

"Do you have any idea how hard I am working?" he spat, turning to Tim. "How hard this is for me? I have come to a foreign house, in a foreign country, am forced to speak a foreign language and live with people who expect me to put a knife in their back every night? I am trying and you're not giving me anything . I have been trying my damned hardest and get nothing!"

He stood quickly, causing the chair to screech horribly. 

“Damian!” Alfred exclaimed, having just walked in.

“I am finished! Why should I try to earn the trust of people who won’t give it?”

He spun on his heel, storming out. It was dramatic, yes, but he was in a dramatic mood. For the most part that wasn't an act, he genuinely was sick and tired of this treatment, but in all honesty, he didn’t put as much value in their trust as he wanted them to believe. He stormed up to his room, letting the door slam behind him. He paced for a minute and then sat down on his bed, pulling his knees up. 

This was all awful and horrible. He had gone from being a prince, from being respected and feared and having a legion of soldiers under him, to being stuck inside this house, not allowed to leave the property, distrusted. He missed his mother. He knew how things worked in the League, as it was fairly simple: do his job, follow the rules, and keep Ra’s happy with him. Transgressions resulted in physical punishments, pain was a familiar friend, and success meant you lived longer.

Here? Here, Damian had no idea how things worked, even after two months. He was expected to do things for himself, and yet ask for help. He was trusted less than the dog, but expected to know better. He was hidden away from the world, but expected to learn to act like any other boy his age. There were so many expectations and rules that Damian didn’t understand. 

It was with an odd jolt that he realized he missed the League. He was comfortable there, even with all the pain he was put through. He hadn’t relaxed or felt comfortable once here. He realized dully at some point that he had started crying, tears streaming down his cheeks. He crawled under his blankets, wrapping himself up in them and staring at the wall.

Damian didn’t move from that bed for hours, nor did he fall asleep. Eventually his tears dried, but he stayed curled up, watching the sunset through his window. Late that night, he heard a gentle knock at his door. He didn’t answer. The knock got a little louder. 

“Damian?” He heard Bruce’s voice.

He shouldn’t be back from patrol. Batman was usually out until late into the night.

Damian still didn’t answer, rolling onto his back and settling into the position he normally slept in. He heard the door creak open, and didn’t react, biding his time. He could hear Bruce’s breathing for a time, and then the door clicked shut, and the room was silent.

What could have he wanted?

Damian fell asleep not long after, exhausted from his emotional outburst. The next morning he found Bruce sitting at the kitchen table, reading the morning paper while sipping a cup of coffee. He looked. . . distressed? Damian wasn’t sure, but he didn’t feel like deciphering his father’s emotions, just scooped up a cup and poured the tea Alfred had already brewed, turning on his heel to leave the kitchen again without a word. 

“Damian.”

The sigh Damian huffed had to be loud enough for Bruce to hear. He turned, holding his saucer in one hand and the teacup in the other.

“Yes, Father?”

“Can we talk?”

“About?”

Bruce sighed softly, setting down his paper. Damian didn’t move from the middle of the kitchen, blinking at him.

“You were right.”

Damian arched an eyebrow.

“When Talia brought you here. . . I didn’t know what to do. She told me some of what your life had been like, the training you went through. And while she didn’t tell me too many details, it wasn’t a long stretch to guess what type of things Ra’s had you doing, and some digging only made that image worse,” Bruce explained, voice soft. “We haven’t given you a single chance to show us who you really are; we’ve fit you into a box of what limited knowledge we had, and that’s not fair to you at all.”

Damian blinked at him. For the first time in a long time, he genuinely was unsure what to say.

“And I’m sorry, I can’t just trust you with something like going out on patrol with us, but. . . I’m willing to start giving you some opportunities and trust.”

Damian nodded, and opened his mouth to speak, but Bruce quickly interrupted.

“But trust goes both ways here, Damian. I’m making a choice to trust you, and I hope you will make the choice to trust me.”

Bruce looked so sincere, it almost was pathetic. . . so why was he so desperate not to let this man down?

“Thank you, Father,” he said softly. 

“Tonight after work I’ll take you down into the cave and show you around, but you have to wait until then. Deal?”

“Agreed,” Damian said, nodding. 

Bruce smiled at him, standing and walking over, and ruffling Damian’s messy hair a bit. He picked up his coffee and paper and headed out of the kitchen, leaving Damian standing alone in the middle of the room.

He could do this. He could earn Bruce’s trust. He could be. . . different than he was. If he just believed that he could change. . . then surely he could, right? Is that not how change works?

“Robin!” 

Damian gagged as he was yanked backwards by his cloak, the clasp around his throat choking him a bit. The body in front of him collapsed to the side, his sword still sticking out of its stomach. Batman practically tossed him to the ground, looming over him. Had he been any mere thug, and not the blood child of this man, he might’ve been a little more concerned for his safety.

“Fath-”

“We do not kill,” Batman growled, looking incredibly disappointed, despite the fact that Damian could only see half of his face.

He felt a surge of annoyance. “Tt. He was a rapist and a three time convict at that. Father, he clearly will never learn his lesson.”

“You don’t get to make that call! You are not judge, jury, and executioner.”

“I just did. Simple, easy, he will never bother anyone again.”

Batman let out a little growl, reaching down and picking Damian up by the shirt. “Go home, Robin. You’re benched, permanently.”

“Father.”

“No. This is not up to discussion. We will talk when I get to the cave. Go.”

Damian growled in his throat, but yanked his sword from the body before turning and stalking off towards where his motorbike was. This was stupid. 

He had been with Bruce for three years now. He had been Robin for less than a year and a half. It was such a stupid rule, this no killing thing. Why would he spare the life of a criminal? If their goal was to stop crime and protect civilians, why would he leave opportunities for more criminals to run the streets and hurt more people? Wouldn’t it be better to rule truly by fear, to keep criminals from committing crimes because they know their punishment?

He had only broken this rule a few times before, and each time got him benched until he repented from his actions and promised Bruce he’d never do it again. He could see his father’s trust in him slowly dwindling, but he was starting to not care. Bruce was a fool. He had been Batman for over twenty years, and yet crime and villains like the Joker still were rampant in Gotham. Clearly his methods were not working, and something needed to change.

Damian was heading back to the cave full speed, recklessly weaving between cars, grumbling to himself. He saw a white flash out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t think anything of it, just tore down roads and sidewalks. 

He got into the cave, and was greeted by Alfred, looking concerned.

“Is everything quite alright, Master Damian?” the man asked, analyzing the way the sixteen year old moved.

“Father benched me again,” Damian grumbled, ripping off his cloak and mask. 

“Ah,” was all Alfred said, taking the discarded bits of uniform from the boy. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up?”

Damian looked up at his grandfather and sighed. He was still angry, but it was not at Alfred. Alfred had been nothing but kind to him, always lending a listening ear, and gently keeping him in check when he could. He was what Damian assumed grandfathers should be like. Not that he’d know. His own grandfather had tried to assassinate him multiple times.

So he turned and headed to the locker room, shedding the rest of his armor and stepping into the shower, turning the water directly to cold. He was still angry at Bruce, and probably would be for a good while. He wasn’t sure if this was the final straw or not, as Bruce kept telling him a lot of things were the final straw. 

Thinking of the last three years, there were a lot of “final straws”. There was the time he broke Tim’s arm while sparring because he got angry and violent. There was all the damaged furniture and equipment from him getting angry. There were the times he snuck out as Robin without Bruce’s permission. There was the time he’d put Riddler in the hospital, and the time he’d nearly killed Harley Quinn. And of course all the times he’d actually killed someone. 

Damian still remembered the faces the others made when he had told them about his past, about what all he’d done. It’d been a late night, he was exhausted and annoyed and he had just snapped. He had confirmed all their worst fears. That he was indeed a trained killer, that he’d been killing people since he was born, that it was his job and it was so easy and he was good at it, even as a child. But oddly. . . they weren’t faces of fear. They had all looked horrified and sympathetic. But he also hadn’t missed every look when he had a weapon out, how they eyed him when he got angry. He wasn’t blind, and they weren’t fools.

After cleaning up, he cleaned his armor and weapons, putting them up in their case, knowing in the back of his mind they'd be there for a while. He made his way upstairs into the manor, getting a snack and a cup of tea and then curling up in the drawing room to read until Bruce got back.

He didn't arrive until very late that night, practically flying into the room. Damian closed his book and set down his tea as soon as he heard the footsteps coming down the hall, ready for a lecture. 

Except when Bruce rounded the sofa, he looked absolutely awful, with a black eye and a bandaged chest. 

"What happened?"

"Superman happened," Bruce grumbled, sitting in an armchair. He looked exhausted.

"What? I thought they agreed not to come to Gotham?"

"His son apparently came here, and Jason caught him, and so Superman came to fetch him and we had a mild disagreement."

"Are you alright?"

Bruce grunted, rubbing his forehead.

"Damian… what am I supposed to do with you?"

"What do you mean, Father?"

"Every time I think you're getting better and I can trust you, you do something like this. First you kill a defenseless man, then I find out you've been skipping physicals and your therapy, and now I'm hearing that you've also been skipping school?" Bruce said, looking so truly defeated. "I don't know what to do, or if I can trust you."

Damian closed his eyes. That hurt. Why did that hurt?

"Father I…"

"And don't tell me you're sorry unless you mean it, Damian. I'm tired of being lied to."

There was a painfully long moment of silence. 

"Logically you shouldn't trust me. I don't agree with you, I don't hold your moral code. But I'm trying to protect innocent citizens, so I don't-"

"Because two wrongs don't make a right, Damian!" Bruce snapped. 

Damian raised his eyebrows. Bruce usually didn't get emotional like this.

"If you kill a killer, there aren’t fewer killers in the world, Dami."

"Well it's not like there's any more killers, is there? After all, that's all I've ever been, isn't it?"

"Damian-"

"No. You want to use your stupid metaphors? At least use correct ones then. What should you do with me, Father? Send me back where I came from, since apparently all I can do in life is kill, right? You want fewer killers in the world? I'm sure Ra's will make sure of that real quick." Damian stood, dropping his book to the sofa beside him. "Bench me as long as you want, but I stand by my choice."

He spun and walked out, heading to his room, fuming. 

He didn't belong here, and they all knew it.

In reality, he was benched for a week and a half, until the next Joker crisis and Bruce got badly hurt. He had his katana taken away after he nearly killed Joker. He was allowed back as Robin with conditions, and he wasn't really sure he cared about those conditions.

He had been back as Robin for less then a week when he met Jon.

He was sitting on a roof, watching security cameras, when he heard a slight ruffle of fabric behind him. He stayed still, waiting a moment. 

"Aww, you're not even gonna react?"

"Who are you?"

"Turn around and find out."

Damian collapsed his holo screen and turned, dropping his hood. Standing a few feet away was a boy around his age, wearing a white and black suit with a bright red symbol on the front and a long white cape.

One of Superman's family, then.

"Who are you?"

The boy smiled, purple eyes bright. His black hair was shaggy and curly. 

"I'm Jon-El, son of Kal-El... Superman."

"I gathered," Damian said dryly, turning away again.

Jon moved around, floating off the edge of the roof, scowling a little bit.

"You're Robin."

"Good job," Damian said, frowning at him. "You can read."

"You're like me."

