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.
Another question he wasn't sure how to answer. The truth would be the most obvious, but while Damian's relationship with Bruce was new and uneasy, Damian had always loved his biological mother. Jason had always encouraged it, as well, no matter how hard it had been seeing it happen in front of him.
Telling his son that Talia had lied about his death was one thing. Telling his son that Talia had been honing him as a weapon to wield against the Bats since Damian's birth was another. Mostly because he was only just starting to come to terms with it, himself. And it hurt, to learn and understand that all those years of acceptance and closeness from her had only ever been a tool. Another mother figure who'd simply used him.
It was a pain he'd do anything to keep away from his son.
"I came back because I was told that you were killed by someone who was here. I came to do for you what was never done for me, but when I got here, that information had turned out to be a lie." A lot of the information had turned out to be a lie.
"Hear his side before I tell you mine. I don't want to color your opinion of him." He sighed, giving Damian's hand a small squeeze before he rubbed at his face with his hands. "He's not going to want to let you see me, you know that right? To him, I'm no better than the monsters I put down."
Damian thought that through, fingers absently but possessively curled around Jason's wrist. "She wanted me to believe you didn't care enough to stay, and you to believe there was nothing to stay for," he concluded. "Why? She told you that Father or one of his robins killed me, didn't she? So she went through all of this just to be able to train me without your interference, and to have Father killed. Mother's no coward, why not do the job herself? And why send me there after you when she knew what your purpose was here?"
Damian was smart, but the pieces didn't make sense to him. He made a face at Jason telling him to ask his father first, and then bristled at the notion he would be kept away from Jason. "He's welcome to try. But I'm not going to not see you." He paused, a little wobble of uncertainty. "Unless you don't want me to?"
He shouldn't be encouraging Damian to piece together the information. His relationship with Talia would be, at the least, tainted and if Jason was the cause for it to be broken entirely, he'd never forgive himself. Because even with all her machinations and plotting and talented twisting of the truth, he did still like her. Well, no. He respected her. 'Like' was probably a very strong word, especially after what had happened after his defeat.
He still wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that particular evening.
But Damian didn't need his permission to work through the puzzle and Jason's face softened as he reached out with his free hand to lightly cup the boy's cheek. "My clever son. You're so close to an answer, but I think you should take a pause. Think about it. Decide if you really wanna know, 'cause the answer might be shitty. To both questions, really. If you ask again, I'll tell you...but I want you to really think about it first."
The last question gets a small frown and Jason pushed himself to sit up so he could once again pull the boy into his lap, running his jaw over his hair and shoulders to once again mark him with his scent.
"I want you right here, habibi. I hate the idea of you going back to the Manor at all, but at least there you'll have Alfie. He's probably the best person for you, if I can't be there. I love you and that isn't gunna change just because I have to stay to the shadows to watch over you."
Damian didn't need much encouragement to put together pieces. His mind worked constantly and in twisty ways to assemble a picture. It was likely a gift he'd gotten from his father.
He frowned. "Isn't it always better to know the truth? Otherwise whatever conclusion I draw is based on untruths. You can't find the truth when you don't know all the facts.
"I could not go back," Damian offered ... but there was hesitancy beneath the words. Damian might not love where he was, but there were reasons to be there. He wanted to prove that he was good enough to belong, even if he didn't want to stay. And Richard wasn't entirely repellent. And he did like Ace.
He'd gotten quite a few traits from his father and Jason loved each and every one of them. Even if they gave no end to his headaches trying to chase after his far too clever son.
"Knowing the truth is important, yes." He didn't sound upset, but he was a little gruff. "But the truth can often hurt and I...My entire purpose on this world is to keep you from harm. You're my son and I'd do anything to protect you."
But did he have the right to protect him from this? Breathing out a sigh into Damian's hair, Jason closed his eyes and just soaked in the warmth of the boy in his arms for a moment. "I just got you back. I don't think I could survive losing you again.
You should go back. You have a place at his side and he...for all his flaws, he's not a terrible dad. Some of the happiest memories I have are with him. As Robin.
I don't suppose your mom told him about me, hmm? Oh, that's gunna be a fun conversation. And I'm not sleeping in my old room. I'll help Alfie strip it back into a guest room, I guess... Fuck, it will be good to see the old man again."
Damian's frown took on a hint of a pout in response to the gruffness. "I can protect myself, baba."
