Chapter Text
Damian's heart was pounding as he slunk through the shadows of his grandfather's palace.
He was out of his mind. What had in the daylight sounded like sense and bravery now shriveled to foolishness under a clouded moon.
The punishment he faced if he were to be caught...
I will not be.
It had not been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Damian had carefully turned over the idea for many weeks, and had done hours of secret research. He was convinced he was doing the right thing.
He reached the stables and silently let his stallion, Caesar, out of his stall. A camel would be hardier and an ATV swifter in the desert, but both were harder to steal, and to control. Besides, it would be comforting to have a friend for this first part of his journey.
Every clip-clop of Caesar's hooves made Damian cringe. He had passed through the small, secret gate without detection, but he knew better than to believe the League could not still catch him. If tonight would have been a test, or if he had made some error in his preparations, or even if Mother or Grandfather wished him to observe a traitor being made an example of, his disappearance would cause an uproar he could never hope to escape from. He needed until sunrise for them to realize he was gone.
Finally down in the sandy valley, Damian pulled himself onto Caesar bareback and kicked him into a fast trot. He didn't want to risk the dust a gallop would raise until the compound was out of sight.
He headed due north, towards the nearest big city. It did not have an international airport, but it had buses that went to Tehran, so it was only a minor setback. He was purposely avoiding any and all small villages, because those were the first places the League would look, and the places that would notice and remember him most. If everything went according to plan, Damian could be in America, maybe even Gotham itself, in three days.
Will my father...?
No. He could not afford doubt. His father would take him. He had taken in many other children who were not even his blood. Surely Damian was as worthy a son as them. He would prove it.
He rode all night and all the next day, pausing only to water Caesar and take care of his own needs. He had prepared almost a week's worth of carefully rationed food and water, but if he encountered any edible brush he took a moment to harvest it.
The day was terribly hot and almost unendurably boring. Sand stretched for miles in every direction, half blinding Damian when it caught the sun. His imagination was left to conjure every awful possibility for failure.
He stopped for a few hours when night fell, curling up against Caesar's flank to share his warmth. He kept one hand tightly clenched on the hilt of his katana. He was up again before the stars faded, having slept hardly at all. He pinched his leg every time his head started to droop.
Damian reached the outskirts of the city just after sundown that second day. He climbed down from Caesar's back and gave the horse an entire water skin.
Caesar nudged Damian's head with his own when he finished drinking, snuffling affectionately.
"Thank you, friend," Damian told him, blinking hard. "I wish you a long and healthy life."
He brushed the horse's shoulder, moved closer to embrace him, and finally stepped back and turned around.
"Go home."
Damian walked away, reminding himself that he never cried.
He could not get passage to Tehran until the very small hours of the morning. He kept himself moving during the wait, staying as much out of view of security cameras as was possible. He was able to steal acquire jeans and a hooded sweatshirt from vacationing Americans, and kept the hood up so that it shaded the top half of his face.
He also stopped at a stand selling cheap snacks and restocked his rations, allowing himself to eat and drink a good portion of what he'd taken from ho-... the League.
The ride to Tehran was four hours. Damian carefully inspected each passenger as they boarded, relaxing slightly when he recognized no League operatives. One woman did ask in rather fragmented Arabic if he was traveling alone, and where were his parents? He made up a story about ill grandparents and being sent to help.
Damian's first real problem, after getting into the airport, was getting on a plane. He had had a wild idea of stowing himself with the luggage, but was forced to reject it. His other plans involved booking a ticket under a fake ID or stealing someone else's ticket, but both were likely to be noticed by the League. He tried to cry his way on at one gate, telling the motherly-looking stewardess he'd gotten separated from his father and lost his ticket.
"Please, ma'am," he begged. "Let me board and find my father!"
He spoke in English, figuring she would be more sympathetic if she believed he was an American boy on his way home.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I can't take you on. If you tell me your dad's name, maybe--"
"Oh, there you are!" cried a voice just behind. Footsteps barely warned of the person's approach before Damian was being crushed against a slight frame. He struggled as a... kiss? was pressed to his hair and a voice hissed, "Play along."
The man straightened, keeping Damian clutched against him as he continued, "Thank goodness I found you! Thank you, ma'am, for-- I'm so glad you're ok. You're at the wrong gate, kiddo, c'mon, Dad's waiting." He began to pull Damian away.
"Uh, you're this young man's... brother?" the woman asked, stopping him.
Damian wriggled out of the man's -- boy's, really -- arms, and saw why the woman sounded doubtful. His "brother" did perhaps share Damian's blue eyes and black hair, but while Damian's skin was a golden brown, this boy was shockingly, almost unhealthily pale.
"Yes, ma'am." The boy chuckled awkwardly. "He takes after mom."
Damian nodded, trying to look as though he'd known this stranger all his life. His chances of bluffing his way onto this flight were shot, but perhaps by some miracle this boy would provide him with another option.
"Well... I'm glad you found each other. Have a safe trip."
"We will, thanks!" The boy tugged Damian away.
As soon as they were out of the woman's sight, Damian jerked free of the boy's grip.
"You're welcome," the boy scoffed.
"I see no reason to thank you," Damian snapped back. "You could be trying to abduct me."
"I can already tell you that literally no one would want to do that."
"Tt."
The boy was annoyingly keeping pace with Damian as he stalked towards the next concourse.
"There's easier ways to run away, y'know, kid."
"I don't know what you’re talking about."
"Really?" The boy raised an eyebrow, giving Damian a meaningful appraisal. "Rucksack, clothes that don't fit, no parents or anyone around, lying your way places?"
"Why do you care? Why 'help' me? And damn it anyway, stop following me!"
Damian stopped on the path and stomped a foot. The boy stopped with him, staring almost impassively.
"I care because you're obvious. And obvious means vulnerable. And when people are vulnerable, I help. So, don't expect me to stop following you until I see you with a better plan."
"Don't you have a plane to catch?" Damian sneered.
"That's my problem. Why do you need to get all the way to America, like, direct flight? Hell of a lot easier to take ground transport to Europe and fly from there, even as a runaway."
"That's my problem."
"Oh, my God, you are annoying," the boy groaned. He produced a thermos from somewhere in his own bag and took so long a sip that the cannister was nearly vertical when he lowered it. "Look, are you actually going to someplace? Or are you just trying to get away from somewhere else?"
Damian hesitated. The two of them were garnering a few second glances from passerby, which he absolutely did not want. He was also aware that if he let this boy help, and the League caught up to them, they would kill the boy. Brutally. And he was an asshole, but Damian didn't want him sprawled on the ground and covered in red.
"Just tell me how to get to Gotham, if you're so smart about running away, and leave me alone."
"Gotham, eh?"
Something shifted in the boy's eyes, and in the way he looked at Damian. Damian didn't think he liked it.
"As luck would have it, that's exactly where I'm going. It's an absolute shithole, y'know, but if you really want to go, I'll get you a ride."
How convenient. Too convenient.
But still... convenient.
Damian looked over the boy, studying him closely. He was short and slight, maybe having a decimeter and a few kilograms on Damian himself. Under his eyes were deep, dark circles, and though he exuded a cool, sharp kind of cleverness, it was muted by his obvious weariness in bearing. If it came to a fight, Damian could have him down in seconds.
"Fine. Deal."
"Great." The boy started walking again. "Got a name?"
"William," Damian blurted, thinking of the playwright.
"Right," the boy muttered. He stuck out his hand, and after a second, Damian shook it. "Call me Tim."