Damian ignored him, scowling down at his holoscreen. Suddenly Jon reached out, grabbing his wrist and twisting his arm away. Damian lashed out, hitting him right in the nose. Jon only grabbed that wrist and scowled at him. 

"Let go of me," Damian hissed, yanking. Jon didn't budge.

"No. No I don't think I will."

Jon-El yanked, and Damian yelped as he was pulled off the edge of the roof, starting to dangle. Jon reached out with one hand in a flash, grabbing him around the shoulders.

"What are you doing?" Damian used his free hand to grab out a birdarang and stab at Jon-El's shoulder. It was like hitting cement; the little weapon skidded to the side, not even tearing his clothes.

Jon snorted in amusement, taking off. The world blurred around them, and then they were in the middle of an open grass field. Damian stumbled back as soon as his feet were on the ground, arms coming up to a fighting position. 

"What the fuck?"

"Language!" Jon scolded with a happy laugh, looking around, taking a deep breath. "I wanted to meet you!"

"I didn't want to meet you!"

Jon's smile disappeared into a scowl again.

"That's not very nice."

"You just kidnapped me!"

Jon shrugged. "Ask nicely and I'll take you back."

"Take me back!"

"... Not nice enough. No."

Damian took a breath, taking a moment to assess the boy in front of him. He was taller than Damian was, but a little less muscular. They had to be very close in age, but Jon was still baby faced, with smooth pale skin, and he looked very similar to Superman. So far, he had clearly inherited some of his fathers powers: speed, flight, and unbreakable skin. It was reasonable to assume he would have at least super strength.

"Why?" 

"Hm?" Jon asked, tilting his head. 

"Why did you want to meet me?"

"Oh! Because you're interesting."

"What do you mean?" Damian asked defensively.

Jon groaned. "Ugh. The other bats are soo boring. You're the only one who's interesting. You're the only one who kills."

"That's not true, Red Hood-" 

"Red Hood has killed. You still do," Jon insisted, stepping a little closer. He tilted his head. "Why are you different? I want to know."

Damian stepped back, hands raising a bit from where they'd fallen.

"Oh please ," Jon whined. Then in a flash, he had his arm around Damians neck, pinning him against his chest. "If I wanted to, I could snap your neck faster than your heart beats."

A chill ran down Damian's spine, and he went completely still. 

"That's better," Jon purred.

If Superman had raised this boy, Damian realized why everyone was so afraid of him.

"Now... Tell me."

"I'm a trained assassin. I was raised in the League of Assassins and was one of their most skilled assassins for most of my life."

"Interesting," Jon said softly, his arm tightening for just a minute. 

"What do you want?" Damian asked, keeping his breathing controlled, eyes straight ahead.

"I came to Gotham a few weeks ago to meet you. Instead, I met Red Hood, and they just had to alert my father," Jon whined a bit. "So. What I'd like is free roam in your city."

"I can't give you that. Batman already distrusts me, and that's not my decision to make."

"Oh isn’t it, though?" Jon said with a soft giggle. 

"It isn't."

"Your father uses a special device to detect when we come into Gotham so that he can intercept us. I want something that allows me passage."

"Why do you want to be in Gotham? There are a hundred better cities."

"Yes, but they don't have you. "

"I still don't-"

"It doesn't matter," Jon snapped. "You said your father doesn't trust you? Help me, and I can make him obsolete."

"Jon-"

"Oh don’t tell me you don't think you know better than him. He's a stuffy old man stuck in his stuffy ways. I can make you a prince ."

"If I don't want to help?"

"Hmm. That'd be so boring, but... If that's the case. Then I'll leave you alone, and you can keep trying to appease your father until you die.”

Damian was silent for a long moment, considering this. It was foolish. Jon-El had kidnapped and threatened him; he knew what type of people Superman's family were; allowing him into Gotham would no doubt get people killed..... So why was he considering it?

"I will need time to think, but.... If I do this, you cannot hurt any civilians or I will disable your key and Father will be able to tell you're in Gotham."

Jon chuckled slightly, his arm loosening, only barely holding Damian in place now. "Deal. Close your eyes."

He felt the world shift around him, and then they were back in Gotham again.

"You have two weeks," Jon said softly in Damian's ear.

And then he was gone.

A week passed and Damian hadn't told anyone. He would sit quietly when he was allowed out on patrols and contemplate the decision.

There was no logical reason he should say yes. 

Yet he was considering it.

He knew how to do it. Bruce had "keys" he gave to metas they trusted. No bigger than buttons, they could be sewn into uniforms, or kept in pockets. It made it so they could move around Gotham without setting off alarms. He knew how to program them, he'd seen Tim and Bruce do it multiple times. It would be as easy as coding one of those keys, and then giving it to Jon, when he inevitably came to see what Damian's answer was. 

The only problem is that he'd have to enter his specific code to access the Batcomputer and get the key. And if he did that, Bruce would be able to find out it was him that allowed one of Superman's sons into Gotham. Even if he used someone else's code, Bruce would be able to cross-reference the timestamp with the cameras that pointed directly at the Batcomputer, and the video storage from those cameras was impossible to delete.

So if he was going to do this, he needed to be absolutely sure it was the right choice, and he needed to be sure what Jon wanted to do when he got the key.

After the two weeks were up, Jon found him right after he had swung up onto the roof of the hospital. Damian nearly crashed into him, but he quickly stumbled backwards, instinctively raising his hands into a fighting position.

"This again?" Jon asked, raising an eyebrow.

He looked.... Older.

Damian dropped his hands. He raised one finger and turned, reeling in his grapple. Jon waited, not speaking. Then Damian reached up, taking out his comms, and took off the R symbol on his chest that he knew had a tracker in it, as well as his utility belt. He stashed these behind an air conditioner, and then turned to Jon.

"Take me to that field again."

"As you wish."

Jon stepped forwards, grabbing him. This time, he swept Damian up, carrying him a little more comfortably this time. He didn't fly as fast, so Damian could sort of watch Gotham speed past them, until they were deep in New Jersey farmland. Then Jon set them down. The grass was taller, swishing around their knees.

"Good to see you again," Jon said with a grin, leaning back like he was sitting in a chair, but he was just floating.

Damian gave a grunt, crossing his arms.

"Come on, need you be so formal? Take off the mask, relax a little!"

"No thank you. Can we get to business?"

Jon sighed dramatically, sitting up. Damian realized why he looked older. He looked tired and his hair had been cut, sides shaved down so all he had was a floppy bit on top.

"Always business with people these days, where's your sense of fun and adventure?"

Damian arched an eyebrow, and Jon just scowled at him.

"Fine. What did you decide?"

"I need a few answers first."

This got an eye roll, but Jon waved his hand for him to continue.

"Why do you really want in Gotham?”

Jon hummed. "Why should I tell you?"

"Because otherwise I'm not working with you."

Jon sighed. "Fine. Dad wants me to use you to get in so we can have access and connections to several different Gotham metas."

Damian arched an eyebrow again. "Why do you want in?"

"Fun, mostly. Metropolis is so boring," Jon sighed out. He leaned forwards so he was "laying" on his stomach, arms crossed under his chin. "And you're so much more interesting."

They looked at each other for a long moment.

"That's it?" Damian asked, confused.

"Hm?"

"You don't want to fuck over your dad, you don't want to hurt anyone? You're just... Bored?"

Jon shrugged. "Yeah pretty much."

He looked sincere, and Damian had this odd feeling he was telling the truth.

"See, it's weird." Jon flipped back upright, landing and walking towards Damian, so they were only a step away. 

Was he taller?

"Some of our fathers support our ideals about life."

Jon had this odd little smirk, and Damian wanted to punch him, that comment striking a nerve pretty hard. But he knew a hit wouldn't do anything to the Superson, so he just glared. Jon chuckled, winking.

"So? What do you say?" Jon asked, tilting his head.

"No killing civilians or anyone associated with Batman."

This got a sigh and yet another eye roll. "Agreed."

"Then you have a deal." Damian reached out his hand. Jon grinned again, shaking it firmly. 

"Deal."

"Now take me back before anyone notices."

"Say no more."

Damian stood on the roof, a minute later, watching Jon fly away, feeling distinctly like he just signed his soul away.

He gave Jon the access key a week later, and then didn’t see him or any of the Supers for months after that. Eventually it had practically slipped his mind. He was busy with other things, like constantly being under the watchful eye of Bruce Wayne. With the start of school, his time as Robin had already been dramatically cut, followed by his recent “slip” up of having beaten the shit out of a man who he had caught touching a woman nonconsensually. Apparently, there was a line of “acceptable” physical assault he could inflict on rapists. So now he was constantly being monitored, and the trackers in his suits had gotten a little ridiculous at this point. He liked to undo the seams and gather all the trackers into one pocket of his belt so when Alfred was inspecting their uniforms, he’d find half of Damian’s suits completely unsewn. 

It got so bad, Damian had heard Alfred and Bruce actually yelling over it.

He was sitting on the library roof, holo screens up to his left with live traffic cam feeds, and a book and notebook to his right as he studied while he worked. He had been informed that if his grades dropped below a B (getting A’s was far too easy for him, so him having any B’s was already astounding), he would be taken off patrols indefinitely, and this stupid calculus class was making him mad, so. . . double studying.

Somehow he’d already grown accustomed to the soft rustling of fabric signalling the arrival of a certain meta. He didn’t even look up when he felt a soft rush of air, and then saw a black and white suit out of the corner of his eye.

“Hi,” a voice said softly, just behind his ear.

“Hello,” he greeted back, not looking up.

“What are ya doin?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Damian finally looked up from his book, over at Jon, who was to his left, just slightly behind him. Jon. . . was definitely taller, much lankier than their first meeting, and. . . handsome. His face had slimmed down, all sharp cheekbones and strong jawline, there was a long scar along his right cheek, and Damian remembered faintly hearing about Diana fighting the family of metas, maybe it was from that. His suit had some slight changes, but overall looked the same as their first meeting.

“Oh I just have some news to tell you,” Jon answered with a grin. 

He plopped down on the roof beside Damian, reaching out and flicking the other boy’s hood down, tilting his head a bit.

“Hm. Your hair is longer,” he observed, leaning out to get a better look at Damian’s face.

“Yours is shorter.”

“You look tireder.”

“That’s not a word.”

“Most words weren’t words when they were first made up, and besides English isn’t even my first language so give me a break.” Jon shrugged lightly.

“It’s not mine either, but I don’t use that as an excuse.”

“What’s yours?”

“Arabic,” Damian told him, reaching out to change the screen to a different camera set.

“Mine was Kryptonian. That’s where we’re from, my family. Well except my mom, she’s from Earth.”

Why was this boy rambling his whole life story to Damian?

“So really I’m only half from Krypton.”

“You had news?” Damian interrupted, turning to look at him.

“Oh! Yes!” Jon grinned, leaning in just slightly. “You remember a certain Brian Peschaw?”

“That rapist we sent up north to prison.”

Jon hummed, bouncing his heels against the wall. “Well, he’s no longer going to be a problem.”

Damian blinked at him, something odd burning in his stomach. “What do you mean?”

“His transport vehicle… Had a little accident. Honestly I’m surprised your father didn’t blame you for it!”

Jon was grinning at him, like he’d just done the best thing ever. Damian stared back, and he found he couldn’t be mad at the boy. In fact… He wasn’t really sure what he was feeling.

