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(´▽`)/
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seen from United States
seen from New Zealand
seen from China
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seen from United States
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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(´▽`)/
“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.”
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.
And you’ve got a smile that could light up this whole town
Jondami week day 2: Justice Lords
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
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.”