#damijonweek2018

[picmurasaki]

DamiJon Week. Day 5 - Overprotective Family Members

Glad to know they’ve got our backs…

Day 4⏮ ⏭Day 6

Hopefully I can finish everything this makeup week. Yeah?ヽ(´▽｀)/

[damijon-supersons]

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” - a Damijon fic

 Author’s Notes:  Hi guys! I hope you enjoy this somewhat angsty fic that suddenly popped into my mind one day. This also coincides with the DamiJon week 2018 makeup week, so I’m putting this under Day 4: Confessions...or rather...the lack thereof...

This is also my what if reaction to the various rumors that with Bendis coming over to write Superman, unsavory things might happen to our best boy...even the threat of him being scrapped...

Summary: Jon always asked Damian that one question whenever he wanted to ask for something. As the boys got closer, Damian’s answer kept changing...except he never managed to say the only answer that actually mattered.

Okay,  hope you have fun :D

“Hey, Damian, we’re friends, aren’t we?” Jon asked timidly. He turned to look at his best friend with his bright blue eyes, his lips trembled, and his face was almost that of a child that knew he was due for a scolding.

The question rang like a haunting echo in Damian’s mind. There was a mixture of hope, sadness, hesitation, and fear, all enveloped in a high-pitched boyish voice. There was a smile there, one that you could only hear. It was a shy smile that was piercingly honest and sincere.

“Why do you sound like you’re about to beg?” Damian groaned in reply.

It was simple questions like these that he could never answer simply. He could’ve said ‘yes’, because that was what his heart said. ‘Yes’ a thousand times over. But his heart was but an infant given a picture of its mother—it can only gurgle out affection because it hadn’t yet learned how to speak. His voice tried its best to sound tired, but there was that slight pause, the barest hint of preparation, that made it obvious the disinterest was a lie—just another wall that Damian had put up on instinct, and one of the many he’d yet to cast away in front of his closest friend.

“I’ve got a favor to ask…” Jon began. The favor was as simple as it was impractical. Jon had accidentally broken his parents’ curfew while super-heroing on his own. While this wasn’t that much of a big deal, this time it was because he’d broken it by about twelve hours.

“Long story,” Jon offered. “There was this tentacle guy, and I had to act like I was the engine and rudder of the refugees’ boat and my phone got wet, and that’s when the eagle man came…”

He wanted Damian to be with him as he faced his parents and explained, as a sort of moral support and witness to Jon’s sincerity. Jon had hoped that Damian’s presence would temper his extremely worried parents, and that they’d punish him a lot less. After all….Clark Kent and Lois Lane were too polite to utterly devastate their son in front of his friend, right?

Damian rolled his eyes. It was a stupid plan, and it was also pointless. He knew that his presence wouldn’t stop Superman from super-grounding his son, and an angry Lois was too dangerous for even Damian to handle. But he’d do it anyway. He’d never admit it, not even to himself, but he wanted to help Jon. Mostly because it made his head feel light, his mouth dry, and his spine all tingly to know that Jon needed his help—needed him.

That night, Damian went with Jon, and instead of being backup, argued with Clark that Jon went alone because of his advice, because he’d taught Jon to follow so and so lead and such. Clark thanked Damian for the explanation, judged both of them culpable, and both the boys’ dads had grounded them that night.

 ***

“Hey, Damian, we’re friends, aren’t we?” Jon asked excitedly. His hands were at his chest and balled into expectant fists as though grabbing onto an invisible lifeline, and his feet were hovering several inches above the floor, his legs folded as if he was getting ready to leap for joy.

The question hung like one half of a solemn vow. The silence after the words was a pregnant moment where every second was an answer unto itself. There was hope in the boy’s voice, pulsing, shining, and you could almost hear the vibrant colors in his face—shocking blue in his eyes and perfect white in his teeth.

“I mean, you’re practically the only person I talk to on a daily basis,” Damian replied as casually as he could. It still wasn’t the ‘yes’ that he’d meant to say, though his level of aloofness wasn’t as bad as before, and was really a force of habit more than anything else. Jon could tell—if it were anyone else, Damian would never be so comfortable with the way he talked, the way he walked, and the way he breathed as if he could worry about nothing at all. Damian flashed Jon a smirk as they walked out of the school grounds, and that was all the answer Jon needed.

“Hold on!” Jon said enthusiastically as he dragged Damian by the hand.

“H-hey!” Damian protested, but only half-heartedly, as both of them ran, their bags making dull thuds on their legs with every step. Jon’s fingers were firmly entwined with his own with no signs of letting go. Jon’s hand was warm, but it was a familiar, almost comforting sensation. Damian almost admitted to himself that he liked it.

Once they were suitably alone, Jon wrapped Damian in a hug.

“Wha—Jon!” Damian gasped, breathless and surprised. His instinct was to push off, act cold, react the way people knew he’d act. But he was frozen even as the younger boy’s warmth seeped into him, and his heart beat wildly and irregularly.

Of course, with his super-senses, Jon knew the effect he had on Damian. He allowed himself a satisfied grin. “Okay, now, really hold on.” He tightened his grip on Damian, one hand on his hip and the other supporting his back.

Before Damian could do anything other than gasp again, Jon kicked off the ground and zoomed skyward. The only evidence of their departure was a faint ring of displaced dirt that marked where they’d stood.

In a matter of minutes, the pair arrived in Hamilton County in the Kents’ old farm. Damian was quite familiar with this place, because he’d visited and slept over here with Jon more times than he could count. That, and Jon loved taking Damian here whenever they’d needed some relaxing place to talk and think.  