“How old are you?” He asked suddenly, realizing he didn’t actually know.

“Sixteen,” Jon answered without hesitation. “You?”

“I just turned Seventeen.”

“Oh cool so you’re like... Barely older than me.”

“A year is not barely older.”

Jon giggled a bit, rocking back and forth. Damian might’ve been concerned if it was anyone else. . . Wait… no he wouldn’t be concerned then, and he sure isn’t concerned now. So what if Jon falls, it would be one less nuisance in Damian’s life.

“Jon?”

“Hm? Oh I like how that sounds with your accent,” Jon said, perking up like a dog.

“You do still have that access key, correct?”

“Yep!” Jon reached into his pocket, pulling out the tiny device. 

Damian nodded, then didn’t say anything else, looking back at his book. Jon didn’t leave, just leaned back a bit, looking up at the sky.

“You can’t see the stars in Gotham, can you?”

“No. The pollution both from the chemical plant, and from all the lights makes it entirely impossible,” Damian answered, a little bitterly.

“Have you seen the stars?”

“I’ve not lived here my whole life, Jon. I’ve spent plenty of nights sleeping underneath the stars in the middle of strange places.”

Jon turned to look at him, head tilted to the side. “You’re a very interesting person, Robin.”

“Damian.”

“What?”

Damian looked up at Jon. “My first name is Damian. Seems only fair that you should know that much.”

Jon smiled wide and sincere. “Hello, Damian. I’m Jon.”

He held out a hand. Damian found himself smiling, shaking it.

“A pleasure to meet you.”

Damian wasn’t sure what he had been expecting from his first time meeting Jon’s family, but it certainly wasn’t this.

He was out on patrols, it hadn’t been a very busy evening, but still he was swinging between the roof tops, keeping an eye out for anything. Crime popped up like ants at a picnic, and he wasn’t going to be taken by surprise when something went wrong.

Except he was.

“ Everyone rendevous to my location. Immediately.” Bruce’s voice came over the comms, sharp and panicked, using his tone that meant he wasn’t to be questioned.

Except Damian paused, looking around instead of going to his father. What was happening now? There hadn’t been any alerts or anything of that kind that had come through to him, so there wasn’t some emergency like the Joker or Scarecrow happening.

“ B? What’s going on?” Tim’s voice echoed through just moments later.

“ Not the time for questions. Come to me. I’m at the southside rendevous point.”

“ On my way.”

Damian hesistated a moment longer before answering as well. “En route.”

He took off, landing on the ground and heading for his bike. He was about a block away when he whipped around a corner and face planted into someone’s torso, stumbling backwards and nearly falling on his ass. His hands came up to a defensive position before he even processed what he’d hit.

He’d run face first into a 6’3” wall of pure muscle, dressed in black and white, and floating a foot off the ground. He looked up, and scowled as he found exactly what he was hoping to not find. One of Superman’s family. This looked to be Jon’s brother. He wasn’t as active as the others, but he was much more deadly, and right now he was smirking down at Damian like he’d just caught a delicious piece of prey.

“So. You’re the little rat Jonno’s been obsessed with,” the man hummed, towering over Damian.

“And you are? Someone who assumes he’s greatly important, I can tell that much,” Damian snarked back.

He had little interest in self preservation these days. The man sneered at him, getting a little closer.

“Supernova. I’d say it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance… but it’s not.”

“Feeling is mutual. I assume you’re why Batman is freaking out?”

“Probably.”

Damian took a moment to look him over, then shrugged and went to walk around him. Supernova slid in front of him.

“I don’t know where you think you’re going, but Superman wants to have a talk with you.”

“Yes well. I don’t want to talk to him, and if he wants this little deal I have with him to stay unnoticed, you’ll let me get back to Batman.”

Supernova laughed, and suddenly Damian was being grabbed by the arms and tossed over his shoulder. He twisted to try and get free, but it was to no avail.

“You don’t tell Superman no.”

Supernova shot off with a sickening blur, not offering him the same politeness Jon did by taking the flights slow. When the world came to a stop, and Supernova set him down, Damian’s stomach was churning and his legs were wobbly. He looked around, and with a start realized they were in Metropolis now.

Oh he was so fucked.

He heard a rustle of a cape, and barely avoided whipping around. He wasn’t sure if his stomach would be able to handle that. Instead he slowly turned, bringing his eyes up to find Superman hovering over him. Hm. Definitely fucked. Supernova crowded in behind him so he couldn’t back away, and Damian considered briefly the kryptonite he had on him, but didn’t make a move for it yet.

“So. You’re Robin.” Superman landed on the ground with a soft thump, sizing him up. He was taller then Supernova, and bulkier, and truly towered over Damian.

Damian just tilted his head up a little, eyes narrowing underneath his domino mask.

“What did you want to discuss?” He asked, letting his voice slip into something cold and disinterested. “If there was something you wished to renegotiate about our deal, you should have sent Superboy. It would have made all this far easier.”

“Actually, what I wanted to talk to you about is why Superboy isn’t here. My son has taken quite the interest in you, Robin.”

“I didn’t tell him to. I don’t see why this is my problem.”

Superman chuckled lowly, stepping in closer. Damian really had to tilt his chin up to keep eye contact now.

“It’s going to be your problem if he gets hurt because of you,” he hummed, voice sweet, but eyes deadly.

“If I remember correctly, you’re the one that sent him to talk to me .”

He probably shouldn’t be mouthing off to Superman, but he hated when people got their facts wrong. This got another soft chuckle.

“You are a smartass, huh?” Supernova asked, putting a hand on Damian’s shoulder..

Damian took measured breaths, keeping his heart rate low, calm, despite how he could feel thoughts swirling around his head at a million miles an hour. He was going to be killed here if he didn’t do everything just right, and that included stopping mouthing off to Superman . When he didn’t take the bait, Superman frowned, tilting his head.

“You’re not scared of me,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Interesting.”

Damian just blinked, waiting to see if there was more to this or if he wasn’t being baited again.

“I don’t understand the fascination my son had taken with you. Your kind and mine have never gotten along, and never will. Despite my best attempts to convince him against befriending you, he seems determined on this. So I’ll make one thing explicitly clear to you. If my boy gets hurt because of you, if he gets too close and Batman gets his hands on him and does anything to him. You will be the one who pays for that. An eye for an eye, Robin. My son gets hurt, so does Batman’s.”

Damian tilted his head just slightly.

“Alright.”

This got an eyebrow raise. “Alright? That’s all you have to say?”

“I sense anything else I have to say would not end well for me, so in interest of keeping whatever temporary peace we have, I will simply settle for alright . Your message has been received, even if I’m not quite the intended party,” Damian said, shrugging a little.

Superman stared at him like he was growing a third head.

“Now is that all? Because I guarantee Batman has noticed my absence by now and will not be pleased.”

“Fine. Supernova, take him back.”

Supernova’s hand tightened on his shoulder, and for a moment they talked in a dialect Damian couldn’t understand. Then the world blurred around him, and he was back in Gotham, body aching like he had whiplash, head spinning and stomach churning. He stumbled over to a trashcan to empty the contents of his stomach, before reaching up to activate his comms.

“Robin here,” he groaned, resting his head on the cold metal rim of the trash can.

“ Robin! Where the hell are you?”

Damian lifted his head, looking around for a street sign. “26 th and Harrison.”

“ Why didn’t you come to rendezvous?” Bruce’s voice snapped at him. He was angry.

“I was busy getting abducted, Batman.”

This was met with long silence, then finally. “Come back to the cave. Now.”

Damian sighed softly, clicking off his comms. He waited a minute or two to let his body settle before locating his bike and taking off through the streets of Gotham, heading back to the Batcave.

Bruce was waiting by the stairs when he came in, parking on the lower platform and slowly swinging off. Oh boy what was he gonna use as a cover story for this one. He was developing his story even as he pulled off his mask and walked over.

“Are you alright?” Bruce asked, his own mask pulled down. He did, admittedly, look rather worried.

Damian hummed softly. “Physically, I’m alright. I feel like I’ve got the worst whiplash of my life, but I’ll be fine.”

“What happened?”

“I assume you got the alert from Supernova setting off the meta sensors?”

“Yes.”

“Well…” Here was his time to lie. “He grabbed me, took me back to Metropolis and I had a lovely chat with Superman.”

“What about?”

Damian turned and started walking up towards the medical wing of the batcave. He was going to need pain meds.

“Oh, just a friendly reminder of what will happen if we mess with his family. I’m not sure why, if I’m being honest. You haven’t had any encounters with him recently, have you?”

Bruce was deadly quiet behind him. Damian knew his lie hadn’t been convincing, but it was just a question of if his father was going to call him out on it. He turned to Bruce as he poured himself some pain meds, eyebrow raising.

“No, I haven’t,” Bruce said, voice calm, expression neutral. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, I’m going to go lay down though, my head is still spinning.”

Bruce nodded, and turned to head back to the car. Damian took a breath, watching him leave, and didn’t let it go until he was long gone.

That had been close.

Jon found him two days later, and it was clear he was fuming. He landed next to Damian, and immediately started pacing. Damian barely looked up from the crime scene he was inspecting, knowing the younger teen would speak when he was ready.

“I can’t believe they threatened you ,” Jon practically shouted finally.

“Shh,” Damian hummed, glancing up and around. His family shouldn’t be around, but he never knew for sure.

Jon huffed, grabbed Damian’s arms and in a far too familiar blur, they were in a field. Damian stumbled a few steps, then stopped, sighing, closing his eyes.

“If you ever do that while I’m working again, your father will be making good on that promise,” he growled, turning to face Jon.

Jon just glared back at him, only a few inches away. Neither caved for a long time, holding eye contact.

“He had no right to threaten you like that,” Jon said finally, huffing and looking away.

Damian took a breath and stepped back. “He wanted to guarantee your safety.”

“I’m not a child! I can protect myself!”

Damian shook his head, turning and starting to walk to the little clearing with a tree that was only a short walk away. Jon floated next to him.

“I would’ve given anything for a parent who cared like that, Jon. Relish it.”

Jon didn’t reply to that. Damian eyed the tree for a moment before quickly scaling it, finding a tall limb to plop himself on, leaning back against the trunk. Jon floated up and sat next to him. They sat like that in silence for a long time.

“He was stupid and reckless, sending Kon to grab you without even having the access key,” Jon mumbled, bringing one foot up, hugging his knee to his chest.

Anyone else, Damian would be concerned about falling, but he knew Jon would be fine. He sighed, turning to the other teen.

“Look, Jon. While I would have preferred that never happen, I assure you I’m fine. I was able to avoid telling Father anything about our deal. However, I will remind you, capturing me and bringing me out here does put that secrecy in danger.”

“I know,” Jon sighed, looking a bit like a scolded puppy. “I just… needed to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine, Jon.”

“Yeah well. I see that now,” Jon huffed.

Damian chuckled softly, looking out over the field. It really was rather gorgeous out here, he had to admit.

“I’d never let him hurt you.”

“What?”

Jon shifted to face Damian a little better, he reached out, putting a gloved hand on his face.

“I’m never going to let dad or Kon hurt you,” he promised, an intensity in his eyes that left Damian with an unsettled feeling. “They’ll have to go through me first.”

Damian didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just stared back at Jon. It wasn’t until he was back in Gotham, and Jon was disappearing into the distance, that he realized what that feeling was.

