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Damian wanted to go back to Nanda Parbat. He wanted to grab his akhi and run away from the stinking air, the judgmental people, the constant danger that was Gotham City.
Don't get it twisted, Damian loved the family he had found in the United States. He loved his father, had grown to respect his adoptive siblings and his teammates. But he wanted to go home.
Grandfather was dangerous. Would be, for at least another year. Ra's al Ghul was not a sane or kind man on the best of days, but three years ago he had gone off the deep end.
"Literally," Jason would say.
The Pit madness seemed to get more extreme each time.
Damian appreciated his family, but they were not the same. They didn't understand, they did not think the same way. There wasn't the same trust, there wasn't the same communication.
And they didn't let him near Jason.
They believed the Red Hood was dangerous. They believed the Red Hood was unhinged.
They believed Damian's brother would hurt him.
His brother, the one person he trusted without hesitation, and who trusted him the same, and he wasn't allowed to have his back. Jason fought best at Damian's side, and Damian fought best at Jason's. Yet they were kept apart, because Damian's family refused to hear him. They listened, but they didn't comprehend.
They expected him to fight his brother, "if it came down to it." He would not. He told them that. They just patted him on the head and told him that Jason wouldn't kill a kid, but that it was okay to be scared.
He knew that.
Damian loved Jason. He would kill for him, and had. He would take a bullet for him, block any punch, stop any sword with his own body, because that was the way of a blood brother. Jason loved him the same. And al Ghuls do not love by halves.
Damian sat at the computer in the Cave, rubbing the scar on his palm. His case was not progressing. He had made no breakthroughs in days.
People were dying.
The Bats didn't have the contacts, and no one he had interrogated had squealed.
He needed Jason, and for a reason his family would understand. They would have to live with it.
Besides, the idea of seeing his brother again without the threat of being pushed apart had already been planted in Damian's brain. He would not give up now.
Damian cautiously crept to the door, hood pulled over his face, sleeves tugged over his hands, and knocked. A shout came from inside.
"Who the hell—"
Each word came closer, and suddenly Damian was staring down the barrel of a pistol.
"Hello," he started. Jason only hesitated half a second—probably to confirm Damian's identity— before pulling him inside.
"No bugs?"
Damian didn't dignify that with a response. It stung a little, actually. Jason immediately rescinded the question.
"Sorry, habit. What do you need?"
"Contacts."
No pleasantries, Damian would not offend Jason by expressing how much he had missed him when Jason had obviously already read the situation. Affection came after the mission.
"The Pixie Dust case?"
"Yeah."
Jason set down his gun and padded to his couch, opening a laptop. Damian joined him, perching right behind on the back of the sofa, hand in his brother's hair to steady himself. Jason talked as he typed.
"Bats know you're here?"
"No."
"Damn."
The hope was left silent, but Damian heard it anyway. Jason had hoped Father had changed his mind.
"They don't actually hear what I say. They hear whatever they want, instead of taking my words at face value."
Jason snorted. "Yeah, sounds like them." He tilted the laptop so Damian could see it better. "Here, wanna go pay some scum a visit?"
Damian smiled at the information on the screen. "Sounds like a plan."
Jason's intel was good. Damian had all but cracked the case wide open.
"You want some backup?"
"As long as that backup is you."
The grin was obscured by his mask, but Damian could basically feel it radiating from underneath as Jason bounced on the balls of his feet."I've missed this."
"Me too," was all he said back.
The work was quick, with the information they had gathered. After just a few hours, Robin and Red Hood stood on a rooftop with a view of an old hair salon. The main manufacturer of the deadly Pixie Dust drug.
Such an idiotic and misleading name.
That's when a soft beep in his muted comm alerted Damian to someone approaching. Actually, three someones.
Spoiler, Nightwing, and Batman.
"Step away from Robin, Hood!"
Stephanie. She was probably the only person Damian could excuse, he had never tried to explain his relationship to Jason to her.
"Shut the fuck up, Blondie, you're gonna give our position up!" Jason's voice was a growl, but none of the Bats seemed intimidated.
"Hood, don't do anything you'll regret," came Batman's rumble.
Damian shot Jason a look that said "I'll handle it." Jason just shrugged.
"Father, I am here of my own free will. You are one loud word away from ruining this mission, so I'd appreciate it if you put your distrust aside."
