He was also nine years old, however much he tried to overcome that fact.
It wasn't an assassin or a vigilante who lashed out at Jason when he hit his knees, it was an upset child, fighting back emotion. "You LEFT," Damian hissed. "You left me-us. You didn't CARE that I was still there without you. I'm not your anything," he said.
He was the son of the bat. His mother's son. Heir to the demon. He wasn't his baba's little prince, not anymore. He never really had been, since he could be left behind so easily.
He sneered. "Why would she do that? She has nothing to gain from you leaving."
He didn't move away from the hits. Didn't try to catch them. He brought his arms up to steady him, letting the hits break on his armor, feeling the strength in them even directed as they were by pain and anger instead of the calm control that Jason had tried to help Damian find. They hurt and not just because they'd leave bruises come morning, but he didn't try to stop them.
"I would never leave you, Damian! You are my world, my son, and my stars. I would die before I left you there, in that place without me. I..." He reached out, face open and so terrifyingly readable. "She lied to me, habibi. About so much. She used me.."
Used him to attack his father. To almost murder Tim. She'd sat and stroked his hair like Catherine used to do while he fed Damian, telling him all about the strong Alpha pup that Bruce had replaced him with. About how he was never mourned. How Joker was still alive.
She'd at least been truthful about that.
Anytime Jason had started to butt heads with her over Damian's training, she'd been quick to distract him from the pressure with another tidbit of how the world had gone on without him. He'd never bowed to her demands for his son, but he'd always be left off kilter and with a bitter taste in his mouth for weeks afterward.
He'd never bowed.
"Oh, what did they do to you, my sweet puppy? I'm so sorry..."
"You LEFT me," Damian said again, a crack to his voice that gave away he was fighting back tears, even if he'd never have admitted it.
He stopped hitting finally, glaring at Jason. "WHY? Why would she lie? It doesn't do any good. How do I know you're not lying to me now?" Damian asked, lip wobbling before he forced a scowl back across his face.
Damian didn't want to believe his mother would be so callous. He knew she could lie - she'd taught him how too, but Damian wasn't really good at it. Not like his mother. But he didn't see WHY.
Despite that, he wanted to believe Jason, even if it meant resenting his mother. Because Jason had been his baba, his solace. And he was here, in a strange city, trying to win his way into a place with the Bat and his brood. And everything he was, to them, seemed to be WRONG. Too violent, too young, too much a killer.
His baba was the only one Damian had been enough for, even if he didn't excel in training that day, or made a mistake. Everything else in his life had been conditional. But Jason just loved Damian.
Until he'd learned it was all a lie because Jason left him. And now here he was being told his world view was askew yet again. Damian didn't know how to adjust. He was angry and frustrated. But he also wanted to burrow into his baba and cling to him.
"You weren't THERE," Damian finally said, half whispered, face pale behind the tan of his skin and eyes huge and too-wet.
That crack in Damian's voice hurt more than any of the strikes before, not because it sounded like his son wanted to cry but because it was proof he wanted to. But he wasn't. Jason had never judged his pup for his emotions, he'd even encouraged them. Cited that emotions were integral for morality and morality was integral for a warrior. For a leader.
How could one lead a people if one couldn't feel for said people?
It was a fight that he and Talia had had often and one that Jason had done his best to keep Damian away from.
"Habibi...habibi, look at me." He reached out, gently touching his fingertips to the sides of Damian's head. He never held tight, never stopped the boy from jerking away if he wasn't ready, but if Damian let him he used to gentle touch to guide their foreheads together. Even if his son did pull away, it didn't stop him from trying. "Look at me, pup. I carried you. I birthed you. I fed you from my body, washed you with my tears, and kept you safe with my blood. Look at me.
Would I leave you? Is there any force on this world or any other that would make me willingly walk away from you, my little prince?"
Damian did pull back at first, but when Jason didn't give up, he let himself be drawn forward, small body pulled tight as a piano wire. But his forehead leaned into his baba's when it was done, and he drew a deep breath.
"But you were still gone," Damian said. "Everything was different when you were gone." He sniffled once, very quietly, gloved hand rubbing hard across his eyes. "I didn't think you would. I thought you'd come back for me, at first. But you didn't."