Jon set Damian down on the roots of his favorite oak tree, its old and gnarled roots bulging up from the soil like natural benches. Damian’s hair, which was usually pristinely spiked in his usual style, had transformed into a windswept mess that covered Damian’s forehead. He sullenly blew a mouthful of air at his bangs, but it just flopped uselessly back down and tickled his skin.

“Okay, take your coat off,” Jon said excitedly, still hovering a few inches off the ground.

“Why? What’s this all about?” Damian asked, thoroughly confused.

Jon threw his own school coat to the grass as he adamantly insisted, “C’mon, Dami!”

“Tt, fine…” Damian sighed as he did as he was ordered. Of course, the reluctance was just another reflex. He could never refuse Jon, especially when the boy’s face was so bright and earnest like it was right then.

“Okay, now take your shoes and socks off!” Jon directed as he did the same.

Damian didn’t bother to complain—he’d just do it either way. He tugged his leathers off and kicked them to the side, joined by Jon’s own shoes and socks.

“So, what exactly do you have planned that could possibly need us to be barefoot in the countryside, where all manner of dirt, insects, and pathogens can get lodged under our toenails?” Damian asked finally.

Jon stuck his tongue out as if to say ‘gotta deal with it, Damian!’ It was so utterly childish, and yet so perfectly aligned with who Jon was—a boisterous, giddy, happy boy—that Damian couldn’t help but shake his head and smile.

“You’ll love it, I promise!” Jon declared gleefully. “Now, be back in a sec!” He sped off to the distant horizon in a blur.

It actually took him six seconds.  When Jon returned, Damian’s eyes were locked onto the thing Jon held carefully in his arms. His pupils dilated and his mouth hung open in wonder and affection. Jon had brought the cutest calico kitten he’d ever seen, its coat a mixture of white, brown, black and olive. Its snout was a rosy pink hue, framed by long white whiskers. Damian instinctively reached out, but Jon playfully hovered out of his reach.

“Nya!” the kitten squeaked as it flailed its tiny little limbs under Jon’s grip.

“Kathy found it alone one day and decided to take it in,” Jon explained as he lightly scratched the kitten’s head, making it yawn adorably. “We can play with him whenever we’re here. I’m sure you’ll love him!”

Damian wordlessly got up and reached for the kitten again, but Jon hovered out of his reach again, obviously teasing from the looks of his mischievous grin. He landed gently on the ground, his bare feet trampling the grass with a faint rustling sound—it gave Damian the mental image of lush, green growth, a cool breeze, and cloudless skies. Incidentally, that described almost all of Hamilton County.

“Nu uh, Damian,” Jon mock scolded. “If you wanna pet Mister Cat, you gotta catch me first!”

And even before Damian could reply that ‘Mister Cat’ was an incredibly stupid name, Jon took off running, giggling all the way with Mister Cat raised above his head as if the kitten was training to fly.

Damian sprinted after Jon, and he was grateful the latter didn’t use his super speed. Despite his reservations, he couldn’t help but smile. He ran after Jon without a care in the world. He ran after the kitten. No, he ran after Jon. No, he was running for the heck of it. There was no one to catch, no one to fight. There wasn’t a villain to chase or a city to save. There was just the sun shining on the greenery and making it sparkle, the silky sensation of the green grass sliding in between his toes and tickling his soles, the cool refreshing breeze that ruffled his ruined hair, and Jon’s euphoric, almost melodic laughter. It was all so infectious that Damian started laughing too.

For once in his life, Damian felt a degree of freedom he’d never thought he’d ever wanted. Right then, he wasn’t Robin, and Jon wasn’t Superboy. They weren’t crimefighters—they weren’t heroes. They were just two boys running and playing across the green grassy plains of Hamilton County.

Was this what every day was like for Jon back then? Damian asked himself. Jon had once asked him if he ever wanted to just go outside and play. It seemed like such an absurd question back then, and Jon had asked it over the phone while Damian was in the middle of brawling with criminals. Playing was for children…and truth be told, Damian had never been a child, had never learned how to be one. And all at once he realized that this was the point of it all. Jon was teaching Damian how it is to be a child. It was pointless, it was irrational, but Damian didn’t care. He liked it.

Damian Wayne, by nature, does not indulge in frivolous endeavors such as aimlessly running across grassy plains. But then, Damian thought, he didn’t need to be that Damian Wayne all the time. At least whenever he was with Jon, he could smile like no one was watching, laugh like the world was deaf, and be someone else entirely—with Jon, he could be a child.

At some point, he’d caught up to Jon, and the two sweaty boys fell on top of each other on the ground. Their bodies were cushioned by the tall grass, and it was almost like they were lying in a bed of green leaves and soft earth. Mister Cat elected to skip after a flittering blue butterfly, and he was largely free to do as he pleased as the two boys stared into each other’s eyes.  Damian and Jon pulled each other close and shared emotions, moments, and experiences of such intimacy that it was quite fortunate the field was out of the way of any unwanted witnesses.

Mister Cat gave up on chasing the butterfly, and instead curled up underneath the pile of clothing that the boys had discarded as they continued their own silent playtime hidden among the tall green grass.

***

 “Hey, Damian, we’re friends, aren’t we?” Jon asked solemnly. There was a sad smile on his face, the kind that foreshadowed an inevitable future that promised nothing bright. His hands were still and lifeless on his lap, but his eyes were focused on Damian, studying his friend intently and anticipating the older boy’s reaction.

