Title: The Persian Empire

By: Tidia

Notes: Reviews are appreciated and I hope people enjoy this. I've been under the weather and well this came to me as pure fun to write. So this is a Modern AU of the Prince of Persia, movie verse and about the brothers and how Dastan came into the family along with what the family actually does. Inspired by my two friends- Mog's Birthday in the Present (M7ATFAU creator) and ridley C. james (SNBrotherhoodAU creator) Anyone is free to write in the AU if you like it. I just wonder if there is going to be any interest?

Sharaman Persia's fiftieth birthday was today, and he was planning to spend it like any other day. Go to work at Persia Industries and make sure there was no trouble that needed the Empire to interfere. His sons were not at home; Tus was a lawyer in New York City watching over a portion of Persia Industries. Garsiv was in London working on the finance end of company and Dastan, having completed his college studies had joined him, focusing on the security side of the business.

He was proud of all his sons and a man could not ask for more on turning a half of century of age. He had lost his wives, Tus's mother having died in childbirth so young and Garsiv's mother having been murdered by vampires when Garsiv was a small child.

Sharaman had thought life was already filled with raising his two children, Persia and succeeding his father as leader of the Empire, but their family wasn't complete until Dastan joined it.

The INS contacted Persia Industries about their factory on the Texas/Mexico border. It was a subsidiary, but still had to follow the same rules and ethics of Persia Industries. The manager of the factory was hiring illegal aliens, although the factory had been created to bring jobs to the small town. Sharaman and his brother Nizam had gone to the town to make sure the people were treated well, giving them enough money to make the journey back to Mexico and to live off for a while.

But the INS lacked the finesse needed and people began running in order not to be captured and deported forcefully. Sharaman watched as one boy attracted the INS's attention, waving his hands, calling them derogatory names until they started to go after him. He saw the boy as he ran, scaled buildings, and took to the rooftops to evade them.

Sharaman looked to his brother. "Send the bodyguards after the boy and have him brought to me." He waited, and was surprised when his burly bodyguards returned out of breath with a waif, struggling child.

His brother shook his head with a grin on his face. "You're always looking for a project, like you don't have enough on your plate."

Sharaman rested a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Nizam, go and take care of the families. Make sure they are handled with respect."

The bodyguards set the child down in front of him, containing him so he could not runaway. Sharaman studied the boy, defiant, Caucasian with dark hair and piercing blue eyes that were determined not to flinch from Sharaman's gaze. He was younger than Garsiv, probably around ten years old if Sharaman were a betting man. "What's your name, boy?"

The boy crossed his arms, looked side to side, and finally decided to give in, "Dastan."

Sharaman bent down so that he was closer to the boy's level. "That was a brave thing you did helping your friend." Dastan had provided a distraction so his friend could escape the INS.

The boy narrowed his eyes, uncomfortable with being caught. "They don't want to go back to Mexico."

"I understand. The plant manager wasn't supposed to hire any people not in this country legally," Sharaman tried to explain, but knew it was difficult. People relied on these jobs for a better life and now it was taken away from them. "I'm trying to help people like your friend so they have enough money to go back to Mexico and live well."

Dastan shrugged his shoulders, and leaned in closer to Sharaman. "I'm not here illegally. You have to let me go."

Sharaman was chagrinned at the audacity of the child. He was being fearless in a situation where he was outnumbered. "Where are your parents?"

Dastan looked away.

"Sorry to hear that." Sharaman took the non-answer as confirmation the boy's parents were dead. "I guess you live on the street? Do you have a foster family or something?" Sharaman was thankful his sons had at least one parent, and if something happened to Sharaman, then he knew his brother Nizam would be substitute parent.

The boy looked away. "I'll take that as a no." Sharaman shifted his footing. "I'm Sharaman Persia. Ever heard of me?" This time Dastan shook his head. Sharaman continued nonplussed that the boy had not heard of one of the richest people in the world, "I've got two sons at home-a little older than you, I'd guess. There's plenty of room for one more."

"Look, man-" Dastan started, took a step back.