"Why would mother do this? I did everything she asked!"
He didn't have an answer and it was likely no one would - Talia wouldn't explain herself and her mind worked in ways that were impossible to predict.
"You really thought I was dead?" Damian finally asked softly.
He let out a trembling breath when the boy finally relaxed into the touch, his heart jumping into his throat as he let the fingers of one hand slide into thick black hair. His other arm looped around that frame, so small but still so much bigger than he had been the last time that Jason had held him in his arms.
He'd missed so much.
"Th-there were pictures. Your clothes, covered in blood. Your blood. It was your scent. Yours and..." He shook his head, drawing the boy into his arms. While Damian still seemed to be denying his tears, Jason wasn't. He drew Damian into his arms and his shoulders shook with emotion as tears slid down his face. "This whole time, I thought you were dead.."
Damian's hair was cut shorter and sleeker than it'd been when Jason last saw him. But the soft thickness of it was the same.
It took another moment of stiffness before Damian relaxed into the hug. After a moment his arm came up to loop around Jason's neck.
"It must have just been from when I was injured on a mission." If Jason was telling the truth. But Damian saw those tears, and he could scent his baba, the sorrow that dragged his scent flatter and more sour than it was when it was rich with happiness. "I thought you lied. That you didn't want to stay with me."
He buried his face against his son's shoulder and neck as soon as that arm looped around his neck, breathing in his scent and feeling him, alive and warm in his arms. He still had the sweet undertones of a pup, but he'd lost almost all of the milk scent that was supposed to go along with it. It broke something in Jason's chest to not be able to smell himself on the boy.
Something outright shattered when he recognized what scent he did carry.
"What are you doing here, habibi? I am so happy to have you back, but why are you here? In Gotham? Why do you smell like the Wayne pack?" He knew the answer already, but he didn't want to believe that Talia would ever send a blood child of her own to a place like this. Not unless there was a damned good reason.
Damian leaned in bit by bit until Jason was supporting his whole weight, arm tightening around his neck. He turned his head without realizing he was doing it, trying to rub his face against Jason's neck and pick up his scent, but the high neck of his costume kept it from working.
"Mother sent me to Father, to learn from him." Or so she'd said. Damian thought that she too had just wanted him away from her. But he didn't know that for sure either.
Damian lifted his head, serious green eyes on his papa. "Are you going to go again?" he asked.
At that question, Jason gently tucked his son's head in under his chin. The high neck of his underarmor didn't cover that and he let out a low, rusty sounding purr as he rubbed his scent back into Damian's hair.
"I'm never letting you go again. Not in a million years and not for all the stars in the sky." He made the promise without thinking, meaning it with every fiber of his being. If Bruce wanted to take Damian back, he was going to have to do it over Jason's cold, dead body.
Though, his body had never really been much of a deterrent for the alpha, had it?
"Let's get you somewhere safe, habibi. I-I haven't set up a home here, but I have some safehouses in the area. They will be good enough until I can find a better place for us."
With his head tucked up beneath Jason's chin, Damian had a poor view of their surroundings. His defenses were down. It was absurd to do that here, of all places.
But Damian couldn't help but hang on hard to Jason, like he might vanish, a hitch in his breath every so often where he swallowed a whimper and fought back tears. He wasn't MEANT to be this weak, but then, the rules had always been different with baba, who let him just be himself - train hard, but not erase who he was beyond the fight.
Damian didn't really know who he was beyond his training yet. But with Jason, he at least felt like there was SOMETHING there, something more to him.
"I'm meant to be back ... but for tonight, at least," Damian agreed, reluctantly starting to let go.
"Of course, habibi. I'm not going to stop you from going back if you really want to."
Except that Jason didn't let him let go. Damian had always been an independent and willful child and Jason had always encouraged it. He'd long ago outgrown being carried by his baba. He hadn't needed to even hold his hand outside of personal comfort for years.
Jason reached out to snag his forgotten helmet before scooping his son up into his arms, keeping him tight against his armored chest and tucked neatly under his chin. Damian didn't need to alert because Jason had him. Always and forever more, if he had anything to say about it.
