"Do you have anything you would like to pack?" his little brother, who he hasn't seen in a decade, asks with an affected hesitance.
A test. But when isn't it with the League?
He remembers that well enough, tests upon tests upon tests. Every breathe a test, every step an evaluation, every blink a quiz and he failed and failed and failed until they cast him aside like yesterday's garbage.
But Danny had planned for this eventuality. Had planned and planned and planned until his back-up plans had back-up plans, with his parents - the ones that had actually cared for him - and his sister throwing in suggestions and revisions along the way.
With the acquisition of his ghost powers the plans got all the simpler.
It would only take a short time back with the League to get a lay of the land and chose a primary plan. A quick text to his mirror-born and she'd have a fake body ready to swap with him at the drop of a hat.
So he pasted on a stoic expression and gave a simple "No."
'Aren't I a good little soldier,' he let his body language scream for him. 'Look how well I've avoided making any attachments! Look how eternal my loyalty to the League burns, that a decade with a loving family has not swayed me in the slightest. I'll leave all behind, o' Demon's Heir, for I am at your command. Nothing has changed. There is no need to be alarmed. I am just another League asset ready for reassignment.'
His brother's gaze flicked to the box cutter and Danny swiftly closed and stowed in on his person in a way that, to Damian, must have screamed "I haven't kept up with my weapons practice since I got here and would still lose to 6-year-old you."
He swallowed back the conflicted feelings - humiliation at how he must look, jealousy at his brother's prowess that had undoubtedly only improved in their time apart, relief that he hadn't had to keep up with said practice, warring joy and fear that the League had finally come back for him, grief and anticipation that this was likely the last time he'd ever see his brother or any of the League ever again - and kept vicious hold of his neutral expression.
His brother nodded, an awkward expression Danny couldn't place the purpose of marring his face as he turned back down the stairs.
Like a loyal dog shadow, Danny followed.
It was quite the struggle for Danny to keep his emotions in check upon seeing the entirety of the Wayne family sat in his living room.
There was shock, sure, but primarily disappointment. First Lex, then Vlad, and now even Brucie Wayne. Danny would appreciate it if billionaires could stop being genuinely evil for five seconds, thanks.
Every single one of them glance up at the pair as they enter the living room, and Tucker pauses his speech to look over his shoulder.
Danny lets his expression return to normal before Tucker can see him - he loves his friends, but they'd all agreed that Sam and Tucker didn't have the emotional control to avoid giving anything away, and given that Danny left at six, any kind of attempt at a code phrase was just as likely to give away the game.
When and if the League came for him, they'd decided, Danny would disappear on his own, and text them when Operation: Death 2 (the two was added after his first death) was complete and he was on his way home.
The League would simply see it as him playing along to maintain cover until they were well and truly gone.
"Wow, I already thought you guys looked a lot alike but seeing you standing side-by-side is way trippy," Tucker says, eyes flicking between them.
Danny could practically hear the unspoken "Did Bruce Wayne also decide to clone you???"
For his part, Danny just snorts.
"Everyone in the world has, like, 7 look-a-likes Tuck. Sometimes they meet."
"It be like that sometimes," Tucker nods sagely.
"It really do," Danny grins back, before turning to the other guests. "Anyway, sorry for interrupting your little expo here, I'm just headed out to the shed, don't mind me."
"I shall assist," Damian says. It isn't unexpected, he doubts the Demon's Heir cares about a battery - not when he doesn't know it's made of Lazarus water, at least.
"I'd appreciate it, if it's not too much trouble," Danny smiles, all midwestern charm as he nods and opens the door for the both of them.
His expression drops back to complete neutrality once the door is closed, and voices pick up again inside. Luckily, the curtains are shut, so Tucker won't see him ignore the shed completely and return his empty gaze to his brother, just another drone awaiting orders.
His brother freezes as he turns to catch the expression.
Danny doesn't hesitate, though he doesn't understand why Damian asks when he should know.
"An excuse, keeping Foley in the dark will allow more time for exfiltration. Given you are here as a civilian, it is important to confuse the timeframes."
Left unsaid is that they could just kill Tucker, but that would be even more suspicious.
He lets his eyes flick to the dark car parked on the curb leadingly.
Damian finally moves to the vehicle. They spend the next 20 minutes in stoic, awkward silence hidden behind tinted windows. He honestly can't believe it's taking them this long to give an excuse to leave.
The first thing Tim notices about Damian 2 - Danny, he reminds himself - is the eyes. If the two of them wore the same clothes, it would be the eyes alone that distinguished them, the vibrant blue a stark contrast to Damian's own dark green.
The next thing he notices is the emotion. Or rather, the lack thereof.
When Damian first came to the Wayne's he was a vicious thing, primary emotions being: fury and stabby.
Danny just look dead. A statue wouldn't been more lifelike stood next to him.
Then, as the young inventor they'd used as a cover story began to turn, he melted to life, all charming smiles and amused quirks of the lips and friendly banter. It would've been a relief to see him turn out so normal if not for that empty, empty expression he'd had not moments before.
Instead, they saw the interaction for what it was - Danny had grow up a spy, and just like Damian had thrown his all into murder, Danny had throw his all into spying, until everything he was - his expressions, his emotions, his body language, every aspect of communication down to the last detail - was exactly what he wanted it to be.
Meeting in any other circumstance, Tim would've taken him for just another Clark-type in the making. He was the perfect actor.