They were sitting at the edge of a random apartment building in Metropolis, their legs dangling over the precipice of a thirty-storey drop. The lights of the city’s nightlife glowed beneath them and cast a wan palette of whites and yellows to the sky’s deep indigo. The weekend traffic skittered as tiny balls of red, orange and beige. A cacophony of sound and noise thrummed in the atmosphere—a few blocks away, a mother was yelling at her son for not taking out the garbage, somewhere below were two cats arguing about whatever cats like to argue about, off in central street a digital billboard of Vicky Vale droned about the new perfume she’d been endorsing, and off in the distance, a passenger jet cut across the clouds with a booming roar.

Damian tensed up. His fists instinctively balled into fists, as if he expected a fight. He’d always react that way when he was anxious, when he sensed danger. His senses were rarely mistaken, and through Jon’s resigned look, a sense of foreboding came over him. They’d just finished their patrol for that night, and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that Jon was more subdued than usual. Jon liked to have fun during their patrols. Tonight, he was thoughtful. Oh, he still smiled, he still laughed, but there was a tinge of longing, of regret, a bittersweet joy. Jon very much acted like he was savoring every second as if he’d never get to do this again.

“You sound like you want that in writing,” Damian teased as a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Again, it wasn’t the overwhelming ‘yes’ that he’d have wanted to give, but simplicity never came easy for him. Making matters worse was that the ‘yes’ had mutated into something bigger, something more. No, they weren’t friends…not anymore. Not to Damian. They were definitely something greater, something better…something that Damian was at a loss to describe.

“Maybe I’d like that, for once,” Jon replied with a smirk.

Damian lightly punched his shoulder. Jon punched him back. They both grinned at each other—a grin that tried to say so much but lacked the words to make it tangible.

“So, I assume this is another favor that’s bound to get us both in trouble,” Damian began, but he knew in his heart that from Jon’s expression, it was a graver matter than that.

Jon shook his head. “No, but I guess you could call it a favor. I just…want you to promise that you’ll take care of yourself. And well…I hope you remember me.”

“What…?” Damian blinked in bewilderment at Jon.

“I said, remember me,” Jon repeated with a wistful look on his face. He added a tune that was all too familiar to Damian. “Though I have to travel far…”

“Don’t you dare sing it!” Damian barked. It was from a recent Disney movie that Jon had begged him to go watch, and it was the last movie they’d seen together. The song was a message of a heartfelt farewell, longing, and separation. Jon was saying goodbye.

“Jon, what are you on about?” Damian asked again, this time not bothering to hide his worry. His brows were furrowed and knit together and his frown turned his lips into a severe, thin line.

“You heard about the last battle my dad had?” Jon said as he stared at his jeans. His bony knees poked out of the intentionally ripped holes. He absent-mindedly began pulling and twisting at a loose strand of blue denim.  

“Yeah, but I thought your dad won and just needed rest?” Damian had heard about Superman’s battle with an alien invader that had disturbed central Washington D.C. No one knew much about it other than that it posed a threat to the safety of the population. Superman had engaged the mysterious alien, which apparently had the power to bend the man of steel’s mind and perception of reality. Superman had been dazed as if hit by a powerful invisible cannon of pure force. But just as mysteriously and unexpectedly as it had come, the mind-bending intruder had disappeared. Damian, like the rest of the world, assumed that Superman had won.  

“Dad didn’t win,” Jon said, the pain evident behind his calm. “Whatever that thing was, it just came to mess with him, and then left. Dad is…Dad’s changed. He’s acting like he’s from another time—an older time. He doesn’t even recognize my mom…or me.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, Jon.” Damian had no trouble being sincere this time. He knew all too well what it felt like to have his father exist but live a different life not knowing his children ever existed. He put a comforting arm around Jon’s shoulders, and Jon gladly leaned into it.  Damian wished he could hold Jon in his arms until the hurt in his voice went away.

“There’s a way,” Jon said after a while, but his hesitation mounted. “The fortress of solitude said that there might be a way to get my dad back to normal…but it’ll be risky.”

“What way? Damian asked warily. “And at what cost?”

“Mom and I have to go away for a while to search for the cure,” Jon explained morosely. “Part of the thing’s power is that we have to be the ones to get it, so that dad will remember us again.”

“And the catch?” Damian asked, steeling his gut for the inevitable dreadful answer.

“I don’t know where it is exactly. I think it could be in space, or maybe even another dimension. And also…I don’t know how long I’ll be away. Could be a few weeks…or a few years.”

“Oh,” Damian said simply. The air seemed to leave his lungs all at once, and his stomach felt like it dropped to the street hundreds of feet below. The city’s sounds suddenly became muted as if Damian was hearing them from a thousand miles away. All the color in the lights faded to a garish gray.

Jon sensed the drastic shift in Damian’s emotions. It was all he could to weave his fingers in between Damian’s and hold his hand. “Damian, this is what I wanted to ask you today. I’m going away, maybe for a long while. I need to know that even without me around, you’ll be okay, that you’ll take care of yourself and just keep on being the friend I know and…” Jon gulped as if his breath hitched on the next word he was about to say. “The…the friend I care about.”

“Do you know what you’re supposed to do?” Damian asked, as though he was pleading Jon wouldn’t and that he’d need more time to plan things. He’d stay so that he could plan. He would need months for planning. Maybe years. Jon would stay. He had to.

“Aside from leaving and seeing where the fortress portal leads us, I don’t know. I’ll do what I have to.” Jon replied, but there was a stoic resolution in his voice. Then to Damian, he asked more gently, “How about you, what are you gonna do in the meantime?”

“What I have to,” Damian repeated in what seemed like an admission of defeat.

Jon wrapped Damian in a quick hug, and he was glad that Damian didn’t resist—he didn’t even click his tongue in disapproval. “You’ll be okay,” he said confidently. “I know you will!”

“I sometimes wish I knew as much as you did,” Damian replied dryly.