Hearing Damian talk about going back to the Manor twisted something in his chest, but there and then wasn't the time to talk about it. The bodies around them were starting to stir and Jason applied his boot to a couple skulls before he was carrying his precious cargo out of the ally and deeper into the proverbial safety of his territory.
The area was more dangerous, but it would give the Bat and his brood more to hesitate about before following the tracker that had no doubt been stashed somewhere on his son's person. They took to the rooftops, avoiding most of the general crime of the area as they made their way through the city.
Did he want to? Yes and no. What would Damian DO if he didn't go back? And part of him still itched to prove himself as more worthy than Drake. And he was ... curious, about his Father.
But on the other hand there was his baba, who he never thought he'd see again.
He pushed the thought of choice out of his head for now. They could have tonight, he'd worry about deciding in the morning.
Damian let himself be hefted, curled like a comma in Jason's arms, face still tucked near his neck to breathe him in. "You really didn't want to leave me?" Damian asked. It was probably a question Jason would have to answer more than twice until Damian really started to believe it.
It was a question Jason was willing to answer as many times as it took. Over and over again, if he had to. Anything to make his son sure that he was loved by his baba. "I never wanted to leave you, little prince. I didn't even want to leave when I did, but I was consumed by the thought that he'd taken you from me."
His arms reflexively tightened around that small frame as he said the words, a touch of familiar anguish washing into his scent before he turned his head to bury his nose into spiky black hair.
A few more rooftops and a zipline later and Jason was shifting Damian's weight to one arm so he could key in a code--Damian's birthday-- and press his fingertips to a scanner. The door in front of them clicked and he shouldered it open and slipped through before shutting it behind them.
He hadn't been lying about not setting up a home in Gotham in the year that he'd been there. The space looked like an old office building, long ago abandoned and disrepair had set into it's bones. The office that he'd claimed as his own was comfortable enough, a small nest set up in the back corner, a stack of books next to it. He had put together a small camp style kitchen and had even rigged up enough power to have scavenged the old mini-fridge from the break room.
It was a far cry from the Manor and nothing at all like the rooms they'd shared in Nanda Parbat, but it was clean and it was safe. Safe enough that Jason felt comfortable letting Damian down, if he wanted to go.
Damian mumbled a token "I can walk", but he didn't actually try to get down, just let himself be carried as the scent of his papa seeped into his pores, loosening muscles that had been held taut for years.
He roused when Jason shifted him to key his way in, wriggling to get down and assess the place. It was secure enough, but he expected no less from Jason. It wasn't the vast, old-money expanse of Wayne Manor - but Damian had yet to be comfortable there anyway.
It was enough, more than enough, for the night. "How long have you been staying here?" Damian asked curiously.
While Damian examined the room, Jason shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the hook on the back of the door. His armor was next, then his guns were meticulously checked and reloaded before being stored on the shelf that he'd set up as a weapon rack. Blades next, laid out neatly so that if he had to grab them in the night, it would be easy.
"Here specifically? Not long. Couple weeks. I don't stay in one place very long. I'll probably burn this safe house in a few more weeks. Don't worry, though. I promise, I'll let you know where my new safe house will be." It wasn't his favorite way to live, but keeping more nomadic made staying under Bruce's radar a lot easier.
Which...might not actually be an option anymore. Jason's hands stilled and he huffed out a small sigh as he kicked off his boots before flopping back into his nest, still in his uniform pants and undershirt, his arms open for his pup.
"You're the new Robin, aren't you?" He didn't sound pleased about it....but his pride was clear in his eyes.
Damian hesitated, but then slowly did the same with his own weapons, placing the array of blades carefully on the shelf beneath Jason's, where there was room as if it'd been meant for them, and for him. It was a silly thought, that Jason had unknowingly left space in his life for Damian to fit, and Damian shoved it down instantly. But still. It lingered, and it was just a little sop to the part of him that was always struggling and fighting for his place - whether that be with the League or with the Batman.
"Thank you," Damian said, somehow formally, in response to Jason promising to keep him apprised.
He unlaced his own boots and slipped them off, then hurried into the waiting arms, head leaning on Jason's shoulder. His face twisted into a little grimace. "He doesn't trust me, but I am," he said.