Sharaman flicked his hand and the bodyguards stepped a few paces away to give them some privacy.

"Sharaman," he repeated his name clearly.

Dastan waved his hands in front of him. "Right. I don't know you or what you are-"

"Dastan, I'm the guy who is giving you a chance to a better life." He stood up, pointed to the INS arresting the people in the area. "You've got nothing to lose, and I think you're a risk taker. Am I right?"

"Where do you live?" Dastan was looking at the INS, his past and at Sharaman, trying to judge Sharaman's character.

"Everywhere, but mostly in Houston where my grandfather started his company, Persia Industries."

"So you're rich?" Dastan said, taking in the dark Mercedes parked nearby.

"I think that's safe to say," Sharaman replied. "If you don't like me or my family, then you can leave at any time. I'll find you something better. You have my word." Sharaman held out his hand to the boy. He could always find a boarding school for the boy if need be.

Dastan eyed the hand and placed his inside it. "You've got yourself a deal."

The boy took the ride in Mercedes and on the private jet in stride, but did not allow himself to relax. A few times Sharaman saw him nodding off, only to jerk awake and eye them suspiciously. Sharaman did have to prod him awake when they reached the house. He was willing to carry Dastan inside, but knew the boy would find that an invasion of privacy.

He took him up to a spare bedroom, one of many in the mansion, but this one was near Tus and Garsiv's rooms. "You can meet your new brothers in the morning," he said as opened the door to the spacious room with its own private bath. "You can leave anytime you want, but I would wait until I got a good night's sleep and tried Mrs. Miette's chocolate chip pancakes before making up your mind."

Tus at sixteen took his new brother in stride, better than thirteen year old Garsiv. Dastan stayed, even with his leeriness in the situation, and they tried to make him feel comfortable. Dastan had a peculiar habit of taking fruit from the breakfast table, then hiding it in his hoodie sweatshirt- the one thing from his past life he refused to throw away. He was still a thin child, and had the mentality that he would not get enough food, though the kitchen was always open for him.

One day after breakfast while Dastan had only been living there a month, Nizam presented Dastan with a Swiss Army knife.

"They're better when you peel them."

That Swiss Army knife was always in Dastan's pocket, no matter where he went from that day forward.

Sharaman did not press Dastan, and tried to treat him like one of the family. Both Tus and Garsiv were homeschooled so he had Dastan start in on studies, too. Dastan was frustrated, having not had formal schooling for some time, but Sharaman could see the cleverness in the blue eyes.

He already knew how Dastan could persevere. Being a wealthy and powerful man, Sharaman was able to find out about his new charge. Dastan's parents had been missionaries in South America and died during an uprising when Dastan was six years old. Dastan's mother had a younger sister living in Austin, and he was sent to live there.

It seemed as if Dastan was well taken care of until a boyfriend entered the scene and killed Dastan's aunt. By all accounts Dastan was a witness, and had run away at nine years of age, not seen again until Sharaman had found the boy.

Things were going well, although Sharman had yet to talk to Dastan about being officially adopted by him. There was more the boy needed to know in order to make a decision about the Persia family, which was difficult to explain. There was the Empire, a secret society descended from the days of the Greeks and Persians to protect the world against vampires.

Tus and Garsiv knew, and had been trained to fight vampires. Dastan had walked in on hushed conversations, but did not ask, probably figuring they were talking about him, not vampires.

The Empire was having a meeting that night, late so the boys were sleeping, except for Tus who was allowed to attend now that he was of age. But, Sharaman forgot that Dastan was inquisitive, and he saw them in the chamber in the lower level of the house dressed in their ornamental robes.

Sharaman adjourned the meeting, leaving Nizam in charge as he chased after Dastan with Tus following behind.

"You're in some freaky cult," Dastan yelled, staying out of Sharaman's reach by balancing himself on the banister of the main staircase, his bare feet sliding a bit before he gripped tightly. "Did you take me in so that you could sacrifice me? I've heard about these things-"

"Please come down from there," Sharaman asked, trying to emote an outward calm appearance.