“C’mon, don’t be so glum, Damian. It’s not like I’m not breaking up with you!” Jon teased playfully. But then suddenly his eyes went wide with embarrassment when he saw Damian’s appalled look. “Oh man, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to imply anything—we’re not like together or—I’m really sorry—“

“—Don’t be,” Damian cut him off gently. He tightened his grip on Jon’s hand. The pair of them stayed like that, sitting on top of an apartment ceiling and quietly holding hands for what seemed like hours, even though it was really just a few minutes. Neither of them broke the silence. Jon had said goodbye after that, and flew off into the night. Thunder had just begun to rumble and line the murky purple clouds overhead.

It was so stupid, Damian thought, that even after everything that he and Jon had done together, everything they’d done for each other and everything they’d done to each other, they had only been just friends. Or rather…there was a tacit agreement that they were only just that, because Damian had never said otherwise. He’d always wanted to, but he never did. He’d never be able to. It was the last he saw of Jonathan Samuel Kent.

As the days passed, and as his cape grew longer and darker, and his head started bearing the weight of the cowl, a single thought had haunted Damian in his every idle moment. It was always the face of the sunny, cheerful boy that he could’ve had if only he’d just said something. Anything. He’d have given up all the fortune his father had passed down to him if it meant that he could hear Jon ask that question one more time, that one question, that always rang in his ears.

“Hey, Damian, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Because now, Damian was ready to answer with all the words he’d ever wanted to say, words that took years to ever reach his lips.

“Yes, I am. And …I love you. Dear gods, I love you.”

[salmonellagogo]

I Just Know

Rating: T

Pair/Characters: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne

Psst Ao3

***

5 Times Jon does not say I love you to Damian and 1 time he does.

***

Jon is thirteen when he understands what it means to have a crush on someone.

Damian is sixteen and Jon watches him.

He doesn't mean to. His eyes are drawn in by themselves. They follow Damian, glued to his back whenever Damian’s not looking.

He realizes that Damian’s feature is very well-proportioned, nearly symmetrical. He has high cheekbones and soft looking lips. His nose looks like it has been broken and set before. His green eyes are framed by thick lashes that have been cousin Kara’s subject of envy.

And it’s those eyes that haunt Jon's dreams. Some mornings he wakes up from those dreams having to rush to the bathroom and runs the shower, eaten up by guilt and still unable to stop touching himself.

Those mornings are particularly hard when they coincide with their weekend patrol schedule. He tries hard to be his usual self. But, it’s difficult when each time he accidentally bumps Damian, it’s as if an electric charge is running down Jon's spine.

“What is wrong with you?” Damian scowls at him. “Are you even taking this seriously?”

“I am!” Jon says. He scoots an inch to the left, away from Damian. “You startled me!” He had flinched unwittingly when Damian touched his arm to gain his attention earlier.

Damian clucks his tongue. “Pay attention, Corncob.”

“Jeez, I am, Grumpface.”

They would have argued some more, but the group of thugs they have been watching choose that moment to begin moving. It’s their cue and Damian doesn’t even say anything to Jon as he shoots his grapple gun and swings down.

Jon rolls his eyes. “It's okay! You don't have to wait for me or anything!” he says and even as he flies to meet Damian, he can't help noticing the graceful arc of Damian's form in the air.

***

When he is fourteen, Jon punches Damian’s face. It’s not that hard of a hit. He doesn’t use his full power. He never does, when it comes to Damian. But still, the hit sends Damian careening away.

Damian catches himself, hands out to break his fall. And then, he launches at Jon. Damian is fast and he has worked with Jon long enough to know when Jon usually lets his guard down.

They never fight seriously. Not anymore, since Jon was ten.

Damian is better than him when it comes to raw skill. Damian has been trained within an inch of his life and he is faster, better from that first time they fought after Damian kidnapped him. However, it takes Jon not all that long to contain Damian.

He grips Damian's wrists, holding Damian down with his body. Damian is seventeen, and he finally hit his growth spurt that one summer two years ago. He’s much taller than the grumpy pipsqueak Jon remembers from when Damian was thirteen. But, Jon hits his own growth spurt this year. He is as tall as Damian now and as broad, and Jon's still growing.

Damian bares his teeth. “Move, or I'll make you!”

“I’d like to see you try, D,” Jon says.

Damian growls. He makes serious effort to budge Jon. Jon knows if Damian genuinely wants to take Jon out, he can. He has other means and ingenuity that are available to the Bats, and often more effective than having super power. Also, Batman has Kryptonite shards somewhere in his vault.

Jon grins down at him.

“I will end you!” Damian says.

“Promises, promises.”

Damian sends him a look that speaks of vehemence. He resumes his struggle with fervor.

Sometimes, holding Damian down is not unlike holding a stubborn eel. He writhes and bucks, moving his lower body, tangling his legs with Jon's.

Jon bites his lip. Okay, maybe this isn't such a good idea. He can feel Damian's legs sliding against his, Damian's knee grazing the inside of his thigh. Recently, almost everything makes Jon's libido goes off. And, having Damian’s warm body under him, moving against him … is just ….

Jon lifts his hips, getting to his knees and using them to bracket Damian's leg. There are stirrings in his lower body parts. Something is waking up and, wow, he doesn't want to explain to Damian what it is he feels there.

He yelps when Damian flips them over, the slightest lapse in concentration and then, there is Damian sitting right there over Jon's hips.

Jon instinctively rises to his feet. With little effort, he jostles Damian from his lap, hands going out to hold Damian's sides to prevent Damian from falling.

“I …, ah! I forgot it's my turn to prepare dinner today!” Jon says, hoping he doesn’t look as mortified as he feels. “Mom will have my head!”

