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[indent][sub][B]Location:[/B] Wayne Manor -- Gotham City, USA[/sub][sup][right][b]Issue:[/b] Return of the Prodigal Son - #1[/right][/sup][/indent][sub][hr][/sub]
Damian mused silently as he dropped his rucksack in his room. It was exactly as he left it, though he didn’t expect any differences. The dust gathered on the windows overlooking the manor’s courtyard was particularly telling, but with Pennyworth long passed who was going to take care of it? Did his father dismiss the maids or were they relegated to other duties?

The thirteen-year-old swiped his hand against the window, looking at the amount of dust before looking downward.

[color=007A6B]“It would have been enjoyable to learn more from you.”[/color] Damian uttered, turning away from the window and closing the door behind him.

Pennyworth had been the first person Damian had met when he arrived in Gotham and despite the glibness in every comment directed at his person there was a sense of warmth. A sensibility of genuineness and loyalty. He hadn’t sensed it then, but it did not take long for Damian to see it. There was no one like that in the League. His own mother wasn’t even such a person who held traits. His mother was only loyal to herself and the mantle of The Demon. Perhaps it was in seeing that was why he resisted going back. Every attempt. His mother, grandfather, aunt… they all tried to pull and tug him like a puppet for their own needs and wants. They wanted an heir they could contort and control for their ideal vision of the world. 

Damian narrowed his eyes as he moved down the corridor. Pennyworth was old and life took him when he needed to remain. As he predicted his father shirked important matters in his grief. Had he listened to him when the body was still warm they could have saved him.

[i]“Father, if his presence is needed, you could simply use the pi—”[/i]

Of course his father rejected such a tool despite it being the only reason Todd had survived. Accused him of ignorance. No. Damian full well knew what kind of rot the Lazarus Pit wielded, but unlike his father he believed it could be controlled. The only obstacle in using it for benevolent uses was the assassins who guarded and manipulated the magic that surged through it. If they used it now, however, the body was a year dead, there were simply too many intangibles that would prove difficult to control. Who knows what would come back if Damian took a spade to Pennyworth’s grave. He could already hear the complaints from everyone of him even considering the idea. All of them were too afraid of studying magic beyond a glance. The occult was a tool like any other weapon in their arsenal and weapons are ineffective if one was afraid to master it. 

Such ways of thinking was why [i]they[/i] were afraid of him. Why Drake thought he was dangerous. Why his father was troubled by what he “could” become. 

Unfounded fears. In the mere months after meeting his father he had contained his rawest instincts as an assassin to appease the nature of The Bat. He combated his conditioning to kill. He reduced several martial arts he knew to being worthless endeavors and suppressed aspects of himself that were unappealing. Damian had done so while his mother tried unrelentingly to use him as a pawn to manipulate or destroy the mission his father devoted himself to. A plan that had never worked yet he was marginalized and discarded at every waking moment. The only person who even gave him the slightest shadow of the doubt in this family was Grayson of all people. Heretic had almost killed Damian and instead of Damian now being able to stand shoulder-to-shoulder all he received was scorn.

What would it take to be trusted by everyone?

Damian sighed grumpily as he moved forward toward the clock—toward the Batcave.

His father sent him away to the Titans as a punishment. Months ago. Grayson excused the decision, too. Emotional Intelligence. Teamwork. All the usual buzzwords. Damian didn’t buy it. The facts told a very different story. Every Robin or Batgirl that served with the Titans had done so on their own initiative. Damian was the only one that needed to be “assigned”. How was he and his father supposed to work together efficiently if they hadn’t seen each other for months? What was that going to do to effective crime coverage in Gotham? What if his father needed him and he wasn’t there? How could he earn trust across the stupid country? 

Such questions were why he was back in Gotham now. The Titans could handle themselves in his absence.

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Almost immediately all of the thirteen-year-old's worries ended as the cold air of the cave touched his skin. A smile formed on Damian's lips. 

He was home.