"What a drama queen," Garsiv said as he came down the stairs, pajamas on from having gone to bed.

"You were supposed to be watching him," Tus pointed to Dastan, marching up the stairs to confront his younger brother.

Garsiv threw his hands in the air. "I thought he was sleeping like I was."

"I guess not," Tus retorted.

"Boys, that's enough." Sharaman took a deep breath and sat down on the stairs. "Dastan, would you allow me to explain?"

Dastan seem to take in the whole situation and came down from the banister, but remained a distance away from all of them.

"In this world there are vampires. They are not make believe." He glanced at Garsiv, witness to the brutality of vampires. "And what you saw down there were the people that keep this world safe from them."

"You expect me to believe you?" Dastan wrapped his hands around his head. "You're crazy."

"I think you'll believe me because your aunt was killed by a vampire-wasn't she?"

"I don't know what I saw that night. I couldn't stop him and there was a lot of blood. How do you know about that?" Dastan was becoming distressed. He had always had a cool, happy exterior these last few months, but his eyes were now watering with unshed tears.

"We protect people from being hurt and killed, like your aunt. We're called the Empire and I'm their leader." Sharaman gestured to his ornate robes.

Dastan slumped against the banister. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're a part of this family," Sharaman gestured to his other sons. "And I want you to stay as my third son."

Garsiv stepped down a few more steps. "I think you should stay. You're not so bad, and now that you know, you can be trained so I can kick your ass all the time- in the spirit of training."

Dastan tucked his knees in, cocked his neck to look up at Garsiv. "What about if I kick your ass?"

"Impossible." Garsiv snorted. "I'm the older brother. You're delusional."

Tus came up a few more steps. "I'm the oldest brother, which means I win, brothers."

They had surrounded Dastan- Sharaman in front of him, Garsiv to his left and Tus to his right.

Dastan put his hand out to Sharaman. "I'm going to stay. I can help."

A few months later Dastan was officially adopted into the Persia family. Sharaman never pressured his adopted son to call him father, but it came to Dastan naturally. Twelve years later he was surprised that none of his children had contacted him to wish him a happy birthday. Usually his sons called him on a daily basis, whether it was to complain about each other, or to tell them about their day. He couldn't recall them missing a birthday. They were growing up, and perhaps this was to be expected.

He headed home, expecting a quiet dinner with his brother. He didn't expect to see the cars lining the drive or his sons waiting outside to greet him.

Tus, long hair pulled back, wearing a suit with no tie and an open white shirt. His pendant was peeking through, the ever present mala beads wrapped around his wrist. All his boys wore charms and bracelets they had picked up in their travels that held sentimental value. "Happy Birthday, Father." He greeted him with a warm hug.

"What have you all done?" He opened his arms to Garsiv. His hair cut in a faux Mohawk style that his younger brother teased him about. He wore the same style suit as his older brother.

"We invited a few hundred of your friends to celebrate." Garsiv thumped his father on the back.

Dastan was sitting on the ornate stone balcony that overlooked the front door. He jumped down, flipping in the air in a fluid motion part his freerunning training, part his natural ability. He wore his hair longer, like Tus, but it was straight where Tus's was wavy like Sharaman and Garsiv. "It would have been a better surprise if we were able to hide all the cars. Happy Birthday, Father."

Sharaman hugged his youngest son, his jacket the same as his brothers', but he was wearing jeans, shirt untucked with a silver belt bucket that was probably a gift from Bis. Dastan was always a little more casual when he could manage it.

"All my sons," Sharaman gripped the back of Tus's neck, brushed a hand against Garsiv's shoulder, then did the same to Dastan. "This is a father's legacy, and I could not ask for anything more."

"But we hired belly dancers and Shakira," Dastan replied with a laugh.

"Way to ruin the family moment, Dastan," Garsiv punched his brother in the shoulder.

"I told you two that we were going overboard on this," Tus gestured to the backyard filled with an enormous tent.

"Boys, boys," Sharaman said with a laugh at their constant sibling teasing that shined with love. "Let's go and enjoy the party."