Welcome back! So, today I have for you another chapter of this thing. We're skipping forward five years, is the information you need to know (because watching Jason wander through five years of training abroad would be immensely boring). It's mentioned in the chapter itself, but so you go into this knowing, this means that Jason is sixteen, and Damian is somewhere in the middle of five. Enjoy!

Warnings for: mentions/reference to pedophilia, and rough training of a child (unrelated).


A hand pats the center of my back, dropping down to my waist as my current teacher leans over my shoulder to see what I'm doing. I'm familiar at this point with the satisfied little hum he gives, as I carefully measure out the different doses of potion and then match the bottles up with the correct labels from the pile at my right elbow.

"Are you sure about that one?" he asks, and I barely resist rolling my eyes. Expert of poisons he might be, a great liar he is not.

"Watch the hand," I mutter in answer, twitching my back sideways to dissuade the fingers slipping down towards my hip.

They retreat for about half a second, and then I do roll my eyes when they come right back. I ignore it until I've capped the next tiny bottle, and am looking through the pile of labels for the right one to match. Then they actually touch my hip, and I twist my head to give a small snarl over my shoulder.

"Hand," I stress, setting the vial down. "One warning, sir."

So far he's always backed down at this point, but this time the hand actually grabs instead of just touching, and I react. I jerk my head sideways, cracking my skull right into his face, and then twist and get out of my chair as he reels backwards with a shout of pain. I am very careful not to disturb the table with all those delicate little bottles on it; a couple of those poisons can be airborne, or volatile if shaken. I could probably make it out, but my teacher might not and he's why I'm here. It's not just about the training.

Five years I've been traveling the world, sent from one supposed master to the next to ferret out which are actually as good as they say, and which are good enough to be sent back to the League's various headquarters to train the Demon's heir. Damian al Ghul, my eventual lord if everything keeps going as smoothly as it has.

Aside from this jackass' tendency to grope me.

Maybe I should have just told him flat out that I'm with the League of Assassins, and touching me would be painful. Or, maybe I can just enjoy taking a little bit of revenge for all the 'casual' touches over the last couple months.

"Alright," I start, advancing a few steps forward. "You listening to me now?"

He's a little taller than me — only sixteen, so I haven't hit my full height yet — but I've seen him working out and I've seen him 'practicing' some martial arts. His specialty is poison; he's got nothing on me when it comes to combat. He doesn't know that though, and it is really obvious given how he slides a foot back and holds both hands up like he's actually going to try and fight me.

"Sit down, boy!" He's trying to sound commanding, he really is.

My mother is more frightening at her most casual.

I snort, leaving my hands loose at my sides as I move towards him. "How about you strip down and put your hands in the air and I don't hurt you? I know you've got surprises in your pockets, and I'm not interested in getting jabbed with anything."

That little sneer is something like righteous fury. "We're done, boy. You get your things and get out of my home this instant!"

I let my own little sneer curl my lips for a second. "You've got no idea who I am, sir. I'm with the League of Assassins, we were testing to see if you'd make a good enough teacher to be brought into our bases. Congratulations, you pass. So you either cooperate, and the most you get is a nice little injection with a sedative, or you resist, and I take you down before the team that's moving you even gets here." I roll my shoulders, considering if I even want to pull one of the knives I've got hidden. "I gotta say, I'm rooting for option two. You have been a pain in the ass to tolerate as long as I have."

Which is when the door crashes in.

He jerks, I lunge for him as he whips his head around, and the door hits the ground as I hit him. By the time my mother actually walks in, flanked by an assassin on each side and two more behind her that already have zipties in their hands, I've got the jackass on the floor underneath me, one arm twisted far enough up behind his back it just might snap if he struggles. That could be fun.

I let the two prepared assassins take my place, commenting, "Make sure to strip him down first. All kinds of nasty surprises hidden in those clothes." Then I walk to my mother, who has a faint smile on her face.

"What do you think?" she asks, and I roll my shoulders in a shrug.

"Good teacher; he knows his stuff. Could warn Talia that the bastard's got wandering hands though, so she might want to threaten to cut them off if he doesn't fix that." I aim the last two words over my shoulder, down at the latest in my line of teachers. Most of them have been pretty good, and even fun to be around. Definitely never been a pedophile among them, not until now anyways.