But then, wasn't that part of what he was glad to SEE his baba for? Not to protect him from a fight but from ... having to know he hadn't been wanted. He'd had to try to carve out all his affection and softness for Jason because it'd been false. Now he knew it wasn't, so he could trust that part of himself with Jason again.
"Mother didn't tell him very much, as far as I can tell," Damian said. He blinked, looking at Jason a little hopefully. "You would come back with me, to the manor?"
"Just because you can do something doesn't mean you have to, habibi. I'm your baba. I'm allowed to protect you because I love you" The gruffness was mostly gone, replaced instead with affection.
"I-" He huffed, once more reaching up to cover that scar on his throat with his hand. "I'm willing to try. Can't promise the asshole is gunna let me. Our last meeting didn't exactly end in hugs and scent marking. There's a very real chance that I'll walk in and he'll immediately haul me off to Blackgate. Or-" Or Arkham. He didn't finish the sentence because to put the idea out there would give it validity and the thought of being trapped in that hellhole with all the people he'd helped put there sent a shiver of fear through his spine. He gave the scar a little rub, then dropped his hand back down.
"I'll need a little bit of time to set up a proxy for the Bowery. If I just disappear, it'll be a free for all and everything that I've worked for here will just fall apart. These people don't deserve that."
Damian considered that and then gave Jason a small smile. "We'll protect one another, then."
He touched fingers to the scar too, atop Jason's. "If he's entirely unreasonable we'll just disappear back into somewhere else. Another part of the city if you must stay here. He seems to want me to stay. I don't know if that's so he can contain me, or out of genuine desire. I will be sure he knows that where you go, I go."
Damian nodded. "Whatever you need, baba. I ... while you set up what you need to, can I come see you still? If I come alone."
He smiled, fondness and affection and just a little bit of amusement in the expression. But mostly, there was simply wonder. Three hours ago, his son had been dead and Jason had been a hollowed out shell, going through the motions of living and protecting the people that couldn't protect themselves because he hadn't been able to protect the one person who meant the world to him.
Again.
And yet, here they were. Curled together in a makeshift nest, his son only just barely still small enough to fit comfortably in such a space. He could see the past year of 'training' in those vivid green eyes and he ached to know that he hadn't been there to help ease the healing. Honestly, he was willing to put money down on that being the exact catalyst for why Talia had set him on his revenge.
He needed to remind Damian that he was still Damian under the robes and the blood.
Laying back down, Jason took a measured breath, the rolling bubble of emotion that had settled into his belly was...exhausting. He was angry because he was always angry, but he was angry because he'd lost the last year of watching Damian grow. He was scared because the idea of willingly walking back into the Manor to just accept whatever fate Bruce was going to give him was terrifying. Excitement because his son was alive and in his arms and he might get to see Alfred again...
It was a lot, very suddenly.
"You can always come see me, habibi. Even if he puts me somewhere to 'punish' me, you will always be welcome. Lay down with me? Your baba is very tired and wants to hold his princeling, if his princeling will tolerate such affection." That small, teasing smirk was back, but he didn't reach for the boy. Merely opened his arms and let him decide.
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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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Telling his son that Talia had lied about his death was one thing. Telling his son that Talia had been honing him as a weapon to wield against the Bats since Damian's birth was another. Mostly because he was only just starting to come to terms with it, himself. And it hurt, to learn and understand that all those years of acceptance and closeness from her had only ever been a tool. Another mother figure who'd simply used him.
It was a pain he'd do anything to keep away from his son.
"I came back because I was told that you were killed by someone who was here. I came to do for you what was never done for me, but when I got here, that information had turned out to be a lie." A lot of the information had turned out to be a lie.
"Hear his side before I tell you mine. I don't want to color your opinion of him." He sighed, giving Damian's hand a small squeeze before he rubbed at his face with his hands. "He's not going to want to let you see me, you know that right? To him, I'm no better than the monsters I put down."
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Damian was smart, but the pieces didn't make sense to him. He made a face at Jason telling him to ask his father first, and then bristled at the notion he would be kept away from Jason. "He's welcome to try. But I'm not going to not see you." He paused, a little wobble of uncertainty. "Unless you don't want me to?"
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He still wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that particular evening.