It was a silly thought. He'd believed Damian to have been dead for the last year and a half, why would he have such a space? Why would he think to make a space for a pup who was no longer there? And yet, the space was there. Every surface in that small room had a purpose and an intention. One couldn't live like he did if one wasted space that was offered. And yet, the space was there. Empty and perfectly sized for a standard array of League loadout.
Even the bed, as small as it was, proved to be the perfect size for Damian to be tucked into the safe nook between Jason's body and the wall. Of course, in order to prove that, Jason first had to wrap his arms around the boy and exaggerate a grunt of effort to swing him up and over because for as serious as Jason took training, he could be playful in private.
"Yeah, he has issues with trust. It's not all on you, don't worry." His tone was intentionally bland with only a little hurt melding into the words. He couldn't quite help it, as much as he didn't want to color his son's perceptions of his father. "You know, sneaking out in the middle of the night is not going to help that cause. Nor is not letting them know you're safe." He didn't want Damian to call Alfred and let them know where he was, but he did know that if they left the Manor in the dark, it would only be a matter of time before one of them burst through his windows.
It was a silly, sentimental notion. But still, his things fit there as if they were supposed to. And when he curled into the space beside Jason, it felt like coming home. Damian sighed, little hum of a pup-purr sounding for a second.
He even laughed a little, brief and cut off, but undeniable when Jason pretended to have to heft him. He doubted it was much effort - his baba had gotten more bulk to his muscles since Damian last saw him.
"Everything I've been trained to do is wrong too him. Too violent, too much a killer, too rough, too rude," Damian said. "I thought if I could bring down a mission on my own without killing anyone, maybe he'd see I was capable. Even if I think it's absurd, not killing some of the monsters who make their livings here and just escape over and over when caught."
That laugh was a balm to his heart and Jason pressed a smiling kiss against his son's forehead. Feeling him settle in against him, his small body warm and strong against his own healed a part of himself that had been bleeding since he'd seen those pictures and held that bloody tunic to his face to muffle his cries.
"Things with him are...difficult. They always have been. He's not a man who shows affection easily or well, though he isn't as severe as your grandfather. He holds himself to impossible standards and that makes him hold everyone around him to those same standards. It's not easy." He bumped Damian's head with his own, that rough, rusty sounding purr starting up once more in his chest. It was different than the purr that Damian had grown up hearing. Damaged, somehow. "If that is the path you want to take, I can help you.
Wait.
Was I going to be your bounty for the night, habibi?"
Damian wriggled beneath the kiss, but didn't reject it. He might be too old for carrying and kisses - but he'd missed his baba, and the only authority figure who freely offered him affection.
"His standards make no sense," Damian complained. He expected his grandfather to be merciless - but his father was so ... inconsistent. He hated that Damian had killed, but left broken bones everywhere he went, and people died because of the villains he hadn't permanently put down. Damian was something of a black and white creature - but his sense of right and wrong had, at least in part, been shaped by his mother and the League. What was obviously right to him was anathema to the Bat. "It's the path I'm supposed to take," He admitted. "I want to prove I can be worthy."
Damian blushed a little, head ducking, though his fingers went to Jason's throat, gently touching there for feel that broken purr. "I didn't know it was you! I was going to leave you unconscious and keep watch until Gordon arrived." So no one else killed him while he was bound and Damian wouldn't take the blame for it.
That wriggling was a sign that he was reaching Damian's limit for his shenanigans, so Jason settled down and relaxed his hold a little. He still kept the boy close, but if he wanted to sit up and move around, he could.
It seemed Damian wasn't the only one who'd missed these soft, close moments.
"You have no idea." The words were more bitter than he'd meant for them to be, but he wasn't going to apologize. Nor was he going to hide the rough scar on his throat that Damian would be able to feel even through the nomex weave of his undershirt. It was probably that scar that was causing the roughness of his purr, honestly, and it certainly hadn't been there the last time they'd laid like this.
"My little prince, you are worthy. Destined path or otherwise, I will always be a proud baba. You are so skilled and powerful and fuck him if he can't acknowledge that just because you don't understand his failed logic." He stopped, forcing himself to take a few calming breaths for the purr to start up again before he continued. "I'm sorry, habibi. I don't mean to be cross, but he made his choice and it wasn't me. I don't know if it ever could have been me."