I'm not even a little worried. If he dares touching Talia's son she'll flay him alive. Or he will.

I haven't heard much about the little al Ghul's training, just little tidbits from my mother whenever I meet her in the short spaces between trainers. He'll be five now, and I know what I could do at that age. I'm pretty sure that Damian is being pushed a lot harder than I was, so unless he's somehow a failure he'll be further along. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he's already been trained how to hurt people, even if he might not have killed for the first time quite yet. Flaying a guy wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility.

"So where next?" I ask, as they finally gag the moron on the floor so he'll stop his stupid begging.

She gives another small smile, and then reaches out and pulls me underneath her arm. I just barely still fit. "Home," she tells me, as she steers me back out of the now empty doorframe.

My heart leaps just a little bit. "Really?" A nod confirms it, and I grin.

"Talia is recalling you, now that Damian is old enough for you to take your place at his side. You may have quite the challenge ahead of you, Little Jay; if I can tell you anything it's that he's certainly an al Ghul."

"Talking about skill or attitude?" I question, and she gives a small laugh as she pushes me into the helicopter. It should ferry us to a larger plane, which will then actually get us back to whatever League base Damian is currently housed in.

"Both. When we land we'll meet with the three of them, and you'll be introduced to Damian as his companion. You should expect for him to test you in some way; he hasn't agreed with your assignment like Talia and Ra's have. He's rather forward so far, so I'd guess it will be a simple spar." She takes the seat next to me, arm still around my shoulders, and murmurs, "I have confidence you'll succeed."

I smirk up at her. "Hey, al Ghul or not he's a five year old kid and I've had pretty much all the same teachers he has. I've got it."

"Jason—"

"Don't be arrogant," I finish. "Trust me, mom, I'm not going to be like the idiots who used to challenge me. He's an al Ghul, of course he's dangerous."

"And don't forget that this will be watched," she stresses. "I know Talia chose you partially for your attitude but don't overdo it, Little Jay. Ra's will be there too, and he might not appreciate you disrespecting his grandson the way Talia will. You'll have to walk the line to keep both of them satisfied."

I lightly dig my elbow into her side, and lower my voice to keep our conversation between just the two of us as the League minions load my still-slightly-struggling poison expert onto the helicopter with us. "It's alright, mom. I've got it; promise I'll be careful."

She gives a very soft sigh, and squeezes me into her side. "I know. But let me worry anyway, Little Jay. That's my right."


There's no luxury of cleaning up when we get back to the main base. It's in, and straight off to the throne room that I've been in all of maybe twice in my whole life. Both times it was brimming with people, but this time it's all but empty. Ra's is in his throne, Talia at the smaller one to his right, the White Ghost standing at his shoulder, and on the arm of Talia's chair, what has to be Damian.

Small, back straight and head held high, dressed in a rich gold and green robe that almost matches Ra's'. Impossible to tell what kind of muscle definition he has beneath that fabric, but I can see the head of shortly cut black hair, and the steel-blue eyes that are decidedly not like either of his two present relatives. Those must be from whoever his father is; I don't recognize any kind of facial structure so it's probably not anyone from the League. Still, maybe it will become easier to see when he's older.

Or, when this is done, maybe I can ask. I'd have the right to as his companion, wouldn't I? At least the right to ask, if not to get an answer.

Talia's hand is resting at the small of Damian's back, but the gazes of all three members of the al Ghuls are trained on me. They stay that way as I approach — my mother stays by the door — and kneel at the base of the short flight of steps leading up to the three of them. Still in my loose jeans and dark grey t-shirt, I am distinctly underdressed, but I try not to let it bother me. If they wanted me presentable, they would have left me time to clean up and change instead of demanding I immediately come here.

"Master," I offer, with a brief flick of my gaze up to about the level of Ra's' knees. Then, "Mistress," to Talia, as I briefly meet her gaze. Finally, I lower my head a few inches further, tilted towards Damian. "My lord."

"You may rise," Ra's announces.