Damian glowers. Jon, in his panic, forgets that Damian hates it when Jon handles Damian like he weighs nothing. But, um yeah, Damian really isn’t that heavy.

“Then go,” Damian says. He glares at Jon and Jon is glad for the exit provided for him.

He turns away and zips out quickly to the higher level of the Batcave. From there, he flies to the exit that is usually reserved for Batplanes, trying to think of something that is not the feel of Damian's weight on his crotch.

***

Damian is a little weird about receiving gifts. For as long as Jon has known him, he has been that way. But, when it comes to giving gifts, he’s the opposite. Jon has several game systems and rolling door of latest Wayne tech gadgets to attest to that.

And it’s not like Jon doesn’t know what Damian likes. Jon knows he likes playing video games as much as Jon does and that Damian likes taking care of his pets. He also knows Damian’s bookshelf stores a few sketch books, all filled to the brim. Sometimes, he even shows his drawings to Jon.

Yeah, so he knows what to buy Damian. That isn’t the problem. The problem is getting Damian to receive it, without having to get into an argument.

“What. Is. This?” Damian asks. He sounds testy and Jon has seen this coming, really.

“Watercolor paint set?” Jon says. “I said I’d get you something for your birthday.”

To be fair, Damian's eighteenth birthday was last week. Jon missed it because he and Dad went to another planet, working with Green Lanterns to save the occupants from genocide by alien invasion.

Watercolor paints may sound paltry, especially knowing Jason gave Damian a real katana from feudal Japanese era last year, but they are the really nice ones. They are artists’ grade and Jon had to walk his neighbors’ dogs all summer to afford those.

“I don't need these,” Damian says.

Jon rolls his eyes. He should be hurt by that, but at this point he has been exposed to Damian too long to take what he says too seriously. He doesn’t know what makes Damian that way, not exactly, but yeah, Damian says that to everyone who gives him things, unless they’re Nightwing or his father.

“I know you probably can buy yourself something better,” Jon says, “but they’re gifts. I give them to you! You have to receive them, even if you don't need them!”

Damian makes a face, but he does not push the watercolor paints back to Jon or argue with him. So, Jon counts that as progress. Maybe, Damian even likes his gifts. Who knows?

Jon doesn't know. He goes back to Metropolis and the small mountain of homework from classes he missed, and does not think about Damian for a while.

A few days later, a rustle in front of his window wakes Jon up in the middle of a school night. It's Damian. Jon recognizes the sound of his heartbeat and he rushes to open the window, but by the time he looks out, Damian has gone away, heartbeat receding fast that he must have taken one of the Batplanes to Metropolis.

“What?” Jon scratches his head and he’s about to close the window again, when he sees it. On his window sill, there is a note clipped on to an letter sized drawing. The note says, I don't know why you feel obliged to give these to me, but thank you, in Damian's neat penmanship. Underneath the note is watercolor painting of Krypto flying under blue sky.

Jon grins.

***

Jon kisses Amelia Shepherd behind the World History shelf. She smells like strawberry, with soft hair and soft lips, soft skin that feels warm when Jon touches her arm. They are supposed to be doing their group projects. But Amelia has been watching and smiling at Jon ever since day one of Geography, and it turns out, she is fun to talk to. It feels right.

It feels right up until Jon kisses her. After that, it just feels awful.

Jon steps back and breaks the kiss. Amelia smiles up at him, tucking stray strands of her long hair behind one ear. Her hands are small. She is tiny. The top of her head reaches only to Jon’s collarbone. And he can break her in half easily if he isn't careful.

Jon swallows and tries to smile. “Amelia … I, uh ….”

Amelia laughs. She pushes Jon to make more room, and then adjusting the books she’s holding against her chest, she says, “That’s a nice kiss. See you around, Jon.”

Jon nods. “See you around,” he says and watches her go.

He doesn't see her again all day.

When he comes home from school, near dinner time because he has lacrosse practice, Damian is sitting with his mom at the dinner table.

“Hi, Mom.” Jon kisses his mom’s cheek. “You’re early, D.”

“Yes, I am,” Damian says. He shoves chunks of pancakes and eggs into his mouth. Today is breakfast for dinner day, something staple in Lane-Kent household. Damian scowls as he chews, but he doesn’t say anything about the food.

“Well, now that you’re here,” Mom says. “I will go to my interview.” She’s already dressed for work. Damian must have caught her just before she’s trying to leave. “Eat before you go, Jon. And be careful out there, you hear me!” She throws that last one just before she crosses the front door, bag slung on her shoulder.

“This is horrible.” Damian puts down his fork and pushes his plate away as soon as Mom is out the door.

“Not all of us have a butler,” Jon says. He sits at Damian's  side and draws the plate to him. “And anyway, how can pancakes and sausages be offensive?”

“Alfred makes better pancakes than this box mix ... thing.”

“Uhm, yeah, heard what I said? No butler in this house.”

Damian scoffs and Jon kind of wants to cuff him in the head. And then, he remembers Damian’s “Father” eats at a fast food burger joint with a fork and a knife, and he snickers.

“What?” Damian looks at him suspiciously.

Jon shakes his head. He devours Damian's left over and digs out the covered plate his mom left for him in the microwave. He eats that, too. Jon is sixteen. He grows another inch last week. He needs all the food he can get.

After dinner and a quick change, they head out to patrol. They start at Metropolis and go out to the city’s outskirt when things get too quiet. They rescue a girl from being run over by a careless driver, beat up a few thugs who try to rob a convenience store, and escort a drunk woman safely back to her apartment.