Damian did sit up, though he didn't go far. He just wanted to be able to see Jason's face better. The new scar beneath his fingertips had him frowning, but he didn't ask. Scars happened. Damian was sporting his fair share of new ones too.
"I am," Damian said, arrogance on full display. "But he won't see it that way." And Damian was, beneath the layers of violence and attitude, a young boy who wanted his father to be proud of him. As it was, he had more faith in those who weren't even his blood heirs.
Still, he smiled at Jason's vehemence. He'd missed that, too - someone in his corner, trying to smooth the sharp edges of his training enough that it was bearable. When Jason left, all of those little allowances and softness had gone with him.
"More proof he's a fool then," Damian said. "What did he choose over you? His code?" Damian guessed.
It was tempting to tell Damian. He'd never tried to hide anything about his past from his son, even if it didn't paint himself in the best light. He didn't particularly want to hide this, either, but he also didn't want to be the one responsible for causing a wedge between Damian and his father.
Which, honestly, always kind of made his stomach do weird things when he thought those words in that particular order. It brought up many images that he wasn't entirely sure how to feel about. He certainly hadn't conceived Damian in any kind of 'traditional' way, after all. He wasn't even the boy's biological mother. But for as little as he remembered about his time as a walking vegetable, being pregnant and having his son ranked among the clearest memories he had.
"It's a bitch of a story, Dami. I don't know if I have it in me to tell it. If you want to know, ask him, though he'll probably tell it completely different. If he's as anal about record keeping as he used to be, it'll be in the Batcomputer, too." He reached up, lightly touching the scar on his throat, purr gone as he frowned a little.
Damian had heard many hard truths from his baba over the years. Jason hadn't sugar-coated, he'd just ... cared as he told the truth. It made a difference.
But Dami frowned. "I would believe you. I'm not sure if I should believe him," Damian said. "But you needn't tell me." He stroked two gentle fingers over the scar again. "I'm sorry. If it hurt you."
The physical pain of a wound like that wouldn't really register as important to them, in the long run. So the hurt must be of a different kind. Damian's relationship to emotions was fraught - for the last year and a half they'd been drilling all but anger out of him. But he understood how scars could remind you of something that hurt worse than the wound ever had. He had his own scars like that.
"My access to the Batcomputer is limited, and it's annoyingly well secured, thanks to Drake. He's at least competent with computers." More than Damian, to his annoyance. "Why did you come back here, baba?" Damian didn't understand why anyone would WANT to be in Gotham if he didn't have to.
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He was also nine years old, however much he tried to overcome that fact.
It wasn't an assassin or a vigilante who lashed out at Jason when he hit his knees, it was an upset child, fighting back emotion. "You LEFT," Damian hissed. "You left me-us. You didn't CARE that I was still there without you. I'm not your anything," he said.
He was the son of the bat. His mother's son. Heir to the demon. He wasn't his baba's little prince, not anymore. He never really had been, since he could be left behind so easily.
He sneered. "Why would she do that? She has nothing to gain from you leaving."
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"I would never leave you, Damian! You are my world, my son, and my stars. I would die before I left you there, in that place without me. I..." He reached out, face open and so terrifyingly readable. "She lied to me, habibi. About so much. She used me.."
Used him to attack his father. To almost murder Tim. She'd sat and stroked his hair like Catherine used to do while he fed Damian, telling him all about the strong Alpha pup that Bruce had replaced him with. About how he was never mourned. How Joker was still alive.
She'd at least been truthful about that.
Anytime Jason had started to butt heads with her over Damian's training, she'd been quick to distract him from the pressure with another tidbit of how the world had gone on without him. He'd never bowed to her demands for his son, but he'd always be left off kilter and with a bitter taste in his mouth for weeks afterward.
He'd never bowed.
"Oh, what did they do to you, my sweet puppy? I'm so sorry..."
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He stopped hitting finally, glaring at Jason. "WHY? Why would she lie? It doesn't do any good. How do I know you're not lying to me now?" Damian asked, lip wobbling before he forced a scowl back across his face.
Damian didn't want to believe his mother would be so callous. He knew she could lie - she'd taught him how too, but Damian wasn't really good at it. Not like his mother. But he didn't see WHY.