I tamp down the little burst of nerves that flares in my chest — Ra's is speaking directly to me — and get to my feet, bringing my hands behind my back and holding my head up as I slip into a simple, at-rest stance. I stay still in the silence, letting them inspect me as they want, until finally Damian scoffs.

"This is to be my companion?" His voice is high-pitched, still a child's, but it's definitely got a sharp ring of command to it. "What is it that makes you qualified to be my right hand, Jason Wu-San? Tell me."

I meet his gaze, chewing my words over in my head for a moment before I speak. "Nothing but your family's approval, my lord, but if you're asking why they'd consider it… I'm the son of Lady Shiva, so I've been in the League since I was born. Mistress al Ghul asked me to be your companion five years ago, and since then I've been traveling the world learning from various masters and seeing whether they were fit to be brought back to the League to be your trainers as well. If you want a list of exactly what I've been taught over the years, I can give it. Might take awhile though."

I get a small smirk from Talia, and a much fainter curl of lips from Ra's as well. Damian, on the other hand, gives a scowl that I struggle not to call adorable. Oh, that's a dangerous word to apply to a five year old assassin child, and one I will never say out loud because I kind of like my tongue and the skin of my back. Fine line between being a little mouthy and actually being antagonistic.

Damian slips off the arm of Talia's chair, stalking down the stairs towards me. I incline my head as he approaches and stops just a few feet from me. "And why should I approve of you?" he demands, all but glaring up at me. "I do not require a glorified guard."

"You can test me however you like," I offer, "and I don't think you need a guard either. But it would be nice to have someone at your side that's loyal, wouldn't it?"

"You think you're that person?"

I have to try really hard not to react in any inappropriate way to the sharp, demanding tone coming out of the mouth of a five year old kid.

"I think I could be, my lord." Thankfully I manage to say it with a straight face, as I watch him.

That also means that I see how he starts to move. I could dodge the sharp strike of a fist to the center of my stomach — about the only thing he can hit without aiming up and robbing the strike of power — but after a fraction of a second I decide not to. I do tense up though, hold my muscles rigid so when it hits me it just makes me rock back on my heels a bit and spit out half a breath, instead of knocking me to a knee.

Hard punch — shouldn't be surprised — but it doesn't hurt all that much; not compared to what most of my trainers have put me through.

Damian sneers, stepping back and half turning, hands rising to undo whatever's holding together his robe before he flings it to the side. "Defend yourself," he demands, as it falls. He's in much more basic League work clothing below that; black, skin tight up top, loose on the bottom to allow for movement. I'm not used to seeing that on anyone this young.

I let my arms come out from behind my back, shifting a step backwards to give myself a little more space. He's young, he's small, he doesn't have my reach so the distance is to my advantage. But if he's good, that shouldn't be much of a problem for him. I'm sure he's good.

Unbidden, I remember that night I guarded Damian, and I remember the promise that's been sitting in the back of my mind since then. My mouth curls into a faint smirk.

Damian's fast, and he's definitely skilled. I dodge a fist, block the second, let a foot hit just enough of my ankle to fake it knocking me off balance without doing any damage. I study the way he moves as I let him drive me back about a dozen feet, letting the smirk fall off my face as my eyes narrow. He's aggressive, is the main thing that sticks. Maybe because I'm only giving him the barest idea of a fight, and technically sticking to exactly what he's ordered me. I'm defending myself. Mostly.

At least until I let him buckle my left knee under me, follow it up with a hard palm high on my chest that gets me on my back. I recover in time, it's not that hard of an impact, but I don't give more than a cursory attempt to stop the sharp flick of a blade up to press underneath my chin, tilting it up to bare my throat as I ease back against the floor.

The look on Damian's face is almost disgusted. He pulls away from me, stowing that blade and taking one distinct step away before whirling to face his family.

"Grandfather, I will not take an incompetent right hand!" Damian's voice isn't quite a shout, but it's loud enough to carry across the room. I get to my knees, checking the skin below my jaw with a brief swipe of my fingers. No broken skin.

When I look up, Ra's is smirking and Talia has a faint smile. I can't tell exactly what Talia's expression says, but Ra's' is most definitely sly.

