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Damian swishes into the training room, his robes flying about dramatically behind him. Anger reads in every line of his body, a barely controlled storm that should he let it, would destroy everything it touched. Damian isn’t like that though, everything he does is precise, every decision made to achieve the deepest cut, the most lethal precision.
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel though. Rather, Damian feels too much, and hides it…..passably. Whatever stone facade he wanted to wear he could, but everyone knew to fear the anger of the Demon’s Head, young as he was and still only two years into the position. Unlike Ra’s, Damian would spare you if you deserved it, but he’d also rip you apart himself if you ever double crossed him. Earning Damian’s ire was to earn a death sentence, and it looked like the scythe was heading right for Jason’s neck.
He keeps still as Damian approaches, trying to gauge the level of Damian’s anger, and wondering what in fact had caused it. As far as Jason knew, he hadn’t done anything, but it was Jason who Damian had come for. Jason who Damian had set his sights on. Jason who would have to pay the price.
Straightening his stance, Jason catalogues the room and sees that he’s not the only one who’d frozen in the face of Damian’s rage, and despite being some of the best assassins in the world, they looked upon their leader with fear. Eyes were locked on both of them when Damian came to a halt in front of Jason, his mouth set in a deep snarl. Not turning away, Jason barks a command that has the assassins clearing out and closing the door behind them. He wouldn’t doubt it if the whole wing of the compound was emptied before Damian even said anything.
Jason’s rank as General meant under normal circumstances, that he never has to dip his head lower than Damian’s chin. But Jason also knew how to appease the man in front of him, and he knew it better that he dipped to half his height to show respect.
“My Lord,” Jason says, stepping back and bowing.
He’s about to rise again when Damian’s hand grabs his chin and holds it in place. Jason holds his position and keeps his eyes downcast, the picture of submission.
In his head, hes much less calm than he appears, and his internal train of thought resembles something like Oh Fuck repeated into an intangible stream of consciousness and panic. While he cannot conceive of what he did to end up in this position, aside from trying to appease a hurricane and fail, Jason can’t get over the feeling that this is personal.
“Damian—” He starts, before realising if Damian is genuinely this angry with him, he shouldn’t risk being so informal, but it’s too late, he’s already said it.
The fingers on his chin apply a gentle pressure, and his head is tipped back, and up until he’s looking into Damian’s eyes. Jason tries to read past the indecipherable expression he wears, until on its own, it cracks open.
His eyes are bright, vivid, a little scrunched from where the edges of his grin have stretched so far. His face is full and alive, the mischief in it unlike anything Jason has seen Damian wear.
Jason stares in shock, some awe, before his brain comes back online. “You’re such a little shit!” He swears, loudly. Damian breaks into laughter, unconstrained and infectious, nothing like his little huffs or Tts of disdain. Jason is shaking his head standing back at full height and towering over the little brat (by three inches, but his point stands). “A fucking menace. You’re lucky I don’t try to end you for that,” he restrains some of his more creative curses, becoming distracted by the way Damian’s laugh has turned into wheezing giggles.
All of a sudden, he can see Dick’s influence on the kid. He’d known Dick had basically raised Damian for a few years while Talia fucked off to where ever it is she could cause the most damage, but he’d never seen the proof of it before. This here? All Dick’s fault.
Jason would stab Dick (he’d never get near Damian, and would never try), but a part of him can’t deny he likes the kid’s laugh, and would probably appreciate the joke if it had been played on anyone but him.
Jason shakes his head, scrubbing at his face as he turns away from Damian and walks a few steps to calm himself down.
Damian’s laugh still echoes in his ears even if he isn’t laughing any longer, and by the time Jason faces him again, the smile has been mostly scrubbed down to something resembling a normal person’s normal smile, which is way too big for him still.
“Come now, General. Surely you must know I am talented in many areas. Afterall, I played the dutiful grandson for years and fooled the terrible Ra’s al Ghul. My skills are unmatched.”
Jason can’t deny him that one, even if he’d like to. “Your skills at being a brat are unmatched, truly.”
Damian tuts at him, grin widening again before being smothered. “Do not pout, it is unbecoming on a man of your stature.”
Jason growls at him, eyes lighting up green for a split second before returning to blue. Damian catches sight of the glow and his smile disappears entirely.
“Are you angry, truthfully?” He asks, Jason can actually read him now, and sees the walls rising before he even answers. Yeah, how about no.
Maybe Jason should be angry, maybe he would have been if he couldn’t see how much this meant to Damian. Maybe he’d be angry if truthfully, he weren’t oddly endeared and pleased to have been trusted enough to see this side of Damian that a very small few ever got to see.
“No, brat. I should be, but it makes sense that any kid of Dick’s would be an absolute gremlin.”
Damian blushes a deep red and he sputters. “I am not Grayson’s child!”
“Oh, kid,” Jason grins, “You have no idea.”
Damian scowls, but it’s nothing compared to the mere facade of anger from earlier. “I am not a child, either.” He protests. Jason raises a brow, and Damian manifests a dagger from somewhere on his person to threaten him with.
“Need I remind you, I am seventeen years of age, and your superior?” Jason just resists ruffling his hair and cooing. That would get him stabbed, and Damian doesn’t have the same reservations as Jason does about not stabbing your friends.
“Sure, short stuff. Remind me of that when you can look down at me when I’m not bowing.”
The mischievous grin makes an instant reappearance, and a feeling of dread grows in Jason’s stomach as delight swells in the brat’s eyes. “If you want to be put on your knees, General, you need just ask.”
If Jason weren’t standing still, he’d have tripped over his feet in surprise. His mind blue screens and Damian has the gall to be pleased with himself, but under it, even shell shocked, Jason hears the genuineness of the offer.
Ah fuck.
Dick’s gonna kill him.
His mouth opens before he can stop it and swallow his suicidal stupidity. “When you’re old enough.” He says, and then because he’d already dug his grave this far he adds, “And you start using my name. You need something to call while I’m giving you head.”
Damian sucks in a surprised breath, and that’s all Jason is allowed to see of his shock before it becomes steely resolve and acute interest. “Very well.” He says, backing up a few steps. Respecting Jason’s Not yet. Damian considers him with a discerning expression that perceives all too much.
He turns around after a few moments more and makes his way toward the doors, Jason wonders if that’s it, wonders what Damian saw, when he pauses right before them, and looks back just enough for Jason to get a clear view of Damian’s side profile.
“I believe I shall hold you to that. Jason.”
That fucking grin appears, and with a swish of his robes, Damian leaves the same way he came in. Jason’s blood boils and it isn’t with anger but anticipation. There’d been a challenge and Jason….accepted it. Accepted to dance with the Demon’s Head. With Damian.
He doesn’t know what’s more insane honestly, but he has to hand it to the cocky little shit, he’s got skills and style.
And maybe Jason too, if Dick doesn’t find out and kill him first.