But Damian didn't need his permission to work through the puzzle and Jason's face softened as he reached out with his free hand to lightly cup the boy's cheek. "My clever son. You're so close to an answer, but I think you should take a pause. Think about it. Decide if you really wanna know, 'cause the answer might be shitty. To both questions, really. If you ask again, I'll tell you...but I want you to really think about it first."
The last question gets a small frown and Jason pushed himself to sit up so he could once again pull the boy into his lap, running his jaw over his hair and shoulders to once again mark him with his scent.
"I want you right here, habibi. I hate the idea of you going back to the Manor at all, but at least there you'll have Alfie. He's probably the best person for you, if I can't be there. I love you and that isn't gunna change just because I have to stay to the shadows to watch over you."
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He frowned. "Isn't it always better to know the truth? Otherwise whatever conclusion I draw is based on untruths. You can't find the truth when you don't know all the facts.
"I could not go back," Damian offered ... but there was hesitancy beneath the words. Damian might not love where he was, but there were reasons to be there. He wanted to prove that he was good enough to belong, even if he didn't want to stay. And Richard wasn't entirely repellent. And he did like Ace.
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"Knowing the truth is important, yes." He didn't sound upset, but he was a little gruff. "But the truth can often hurt and I...My entire purpose on this world is to keep you from harm. You're my son and I'd do anything to protect you."
But did he have the right to protect him from this? Breathing out a sigh into Damian's hair, Jason closed his eyes and just soaked in the warmth of the boy in his arms for a moment. "I just got you back. I don't think I could survive losing you again.
You should go back. You have a place at his side and he...for all his flaws, he's not a terrible dad. Some of the happiest memories I have are with him. As Robin.
I don't suppose your mom told him about me, hmm? Oh, that's gunna be a fun conversation. And I'm not sleeping in my old room. I'll help Alfie strip it back into a guest room, I guess... Fuck, it will be good to see the old man again."
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But then, wasn't that part of what he was glad to SEE his baba for? Not to protect him from a fight but from ... having to know he hadn't been wanted. He'd had to try to carve out all his affection and softness for Jason because it'd been false. Now he knew it wasn't, so he could trust that part of himself with Jason again.
"Mother didn't tell him very much, as far as I can tell," Damian said. He blinked, looking at Jason a little hopefully. "You would come back with me, to the manor?"
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"I-" He huffed, once more reaching up to cover that scar on his throat with his hand. "I'm willing to try. Can't promise the asshole is gunna let me. Our last meeting didn't exactly end in hugs and scent marking. There's a very real chance that I'll walk in and he'll immediately haul me off to Blackgate. Or-" Or Arkham. He didn't finish the sentence because to put the idea out there would give it validity and the thought of being trapped in that hellhole with all the people he'd helped put there sent a shiver of fear through his spine. He gave the scar a little rub, then dropped his hand back down.
"I'll need a little bit of time to set up a proxy for the Bowery. If I just disappear, it'll be a free for all and everything that I've worked for here will just fall apart. These people don't deserve that."
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He touched fingers to the scar too, atop Jason's. "If he's entirely unreasonable we'll just disappear back into somewhere else. Another part of the city if you must stay here. He seems to want me to stay. I don't know if that's so he can contain me, or out of genuine desire. I will be sure he knows that where you go, I go."
Damian nodded. "Whatever you need, baba. I ... while you set up what you need to, can I come see you still? If I come alone."
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Again.
And yet, here they were. Curled together in a makeshift nest, his son only just barely still small enough to fit comfortably in such a space. He could see the past year of 'training' in those vivid green eyes and he ached to know that he hadn't been there to help ease the healing. Honestly, he was willing to put money down on that being the exact catalyst for why Talia had set him on his revenge.
He needed to remind Damian that he was still Damian under the robes and the blood.
Laying back down, Jason took a measured breath, the rolling bubble of emotion that had settled into his belly was...exhausting. He was angry because he was always angry, but he was angry because he'd lost the last year of watching Damian grow. He was scared because the idea of willingly walking back into the Manor to just accept whatever fate Bruce was going to give him was terrifying. Excitement because his son was alive and in his arms and he might get to see Alfred again...
It was a lot, very suddenly.
"You can always come see me, habibi. Even if he puts me somewhere to 'punish' me, you will always be welcome. Lay down with me? Your baba is very tired and wants to hold his princeling, if his princeling will tolerate such affection." That small, teasing smirk was back, but he didn't reach for the boy. Merely opened his arms and let him decide.