He was scared.

Whatever had been in Jon’s eyes had scared him, and he didn’t understand why .

The first time they met outside of their uniforms, Damian was escaping his family. It wasn’t even over anything serious; he had gotten into a fight with Bruce yet again, this time over something so stupid that had just ended up in verbal confrontation and needlessly harsh comments. Bruce had said something about how Damian would never be anything more than his mother’s weapon, and that had been the final straw. He had spun and stormed out the door, getting on his motorcycle and tearing off into the city. He just needed to be away from that place.

He parked as near as he could to the shore of the bay, and then walked down, knowing his feet were going to be coated in sand. He sat down hard, just above the tideline, watching the water come in and out. He took a few deep breaths. 

He didn’t want to be alone.

“Jon?” he said softly, just into the air. “Will… Will you come?”

Silence stretched for so long that he had just assumed the answer was “no, get fucked, loser”, and he sighed, sitting up, putting his elbows on his knees, rubbing his face. This was stupid, he shouldn’t have let that comment get to him, but here he was, like some over-dramatic teenager. 

He was an over-dramatic teenager, wasn’t he?

The soft crunching of sand is what alerted him to the new arrival. He looked up, and genuinely was surprised to see Jon stopping beside him.

He was wearing jeans and a hoodie, hands in his pockets, he looked as tired as Damian felt. 

“Hey,” Jon greeted. “You called?”

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Jon shrugged, smiling a bit. “What’s up?”

He sat next to Damian, bumping their shoulders together. Damian bumped back but didn't answer right away. Jon didn't push, just sat next to him, quietly watching the waves.

It had been well over a year since the start of their deal. Nothing serious had come from it. There’d been a few incidents that happened outside of Gotham that were definitely due to some of the Rogues – plant based incidents in a few major cities, a fear gas issue in New York – but nothing that could be directly linked back to the Supers, and thus nothing that could be linked to Damian.

In the year that had passed, Jon had shot up like a weed. He had already been tall when they first met, but now he was well over six feet, which Damian could tell just from sitting next to him. He had bulked out a little, his shoulders not quite as broad as his father’s, but still fairly wide. Damian knew from running into him in uniform that he had quite a bit of muscle definition in his arms and legs. His hair was back to a curly mess, and he was fairly tan, skin smooth and perfect except the scar that ran up his cheek.

He was… beautiful, really. Beautiful in the way that mountains were; imposing, larger than life, yet breathtaking. Intimidating and deadly, but gorgeous.

Jon must’ve sensed him staring, because he looked over with a slightly raised eyebrow, laughing softly.

“What?” he asked, sounding amused.

“Nothing. Just… thinking.”

“M’kay, Dames.” Jon looked back over the ocean, smiling a little still.

He’d never used a name like that before.

They sat in silence a bit longer before Jon spoke.

“So, what happened?”

Damian hesitated before speaking. "Father said I'd never be anything more than Mother's weapon."

The slow turn of Jon's head was honestly a little intimidating.

"He what?"

"We were fighting and I said something about how he was just a bitter old man fighting a useless war and he said… well he said 'at least I control my own actions and instead of being controlled like a puppet.’ When I told him the only one controlling puppets was him, he was quick to remind me that I am nothing but a child of the League and that all I know is killing, and no matter how hard I try, I'll never be trustworthy."

Damian could see the slightest tint of red around Jon's eyes.

"Heh." He leaned back on his hands. "You know. He's really lucky he's Batman and he has kryptonite, because otherwise…"

He let out a low, dangerous chuckle.

"Jon… it's fine, really. He's right, after all."

"Excuse me?" Jon asked, sounding a little shocked.

"I've lived here since I was thirteen, Jon. Father and my siblings… they distrusted me from day one, and once I became Robin, that only got worse. I have tried and tried for years, but I just can't shake my training. I am nothing more than a weapon."

Jon turned, grabbing Damian's face gently, tenderly almost. Damian was too surprised to pull away.

"Stop that talk right now," he said softly. "You are more than a weapon. You've just not been given the chance to figure out who you really are. You've been shoved from one parent to the other, both with extremely different and impossible standards, who expect you to adhere to those standards perfectly . It's not fair to you."

"Jon…" 

"You know I'm right."

He did. He knew Jon was right, and he hated it. He looked away, dropping his head a little.

"Doesn't matter, I can't do anything about it."

Jon sighed, letting his hands fall. He turned and looked back over the water. Neither of them spoke for a long time.

Damian was so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of pretending, tired of being good. He didn't even know who he was outside of pretending. 

He let out his own sigh, shifting closer to Jon and resting his head on the other teen’s shoulder. He didn't know why, it just felt right. Jon reached over, squeezing his knee, and then left his hand there.

They sat in silence, nothing but the sounds of the water and city behind them.

"Sometime," Jon said finally. "I wanna bring you out to the farm. I think you'd like it there."

"The farm?"

Jon nodded. "My family lives on a farm about thirty minutes out from Metropolis."

"Oh…"

"It's really nice. Peaceful. We have a lot of animals. It's one of the ways we financially support ourselves."

"Other than scaring people into submission?"

Jon snorted, turning to look down at Damian.

"Is that what everyone thinks we do?" he asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "We try to stay under the radar as much as we can, secret identities and such. Mom's a writer and researcher under pen names, and dad mostly runs the farm. Sure, we might help ourselves every once and a while, but we try to not make a habit out of it."

Damian hummed. This was different from the League. Often they would take all the assets of targets, including money. Besides financial supporters, it's the only way they had anything. 

"I can't wait until that place is no longer my home,” Damian said after a long pause of quiet.

"Where do you wanna go after?"

"I haven't thought about going anywhere. Just… getting out."

"Damian?"

Damian hummed in reply, glancing up.

"Why do you like Gotham?"

Damian was silent for a long time, considering this.

Why did he? He had no reason to. Gotham hadn't been that nice to him. Its residents were mean and cruel, a side effect of trying to survive in this town. The city itself was harsh, bleak, and gray, he felt sicker and looked paler than he ever had in Nanda Parbat. He had never been truly accepted in Gotham, not by his so-called family, or classmates, or even society.

He had given everything to this city, and it had given him nothing in return. So why did he stay?

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “Perhaps because it is the first place that I am making my own decisions. This city has done nothing for me and I have never been accepted by it. But I keep trying.”

“Well… Maybe one day you should stop trying.”

Damian frowned at him, and just looked out over the bay without saying anything else.

Damian wasn’t even sure what had started this fight. He’d walked into the manor after school, and had barely made it into the kitchen before Bruce was breathing down his neck. It was almost summer, so he had three weeks until he finished school and could leave this hellish house. He already had an application in for an apartment in downtown Gotham, he had a bank account set up with a considerable amount of funds, graciously given to him from his father, who would never notice the missing digits from his own account.

He was ready to leave, and Bruce knew it, so why he picked today to have this fight was beyond Damian’s understanding.

“Damian, can we talk?”

“I assumed that’s why you were doggedly following me,” Damian hummed back, loosening the tie on his school uniform.

Bruce didn’t speak for a minute as Damian silently started tea. He had finals to study for and would need something to keep him going.

“I just wanted to know what your plans were for vigilante work once you moved out,” he said finally.

Damian barely contained the annoyed sigh. They’d had this conversation already, and Damian had stated that he didn’t know . He had little interest in continuing his father’s path, the holy crusade he had going, but on the other hand, he didn’t have much interest in the things Jason did either. He had talents and skills that were being put to waste, and would continue to be put to waste if he tried to follow someone else’s path.

“As I stated last time you started this conversation, I’m not sure what my plans are, father.”

“I just-”

“I know you’re paranoid I’m going to go back to my mother’s ways, yes.”

Bruce inhaled sharply, giving Damian a disapproving glare.

“That’s not what I-”

“Was going to say? Sure. You would never directly state that, however that has been your concern since the day I put on the Robin mask, so it would be foolish to assume that wasn’t still your concern. After all, you’d be a disgrace if you had two failed proteges.”

Damian spoke as calmly as if he was talking about the weather, pouring his now boiling water into a teacup alongside the tea infuser. Bruce was staring at him in what could be shock or just upset. Either way, Damian didn’t care. He turned to face Bruce properly, crossing his arms.

“To be very blunt with you, father, I have very little intention of keeping your legacy.”

There was a long pause, then Bruce scoffed.

“So that’s it then? Five years you’ve lived here and you never changed, did you?” he asked, crossing his arms.

Damian raised his eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“I spent five years trying to help you, help show you that there’s a better way, and you adamantly refused to listen or learn. You spent five years ignoring every lesson I had for you, and-”

“You spent five years yelling at me !” Damian snapped, voice pitching up suddenly.

Bruce looked taken aback.

“You spent five years expecting me to slit your throat, to lash out, waiting and watching, ready to catch me the moment I did something wrong. You never offered an ounce of forgiveness, and barely recognized when I did do what you wanted!” Damian was angry now. How dare Bruce talk like that. “You spent these last five years treating me like a ticking time bomb, you and Drake and even Richard. You expected me to follow every single direction you gave me, to follow your morals like they were the law. Any singular slip up saw me benched, grounded, or worse. I can’t breathe in this house without someone thinking I’m about to stick a knife in their back when I have done nothing but try to be what you want!”

“If you really tried so hard, then you would have made progress.”

Silence fell after that, the two staring at each other. Bruce was still taller, even though Damian, at eighteen, was no longer the small child he had taken in. He was still around six foot, but Bruce at six two, towered over him, wider in the shoulders, and more muscular too. Damian felt like his chest was heaving with how fast he was breathing. He was pissed . Bruce still had that cold, calm expression he wore so often as Batman.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he snarled, stepping a little closer, rather suddenly.

Bruce twitched just enough for Damian to notice, and he laughed a little.

“See. That? You don’t trust me. You’ve never trusted me, you never even tried to,” he hissed. “I tried my damned best, but every time I reached a standard you’d set, you raised them. You make it impossible for us to be successful, and yet you wonder why Richard left, why Todd turned away from your path, and why Drake hides from you. You don’t trust us, so why should we do as you ask?”

“That’s not true. I do trust-”

“Yourself. You have only ever trusted yourself, father.”

“Damian.”

“Do you have any idea how much I used to idolize you? How I would dream of Batman coming to save me, to spirit me away from my grandfather? And then I met you, and you were just like mother. You drilled me constantly, always expected more from me than I could physically offer. You never allowed me a chance to be better, because you were always anticipating me to be bad. I idolized you for nothing. You are no better than Ra’s.”

Damian shook his head, and went to push past Bruce to leave. Bruce caught his arm tightly, holding him in place.

“You say you tried to be better, but I still see every little movement and reaction you make. I see your hands twitch to go to blades, I see how close you get to killing every criminal and villain we come across. I’ve seen you nearly break your brother’s bones during practice. You know nothing but injuring and killing. If you had truly wanted to change, you would have.”

Damian tilted his chin up, meeting Bruce’s eyes.

“I never wanted to change . Your morals and rules are unattainable and absurd. I wanted to prove you wrong . But I see now that I wasted five years of my life. But no longer.”

He yanked his arm away, and kept walking, leaving Bruce and his tea behind.