How long had he waited here, Tim wondered, molding himself into this for just a scrap of attention from the League? And after a full decade, how much of the real Danny was left?
As it turned out, Tucker Foley's design actually had quite a lot of promise. It made Tim feel less bad about using him as an excuse to be in the area, at least, and they swiftly scheduled a second meeting with him before returning to the car.
The awkward, intense silence that greeted them was honestly exactly was Tim would expect from putting two Damians in the same room - well, if you forbade stabbing first.
"So, like, you aren't going to try to stab and/or murder me are you?" Tim asks once they're all filed in and on their way to the airport.
"Come on, that's totally a fair question. I have a right to know if I need to start sleeping with two eyes open again."
"As if you sleep in the first place, Drake," Damian rolls his eyes.
"He's got ya there Timmy," Dick chimes in, the traitor.
"Sleep is for the weak," he retorts, before turning back to Danny. "Seriously though, stabbing?"
In lieu of an answer, Danny looks to Damian.
"No stabbing," he says, and Danny just nods before returning his eyes to a point somewhere over Dick's shoulder, right where he'd been looking before they entered the limo.
"Also no murder," Damian spits out, in what Tim would very nearly call a panicked afterthought.
Danny blinks, a look of sheer confusion washing over his face before it's shoved back away and he looks over and nods once mor, tacking on a dull "Understood."
The uneasy silence returned, and Bruce seemed preoccupied simply staring at his new son.
"So!" Dick clapped, evidently deciding he'd had enough. "It's nice to finally meet you, Danny - can I call you Danny? - I'm your oldest brother, Richard Grayson! But just call me Dick."
"I have no brothers," Danny said, eyes chips of ice.
Danny was having a bad time.
Anyone in Amity Park could tell you Danny Fenton? Can't lie for shit.
The one thing he can do is keep his mouth shut and pray that's sufficient.
Keeping a straight face is a battle for a variety of reasons, and The best luck he's already had to leave about a dozen puns unsaid in the course of the car ride thus far.
Not only is he struggling not to pun, he's struggling to understand.
Why does this Tim guy think Danny would stab him? Why is Damian telling him not to stab him?? Why is Damian forbidding murder???
It's not that Danny has problem with the lack of stabbing and murder - quite the opposite - it's just that... it's Damian. Damian, here to personally exfiltrate him. Damian, Demon's Heir. Whose entourage, then, must be composed of League members. Which, of course he wouldn't stab them (outside of training) so why does it need to be said?
He would think they just think that poorly of him, if not for the fact that these others don't read as League members at all.
Calculated movements, highly aware of their surroundings, suspiciously muscular? Yeah, sure.
But they're acting like they're trying to make casual conversation.
He would think it's all a test - and of course it must be - except...what is the point of claiming to be his brother when he only has a single brother: the twin he isn't allowed to acknowledge as his brother.
When he says he doesn't have a brother, out of the corner of his eye, he almost thinks Damian looks hurt.
He brushes it off as his imagination.
"Daniel," Bruce Wayne calls him, and he can't fully suppress his reaction. He knows everyone of them must see the clenched jaw, the seat squishing between clenched fingers, and the look of utter hatred and disdain that washes over him for a split second before he can squash it back down.
"Danny," the man corrects, and name doesn't sound like a reprimand, but he hears one anyway. "You may not remember all of the details as you were... young. when you left the League of Assassins. But Damian is your twin brother."
"I recall our biological connection. That does not make him my brother, he is the Heir."
This, at least, he doesn't need to act to say in a dead voice. This is a just quote, beaten into his brain until it echoed around and around at every errant thought of his brother, a constant background static even after all of his time away.
"I am your brother," Damian says, voice firm, "heir or not."
"The Demon's Head has changed his mind on the matter, then?"
The question is absent, Danny doesn't really care about the answer, he just cares about blending in long enough to pull off his plan, except-
Damian watches as his brother's eyes sharpen for perhaps the first time the whole car ride.
"And the Pits didn't work?"
"He was not afforded the use of the pits, given that it was a coup. Grandfather is dead, mother has gone into hiding, and I... have been living with our father for a few years now."
He gestures with his eyes - uncertain how much his brother knows - and watches on as he and Father enter a brief staring competition.
"Hello," Father says, only slightly less stunned silent than he'd been when he had first met Damian.
"Hello," Danny returns, voice hollow rather than the more neutral-lilt it had adopted previously.
"So if the League has been... overtaken... my new assignment-"
"There is no new assignment," Father cuts in, voice gentle but sure.
"Even if the League weren't disbanded there would be no new assignment, your only duty now is to try and enjoy what childhood you have left. I...was unaware that I had children with Talia until she left Damian with me six years ago. And-"
"And we didn't find out about you until Timmers interrupted one of your reports the other day!" Dick interrupted, ruffling Tim's hair and indirectly throwing Damian under and 18-wheeler in the process.
His brother - his twin - looked at him. His face was once again blank, but Damian could sense the askance all the same.
Damian did not know his brother well - at all, really - but he felt that the lack of change in expression might've been the worst possible outcome.
"Then you are not here to exfiltrate me on behalf of the League."
It wasn't a question, but...
"And you aren't here to ask my help in finding mother or undoing to coup?"
"No," he answers just in time for the car to pull to a stop at the airport.
"Perhaps we should wait to continue this conversation until we are in the privacy of the jet."
