They get back to the hotel room. He made peace with his brother of this world. They sat at a table in the center of the room, Alfred quietly preparing tea in the background. Having let go of his emotional guard, now found himself in a new, uncomfortable position: explaining the impossible.

​"I... died," Damian started, his voice a low monotone, as if he were reciting a clinical report. “And now I’m here. In this world. It’s... a new life.”

Looking for a reaction, he studied Grayson’s face. He avoided his gaze. He stared just to the left of Damian’s ear, silently acknowledging the pain and confusion.

He cannot reveal Bat-Mite involvement into this, not even to Alfred or especially to his brother Grayson. The stakes are too high, and with one wrong move his carefully laid plans would be for naught. He needed to lie, omit some truth. For their own sakes.

​"My return was... the work of old magic," Damian continued, his tone a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “It appears a new threat is emerging that endangers this world, and potentially the nearby multiverse if it’s not dealt with.”

A cold knot tightening in his stomach, he paused. He was not being entirely honest. He couldn’t. He found himself unable to explain the Miraculous, Ladybug, and the secret identities that he already knew. It would come across as madness, and there was no proof. He’d just have to be vague.

​"So, I’m here to stop it. My mission is to find the source of this new evil and neutralize it before it spreads."

​"And your mission is to go to Paris?" Grayson asked, a glint of suspicion in his eye.

​"It’s a lead," he replied, a hint of his old prickly self returning.

“Does Bruce know you’re alive and here?“Oh, don’t answer that. If he knew, you wouldn’t be here gallivanting in Paris. Instead, you’d be locked up in the manor, benched forever.” Grayson snickered.

He didn’t respond; even his brother, visibly shaken and weary, couldn’t resist teasing him.

​"Right," Grayson said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m going to a gala tomorrow related for my case. Murder in the fashion industry.”

​ Damian interest piqued. A mission in a gala, a fashion industry murder, its like music to his ears. If the Agrestes have been invited here, he can snoop around, concocting a plan; however, in the deep corner of his mind, he realizes a potential entanglement with Grayson’s undercover mission and Gabriel Agreste, and he hopes that is not the case. He asked.

“Is it alright if I join you? My objective involves the person of interest who is attending the gala.”

A manic smile twisted Grayson’s face, followed by his wild, echoing laugh.

​"Then we’re partners," Dick said, a glint in his eye. “We’ll go together.”

Damian fought to remain still, barely containing the thrill that coursed through him with this lead promising progress on his mission.

​"I have a good eye for people," Damian volunteered, a rare smile on his face. “Maybe I can help you with your mission. As long as you don’t interfere with mine.”

​"Deal," Grayson said, a wide grin spreading across his face.

Alfred’s entrance was a quiet elegance. He placed the teapot on the table with a soft clink.

“Master Damian, it’s lovely to see you’ve settled your differences and I’m delighted you’ve made a new friend,” Alfred said, his voice a warm, gentle hum. “That young lady, Marinette, is a delightful soul. She reminds me a great deal of a young Miss Barbara.”

​At the mention of Marinette, a deep blush crept up Damian’s neck, spreading across his cheeks. He quickly looked down at his teacup, refusing to meet either man’s gaze. The sudden surge of heat was unexpected and utterly mortifying. He was Damian Wayne, a seasoned warrior with scars earned facing down assassins and gods. He wasn’t embarrassed by a girl.

​Grayson noticed it immediately. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face, a familiar, teasing glint in his eyes. “Oh, so there’s a lovely lady involved? I should’ve known.”

​He grunted, stirring his tea with unnecessary force. “She is a friend. Nothing more. She is relevant to my mission, that is all.”

​"Right, ‘relevant to your mission,’" his brother teased, the grin widening. “I’m sure she is, little D. I’m just surprised. I didn’t know my little brother had grown up so much.”

​Alfred simply chuckled, a sound that was both comforting and knowing. “Indeed. It seems Paris has a certain effect on people.”

​His blush deepened, but he didn’t protest. He knew it was a lost cause. He was back, and with him came the familiar, irritatingly affectionate family dynamic he had both missed and dreaded.