He stormed up to his room. He was done . Enough of this shit. He didn’t need to wait three weeks until he graduated; he would figure something out. There were enough safe houses across Gotham he could move around for a few weeks until he got his apartment approved. He started grabbing clothes, shoving them into a bag, and then started cramming his book bag full of all his important things. He could probably get in contact with Alfred later to get the remainder of his things, but for now this was all that was important.

He had thrown his things in his car and packed up some stuff for his cat when he stopped suddenly.

Bruce was so goddamn certain he couldn’t learn, he couldn’t change. He could . Anyone can change if they wanted to, but he didn’t want to. Bruce was so certain his way was the only right way, but he was wrong, and Damian could show him that.

He spun on his heel and walked back inside, leaving his car packed full. He wasn’t sure where Bruce had gone after their fight, but he didn’t care. He went to the office, winding the clock to the correct time, and slipped through the secret door, heading down into the cave. He didn’t see anyone down there, so he immediately headed for the uniforms. But he didn’t grab his. He grabbed a few spare pieces of suits and armor, slowly building a new uniform. He tugged on his black boots, pressed a mask on, and quickly strapped on his weapons. It wasn’t an attractive outfit, by any means, but it wasn’t Robin, and that’s what mattered.

He was tearing through the streets of Gotham in the next ten minutes. He had disabled trackers on his bike and left his phone and comms behind. There was no way Bruce could find or stop him. It was shockingly easy to hunt down The Riddler. He knew the man had been free from Arkham for a while, and for whatever reason, Bruce hadn’t bothered with him. Admittedly, Riddler wasn’t the worst of the people they fought, but he was a nuisance, and Damian could make an easy example of him.

He threw a smoke bomb in and then slammed the door open, sending alarms blaring.

He slipped between the shadows, tuning out the alarms surprisingly easily. It was easy to fall back into old movements, clearing the building, pushing from room to room, keeping behind cover. He found Riddler scrambling for a weapon. He extended the club like staff towards Damian.

“Stop right there!”

Damian didn’t stop, just eyed him a little, and then lunged forwards, knife flying. Nygma let out a gasp, stumbling back as the knife easily slid between his ribs. He fell against the table he had been sitting at. Damian kept his slow advance forwards.

“Who the hell are you?” Nygma choked out, coughing and spitting up blood already.

Damian yanked his staff out of his hands, throwing it behind him, and crouched in front of him.

“The last face you’re ever gonna see,” he hummed out, smiling at him. “I am Damian Al Ghul, I am the son of the bat, the heir to the demon’s head, prince of assassins. I am Robin, and you have failed one too many times.”

“Ro- Robin? Like, Batm- You’re that little shit!”

Damian reached up, peeling off his mask.

“This little shit no longer works for Batman. I don’t follow his rules anymore, and you are my example.” He leaned in, pressing a knife against Nygma’s chest.

He looked scared . Damian had seen fear for years; people feared Batman. People feared dying. But never because of him. No one feared Robin, his idiot predecessors had made sure of that. But people were going to be afraid now, because he would make them be.

“This isn’t- Batman doesn’t do this-”

Damian shoved the knife deep into Nygma’s chest.

“I’m not with Batman anymore,” he hissed, and twisted his knife as he pulled it out.

Nygma screamed with pain. Within seconds he had slumped, blood gushing from his chest. Damian straightened, smiling a little.

He had forgotten what a rush it was. He looked down at his knife, dripping with Nygma’s blood.

For a moment, there was the briefest wave of something he could only assume was guilt, seeing the blood dripping onto the ground at his feet, smelling the sharp tang of blood. Everything he’d worked for the last five years he had just ruined in a singular act. He could never go back from this.

That was fine . He didn’t want to go back. He was done with Batman and done with Bruce Wayne.

He turned sharply and exited Nygma’s hideout. He pulled an emergency beacon out of his pocket and stuck it on the wall next to the front door, stabbing his knife into the plaster next to it. That would be enough of a signal. Bruce would recognize his weapons, any of them would.

He pulled himself up onto a nearby roof, far enough away not to be spotted, but close enough he could watch and see who arrived first. He was just watching the Batmobile pull up when he heard the crunch of feet on gravel behind him.

How had they found him so fast?

He spun, expecting to see Jason or Tim, but instead there was a darkly dressed individual. They were shorter, smaller built then him, but the moment they stepped in close, Damian realized. League. Standing in front of him was a League of Assassin’s soldier.

“What do you want?” he asked sharply, pulling out his sword.

“Your grandfather wishes to speak to you, Prince Al Ghul,” a feminine voice said, sneering a little.

“Tell Ra’s that I do not wish to have any contact with him. I’ve told him this before and I will say it as many times as I-”

Damian didn’t get to finish as starbursts broke out in his eyes and he registered an explosion of pain in the back of his head, and then he crumpled like a ragdoll, the world going black around him.

When Damian came to, he was in a cold, dark room. Immediately he knew where he was. He sighed softly, groaning as he felt the cold creeping into his bones. He stretched out, doing a quick check of himself. For the most part, he seemed uninjured. His head was pounding, he was cold, most of his armor had been stripped away, as well as every single weapon he had. He wasn’t bound in any way, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t matter.

He slowly sat up, looking around. Sure enough, he was in a cell: stone walls, stone floors, iron and wood door. He took a few moments to breathe and collect himself before standing. He walked over to the door, ignoring how his head was swimming, and pushed up on his toes to look out the barred window.

There were two guards outside, one on either side of the door, dressed in the usual League of Assasins garb, both armed well. If he could get out… No, he immediately abandoned that idea, trying to get out of Nanda Parbat was almost as hard as getting into it was. He’d need to wait it out, see what Ra’s wanted, then figure out a plan from there. Assuming that nothing had changed in the fortress, he still knew all the paths out of here, so he’d just have to wait and see how the guards had changed.

So Damian went and sat against the wall, closed his eyes and took time to just breathe and relax. He could wait. He’d certainly had longer stakeouts.

It may have been minutes, it may have been hours before the door swung open, bright light shining through. He didn’t open his eyes, having been meditating while he waited.

“'Amiri,” a soft feminine voice spoke.

Damian went completely still. He knew that voice. In five years it was unchanged. Every time he had seen her since she helped him escape it was still the same. It was still oddly comforting, for everything she had put him through.

“’Umi,” he whispered, finally opening his eyes and looking up.

Despite being silhouetted by the light behind her, it was still obvious that it was Talia standing in the doorway. She lifted a hand out to him.

“Come, habibi.”

He stood, feeling a little dazed as he walked towards her, taking her hand.

“Oh my baby, what did they do to you?” she hummed softly, reaching a hand up to touch the back of his head.

He winced. He hadn’t realized that there had been an actual injury there.

“Come, let’s get you cleaned up before you see your grandfather.”

Reality came crashing back at that. He had been so surprised by his mother, he had forgotten what was happening. It had been years at that point since he’d seen her. Bruce hadn’t approved of them keeping contact, and for a while he was so mad at her that he didn’t want to see her anyway. But here she was, alive, safe, real.

She was pulling on him, and he still felt like he was in a stupor as he stumbled after, probably from his head injury. She led him through halls he had known his whole life, past rooms he’d trained in. It was all so familiar, yet cold and distant at the same time.

Just like Damian assumed she would, Talia led him back to her rooms. It was almost unchanged from his childhood. The scent of cloves and citrus hit him like a wall. This room had smelled like that his whole life . She had him sit on a pile of cushions, leaving to fetch a bowl of water, and then began slowly cleaning his injury.

“You’ve grown so much, habibi,” she said softly, her touches light.

“What does he want?” Damian forced out, trying to keep himself focused.

Talia paused, then pushed forwards like he hadn’t spoken. “I was worried what would happen when you went to Bruce, but you’ve become such a handsome young man.”

“Mother.” Damian reached up, grabbing her wrist. “What does Ra’s want?”

She took a breath, then gave him a little smile. “What he always wants, habibi.”

Damian sighed softly. Of course that was it. Ra’s wanted him back under League control, to be his perfect little puppet again. Like it was some honor . He didn’t want to be in the League, but hadn’t he just proved that he was still nothing but a murderer? Taking out Nygma was meant to be the start of something, but it apparently, would be the start and the end. There was no way he would be telling Ra’s no and surviving. You didn’t tell The Demon’s Head no .

Talia tended to him with gentle hands, cleaning his head, and then the blood from his hair. She wiped down his face and neck before straightening.

“You need new clothes, habibi.”

She turned and walked to the door, talking to the servant outside softly before coming back.

“Now. While we’re waiting, catch me up on what has been happening?” she asked, sitting next to him.

He stared at her like she had turned green.

“What?” Talia asked with a little laugh.

“Mother, with all due respect – which, admittedly, isn’t much – why the fuck do you think you’re entitled to that?”

Talia looked rather taken aback at that. Damian used to never swear, and now he used it as fluently as he did English itself.

“Well-”

“You got me out of this place and abandoned me with people who did not trust me, left me to spend five years of my life in a hostile home. You want to know what’s been happening? I spent five years of my life trying to make myself into someone I could never be. I spent five years of my life trying to appease a man who has higher standards and higher requirements than even Ra’s. I spent five years of my life in the care of a family who wished I had never been born,” he spat out. “I have spent the last five years in hell . I would have rather you left me here to die then be sent to that place.”

Her face hardened, and suddenly she slapped him. He gasped a little, recoiling back from her.

“ Never speak to me like that again, do you understand me?” she hissed out. “You owe me your life, act like it.”

“I owe you nothing . I owe Ra’s nothing . I belong to no man and I will answer to no one. I am my own, and if I lose my life fighting for the right to be the only person controlling my destiny? Then so be it.”

Talia stood abruptly. She grabbed him by the arm, pulling him up right and tugging him to the door.

“If you wish to be an ungrateful welp, then you can do it in your cell. Your grandfather was right, you are a disobedient child, and this was a waste of my time.”

She pushed him out the door, snapping an order to the guards outside, and they immediately grabbed him by the arms.

“Don’t try anything,” one hissed in his ear.

They immediately began marching him back to the cell, shoving him through the door and locking it behind him again.

Hours later, he was pulled back out by the guards. He had been brought clean, nicer looking clothes and ordered to change. Which he did without complaint, as the underclothing from his armor he’d been left in wasn’t exactly comfortable, whereas the clothing he had been given was soft cotton. The guards spared none of their strength, tugging him around and shoving him through doors. He knew immediately where they were going, and wasn’t surprised when at last they pushed him through the door to Ra’s hearing room. He was shoved onto his knees in front of the old man, lounged back on his throne like he was some kind of king. Damian grunted as he hit the ground, and then looked up, a sneer already forming on his face.

“Ra’s,” he spat out.

“Grandson,” Ra’s greeted in return, eyebrow raising. “So I was right that your worthless father ruined your manners.”

“Oh no, I did that quite well all on my own.”

Damian hissed as a guard hit him square in the back with the butt of their sword.

“Do not address the Demon Head in such manners,” the guard reprimanded.

Damian shot them a glare, and then straightened, looking up at Ra’s again.

“It’s quite alright, Leslie, I can handle a little attitude from my grandson.”

Damian shifted so he was sitting on his shins, watching Ra’s with as an unimpressed look as he could manage. They just looked at each other. Ra’s hadn’t changed one bit in the past five years, likely due to his prolonged use of the Lazarus Pit. He was still the same old, slimey looking man.

“Well? Make your offer,” Damian hummed, pulling up a front of indifference.