They get back around three in the morning and Jon hasn’t thought about Amelia all night, but as he showers and changes, he remembers her again and kind of hates himself. It was stupid of him to have kissed her. If he says that it’s a mistake to her, will he get a slap in the face, or simply cold treatment for the rest of the school year? He weighs for both.

He sighs.

Damian comes out of the shower in the middle of his brooding. Jon plasters a smile on his face and says something that gets a thorny response. Jon laughs and they play around with the high-tech laptop Damian gave him last year.

Around five thirty, just before the sun rises, they go to bed. Jon’s bed is narrow, and although Damian has made noises about buying him a bigger bed, Jon put his foot down on account of his tiny room. Damian clucked his tongue at him, but didn't offer anymore.

Besides, Damian fits just right with him. He may not be as petite as Amelia, but Damian is all lean muscle and tan skin these days. Their limbs often get tangled and sweaty in the middle of the night. Jon doesn't mind, safe for a few incidents when he has to creep silently to the bathroom by virtue of something else that has “woken up” because of his best friend.

And right then, as Jon tries to close his eyes, laying on what Damian has dubbed Jon's side of the bed, he listens to the noises of the city. Jon will always miss the quietness of the countryside, but he’s gotten use to Metropolis’ buzz. Damian’s steady heartbeat is among the loudest. He knows that Damian is awake, because he sounds different when he’s asleep. Jon opens his mouth and says, “I kissed a girl yesterday.”

Jon feels Damian stiffen beside him for a moment, before he relaxes again.

“Good for you,” Damian says. He turns his back to Jon and does not move again.

Jon bites his lip. His heart is beating erratically and he does not understand what Damian meant. He stares at Damian's back for a long time before he falls asleep.

***

Jon thinks a lot about how much more fragile Damian is, compared to him. How much easier it is for Damian to get hurt, and he has, on several different occasions when he’s with Jon.

Jon doesn’t even hesitate to fly into the way of a bullet meant for Damian. Nothing much can hurt Jon, but he is not invulnerable. When the bullet hits him, he knows immediately he has made the right decision--as well as … a mistake. The bullet’s not meant for Damian, it’s for him.

The familiar sensation of Kryptonite poisoning is immediate and Jon clutches at Damian, trying to stay upright and failing. His last conscious thought is wanting to punch whoever it is that laughs shrilly behind him.

When he wakes up, the first thing Jon registers is Damian's eyes watching him. Damian is sitting at a chair beside his bed, dressed in civilian clothes and there is a shallow cut just under the peak of his cheekbone. The right corner of his mouth is dark with bruise.

They maintain a few seconds of eye contact, then Damian scrambles up to stand at his bedside, his brows pinched. Jon is distracted for a moment. The ceiling behind Damian's head is high and filled with roosting bats. The Batcave.

“Hey,” Jon says, voice hoarse and throat parched. “What happened?”

“You collapsed. We had to dig a Kryptonite bullet out of your back.” Damian crosses his arms. “Your heart stopped once.”

Damian looks like he’s biting into something sour. His mouth forms a hard line and his nose wrinkles up a little.

“Oh,” Jon says. “What about that guy with the bird mask. The one who ... shot me.”

“In Arkham Prison.”

“Oh.” It seems like the only thing Jon can say. Damian frowns even deeper and now that Jon looks more closely, he notices the dark shadows under Damian's eyes. “Can I get something to drink?”

“Wait.”

Damian goes away. The space around Jon's bed is cordoned off by white curtain and he can't see where Damian goes. Jon tries to trace his memory. He feels a little disoriented and he doesn’t know how long he’s lain unconscious in the Batcave. Batman should have notified his Dad already. His parents can be just beyond the curtain. He has no means of knowing, because the power well deep inside him is empty. From experience, it will be a few days, up to a few weeks before he can use his abilities again.

Damian comes back with a glass of water, a straw jutting out from the rim. He helps Jon sit up to drink, holding the glass for him. There’s a faint tremor in Damian's steady hand. Jon takes the straw between his lips and doesn't comment. Damian smells like soap and his usual coconut shampoo when he leans close. Jon focuses on that.

After, Jon takes Damian's hand before Damian can move away. Damian startles. A few stray droplets of water splash Jon's forearm.

“What are you doing?” Damian asks.

“Stay with me, please.”

Damian’s eyebrows draw closer together. He studies Jon and it feels like a long time has passed, before Damian says, “I … I’m putting this away. I will be back.”

“Okay,” Jon says.

Damian keeps his words. He comes back to sit with Jon. When Jon opens his hand, palm up on the bed, Damian gets the memo and put his own hand on Jon’s.

Jon doesn't ask where his Dad or Mom is. He doesn't ask where Batman is. His heart is racing and warmth spreads into his chest.

He holds Damian's hand until he hears the roar of Batmobile entering the cave and the sound of conversation between his Dad and Batman carry.

***

+1

Damian kisses Jon carefully. A soft press of mouth. A hello and “is this okay?”, all in one. His face is so close that Jon can feel the sweep of Damian's long eyelashes as Damian opens his eyes.

They part for just a second. Jon puts his hand on Damian's nape and pulls Damian in. They kiss properly this time. Jon doesn't have much experience, and it seems like Damian is as rookie as Jon in this department. They learn and it feels good. So good, that Jon has to force himself to break the kiss and sucks in some air.

Damian is a wreck. His tanned skin is flushed, his hair a mess, and his pupils are dilated. And Jon can feel that he’s not the only one affected by the kiss. Damian is as hard as he is.

They are on Damian's bed. Jon’s on his back and Damian somehow ends up sprawled above Jon. Jon slides a proprietary hand onto Damian's back, smoothing his shirt up. He pays attention to the raises and bumps on Damian's back, learning Damian's scars, one by one.

