🐉☀️ "This Wasn't in the Protocol, Kent" (A not-so-typical adventure starring Jon, Damian… and kryptonite with side effects)
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It was a quiet afternoon in the Batcave. Damian sat on one of the lab benches, going over the results of a ballistic autopsy while Alfred passed a tray of tea. Everything in order. Everything calm.
And then Jon walked in.
"Damiaaaan!" he sang, smiling wider than his entire face.
Damian barely looked up.
"What do you want, farmboy?"
"Nothing… just…" Jon launched himself at Damian with overwhelming force and hugged him like an oversized ragdoll. "You're sooo soft!!"
Damian fell backwards to the floor, crushed beneath the warm, muscled weight of his teenage Kryptonian friend. He squirmed—but Jon was spooning him. In the Batcave. With Alfred watching. The horror.
"KENT, HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!" he growled, trying to wriggle free. "GET OFF ME RIGHT NOW!"
"Nuh-uh…" Jon mumbled dreamily, burying his face in Damian’s neck. "You smell like mint and repressed violence… it brings me peace."
Damian froze. The level of humiliation was unspeakable.
"You smell like solar barn, you idiot!"
From the stairs, Alfred cleared his throat politely.
"Might I presume this has something to do with the pink kryptonite fragment I found glowing on the hangar floor, Master Kent?"
Damian’s eyes shot open. He craned his neck just enough to spot a tiny sliver of pink kryptonite stuck to Jon’s cape, right behind his ear.
"DAMN IT!" Damian yelled. "WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?!"
"Found it in the hangar… and then…" Jon purred against his chest, "I saw you… and it was like… boom. Look at that perfect little psycho face! And then I hugged you. So hard. And now I don’t wanna let goooo..."
"I AM NOT A STUFFED ANIMAL, KENT! GET OFF ME! YOU'RE LIKE A HORNED-UP SAINT BERNARD!"
Jon didn’t move. He just nuzzled his cheek against Damian’s and whispered:
"You and me… we should live on a farm. You, me, Titus… and a thousand goats. And chickens. And bees. And—"
"I’M GOING TO TAKE YOU APART WITH MY BARE HANDS."
Eventually, Alfred calmly approached with lead-lined gloves, gently removed the pink stone from Jon’s suit, and within three seconds, Jon’s eyes refocused.
"...What? Why am I on the floor? Why am I hugging you?"
Damian shoved him away like he was radioactive.
"STAY AWAY FROM ME, YOU SUPER-POWERED FARM ANIMAL!"
Jon stood up, rubbing the back of his head, still puzzled. Alfred had already sealed the kryptonite fragment in a lead container.
"I believe it was the pink kryptonite, Master Kent. Side effects: disinhibited physical affection and temporarily altered orientation."
Damian wiped his neck with a handkerchief.
"And annihilated dignity."
Jon smiled that sunshine-of-summer smile of his.
"Well, now I know you’re huggable."
Damian growled.
"Say that again and you’ll wake up blindfolded in a Tibetan monastery filled with murder cats."
He would never admit it but…
…that night, Damian sat in silence, gently petting Titus, remembering—just faintly—the warmth of the most ridiculous hug in the world. Maybe. Just maybe. It wasn’t so bad.
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