"I think," Ra's says slowly, "you ought to give your new companion one more chance, Damian." Sharp indignation bursts to life on Damian's face, and Ra's' smirk widens a fraction. "Go on; one more round."

Damian scowls, but wastes no time. He whirls, strikes before I'm even on my feet again. This time I don't let him do anything at all. I shove his arm to the side, rush my weight forward into him and get us both on the ground. Smaller, lighter, weaker. He struggles, rolls to get out from under me, and I pull back just enough that I can slam him down on his stomach and press one of my knees down into the center of his back. I keep my touch careful as I wrap one hand in his hair to hold his skull against the floor and twist his right arm up behind him. He's more flexible than a fully grown adult would be, but also easier to injure.

He gasps, and I shove my knee a little harder into his back and take a careful glance at his other arm to make sure he's not reaching for another blade.

"You know," I comment conversationally, "you probably don't remember this, but I guarded you once when you were just a baby. I made you a promise." He snarls at me, and I dig my knee right into his spine to stop him. "I told you that the first time we ever sparred, I'd let you win. I also told you not to expect me to do it a second time, little al Ghul."

I let him go, pushing up and off of him and backing off a step. He immediately rolls over and follows me up, glaring at me with clear venom. "You—"

"Damian!" Talia calls, and he cuts off, turning to look up at her. "Come here, beloved."

Damian scowls at me one last time, and then stalks back towards his mother, swiping his robe from the floor with one angry movement. Ra's watches the whole thing with obvious amusement, and when Damian is seated on the arm of Talia's chair again — glaring daggers into my skull — Ra's looks at me. I shift back into an at-ease posture out of both habit and obedience, lowering my gaze for a moment. I probably wouldn't with either Damian or Talia, but Ra's is a whole other game.

"Perhaps our next focus should be teaching you to recognize when an enemy is holding back, hm, Damian?" Ra's' tone is a little smug, and I lift my gaze in time to catch Damian's sharp glance towards his grandfather. "Talia, give Damian's new companion all the information he'll need to assume his post. Damian, I believe you have a teacher expecting you. It's poor manners to be late when you are expected; why don't we walk together?"

The amount of venom on Damian's face should not be possible, and I have to bite back the urge to snicker at it. "As you wish, grandfather," Damian says, clearly grudgingly, as he slides back off the arm of Talia's chair. There's respect in his voice though, underneath all of that irritation.

Eventual heir to the demon or not, Damian at least knows that Ra's al Ghul is the real power here. You just don't fuck around with a centuries old, technically immortal, martial arts master with a whole league of assassins at his fingertips. Not even if you're his grandson, and I guess that makes sense.

Hundreds of years, and Ra's hasn't had more kids? No way. I'd bet my ass that whatever kids he's had over all these years have either tried to overthrow him, or weren't good enough for him to consider giving them control of the League. Damian's just the next in a long line, would be my guess, even if Ra's seems to be holding him up as the actual next leader.

Maybe Damian will never become the Demon's Head. Maybe Ra's will never give that power up. Either way, definitely not my business if I want to keep my head, and I kinda do.

Talia pulls her son close, murmuring something in his ear before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. The scowl stays on Damian's face, but he leans into her touch just a little bit anyway. At least for that fraction of a second, before he's slinging the robe back on and hurrying to catch up with Ra's as he sweeps out a side exit to the throne room. Talia watches them go, then stands and moves towards me. I keep still.

"Thank you, Sandra," she calls past me. "You can go; we'll speak later."

I hear the heavy main door open and close behind me, but I keep my gaze lowered to the floor as Talia approaches. She reaches forward, tilts my head up, and I follow the silent prompt to meet her eyes. The slight scrape of her nails beneath my chin isn't anything I haven't felt from my own mother pretty often; it's never had the association of threat for me that she's probably used to it having.

She studies me for several long seconds, before lowering her hand. "What do you think of my son?" she asks.

I spend another few seconds thinking about it, before being fairly confident that my answer won't get me too badly hurt. "I don't know how you've trained him, but he's got a lot of talent. He moves well, and he's fast, strong for his age."

"And?" Talia prompts, with a little knowing smirk.