Before long, they kiss again.

“I love you,” Jon says as they part. “I’ve been in love with you for so long.”

Damian’s cheeks flushes impossibly darker. He caresses Jon's neck, up to his cheeks, and kisses Jon once, lightly. “Happy birthday, Beloved,” Damian whispers. “I’ve been waiting for your eighteenth birthday.”

A smile tugs at Jon's lips. “Best birthday ever.”

[twinkothydrake]

And you’ve got a smile that could light up this whole town

[ember-prime]

Jondami week day 2: Justice Lords

[island-dreamer-hibiscus]

A makeup cus I been to busy sadly this week I hope everyone likes and Damien is piss he hates seeing his belove cry now wanna hunt the fucker that did it

Jon: *have tears in his eyes as his nice blue eyes filled with hurt*

Damisn: jon who hurted you, I’ll make sure that fucker pays for what he done none hurts my beloved

Critiqes are open

[dejunnns]

[damijon-supersons]

Damijon Week Day 1:Slice of life? Very poor choice of words… - A DamiJon Fic

Notes:

Heyo! So DamiJon week is here and here’s my meager contribution. So this is gonna be an entire week and imma do my best to write for every day...cuz this fic right here is the first chapter of  a series I’m making that follows the prompts for each day of the week. This one is the middleschool au prompt (er, not so au anymore cuz the comics are doing it, but in my version, Damian and Jon are classmates :p) and I’ll continue this with the next prompts and days as much as I can. So yeah, I hope you guys like it, and help support the week by submitting and tagging content! ( Jondamiweek2018, or Damijonweek2018)

Part 2  Part 3 Part 4

 “Mr. Wayne,” Mr Tomas called out firmly. His tone wasn’t overly pissed as all hell, but it was definitely in the range of ‘you-are-in such-deep-trouble’.

Jon winced as he glanced back two rows to his left. Although it wasn’t his name that was getting called out for a grade-A chewing-out, he couldn’t help but cringe as he watched Damian stand defiantly, meeting the teacher’s glare with a steely look of his own.

“What have I told you about giving unsolicited comments to your classmates?” the elderly man snapped.

“That you discourage my efforts to take over your job,” Damian quipped coolly.

Jon could see a vein throbbing on the side of Mr. Tomas’ head. The young Kent buried his face in his hands as he felt what can only be explained as shame on behalf of his friend.

“I said,” the teacher declared with an even louder voice, “that you leave the teaching to me. Your preferred method of teaching doesn’t conform to our school’s…standards of decency.”

“I was under the impression that I was doing Gino a favor by correcting his mistake with a succinct explanation,” Damian countered smoothly. There was no doubt that he could match the older man’s stiff formality, albeit with a hint of insolence.

“You wrote on his test paper,” Mr. Tomas raised the sheet in front of him and adjusted his glasses, “only an idiot would confuse Steinbeck’s symbolism for the pearl as anything other than greed and avarice. How stupid can you be?”  He looked daggers at Damian, who merely shrugged in reply.

“I’m not wrong,” Damian insisted.

“Mr. Wayne,” Mr. Tomas sighed deeply and heavily as if he was regretting his choices in life, “I’ll need to have a word with your father for this…”

“And I wish you the best of luck with that…sir.” Damian added the epithet as a lazy afterthought. “My father is very busy with his work and if you can grab his attention with something as trivial as this, you deserve a medal.”

Mr. Tomas gritted his teeth. Jon knew that his teacher was just itching to give Damian a harsher punishment, but couldn’t because Damian was the son of the school’s largest donor and honorary chairman, Bruce Wayne.

Damian sat back down with a satisfied look on his face. If Damian were anyone else, the class might have laughed appreciatively. But Jon could see how the other boys and girls either glared at Damian or inched away from him. It was almost like Damian was surrounded by an invisible force field of suck.

***

Jon had been extremely excited when he’d found out that he and Damian were going to the same school. He’d fantasized about being locker buddies with Damian, eating lunch with him, doing homework, doing phys ed…everything, really. It was like Jon’s best dream come true. Everything was going to be fun, amazing, and infinitely awesome. But whatever giddiness he’d had back then had been replaced by a dull painful ache inside his stomach, one that would tug at his insides whenever Damian did…well…anything.

They’ve been enrolled at West-Reeve School for two weeks. Two Weeks. But for Jon, it felt like forever as he witnessed Damian’s not-so-simple adjustment period.

On the first day, Damian had been late, and someone had already taken the seat Jon that had saved for him. He’d been looking forward to being seatmates with Damian, too… When he’d asked Damian what the reason was for his tardiness, Damian had said that he’d gone out on patrol and ‘enjoyed’ himself before he was ‘shackled down to the education system’.

On the second day, they were grouped up in social studies to present in class. Damian had loudly protested that he should have been the leader of their group, because he was smarter than any of his groupmates. He had been voted out of the group, and the teacher had let him do the presentation alone. He’d still gotten the highest marks.

On the fourth day, some would-be bullies—some 8th graders—started to put the moves on Damian. It was nothing serious, really. They’d just started crowding around Damian and kind of coerced him to strike a conversation with them, because he was the ‘famous secret son of Bruce Wayne’. Then they’d made unflattering remarks about the fact that Damian’s mom had never been publicly identified. They’d left Damian after that, but the next day, the student body was abuzz about three 8th grade boys who’d had to be rushed to the hospital for broken limbs.