Father opened his mouth to respond, but Grayson put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Hey, Little D, you don't need to work with him. We'd help you."
Damian felt Jason tense besides him. Not at the dig at his own character, but at the nickname Grayson used. He held a placating hand out at his hip, a silent plea to let it go.
"There is no one I would rather work with. At any given time. Now, silence or leave. Let Hood and I continue."
Batman and Nightwing were unreadable, but Spoiler tilted her head, a silent assessment.
"Father, if you have any respect for me, you will stay out of my way."
The surprise shone through that time. It was a little satisfying. Nightwing stepped back, and Batman gave a small nod of assent. Stephanie smiled. Just a tiny bit, but the crinkles at the corners of her eyes were unmistakable. Maybe it had been a mistake, not attempting to explain everything to her.
Damian made a small sign with his hand. The "any movement?" sign. Jason nodded.
"Get ready."
Damian turned back to his family. "In or out?"
In perfect sync, all three stepped forward, snapping to some form of attention.
"Alright. Pixie Dust. This is the main manufacturer, the plan is to get in there and destroy or confiscate as much as possible, leave the rest to Hood and I."
"Hood and me," came Jason's whisper. Damian just kicked him gently. Not the time for an English lesson. Jason snorted softly and stood.
"Target spotted. The big guy is ours."
Spoiler nodded, something that was probably a smirk breaking out on her face. Damian decided to look into her trust in Red Hood later, it certainly didn't seem to be a shared trait throughout the rest of the family. When she noticed the hesitation from her companions, she took point.
A grappling hook hissed its release, and they were off. Brown gave Damian a quick nod and led Batman and Nightwing to the ground floor, while he and Jason entered the second, headed for the boss himself.
Alexander Piccadilly. A ridiculous name for a feared man.
He was heavily guarded, but Damian and Jason fell into old routines, old patterns, and the guards weren't up to the challenge. It was more than a little disappointing, over much too soon. Piccadilly himself was hardly a threat, the gun he pulled knocked out of his hand before he could click the safety off.
"Nightwing, switch. We have a pick-up."
"Got it," Grayson's voice chirped back, and within seconds he was bursting into the room. "They still need help, live weapons and human shields."
Damian clicked his tongue. "We got it."
As one, he and Jason ran down the stairs.
The fight was drawing out longer than it should have, and there were hostages who had probably once been customers. He and Jason jumped right in, giving Batman and Spoiler time to release the innocents.
It felt right. Jason pointed a pistol right at Damian's head, but he didn't flinch at the shot, and a man at his back dropped, clutching his ear. Damian slid directly between Jason's planted feet and swung to his thigh, throwing batarangs as he went and taking out four assailants. Jason launched him at another criminal, right after Damian slipped a knife into his brother's empty hand. The knife was thrown immediately, straight through the shoulder of an attacker, pinning her to the wall.
They were victorious. Obviously.
Damian was breathing heavily at Jason's side when he noticed Brown. She was smiling at them. She had very expressive eyes, he was learning.
She understood, and Damian hadn't said a word. He should have known she would.
They wasted no more time making their escape. Grayson was waiting for them on a quarter of a mile away, at the nearest generic rendezvous point.
"Piccadilly locked up," he reported.
"Good," came Batman's grow, "Robin, explain yourself."
"I caught the kingpin of the operation I have been tracking for the last three weeks."
"That's not what I mean, and you know it."
Damian felt his temper rising, but Jason stepped up next to him and silenced him with a touch.
"It has come to my attention that you haven't been listening to your son."
"This is not your—"
"Uh, uh. It is. Anything concerning My Prince is my business."
"Little Wing—"
"You, Dickface, should stay out of this unless you plan on changing your damn mind."
Grayson deflated just the tiniest bit. Damian felt a pang of guilt, but it did not last. They had to hear this, it wasn't as though he hadn't tried to tell them himself.
"You do realize who you have in your care, correct? The Heir to the Demon. And you belittle him with your nicknames, with your refusal to treat him as an adult. I cannot allow that."
Father was getting angry. "He is a child, he is my child. I will not treat him as if he is a weapon!"
Jason laughed, a bitter thing. "He is not a weapon, B. He is a prince, and I'm his weapon."
That was debatable, a commander was not simply a weapon, especially not The Commander, but Damian was not going to poke any holes into Jason's words.
"And I am his brother. You have kept him from me for too long. I can't allow that any longer."