I can't help echoing it with a smaller flicker of my lips. "You were right, he's arrogant. He has a lot to learn."

"Well, that would be your job to fix, wouldn't it?" Talia smiles, and then her hand is on my jaw, tilting my head to one side and then the other. "You've grown into quite the young man yourself, Jason. You're…?"

"Sixteen," I fill into the pause, as if she doesn't already know.

"Right. Well, I'll be interested to see what you end up as when you've finished growing." She lets go of me, then steps back and quirks one eyebrow upwards in a refined arch. "Come along then; I'll show you to Damian's quarters and we can discuss the finer aspects of your new job."

I bow my head. "As you wish, Mistress al Ghul."


Damian's scowl is no less impressive, and completely at odds with the chubby five year old cheeks, when he eventually comes back to his room. I hold his gaze, not getting up from my seat at the foot of his bed.

His rooms are nice. An opening reception area, with a fabric-covered archway leading to his bedroom, which then has two offshoots as well. One to a very small room that seems to stock his clothing and weapons — and mine now too — and the other to a fairly luxuriant bathroom. There's modern plumbing, naturally, but it is limited to an actual bath instead of a more convenient shower. Everything in here is pretty much the highest quality, even the small, shoved-against-the-wall bed that's clearly mine.

After maybe ten seconds of glaring, Damian makes a sharp noise between his teeth and crosses his arms. "So you are disobedient as well as unimpressive."

"I don't remember hearing you give any commands."

Somehow, Damian's scowl gets deeper. He stalks forward, stopping almost right in front of me as he spits, "A servant should prostrate himself when his lord enters a room; or are you enough of a half-wit to not even understand the basics of your position?" It would probably be more impressive if he wasn't small enough that we're almost of an even height with me sitting on the ground.

I snort, curling my mouth into a small grin. "See, the way it was explained to me, I'm here to keep you safe, help you learn, and advise you, my lord. I'm not here to kiss your ass or inflate your ego."

He strikes, one fist flying for my head. I push myself down, ducking beneath the blow and twisting my momentum as I extend a leg and slam my foot into his gut. His eyes widen as he falls, hitting the ground hard on one side with an arm curling protectively around his stomach. Pain is clear in his expression.

He gasps in a breath as I push myself up to rest back against the bed again, and then opens his eyes and glares up at me. "How dare you—" he starts, and I cut him off.

"Look, Damian. If you want to hit me while we're in public, that's your choice. I'm not going to counter in front of anybody else. But if you try and hit me when it's just the two of us, I'm just going to assume that you want to spar, and I'm going to retaliate. I am not here to be your punching bag or cater to your every fucking whim, got that?"

He pushes himself up, pure fury in those steel eyes. "You insubordinate—"

"Arrogant."

"—imbecile!"

"Ooo," I taunt, "nice alliteration."

Damian's hands are tight fists, but he's not trying to hit me again. Not yet, anyway. "The way you're behaving is utterly inappropriate for a servant," he all but hisses. "If I told my mother she'd have you whipped, if she did not take your head for it."

I dip my head in agreement, as I hold his gaze. "True, and it'd definitely hurt, but I'm not your servant, Damian, I'm your companion. My job is to keep you safe and grounded, it's not to change your bed and cook your meals."

"That does not excuse the fact that you are disobedient and—"

"I'm not," I counter, and then I slowly shift forward, to my knees with both hands held out to the sides. "You give me an order and I'll follow it, Damian. But if I think you're wrong, or that there's a better way, I'm going to tell you as long as we're alone; I'll never undermine you in front of anyone else, I swear." I give a crooked grin and a small shrug. "Yeah, I've got an attitude and I speak my mind, but I'm loyal. Anyway, if you really want me gone, I'm pretty sure you could just ask your mother."

Damian studies me for a few long seconds, and then shoves a breath out through his teeth. "You do not know my family very well, do you, Jason? It is more than likely that you have been assigned to me just to test my patience." One quick flick of his gaze down my frame, back up it, as some of the tension bleeds from his body and his fists loosen. "I suspect I could not be rid of you unless you made a true attempt to murder me, or allowed someone else to slip your guard and harm me. Not—" his voice rises in irritation "—that I require your protection. I am more than capable of defending myself."

