“What is that?” He asked.

“I am taking apart the signal these trackers send to the PSS,” Dionysus explained, words getting a bit faster in their excitement. “Right now they think you four are trying to break into a grocery store, then I’m going to send them on a wild goose chase around the docks.” A smile slashed its way across their face. “And if all goes well, whichever agent sent to retrieve you will get there just in time for the explosives formerly embedded in your spine to go off right in their faces.”

Deimos’ fingers twitched, tail curling in silent pleasure at the thought. “Good,” he said. “It’s what they deserve.”

Dionysus patted the space beside themself in invitation. “Are you experiencing any discomfort after your surgery?”

“No.” Deimos glanced over at where Icelus was still being talked to, and Perses was fussing silently over Moros. Deciding they were okay, he sat. “We heal quickly.”

“You do.” Dionysus stopped typing on their wrist computer, dark eyes watching Deimos. They were the same shape as Deimos’s, though Dionysus’s iris was black, whereas Deimos had yellow eyes. “I sequenced your genetics.”

Deimos froze, staring at him. If they’d sequenced his genetics, did that mean they knew? Did they know what Deimos was?

“I… I’m…” Deimos sputtered, unable to form words.

“You are not in trouble,” Dionysus assured. They paused, mulling over their words. “Deimos, do you know what it means that you and I share a ninety-eight percent genetic similarity?”

Deimos stammering stopped with a chirp. His eyes widened. “That… I was made from your DNA. That they cloned me from you.”

“Yes, you were made from me.” Another pause as Dionysus’s hands started tapping their knees. Their gaze remained fixed on Deimos. “It means I am your father, if you would like me to be.”

“My father…” Deimos shook. “Yes. I would like that.”

“Deimos, may I hug you?” Dionysus asked. “You may refuse. I do not want you to feel uncomfortable.”

Deimos’ trembled harder. “Yes.”

The larger dragon wrapped their arms around Deimos, rubbing their cheek against the fin-like crest on Deimos’s head. A low rumbling purr, like a river rolling stones across its surface, vibrated through Dionysus’s chest. Deimos had never heard that sound before. It reminded him of Perses’ churr, the low, rumbling sound that was almost stone moving across stone. His own was like rain falling, a faint hiss he couldn’t quite get to pitch down into that nice crackly sound.

Deimos had never been held like this before. He’d been held by his little brothers, and he held his little brothers, but it was nothing like this. All encompassing, the feeling of safety soaking into every inch of him. His scales lifted like ruffled bird feathers, rippling.

His father paused, brushing a hand over Deimos’s fluffed scales. “Are you well, Deimos?”

“Yes.” Deimos tried to smooth them down, but they were not cooperating. “It is a biological response to being happy.”

His father churred louder. “I am very pleased that you are happy. Your scales are very pleasing and cute when they are fluffed like this; no doubt a result of some of our distant avian ancestry.”

Deimos’ tail curled this way and that. “We have avian ancestry?”

“I and your uncles and aunt were also made from a combination of many things,” his father said, nuzzling the top of Diemos’s head. “Our notes indicate raptor genetics were used to evoke desirable characteristics associated with dragons, though only your aunt Lamis received anything like feathers.”

“That’s where the mane comes from,” Deimos guessed. “The hair.”

“Quite likely.”

“Moros has it as well.” Deimos looked over to his honey colored brother with dark colored hair, buzzed short so it didn’t get messy. Moros hated haircuts.

“Yes, he is very cute.” His father pet over Deimos’s crest, smoothing it down. “As are you with your crest.”

“Yes.” Deimos looked upwards, as though he could spot his crest. “It is likely from some kind of reptile.”

His father chuckled, hand tapping over Deimos’s head and back. “You look like me, with it. When I am larger.”

The image of the purple dragon winding through the streets filled Deimos’s mind. It had fins along its face too. Deimos’s chest swooped and clenched at the realization, at the confirmation of where his features had come from. 

“I’ve seen videos,” Deimos said shyly. “Of your dragon form, from the invasion.”

“From the PSS?”

Deimos nodded, looking down at his hands.

His father hummed, petting over Deimos’s crest. “Surprising any footage survived the event. They must have an isolated computer system…”

“Their computers are well protected and many are isolated from the network,” Deimos provided. “I could not access administrative controls from the computer I was able to reach, only some of the files.”

“Yes. I will need to contemplate how to circumvent that.” They blinked, nuzzling Deimos’s head. “But you do not need to concern yourself with that, my Deimos. You must only focus on being safe.”