Despite that, he wanted to believe Jason, even if it meant resenting his mother. Because Jason had been his baba, his solace. And he was here, in a strange city, trying to win his way into a place with the Bat and his brood. And everything he was, to them, seemed to be WRONG. Too violent, too young, too much a killer.
His baba was the only one Damian had been enough for, even if he didn't excel in training that day, or made a mistake. Everything else in his life had been conditional. But Jason just loved Damian.
Until he'd learned it was all a lie because Jason left him. And now here he was being told his world view was askew yet again. Damian didn't know how to adjust. He was angry and frustrated. But he also wanted to burrow into his baba and cling to him.
"You weren't THERE," Damian finally said, half whispered, face pale behind the tan of his skin and eyes huge and too-wet.
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How could one lead a people if one couldn't feel for said people?
It was a fight that he and Talia had had often and one that Jason had done his best to keep Damian away from.
"Habibi...habibi, look at me." He reached out, gently touching his fingertips to the sides of Damian's head. He never held tight, never stopped the boy from jerking away if he wasn't ready, but if Damian let him he used to gentle touch to guide their foreheads together. Even if his son did pull away, it didn't stop him from trying. "Look at me, pup. I carried you. I birthed you. I fed you from my body, washed you with my tears, and kept you safe with my blood. Look at me.
Would I leave you? Is there any force on this world or any other that would make me willingly walk away from you, my little prince?"
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"But you were still gone," Damian said. "Everything was different when you were gone." He sniffled once, very quietly, gloved hand rubbing hard across his eyes. "I didn't think you would. I thought you'd come back for me, at first. But you didn't."
"Why would mother do this? I did everything she asked!"
He didn't have an answer and it was likely no one would - Talia wouldn't explain herself and her mind worked in ways that were impossible to predict.
"You really thought I was dead?" Damian finally asked softly.
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He'd missed so much.
"Th-there were pictures. Your clothes, covered in blood. Your blood. It was your scent. Yours and..." He shook his head, drawing the boy into his arms. While Damian still seemed to be denying his tears, Jason wasn't. He drew Damian into his arms and his shoulders shook with emotion as tears slid down his face. "This whole time, I thought you were dead.."
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It took another moment of stiffness before Damian relaxed into the hug. After a moment his arm came up to loop around Jason's neck.
"It must have just been from when I was injured on a mission." If Jason was telling the truth. But Damian saw those tears, and he could scent his baba, the sorrow that dragged his scent flatter and more sour than it was when it was rich with happiness. "I thought you lied. That you didn't want to stay with me."
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Something outright shattered when he recognized what scent he did carry.
"What are you doing here, habibi? I am so happy to have you back, but why are you here? In Gotham? Why do you smell like the Wayne pack?" He knew the answer already, but he didn't want to believe that Talia would ever send a blood child of her own to a place like this. Not unless there was a damned good reason.
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"Mother sent me to Father, to learn from him." Or so she'd said. Damian thought that she too had just wanted him away from her. But he didn't know that for sure either.
Damian lifted his head, serious green eyes on his papa. "Are you going to go again?" he asked.
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"I'm never letting you go again. Not in a million years and not for all the stars in the sky." He made the promise without thinking, meaning it with every fiber of his being. If Bruce wanted to take Damian back, he was going to have to do it over Jason's cold, dead body.
Though, his body had never really been much of a deterrent for the alpha, had it?
"Let's get you somewhere safe, habibi. I-I haven't set up a home here, but I have some safehouses in the area. They will be good enough until I can find a better place for us."
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But Damian couldn't help but hang on hard to Jason, like he might vanish, a hitch in his breath every so often where he swallowed a whimper and fought back tears. He wasn't MEANT to be this weak, but then, the rules had always been different with baba, who let him just be himself - train hard, but not erase who he was beyond the fight.
Damian didn't really know who he was beyond his training yet. But with Jason, he at least felt like there was SOMETHING there, something more to him.
"I'm meant to be back ... but for tonight, at least," Damian agreed, reluctantly starting to let go.
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Except that Jason didn't let him let go. Damian had always been an independent and willful child and Jason had always encouraged it. He'd long ago outgrown being carried by his baba. He hadn't needed to even hold his hand outside of personal comfort for years.