I sit back onto my toes, letting a small smirk curl my mouth. "I don't doubt it. If there's anything that you want me to teach you, just let me know. You'll go through all the same teachers I had, eventually, but shortcuts can be useful."

"We shall see," he answers. "For the moment, you can prove you at least follow orders by starting a bath. I refuse to disrupt my routine for you."

I get to my feet. "Food's already on its way then?" The sharp glance pulls another smirk from me. "Your mother ran me through your schedule a couple of times. Back from lessons for the day; bath to get clean and dinner should arrive sometime in the middle, right?"

"At least you pay attention," he snaps, and then turns on his heel and stalks towards the archway to the bathroom. "How did you possibly survive a childhood here with your blatant disrespect for authority?"

I follow him through the arch, slipping ahead so I can kneel down by the head of the inset bath and twist the taps on. "My trainers weren't allowed to punish me; not anymore than a rap or swat anyway. Anything I did that actually deserved discipline was handed off to my mother instead. Lady Shiva."

"I am aware of your parentage," Damian comments, and when I glance back he's stripping out of the layers of clothing covering him. "So you were spoiled?"

I snort, watching the mechanics of how those layers come off. "Don't know my mother very well, do you? She taught me respect for power; real power. Just because I called someone a teacher didn't mean they had the right to hurt me, and I wasn't going to take punishment from just anybody. The people that have real power over me — you, your family, my mother — sure, but not just the guy teaching me how to speak and read German or something."

"I suppose that makes an adequate amount of sense." The agreement is grudging, but it's there.

He's bruised here and there, but that makes sense. You get bruises when you train with the League, plus I'd bet — I'll get to confirm it soon enough — that he's pushed harder than most other recruits. He's the Demon's heir; to keep that he has to be better than everyone else around him. Talia wouldn't risk her son failing that, at least I don't think she would.

"What about you?" I ask, as I shift to sit cross-legged beside the filling bath.

"My trainers are allowed discipline, provided it is not excessive. My grandfather would handle actual punishments." Damian's eyes are narrowed when he looks at me, with more steel in them than a five year old should have. "If I ever earned them."

"The absolute perfect student, hm?"

It's supposed to be a joke, but Damian's gaze flickers away, as he drops the last piece of clothing to the floor. "It is expected," he answers, flatly. I don't have anything to say to that flat piece of truth, so I stay quiet as he slips into the filling bath and onto one of the small shelves within to sit on. "Jason."

"My lord?"

He looks away from me, briefly. "Once dinner arrives, you may join me. You smell of fuel from your travel, and I wish you redressed in appropriate clothing as soon as possible. Clear?"

I smirk, dipping my head in a small bow. "As you wish, little prince." He shoots me another sharp glare for that, and I study him for a moment. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Why would you need permission to speak now when you've clearly felt comfortable saying whatever inane nonsense has come into your head before?" Damian counters, splashing water up onto his arms — the bathwater is just about up to his waist right now.

"Who's your father?"

Without hesitation, Damian's gaze rises to me and he answers, "The Batman."

I choke on thin air for about half a second.

"You're fucking kidding me," I gasp, when I manage to swallow the air down and stop choking.

Damian's smirk is small enough I almost miss it, but there's a sharp kind of satisfaction in his eyes. "No. When I am old enough, I will take his position as well as my grandfather's, and the world will be at my feet. I am the Demon's heir and the Son of the Bat; it is my birthright."

"That's one hell of a plan," is my comment, before a thought occurs to me. "Does Batman know you exist?"

"Not yet." Damian seems entirely unconcerned with that fact. "Mother seems to think that he would attempt to steal me away from my place in the League if he were made aware of my existence. I doubt we will meet until the day I kill him and take his place."

I tap my hand against the floor. "So, let me get this straight. Your plan is to grow and train here in the League, go after your father — the Batman — to kill him and take his place, and then take over as the Demon's Head and rule the world."

"In summary; yes."

I give a sharp bark of laughter, shaking my head. "Well, you're definitely ambitious." Then I aim a small grin at him. "Sounds like fun."