Their Deimos. That made Deimos’ scales fluff more, and his crest lower. He’d never have someone call him theirs using his name like that. He knew he belonged to the Planetary Security Sector as their asset. However, Deimos did not mind belonging to this dragon, to his father, so long as they continued to say his name so gently. 

His attention turned to the purple screens which floated around them, showing camera views of the surrounding streets.

“What are those?” Deimos asked, hands hovering over the purple lights.

“These projections are from mys-tech. It is a combination of mystic and technological principles, and more complicated than I can adequately explain at this time.” His father’s hands tapped at the air as they spoke, outlining their words. They paused, looking sideways at Deimos. “I will teach you, if you would like to learn.”

“I would,” Deimos said simply. “I want to know everything, like you.”

The older dragon preened, pleased. “I am a genius. It is only right that a child of mine would be just as brilliant.”

Deimos’ hands fluttered against his own knees happily, but he quickly stifled it by grabbing his palms instead. He took a breath to calm himself. No erratic movements. It was childish.

“Are your hands hurting?” His father rubbed over Deimos’s crest.

“No, sorry.” Deimos squeezed his hands into fists. “I will behave.”

“You are behaving optimally. There is nothing to apologize for.” His father rubbed his crest. “What did you do that you feel you must apologize?”

“My erratic movements are signs of misbehaving,” Deimos explained. He’d heard it plenty of times from Knight and the other white coats.

“Ah, that is not misbehavior.” His father’s hand tapped at the air. “You likely received that behavior from me. Stimulating movements are natural when people like us become excited. You do not need to stifle yourself, my Deimos.”

“Oh.” Deimos blinked up at them. “Then… I am not broken?”

His father nuzzled his head, tucking Deimos under their chin as they squeezed him. “No, never. You are mine. You are not broken.”

Deimos pressed closer to them, letting out a shaky breath. “You’re sure…? I am… I am supposed to be like this?”

His father pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Entirely. You are as you are, so you are not broken. I have known you for only moments, but I know you are a brilliant young person, who is as he is meant to be. You are not broken. But even if you were, I would not love you any less.”

Something tangled inside of him unwound. He sank into Dionysis with a shaking sigh.

Love, they’d said. Deimos had never been loved by anyone but his brothers before. He desperately wanted it to be true.

“I think we’re done here,” Chi said. He looked from Icelus to Deimos’s father. “You ready on your end Dio?”

Deimos’s father folded away their holographic display, getting to their feet. They offered Deimos a hand. “Yes. They are set to explode when a matching signal, such as any the PSS agents may be utilizing, comes into close contact with them.” 

Deimos took Dionysis’ hand and stood, holding on tight. Icelus quickly joined him, holding on to Deimos’ other hand.

Chi began bundling up the plastic sheets and pillows, careful to leave nothing behind. 

“We’re trying to be a bit more cautious with leaving genetic material lying around,” he said by way of explanation.

“A good idea,” Deimos agreed. The world didn’t need more unregistered draconic clones running around.

A purple trolley constructed itself beside Chi, each piece materializing like the mys-tech holographic screens and fitting themselves together like a puzzle. When it was fully built, Chi stuffed the bundle of tarp and viscera inside. Chi waved a hand at the bloody tray full of bombs and trackers. 

“I’m going to drop these off for those spooks chasing you to find. You kids go with Dionysis. I’ll meet you at home soon.”

Deimos dipped his head in agreement. Icelus looked longingly towards Chi, but wasn’t noticed.

Chi raked his claws at the emptiness in front of him.  Deimos wondered if he’d swatted at a fly, when the emptiness moved.

Then the air shimmered, rippling as if from a haze of steam, before parting to form an opening. Through the hole in the air, Deimos could see a brick wall, and some kind of structure for sitting on, and electronics that looked like the screen Deimos had seen in the PSS’s security guard’s room.

“How did you do that?” Deimos demanded, gripping his father’s hand tighter.

Chi grinned, wiggling his fingers. “Magic!”

“It’s pretty!” Moros chirped, tail wagging.

“I will expect you home within the hour,” Deimos’s father said, before he stepped through the portal, completely unconcerned. Pulled by his hand, Deimos followed after him, guiding Icelus, Moros, and finally Perses through with them.

Chi waved at them cheerily from back on the rooftops, then the portal closed.

Unnoticed by any of the dragons, a camera watched them, light blinking as it recorded.

…