Jason reached out to snag his forgotten helmet before scooping his son up into his arms, keeping him tight against his armored chest and tucked neatly under his chin. Damian didn't need to alert because Jason had him. Always and forever more, if he had anything to say about it.
Hearing Damian talk about going back to the Manor twisted something in his chest, but there and then wasn't the time to talk about it. The bodies around them were starting to stir and Jason applied his boot to a couple skulls before he was carrying his precious cargo out of the ally and deeper into the proverbial safety of his territory.
The area was more dangerous, but it would give the Bat and his brood more to hesitate about before following the tracker that had no doubt been stashed somewhere on his son's person. They took to the rooftops, avoiding most of the general crime of the area as they made their way through the city.
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But on the other hand there was his baba, who he never thought he'd see again.
He pushed the thought of choice out of his head for now. They could have tonight, he'd worry about deciding in the morning.
Damian let himself be hefted, curled like a comma in Jason's arms, face still tucked near his neck to breathe him in. "You really didn't want to leave me?" Damian asked. It was probably a question Jason would have to answer more than twice until Damian really started to believe it.
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His arms reflexively tightened around that small frame as he said the words, a touch of familiar anguish washing into his scent before he turned his head to bury his nose into spiky black hair.
A few more rooftops and a zipline later and Jason was shifting Damian's weight to one arm so he could key in a code--Damian's birthday-- and press his fingertips to a scanner. The door in front of them clicked and he shouldered it open and slipped through before shutting it behind them.
He hadn't been lying about not setting up a home in Gotham in the year that he'd been there. The space looked like an old office building, long ago abandoned and disrepair had set into it's bones. The office that he'd claimed as his own was comfortable enough, a small nest set up in the back corner, a stack of books next to it. He had put together a small camp style kitchen and had even rigged up enough power to have scavenged the old mini-fridge from the break room.
It was a far cry from the Manor and nothing at all like the rooms they'd shared in Nanda Parbat, but it was clean and it was safe. Safe enough that Jason felt comfortable letting Damian down, if he wanted to go.
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He roused when Jason shifted him to key his way in, wriggling to get down and assess the place. It was secure enough, but he expected no less from Jason. It wasn't the vast, old-money expanse of Wayne Manor - but Damian had yet to be comfortable there anyway.
It was enough, more than enough, for the night. "How long have you been staying here?" Damian asked curiously.
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"Here specifically? Not long. Couple weeks. I don't stay in one place very long. I'll probably burn this safe house in a few more weeks. Don't worry, though. I promise, I'll let you know where my new safe house will be." It wasn't his favorite way to live, but keeping more nomadic made staying under Bruce's radar a lot easier.
Which...might not actually be an option anymore. Jason's hands stilled and he huffed out a small sigh as he kicked off his boots before flopping back into his nest, still in his uniform pants and undershirt, his arms open for his pup.
"You're the new Robin, aren't you?" He didn't sound pleased about it....but his pride was clear in his eyes.
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"Thank you," Damian said, somehow formally, in response to Jason promising to keep him apprised.
He unlaced his own boots and slipped them off, then hurried into the waiting arms, head leaning on Jason's shoulder. His face twisted into a little grimace. "He doesn't trust me, but I am," he said.
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Even the bed, as small as it was, proved to be the perfect size for Damian to be tucked into the safe nook between Jason's body and the wall. Of course, in order to prove that, Jason first had to wrap his arms around the boy and exaggerate a grunt of effort to swing him up and over because for as serious as Jason took training, he could be playful in private.
"Yeah, he has issues with trust. It's not all on you, don't worry." His tone was intentionally bland with only a little hurt melding into the words. He couldn't quite help it, as much as he didn't want to color his son's perceptions of his father. "You know, sneaking out in the middle of the night is not going to help that cause. Nor is not letting them know you're safe." He didn't want Damian to call Alfred and let them know where he was, but he did know that if they left the Manor in the dark, it would only be a matter of time before one of them burst through his windows.
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He even laughed a little, brief and cut off, but undeniable when Jason pretended to have to heft him. He doubted it was much effort - his baba had gotten more bulk to his muscles since Damian last saw him.