“Come back home. Return to the League. You can work alongside your mother again, become my left hand man,” Ra’s said, sitting up a little.

“Go to hell ,” Damian sneered back, smirking.

He heard the guards behind him shift, but he didn’t move, just straightened a little, tilting his head.

“Why the hell would I come work for you? You tried to have me murdered when I was thirteen because you were afraid of what I was becoming. You knew I was destined to take over the League, and instead of handling me appropriately, or letting someone more suited for the role take over, you decided to remove me from the equation.”

Ra’s was looking less and less amused, but Damian was just getting warmed up. He pushed to his feet. The guards behind him lunged forwards, but Ra’s lifted a hand to stop them.

“I am done playing by someone else’s rules, and I’m done following orders. No longer am I going to play the good little soldier. I listen to no one but myself now, grandfather . So you can go rot in hell for all I care. I am never going to obey you.”

Ra’s smiled just slightly.

“So the good little prince finally grew a backbone. And here I was thinking you were going to be a worthless pawn for your whole life,” he sneered back. “We’ll see if you still hold that opinion after a few days.”

He waved slightly to the guards, and in sync they grabbed Damian. One kicked his knees, causing him to fall forwards, while the other cuffed him in the side of the head. He gasped in pain, going a little limp in their hold. They started dragging him back out, and he grimaced, looking back up at Ra’s. They held eye contact until the huge oak doors swung closed behind him.

The guards handled him rather roughly, giving him a decent beating as they dragged him back to his cell, shoving him in and tripping him so he sprawled out onto the cold stone floor. He groaned, rolling onto his back and stretching out stiffly. Fuck, everything hurt.

He wasn’t sure how long Ra’s planned to keep him here, but even if he died of starvation, he wouldn’t cave. He was never coming back to the League, he knew that for sure.

He lost track of time pretty quickly. At first, he kept track by the change of guard, every six hours, but after the first time he fell asleep, he lost track completely. It could have been two days, it could have been five, all he knew was that he was so cold and his body was screaming in pain and hunger. He found himself curled up in the corner of the cell, staring at the floor. He had changed back into his uniform, since it was designed for warmth, and was using the clothes Talia had given him as blankets.

There wasn’t a lot to do other than think and sleep, and sleep had never been easy for him, even when he was pain free and fully fed. So he was left to think. He entertained himself at first by inventing stories, trying to recall the ones he had read while at the manor, thinking about how in those stories the characters would escape from their imprisonment.

Damian snorted to himself, then groaned in pain. It was usually a friend or a lover who rescued the character, so he was well and truly stuck. He had no friends who would be coming for him, nor a lover to look for him. He would stay and rot in this cell, and he had resigned to that fate.

He had no lover.

He felt a new stab of pain at that thought, and that confused him. Why the hell would that bother him? It was the truth. He never allowed anyone to get close to him, and he never allowed himself to experience those emotions.

So why did it feel so wrong?

He spent hours stuck on that thought, turning it over and over in his head, trying to figure out why he would feel wrong saying he had no one who cared for him. Then like a slap to the face, it hit him.

Jon.

Jon-El, the son of Superman. The one person, who in the last two years, hadn’t allowed Damian to push him away. He had decided to befriend Damian, he had come when Damian asked, he had offered comfort and support, and he… he was protective of Damian, in a way no one else ever was. When Jon’s family had threatened Damian, Jon had been furious, going so far as to get into fights with his father, who he adored and looked up to. Jon was constantly appearing when Damian was in danger, saving his life on multiple occasions. He had been there through so much, he cared for Damian.

And Damian didn’t know what to do with that realization.

Despite everything about his current situation, it made a bit of warmth bloom in his chest, thinking about the younger teen. Still, it took hours for Damian to fully process what that warmth meant.

There was some emotion he had been shoving down for weeks- months, really. He cared for Jon, but he was never going to see him again or be able to tell him that. The wave of grief that followed that realization was like nothing he’d ever felt before. He’d never get to see Jon again, he’d never get to explore this feeling, to figure out what it meant. This feeling that felt oddly like his heart was going to burst and his throat was swelling. He took a shaky breath, curling up tight on himself.

This hurt worse than anything the League had done to him.

It wasn’t long after that the guards threw open the door to his cell. He stayed curled up in his little ball, eyeing them.

“Come on, Ra’s wishes to see you again. Maybe you’ve changed your mind.”

They didn’t wait for him to comply, just dragged him up onto his feet, pulling him along. He stumbled for the first few steps before regaining his footing and mostly walking with them. He felt weak, like his bones were made out of lead, and slightly frozen at that. He hated being cold.

They brought him into a different room then last time, this one was wide open, barren except for some weapons on the walls. Ra’s was stood in the middle of the room, dressed in light, loose layers. He turned when the door opened, smiling a little. Not a kind smile, a smile that immediately told Damian this was going to be the end.

The guards shoved him to his knees in front of Ra’s, one reaching out to grab his hair and roughly yank so he was looking up at Ra’s at an odd angle.

“Has your answer changed after five days?” Ra’s asked, leaning down a little to mockingly smile at him.

“Go to hell,” Damian snarled.

He would’ve spit at the man’s face if he could’ve. Ra’s just chuckled, stepping back a little.

“Well, no one can say I didn’t try,” he said to the guards, then he looked back down at Damian. “Your mother is going to be so disappointed.”

He heard the soft shink of a knife being pulled, and less then a second later there was a scream from outside. Not a scream of fear, but a scream of pure pain. The sound that people only let out when they were being tortured. Even Ra’s looked alarmed, looking up suddenly. The screaming continued for a moment, and then everything fell silent. No one spoke or moved, Damian could barely hear anyone breathing.

“Go see what that was,” Ra’s ordered in a low voice. “I have business to finish.”

The guards turned to head for the door. Ra’s stepped towards Damian, bringing the knife up to his throat. He had just felt the touch of the cold metal when everything exploded around them.

The door quite literally exploded in a burst of heat and splinters, metal and wood flying everywhere. Damian instinctively rolled backwards, kicking out at Ra’s as he quickly put distance between them.

“Little rat!” Ra’s snarled, lunging after.

Damian could hear the guards shouting; one let out a scream and then fell silent after a loud crack . He didn’t have time to look and see what was happening, as Ra’s jumped on top of him, stabbing wildly at him. Damian blocked each stab before taking one to the forearm. He hissed in pain, trying to roll to get Ra’s off. Then there was a rush of air, a white blur, and Ra’s was gone, sprawled on the ground ten feet away. Damian had been tossed slightly, and he quickly pushed up to his knees, ready to lunge at the newcomer. Then he froze.

“Touch him again and I will ensure it’s the last thing you ever do.”

Towering over Damian was Jon. He was floating a foot off the ground, eyes tinted red. His suit and face were splattered with blood, hands almost completely coated in it. He looked terrifying , and yet Damian felt like he could breathe.

Ra’s was scrambling to his feet. He threw the knife, not at Jon, but at Damian. There was another blur, and Jon had scooped Damian up, swatting the knife to the side so it went flying into the wall. There was a burst of heat, and the ground in front of Ra’s was scorched black. Ra’s jumped back a little, assessing the situation.

“You’re one of Kal’s boys,” Ra’s said, not looking surprised by this realization.

“I am. And I can ensure you, he’s going to be very displeased with this.” Jon adjusted Damian so he was a little more secure. “Damian Al Ghul is ours . Come after him again and you will experience the wrath of more than just myself.”

“Surely your father understands the importance of family business staying in the family,” the old man sneered.

Jon chuckled darkly. “Ra’s Al Ghul. This has nothing to do with my father. But once I’ve made a decision, as I have now, you can be assured that my father will side with my choices and defend me until it kills us.”

“Jon, just leave it,” Damian whispered, finding his hands clenched tightly in Jon’s shirt.

He saw Jon’s eyes flick towards him briefly, then he turned back to Ra’s.

“We’re going to leave, and you will not make any attempt to stop us, or send any soldiers after us. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” Ra’s held up his hands, eyes narrowing, clearly calculating.

“Good.”

And with that, Jon turned, not saying another word as he floated out, carrying Damian like he weighed no more than a small child. As soon as they were clear from the walls of Nanda Parbat, Jon took off like a shot, the world turning blurry around them. Damian just curled into the teen, pressing his forehead to the side of Jon’s neck.

Eventually he felt the wind slow, and felt warm air for the first time in days. Jon landed after a moment, and when Damian lifted his head, he could see trees surrounding them. They were in a forest clearing, it was just barely light, the sun just starting to come up through the leaves. Jon set him down, and Damian stumbled a little the moment his feet touched the ground, but Jon held him up.

“Damian?” he asked, voice so much softer than it had been earlier.

Earlier he had sounded dangerous, threatening. Now he just sounded scared .

“I’m okay,” Damian whispered, clinging onto Jon and not looking up at him yet.

He was alive, and Jon was here. Jon had come for him.

Jon had come for him .

“Oh Rao, I thought-” Jon took in a shaky breath, and then squeezed Damian in a bone-crushing hug.

Damian grunted, but found himself clinging on just as tightly. He pushed his face into the taller teens shoulder, letting out gasping breath that quickly turned into a little sob.

“It’s okay- It’s okay you’re safe now,” Jon murmured, squeezing him tightly.

“You came,” Damian whispered.

“Hey. Hey, of course I came.” Jon pulled back a little, reaching up to lift Damian’s chin softly. His face was full of… full of something Damian found himself too scared to name. “I’m always gonna come for you, Damian.”

There was that aching feeling in his chest. He just held eye contact with Jon and nodded a little.

Jon pulled away just slightly, grabbing his cape and ripping the bottom of it, using the strip of fabric to wrap Damian’s bleeding forearm.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” Jon whispered. “You need medical attention and food.”

“No!” Damian protested quickly, pulling away, stumbling back a few steps.

Jon looked surprised, but didn’t chase after him.

“No. I can’t- I can’t go back to Gotham, not anymore. I’m sorry, I-”

“I know about Nygma, Damian, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jon cut him off quickly, stepping forwards. “And I don’t mean Gotham.”

“Wh.. What?”

Jon grabbed his hands gently, giving him a little smile. “I didn’t figure you’d want to go back to Gotham after that. I assumed you and Bru- Batman, had another fight, but I obviously didn’t know exactly what happened. It took me a few days to realize you weren’t even in Gotham anymore, and even longer to realize what had happened. I’m so sorry I didn’t get there sooner, Damian if I had known-”

“Wait-” Damian cut him off quickly.

He felt like his head was spinning. So much was happening at once and he felt so weak and lightheaded.

“You said- How long have you known?”

Jon looked a little sheepish at that. “About your family? A year…. And a half? Look it was hard to not figure it out, okay? Sorry…”

“It’s- It’s fine. Whatever.”

It really was the least of his worries right now. He opened his mouth to speak just as the world spun around him again, and he stumbled forward into Jon. He was scooped up in an instant.

“I’m taking you back to the farm.”

“Jon-”

Damian fell quiet, looking up at Jon’s face. It was still splattered in blood, dried and caking now, Every emotion he’d felt back in that cell came crashing back into him like a wave. He reached up, pressing a hand to Jon’s cheek. Jon met his eyes, giving a tiny smile. There was so much worry and affection in those brilliant blue eyes and it thrilled and terrified Damian.

“Take me away,” he whispered, and tucked his face down into Jon’s neck again.