"You're a murderer, Jason!" He didn't give the words the time to ring. "I love you, I always will, but I will not let my son—"
"One hundred and seventy four."
"... What?"
Damian lifted his head. "I have killed one hundred and seventy four people."
Brown paled, and Grayson stopped breathing.
"You are a child, you cannot—"
"I am not just a child. I never have been, Father. You refuse to see that.
"I am the grandson of Ra's al Ghul. I will one day control the League of Assassins."
"You don't have to be that."
Jason snorted, but Damian kept him from lashing back. "I want to be that. It is my birthright, it is my purpose. That is not up for negotiation, or debate. We are only having this conversation to let you know that I will not be kept away from Jason any longer. We were trained as a unit. We will stay one."
"You were..." Grayson trailed off, leaving the question unasked.
"The rest of this conversation is not suitable for the rooftop."
"Manor," Stephanie immediately suggested, "Agent A was going to make cookies, and I want some."
That decided it.
They didn't make it into the house. Alfred met them in the Cave with a plate of snickerdoodles and some brief words.
"You all have a lot to discuss. I'll leave you to it."
And then he left. No one stopped him.
Damian didn't see the point of dragging the conversation out. "Jason was assigned to protect me when I was young. Before his mind was restored. Once it was, we began training together." He took a breath and pulled off his glove. Jason, at his back, did the same. They revealed identical scars. "We were trained as a team. It's ridiculous to pretend we are anything but."
"Okay, I'm confused," Stephanie butted in, "you called Damian a prince."
Damian scoffed. "I do not have a kingdom, if that's what you are asking. It is simply a title. Like commander."
Simultaneously, all three of Damian's audience tilted their heads. He bit back a laugh.
"I'm a commander," Jason offered.
"His title also is not literal. He's is more of... a general? I suppose?"
"I don't think—"
"Tt. You never noticed that other commanders reported to you?"
Jason lifted his helmet off his head. "I— No way."
Stephanie laughed out loud. "Oh, man. This is amazing. It's like a fairytale, but with more blood. A prince and his general, huh?"
Damian let the corner of his mouth tick upwards. "I suppose."
Jason laughed dryly. "A fairytale, huh? You haven't heard the best part. Damian and I were sent here, him to Bruce and me, um, to protect him, because Ra's took a little dip in the crazy pool. We got Moses'd."
Richard was the first to take a cookie. He handed it directly to Stephanie. "So, you had to leave because Ra's was dangerous?"
"You would be paranoid too, if you came back from the dead." Damian retorted. "But yes, we cannot return until Mother deems it safe."
"Wait, return?" Now Richard took a cookie for himself. "You're going back there?"
Jason growled, but Damian answered. "Of course. It is our home. It is my birthright."
"Ya know, Li— Damian, I always thought—"
Stephanie cut him off. "We've been treating you like a domestic abuse victim. I assume that's the only reason we wouldn't take what you were saying as— you said you tried to explain this before?"
She looked like a kicked puppy. Damian had never been happier to admit an exception. "No, never to you. To everyone else, yes. Evidently, it would have been best to just come to you first."
She gave him a soft smile. "I wish you had."
Jason cleared his throat. "Yeah, so, I got the whole "we don't trust Red Hood around Robin" thing, until Steph was perfectly fine with it. What's the deal with that, exactly?"
Damian smiled at the abrupt switch in his demeanor from The Commander to Jason al Ghul.
Stephanie shrugged, purposely ignoring the guilty looks on her companion's faces. "I didn't know you, before. You never tried to kill me. And, I dunno, I'm a Narrows kid. Red Hood isn't the name of a faceless demon on the streets, not like it is everywhere else. It's the name of a guardian angel, I guess."
Jason just blinked at her. Damian tried not to laugh.
"Damn," Richard whispered.
"Damn," Drake echoed, and the room full of League trained assassins and Gotham's finest detectives collectively startled at his sudden appearance.
He just raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Anyway, Demon Brat and Red Hood are brothers, and not through this side of the family, so I'm gonna need some tea and possibly alcohol. Who wants to join me?"
Silence. Never mind the fact that Timothy Drake was only 18 and did not drink.
"I won't say no to tea," Jason offered.
Drake gave him a big smile. "I still don't fucking trust you." The words were odd, pushed past grinning teeth.
"That's fair."
Father sighed. "Everybody, upstairs."