"Everything I've been trained to do is wrong too him. Too violent, too much a killer, too rough, too rude," Damian said. "I thought if I could bring down a mission on my own without killing anyone, maybe he'd see I was capable. Even if I think it's absurd, not killing some of the monsters who make their livings here and just escape over and over when caught."
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"Things with him are...difficult. They always have been. He's not a man who shows affection easily or well, though he isn't as severe as your grandfather. He holds himself to impossible standards and that makes him hold everyone around him to those same standards. It's not easy." He bumped Damian's head with his own, that rough, rusty sounding purr starting up once more in his chest. It was different than the purr that Damian had grown up hearing. Damaged, somehow. "If that is the path you want to take, I can help you.
Wait.
Was I going to be your bounty for the night, habibi?"
He was grinning.
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"His standards make no sense," Damian complained. He expected his grandfather to be merciless - but his father was so ... inconsistent. He hated that Damian had killed, but left broken bones everywhere he went, and people died because of the villains he hadn't permanently put down. Damian was something of a black and white creature - but his sense of right and wrong had, at least in part, been shaped by his mother and the League. What was obviously right to him was anathema to the Bat. "It's the path I'm supposed to take," He admitted. "I want to prove I can be worthy."
Damian blushed a little, head ducking, though his fingers went to Jason's throat, gently touching there for feel that broken purr. "I didn't know it was you! I was going to leave you unconscious and keep watch until Gordon arrived." So no one else killed him while he was bound and Damian wouldn't take the blame for it.
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It seemed Damian wasn't the only one who'd missed these soft, close moments.
"You have no idea." The words were more bitter than he'd meant for them to be, but he wasn't going to apologize. Nor was he going to hide the rough scar on his throat that Damian would be able to feel even through the nomex weave of his undershirt. It was probably that scar that was causing the roughness of his purr, honestly, and it certainly hadn't been there the last time they'd laid like this.
"My little prince, you are worthy. Destined path or otherwise, I will always be a proud baba. You are so skilled and powerful and fuck him if he can't acknowledge that just because you don't understand his failed logic." He stopped, forcing himself to take a few calming breaths for the purr to start up again before he continued. "I'm sorry, habibi. I don't mean to be cross, but he made his choice and it wasn't me. I don't know if it ever could have been me."
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"I am," Damian said, arrogance on full display. "But he won't see it that way." And Damian was, beneath the layers of violence and attitude, a young boy who wanted his father to be proud of him. As it was, he had more faith in those who weren't even his blood heirs.
Still, he smiled at Jason's vehemence. He'd missed that, too - someone in his corner, trying to smooth the sharp edges of his training enough that it was bearable. When Jason left, all of those little allowances and softness had gone with him.
"More proof he's a fool then," Damian said. "What did he choose over you? His code?" Damian guessed.
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Which, honestly, always kind of made his stomach do weird things when he thought those words in that particular order. It brought up many images that he wasn't entirely sure how to feel about. He certainly hadn't conceived Damian in any kind of 'traditional' way, after all. He wasn't even the boy's biological mother. But for as little as he remembered about his time as a walking vegetable, being pregnant and having his son ranked among the clearest memories he had.
"It's a bitch of a story, Dami. I don't know if I have it in me to tell it. If you want to know, ask him, though he'll probably tell it completely different. If he's as anal about record keeping as he used to be, it'll be in the Batcomputer, too." He reached up, lightly touching the scar on his throat, purr gone as he frowned a little.
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But Dami frowned. "I would believe you. I'm not sure if I should believe him," Damian said. "But you needn't tell me." He stroked two gentle fingers over the scar again. "I'm sorry. If it hurt you."
The physical pain of a wound like that wouldn't really register as important to them, in the long run. So the hurt must be of a different kind. Damian's relationship to emotions was fraught - for the last year and a half they'd been drilling all but anger out of him. But he understood how scars could remind you of something that hurt worse than the wound ever had. He had his own scars like that.
"My access to the Batcomputer is limited, and it's annoyingly well secured, thanks to Drake. He's at least competent with computers." More than Damian, to his annoyance. "Why did you come back here, baba?" Damian didn't understand why anyone would WANT to be in Gotham if he didn't have to.
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