Jon took a moment to wrap his cape around Damian like a blanket, and then took off. Damian dozed off at some point, possibly from the exhaustion or from the pain, or maybe because he finally felt safe wrapped up in Jon’s arms. Either way, he missed the majority of the flight, waking back up when he felt Jon drop suddenly. He startled slightly, and just got a slight squeeze, looking around until he realized Jon must’ve dropped to avoid something. He couldn’t recognize where they were with how fast they were going, but with how the sun was getting close to the horizon again, they must be nearing the East Coast again.

It didn’t take much longer before Jon was slowing down, and then started descending. When he finally landed and let Damian slide down to his feet, it was immediately obvious they were in the countryside. It was quiet, and he could hear the wind rustling grass and tree limbs. Somewhere he heard a dog barking, and cows mooing and it smelled... So much different than cities did. It smelled clean and dirty at the same time, but a different type of dirty. Like animals and mud. He lifted his head to see grass surrounding them, a forest off in the distance. He could see a huge barn to his left, and barbed wire fences that stretched for miles. 

"We're here," Jon said softly. 

Damian pulled away a little, just enough to turn and look around. There was a huge two story blue farmhouse and several other barns back there.

"Damian."

He looked up at Jon, who was a good five inches taller than him at this point. Jon smiled, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek, the material of his glove rough against Damian's skin. Damian tilted his head into the touch, letting his eyes close as he breathed in the fresh air. The sun was just beginning to set, casting everything in a golden light.

"Hi," Jon said softly. 

"Why'd you come?" Damian whispered, not opening his eyes.

He needed to understand. Need to know if… if he was right about all of this. Jon was quiet for a moment, hand stilling.

“I couldn’t-” Jon took a breath, letting it out slowly before speaking. “Once I realized where you were, I just- I couldn’t stop thinking and worrying. All I could think about was what they could be doing to you, forcing you into. You’ve told me enough about that place that I know how awful it was and I was never going to leave you there. Never, Damian.”

Damian opened his eyes finally to watch Jon’s face, and there was that overwhelming wave of affection again.

“No… Jon, why?”

Jon smiled a little. “Because you’re my world.”

Damian breathed in slowly, letting his eyes close again. His heart was pounding, thoughts and feelings rushing through him. Jon cared for him, and he cared for Jon. He reached up, grabbing Jon’s wrist, then pressed his cheek into Jon’s hand a little harder.

“Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me for this. I’ll always come, Damian.”

Jon leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. They stood there like that for a long time.

Damian had never been much of one for physical affection, but this… this felt right. Standing here with Jon, knowing they cared for each other in so many ways. This felt like something had been pieced back together. It felt like being whole again.

Jon pulled away after a moment, glancing past Damian.

“Come on, mom’s waiting.”

Damian went tense at that. Mother. Parents. Jon’s family. He’d completely forgotten, he had been so distracted. Jon gave him another smile, squeezing his hands.

“It’s okay, Dami, they knew I was going to bring you back here. You’re safe.”

He started leading Damian towards the house, slipping an arm around him as they walked, Damian put his own arm around Jon, using him for balance. Standing on the wrap around porch was a black-haired woman, her hair swept up into a ponytail, a dish towel thrown over one shoulder.

"Jon. You missed dinner,” she said, voice a little cold.

"Sorry, Ma," Jon replied, ducking his head. His accent went more southern when he replied to her.

He squeezed Damian a little tighter to his side while the woman eyed them.

“Alright. Come on, you two need to get cleaned up, and I’ll get some food reheated for you.”

“Thanks mom!” Jon grinned at her.

She shook her head and turned, walking inside, holding the door open. Jon pulled Damian inside and down the hall.

“Jon?” she called after them.

“Yeah?”

“Get him some clean clothes and then bring me both your uniform and his clothes and I’ll get them washed.”

“Okay!”

Damian stared at the wall as they walked, catching glimpses of pictures, family portraits or portraits of just young boys. Jon and his brother, Kon. Jon pulled him into a very nice bathroom, shutting the door behind them.

“You can shower if you want, but I wanna check those injuries…”

“Nothings broken,” Damian assured, pulling away.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and winced. He looked awful.

“I know, but still, your arm was bleeding pretty bad.”

Damian stared at them in the mirror. Jon was standing just behind and a little to the left of him, his gaze down on Damian’s face, so his head was tilted. He was gorgeous , even still splattered in blood. He looked like an angel or a god, practically perfect with his pitch black hair, and sun-kissed skin. Damian stood next to him, pale, sickly looking, dirty and with blood still caked in his hands and around his face. His lip was cut, and there was a gash on the edge of his hairline that had matted the hair to it. He had started hunching in on himself at some point, making himself look even smaller next to Jon.

It was amazing to him that such a godlike being would choose a disaster like him.

“Jon,” Damian breathed out, turning to look up at him.

Then Jon kissed him.

It was imperfect, not quite centered, and a little too hard. Damian made a little surprised noise, taken aback by the suddenness of it, but he didn’t pull back. Jon grabbed onto his hips, holding him close, and Damian found his hands landing on the other teen’s chest. Their messy first kiss was quickly pushed out of mind by the more desperate ones that followed, Jon pushing Damian back into the bathroom counter. Damian felt like a fire was starting up in him, every kiss just fanning the flame. This felt right .

Jon pulled back after a moment, breathing heavily, and smiled at him a little rakishly.

“Sorry but I knew you were gonna say something dumb.”

Damian huffed, swatting his chest, and then quickly stepping in to hide his face against Jon’s shoulder. He didn’t even try to argue. Jon hugged him tightly, pressing his cheek against Damian’s hair lightly.

“Okay. Are you going to tend to your injuries properly?” Jon asked softly after a minute, pulling away a little.

Damian grunted. “As well as I can.”

“Then I’ll go find you some clothes. I’ll be nearby when you’re ready, okay?”

He hummed a little in response. Jon gave him a tiny squeeze and stepped back, turning to walk to the door. He pulled it open, and paused, glancing back at Damian and smiling a little before slipping out.

Damian took a breath to steady himself, and then slowly pulled off his shirt, turning to look at himself in the mirror again. His chest and ribs were littered with bruises, tender to the touch. But for the most part, the only wounds he would need to be concerned about were the gash in his arm and the one on his head, and he still needed to get those clean. He slowly stripped, found towels, and then stepped into the shower, closing the curtain behind him. It only took a few seconds to figure out how to get the water going, and he let it slowly warm up before slipping under. Holy fuck, did he need this.

He was careful in the scrubbing of his body, gentle over his bruises and scrapes, and even more delicate with his hair, slowly working out the dried blood, watching it run down onto the shower floor. There was a soft knock on the door after about five minutes and a soft “Just dropping clothes off!” before the door clicked shut again.

When he finally got out, there was a small pile of clothes next to the door. Sweats that were too long, and a t-shirt and hoodie that were too big. But they were clean and warm, so he pulled them on without complaint, cuffing the sweats and tying them at the waistband. Once he made sure his head wound wasn’t actively bleeding, and his arm was wrapped tightly, he turned and opened the door. Jon was there in an instant.

He had also cleaned up, blood gone from his face, now dressed in sweats and a cut off t-shirt. He gave a soft whistle, stepping towards Damian.

“Much better now that you’re clean. Come on, let’s get some food.”

He held out a hand, and Damian took it without thinking. He was exhausted even after his nap.

Jon led him through the house again, until they came out in a kitchen. Jon’s mother was finishing putting together two plates of food, setting them on a breakfast bar. She looked up when Jon cleared his throat a little, pulling Damian to him.

“That’s much better,” she said with a little nod, examining Damian.

He didn’t like the look she was giving him. He found himself straightening, standing a little taller, making his shoulders seem a little broader, expression hardening. She raised an eyebrow at him, glancing at Jon.

“Defensive, isn’t he?”

“He’s had a hard week, Ma,” Jon sighed, looking over at Damian as well.

Damian didn’t like everyone’s eyes on him, watching him like a bug under a microscope. Jon’s mother had a hard look to her, unlike Talia. Talia’s cruelty was coated in honey and lavender, meant to soothe the very wounds it created. This woman had a sort of hardness that spoke of pain and loss, said that she’d experienced the cruelty of the world and no longer feared it. She had a look of someone who was going to make the world pay for her pain.

“Lois Kent,” she said finally, holding a hand out to Damian.

He looked at it for a second before shaking it firmly. “Damian.”

“What? No last name?” She asked, eyebrow raising.

“None I wish to claim any longer.”

Lois made a little huh sound, and then nodded to the food. “Go eat, I’m sure you need it.”

Jon tugged him over to the counter, nudging him to one of the two chairs. Damian sat after a moment and Jon plopped down next to him, immediately starting to eat like he hadn’t seen food in weeks. Damian, the one who actually hadn’t seen food in almost a week, poked a little at the food on his plate. Some sort of pasta with chicken. It made his stomach churn, but he was so hungry he found himself eating anyways.

“Where’s dad?” Jon asked, looking up at his mom, who had started washing dishes.

“Out with Kon, said something about meeting someone? Wasn’t very clear.”

“Oh… huh.” Jon looked contemplative at this, frowning.

Damian just kept quiet, slowly eating and drinking. It was slowly dawning on him what situation he had gotten himself in. He had left one family that hated him, spent five days refusing to go back to the family that would have used him, and now was in the home of a family famously known for hurting and killing people, with only the promise of a boy who cared for him that he’d be safe.

What happened when Jon got bored of him? Or when he realized Damian wasn’t all he had thought he was? After all their previous interactions had been minimal, they barely knew each other, when you really got down to it. In fact… Damian wasn’t sure what all he did know about the teen beside him. He looked over at Jon, watching him stare out the window, eyes unfocused. He knew Jon lived on a farm, he knew Jon loved his family, he knew Jon cared for him, and that he liked stars and sunsets and hated the city.

He knew Jon cared for him.

Damian let out a soft little sigh, setting his fork down, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He hadn’t ate in so long that an actual meal was making him feel sick. Jon looked over, tilting his head.

“Is there somewhere I can go lay down?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah of course, uh-” Jon glanced over at Lois.

She shrugged, waving her hand. “Wherever, honey, I don’t care.”

Jon nodded, pushing aside his plate and standing. He grabbed Damian’s arm and tugged on him softly. Damian complied, standing and following Jon’s pull. He only resisted when they got to the doorway, turning back to Lois.

“Thank you for the food,” he said, giving a polite nod, and then followed Jon again.

Jon led him up a set of stairs, down a short hall, and then pushed open a door. Damian walked in, looking around the bedroom. It was clearly lived in, not a guest bedroom. There were posters on the walls, and clothes shoved in the corner. The whole room was a soft blue color, hard wood floors, there was a desk against one wall, a queen sized bed against the other.

“Uh, I kinda… figured you might feel safer in my room? But if you’d rather not, then we have a guest room…”

Damian gave him a tiny smile. “If you’re sure it’s alright?”

“I’m sure.” Jon grinned back at him.

Damian looked around the room one more time before walking over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. It wasn’t as soft as his bed back at Wayne Manor, but it was certainly more comfortable than the floor in his cell.

He shimmied his way under the covers, but remained sitting up. Jon was standing there watching him, head tilted slightly.

“What?” Damian asked, mirroring his head tilt.

