sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡs ᴏғ ɢᴏᴛʜᴀᴍ

ᴡᴀʀᴍ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ

𓆰𓆪

The air in Gotham City could never seem to shake off the stench of treachery that it attached itself to. It was unpleasantly familiar with Damian Wayne, welcoming him back from his visit to the Arab Springs, scheming what it would do to never let him go.

The young man threw his head back and took a long breath, chest rising and falling as his eyes closed shut, blocking the world around him.
He would rather stab himself than admit it to anyone who knew him that he missed Gotham. As much as it was a hub for the mentally deranged and criminally brilliant, he liked it. The excitement it brought to his work, a clear purpose as Robin.

Being by his father's side was a symphonic burst, rich and full of life. Safe from his treacherous past, a second chance to a perfect life. Well, perfect in certain aspects, every Saint has their devil.

Perhaps devils were more appealing for the numerous siblings who must insist for him to compete for his own father's affection. He didn't need his approval. He already was a true son of Wayne, the blood son, yet Robins one, two, and three enjoy torturing him by reminding him who was here first or whatever happened to interest their simple minds like being older. He wouldn't be surprised to see one of them running around the Batcave, ruining his father's sanitarium.

He would have preferred to be with Cassandra instead. Quiet, composed and un-imposing onto his territory. Barbara could spare the chance to be less of a brooding hen, but he enjoys her company to a certain extent. Although none of them to compare to-

“Master Damian.”

Alfred.

He blinks his eyes open, adjusting to the disgustingly bright white light illuminating from the airport lounge's overhead lights, head held upright as his lips perked up into a small elated smile, one he couldn't be bothered to hide from his favorite person within the Wayne Manor.

Alfred Pennyworth wasn't by any means a frail man if one judged him by the white streak running through the full head of slicked gray hair. He will never forget the month Barbara convinced him to dye it black. Of course, the silver strands began sticking out, and Alfred decided it was best to dye it back to gray it deserved. He remembered him saying something about looking like salt swimming in a bowl of pepper. Barbara thought it was charming to laugh, but Damian could tell that the elder had taken a sting to his pride.

His shoulders solid and strong within his well-futted suit, the picture of sophistication as Alfred loved to call himself, he gave Damian a fond smile and a nod.

“I was beginning to believe no one was going to receive me,” Damian's waggish side greeted the other man as he patted his shoulder.

“Well if you wanted to take public transportation Master Damian, you would have needed to wear anything other than those dusty sandals he have on,” the butler shook his head sympathetically, taking the Damian's luggage from under his hand.

“You know me too well, Pennyworth,” the young man sighed.

They walked out of the airport to a not-so-humble black Lamborghini Murciélago parked in the waiting area.

“Were there not any other better options than this? People are staring at it, and in turn, they are staring at us. I don't want to be flagged down at any police road blocks.”