"Put me down," Damian hissed, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. "I do not need you to carry me. I can walk just fine on my own. Put. Me. Down."

He scowled, staring resolutely ahead, his cheeks bright red. He could have walked, easily, and would have, had his "backup" not scooped him up and flown off with him. So what if his ankle was injured? It was barely even a sprain, and he had experience with walking on injured limbs. But no, apparently, that was bad. Whatever.

"When I was told to expect backup from Metropolis, I thought it'd be Superman, not...whatever name you go by."

Maybe being hostile to Jon's sibling wasn't the smartest idea. Damian was human—an exceptionally skilled human, yes, but still a human. Jon's family were Kryptonians (or, well, half, in this case), with superhuman abilities. They were strong, fast, and invulnerable. Damian had no powers. What he did have was an overdeveloped sense of pride, a sharp tongue, and the ability to stab people, none of which would do much against Jon's sibling. Not that he wanted to attack his best friend's older...younger? sibling. He was just irritated at being babied.

Before Jon had aged up, this had been his older sibling, always a stick in the mud, getting in the way of the two boys' adventures. Now Jon was the older one, had taken over his father's mantle, and was busy doing superhero things, so Damian got stuck with the boring sibling. Just as much of a stick in the mud as back then, too! A...prettier stick in the mud. Very pretty, actually. But still. A stick. In the mud. A very muddy stick.

"Do not treat me like a child. You are barely a year older than me," Damian growled, squirming in the half-Kryptonian's grasp, trying to get loose. "Jon would have let me walk. He knows I am capable. We have had missions with worse injuries. I do not need your help."