There were very few people in the world Damian disliked asking for permission.
His father.
Alfred.
Occasionally, if the situation was particularly delicate, Dick.
That list had recently grown by one.
Slade Wilson.
Because asking the world’s deadliest mercenary if you could accompany his daughter on a trip out of town was, apparently, a conversation that had to happen.
Damian found the entire concept irritating.
He wasn’t asking because he needed permission.
He was asking because it was respectful.
There was a difference.
Unfortunately…
Respect had never been simple where the Wilsons and Waynes were concerned.
Slade leaned against the doorway with his arms folded, listening in complete silence as Damian explained why he wanted to come.
A few days.
Nothing dangerous.
Just time together before both of their schedules became impossible again.
When Damian finished, Slade didn’t answer immediately.
He simply looked at him.
Long enough to become annoying.
Finally—
“You expect me to approve that?”
“I do.”
“You’re Bruce Wayne’s son.”
“I fail to see your point.”
“That’s because you’re Bruce Wayne’s son.”
Damian resisted the urge to sigh.
Of course.
It wasn’t about him.
Not entirely.
This was decades of history talking.
Years of missions.
Betrayals.
Broken alliances.
Old wars that had begun long before Damian was born.
To Slade, approving the trip wasn’t just trusting Damian.
It was trusting something that carried the Wayne name.
And trust had never come easily to either man.
Damian met his gaze without flinching.
“I am not my father.”
Slade raised an eyebrow.
“No.”
His reply was calm.
“You’re worse.”
The room fell silent.
Not hostile.
Just… honest.
After a moment, the older mercenary let out the faintest huff of amusement.
“You’ve inherited his stubbornness.”
“And you’ve noticed.”
“Course I have.”
Another pause.
Then Slade glanced toward the hallway where his daughter had disappeared to finish packing.
His expression softened, if only slightly.
“She’ll decide.”
Damian blinked.
“You aren’t deciding?”
“I raised her to make her own choices.”
He looked back at Damian.
“If she wants you there, you go.”
“If she doesn’t…”
“I’ll help you carry your bags back to Wayne Manor.”
Damian almost smiled.
Almost.
It wasn’t exactly approval.
But it wasn’t a refusal either.
Coming from Slade…
That was probably the closest thing to a blessing anyone was going to get.