Three days ago, during an experiment in science, Damian had…almost assaulted their classmate Ben Percy. Damian had thrown a metal stirrer at the beaker Ben had been holding, shattering it, and staining Ben’s clothes with its contents. Damian had argued that Ben was about to ‘stupidly’ inhale the acrid vapor coming from the concoction like ‘an idiot’, which could have corroded his nostrils, so he’d taken action. Damian had narrowly avoided trouble because Ben hadn’t denied it, but he also argued that Damian could have used less violent methods.

Jon couldn’t do anything but wring his hands in exasperation, as Damian failed to realize that most middle-schoolers couldn’t throw objects with deadly accuracy like say, a batarang. That, and Damian’s little stunt was definitely in the list of ‘things that will make it obvious we’re actually superheroes’, which included, among other things, using their powers—Jon’s powers, mostly—for anything while in school.

He’d talked to Damian about that during one lunch period, but Damian had given him his usual stubborn replies. Today, he tried again.

“Damian,” Jon began as he bit into his sandwich and swallowed, “could you at least try to not be a jerk to the other kids?”

“Not my fault if they’re too slow to keep up with me,” Damian grunted in-between sips of orange juice. “Besides, I don’t see why they should have an issue with my attitude…I mean, you can take it.”

The pair sat on the school’s roof deck with their backs pressed against the wall of a maintenance closet. Ever since day one, Damian had refused point-blank to eat at the cafeteria with the other kids. This is how Jon found himself up the roof with Damian, eating their lunch, even though no one was allowed there. Damian had assured him that nothing will happen to them, because his dad practically owned the school—which wasn’t wrong.

“Damian,” Jon sighed wearily. “I’m used to you. We’re friends and we’ve known each other for a long time now. Our classmates didn’t have that time. You gotta be a little patient with them...just…play ball, y’know? How can you be a student in school if you make all the students in the school hate you?”

“I’ve infiltrated a school before…” Damian grumbled.

“You’re not pretending to be a student, dummy!” Jon chided. “You are one! This is real! We’re students! And you really should try better to be one…”

Damian stood up with a frustrated look. “You can’t imagine how irritated I am with all of this!” Damian snapped at him. Jon dropped his sandwich in surprise.

“When I was a toddler I was already taught resourcefulness and independence, to get what I need by myself. Under my father, he taught me the same, but also ingenuity, and not a small measure of willpower! Now, these…children,” Damian spat the last word out. “They expect their hands to be held at every turn. And they’re praised for it! Even you consent to it!”

Jon knew Damian wasn’t really angry at him. Damian directed his fury to the sky, the floor, and the horizon, as if he blamed the whole world for its shortcomings. Damian wanted Jon there to listen…and that’s exactly what he knew Damian needed.

“Damian…” Jon stood up beside Damian and joined him in staring at the landscape below them. They could see the school parking lot and the main road leading back to downtown Metropolis. Students milled around the grounds and some of the younger kids ran around chasing each other.

“You know, the whole point of school is to hold hands…” Jon began. He grabbed Damian’s hand until their fingers intertwined, and then raised it in front of them.

“W—what are you on about?” Damian asked. If Jon hadn’t known any better, he could’ve sworn that Damian gulped.

“Sure, school teaches us…stuff…” Jon said with a cheerful tone. “But even you’d say that all the things they teach us in class are stuff you can look up online—or read in books,” Jon hastily added after seeing Damian’s disapproving look.

“But the whole point of being in a place with all these other kids learning the same things is that, you also get to see and learn stuff books will never tell you.”

“And pray tell, what are those?” Damian scoffed, his hand still clasped in Jon’s and growing warmer.

“It’s hard to explain…” Jon mused as he stuck his tongue out in thought. “But it’s a lot like our hands, see? We both have the same hands, but when we put them together…”

“We have two hands. Amazing,” Damian said flatly.

“No, dummy!” Jon insisted, shaking their combined hands emphatically. “It’s bigger together, is my point! Learning together with others is better than learning alone because you get a lot more learning done by seeing how everyone else gets it.”

“What…?” Damian asked, completely confused.

Jon stuck his tongue out again. “You get to see how what you learn is important to other people by how they learn it. Like say, Pete? His family has a farm like we used to before, so when we learned about proteins and stuff in science the other day, remember he said that they grow crops with that? Now with Gene, he’s in the track and field team, so he could be interested in that because remember, they gotta have a diet in the team.”

“Okay…?” Damian replied slowly.

“Damian…what’s the point of knowing a lot of things?” Jon asked patiently

“Knowledge is power…an advantage over your enemies,” Damian said confidently.

“No…knowledge isn’t just a sword you swing at bad guys Damian…the things you learn only matter if you know how they matter to other people. And if you know what matters to other people, only then can you help them,” Jon finished and then looked straight into Damian’s eyes.

Damian tried to hold his gaze, but something in his eyes—and frankly his gut—made him feel awkward and he chose to stare at the floor instead.

“You sound like your dad,” Damian said simply.

“It took me a while to understand that when he talked to me, to be honest,” Jon said with a grin. “I asked him why I still have to go to school when he’s Superman and I’m Superboy anyway. So he gave me this whole lecture, and I just gave it to you.”

“So…” Damian started to say, “when you study, you try to see how it’ll be useful when it comes to helping people?”

“I guess…?” Jon replied, wondering where this was leading.

“Did you study me?” Damian asked in a small voice. “Is this what you’ve learned? How to help me? Because I’ll have you know that I don’t—!”

Jon gripped Damian’s hand tighter and placed it on his chest. It promptly shut Damian up.

“You’re my friend, Damian,” Jon said with a fond smile. “You can’t stop me from wanting to help you. And I always will even if you think you don’t need it.”

“Is holding my hand really part of helping me?” Damian said finally.

“Did it help?” Jon asked.

“Yeah…it did.”