Jon came over and sat next to him on the bed, gently placing a hand on his thigh.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” he whispered, smiling a little.

Damian looked away, eyes sliding down to his lap. Jon squeezed his thigh, leaning in to gently press his forehead against Damian’s. It was so tender, and Damian hated how it made his heart squeeze in his chest.

He had so many questions, he wanted to know why, mostly. Why did Jon care? Why did Jon come for him? Why-

“Hey, stop thinking so much,” Jon practically scolded, bringing a hand up to tilt Damian’s chin up.

“How did you…”

“Your eyebrows scrunch up and your heart rate picks up a little.”

Damian gave a soft little hum, meeting Jon’s eyes finally.

He didn’t understand, but maybe, for right now, in this moment, he could live with that. Tomorrow was for questions, tonight was for being safe.

He leaned in the last inch, pressing a gentle kiss to Jon’s lips. Jon grinned, and kissed him back almost instantly. He found himself drifting off soon after, pressed close against Jon, getting occasional kisses, and soft promises that he was safe now.

When he woke the next morning, soft sunlight was filtering through the curtains. He came to slowly, warm and comfortable, curled up tightly, blankets tucked around him.

Then everything came back to him at once, and he shot upright, looking around the room frantically. He was alone, the door shut firmly. He nearly panicked for a moment, before taking a breath and reminding himself he was okay. He sat there, letting himself breathe, before going to get out of the bed. He felt so much better. Last night he’d barely been able to think, too weary, too hurt. He was a little sore still, but he could at least think clearly now. He walked over to the window, looking out it.

The scene from Jon’s window was gorgeous. There was a huge oak tree just to the left of it, but out the right side of the window, you could see over miles and miles of farmland. There were cows roaming fields, some spread out, some huddled together in clumps. He spotted the odd horse or two in there. Then he caught sight of a huge white dog, bounding along in the yard, playing with a smaller dog. He smiled a little to himself at that.

After a moment, he turned and headed out, finding the bathroom from last night. He looked much healthier, and the cut on his head had seemed to close over just fine this time. He was still in the clothes Jon had given him, which he realized now must be Jon’s own clothes, and that only made the butterflies in his stomach beat a little faster.

Damian wandered around the house for a bit, before walking into the kitchen, and slammed to a stop in the doorway. Sitting at the counter, reading a book and drinking coffee, was none other than Kal-El. He glanced over at Damian, but other than that, made no movement.

"Jon's in the barn," he said, setting down his coffee to turn his page.

"Okay," Damian answered softly, just so Kal knew he heard.

He took a few slow breaths, keeping his heart rate from spiking. They sat there for a moment before Kal lowered his book, looking up at Damian.

"You want anything? Coffee? Waffles? Some bacon?"

"I can get things myself if you just point me in the right direction."

"Mugs are in the cabinet next to the fridge, coffee's next to the sink, and Jon put a plate of waffles in the microwave for you." Kal nodded at each thing.

"Thank you."

Damian moved slowly, going to get coffee first, sipping it black, and then finding the waffles. Kal pushed a bottle of syrup across the counter, and then returned to reading.

The energy in the kitchen was tense, to say the least. Damian wasn't entirely keen on Kal, considering their last interaction had been well... Life threatening. And he had no clue how Kal felt about him, but he doubted it was fond. So he just stayed by the sink, holding his plate to eat and looking out the window, watching the animals outside.

The silence lasted just until Damian finished eating, and then Kal set his book down.

"You can put that in the sink," he said, nodding at Damian's plate.

Damian did as he was told, then stepped back to grab his coffee. Kal sipped his own, eyeing Damian.

"So. What was the final straw?"

"Pardon?" Damian asked, frowning at him.

"The straw that broke the camel’s back. What caused you to finally run on Batman?"

Kal acted like this was just a normal, everyday conversation. Damian, however, stared at him like he was crazy. This got a little eyeroll.

"Jon didn't tell us everything, and I trust my kid, but I don’t trust you. I know you left Batman's home, I know you killed the Riddler, and I know you got captured by the League of Assassins, and I know you're Ra's Al Ghul's grandson. But what I don't understand is why now?”

"Unfortunate," Damian said dryly, looking back out the window.

He could be wrong, but he swore Kal growled a little. The man stood, walking over to him.

"Let me reiterate what I said to you a year ago. Jon is fond of you. He trusts you. I respect and trust my kid, and I will honor his wishes. But if anything happens to him because of you, I will make your life worse than anything Ra's could have done to you, do you understand?" he asked, towering over Damian.

Damian looked up at him, keeping his gaze level and his heart rate calm.

"I hope you don't live to regret that choice," he said, eyebrow arching a little.

"And what the fuck does that mean?"

"Well like you said. Jon is fond of me, for whatever reason. Do you honestly think you could touch me in any way and maintain a good standing with him?"

Kal's eyes narrowed. Damian supposed he should probably cower a little more, pretend he was scared of Superman, but he didn't care anymore. He was right, and he knew it, as did Kal. He had spent the last week with people attempting to intimidate him and get him to make promises, and he was done.

"Dad."

Kal's head shot up, over to the door. Jon was standing in a doorway, hands on his hips, a scowl on his face.

"Back off," Jon said firmly.

"Jon-"

"I said. Back. Off."

Kal sighed and stepped back, raising his hands a little. Jon nodded, and walked over, glancing Damian over.

"Feeling better?" He asked, smiling warmly now.

"Much."

"You slept for like, thirteen hours, so I would hope so."

"What- I did not."

Damian turned to look for a clock and saw it was nearly ten am. When the hell had he gone to sleep?

Jon chuckled softly. "Well. You needed the rest. You get food?"

"Yes... Thank you."

Jon squeezed his arm lightly, then shot his father another disapproving look. Kal shrugged and went to go sit down again.

"C'mon."

Jon tugged on him a little, pulling him towards the door. Damian grabbed his coffee and followed.

They stepped out into a little back porch, and Jon sat down on a porch swing, tugging Damian down next to him. Damian followed his pull, sitting down, and letting Jon sling an arm over his shoulders. He just leaned into him a little, sipping his coffee. Jon seemed okay with this. After a while, Jon looked over at him, sighing a little.

“Hey.”

“Hm?” Damian glanced up, tilting his head.

“We talked a little last night, mom and dad say you can stay for a bit, till you figure out where you’re going from here.”

“Okay.” Damian nodded, looking away.

“I don’t think you should go back to Gotham.”

Damian snorted, shaking his head.

“No. I don’t intend to ever live in that city again.”

“Good… What are you gonna do, then?”

Damian sighed softly, letting his head rock back and hit Jon’s arm. “I don’t know. I’m tired of being someone else’s pawn, doing whatever they want. I want to make my own choices and forge my own path, but I don’t know what the hell that could be.”

Jon was giving him this look that was so full of awe and anger and something deeper and Damian… he couldn’t keep looking.

“Damian,” Jon said softly, shifting. He slid off the swing, crouching in front of Damian, hands on his shins. “Stay with me.”

“What?” Damian asked, looking over at him, eyebrow raising.

“Stay with me. Let me keep you safe. If anyone tries to hurt you, or make you do something you don’t want to, I’ll make them pay. The world could be ours, Damian. You and I, together, we could be unstoppable. We could take over the world, or we could burn it down and watch the smoke pour if we wanted to.”

Damian stared into Jon’s bright blue eyes, and found nothing but sincerity there. He hated how his heart jumped and his stomach did little flips. Jon made him feel free, and scared him all at once. It was terrifying, seeing such open, raw emotion, and knowing he felt the same. He didn’t understand . There was no reason for him to feel this way, it didn’t make sense . There was no logic behind it, but he wanted to trip and stumble into it and let it consume him and sweep him away.

“Okay,” he breathed out, reaching for Jon’s hand.

Jon grinned, surging up and kissing him so tenderly. Damian just squeezed his hand, and let himself fall.

Damian took a deep breath, staring out across the city. It had been four months since he’d been back here. In four months, Gotham hadn’t changed a bit. It was off putting.

Since Jon had saved him from the League, things had changed so dramatically for Damian. He’d stayed with the Kents’ for a month before getting an apartment in Metropolis. It was surprisingly easy to access his bank account and transfer everything from Gotham over to a bank in Metropolis. He’d completely recreated his identity, no longer a Wayne or an Al Ghul. He’d spent a month or more trying to figure out what the hell he did want to do with his life now.

Jon spent a lot of time at his apartment; he was there almost every weekend, and some evenings. Whatever this relationship had started as, once Damian let himself fall, it was like throwing gasoline on a fire. It was all-consuming. Jon made him feel all sorts of emotions, and he was hooked on it.

When Jon had dropped him off on this roof in Gotham, he had kissed Damian goodbye, promised he’d be there before Damian could finish the word help , and left him to do what he had to. So now he was waiting patiently for his Father.

Though he supposed, that name wasn’t quite right anymore.

He had met with Alfred earlier that day and gotten a good portion of his personal belongings as well as a bunch of legal paperwork. How Alfred had acquired those, he had no idea. Alfred had just given him a sad smile, a light hug and then left without asking any questions. He had looked sad, but resigned, and that… certainly had left a bitter taste in Damian’s mouth.

He only waited for about five minutes before he heard the all too familiar sounds of a grapple, and a soft thump. He turned, keeping his posture relaxed, bored even, as he watched Batman stride over to him.

“Damian.”

“Bruce.”

They stood about six feet apart and just looked at each other.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Bruce said softly after a moment, reaching up to push off his cowl.

“No thanks to you. I’ve come to return this.”

Damian slung off the bag he’d had over his shoulder, tossing it towards Bruce’s feet. Bruce looked at it for a moment, then bent to pick it up and look inside.

“So. You’ve gone back to your mother?”

“No,” Damian said firmly, scowling. “I am no longer you or mother’s pawn. I’m done . I expect you to make no attempts to try and persuade me else wise, because I can guarantee it will not end well for you.”

“Fine,” Bruce sighed tiredly, putting the bag over his own shoulder. “Do what you want. I’ve stopped trying with Jason, so I won’t try with you. Just remember your actions have consequences.”

“Remember that yours do too, Father .”

“Damian-” Bruce started, then sighed. “I don’t know how to help you.”

“You don’t. I don’t need help from you, or from anyone else. I will manage in this life by myself and for fucking once in my life get to pick my own path and the people around me.”

Bruce opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, taking quick step back. Damian sighed as he heard a soft flap of fabric. He didn’t even have to look behind him to know.

“Are you ready?” Jon asked, from right behind Damian.

“Yes, love. I think we’re done here.”

Bruce’s face was full of surprise, and Damian liked that far too much. He glanced back at Jon, smiling lightly, then looked at Bruce again.

“For once in my life, I am happy. I am learning to be myself, and no longer will you take that from me. Do not attempt to affect my life again.”

He turned, grabbed onto Jon’s neck, and Jon swept him up, taking off before Bruce could say anything.

Jon flew them back to Metropolis, landing lightly on Damian’s balcony. He set Damian down, but the shorter man didn’t pull away, just tilted his chin up to look at Jon. Jon smiled down at him.

“You’re free,” he said softly.

Damian hummed, smiling. He closed his eyes, and leaned into Jon. Jon squeezed him into a tight hug.

He was free from his parents, he was safe, he trusted Jon to protect him. He could learn to live and learn to love. And if he committed a few felonies along the way… well who was to stop him anymore?