Chapter Text
The sun was falling upon his pale skin, showcasing his freckles and the big grin he had on his face, he didn't know why, did not understand why, but he was laughing, freely, the sound was strange, even to his own ears, a sound he didn't recognize, not from himself, never from himself, he heard laughter before, in so many voices, shapes and form, but the sound never escaped his own lips. The farm could be seen from afar, his mom was standing on the doorstep, smiling from ear to ear and there was someone right in front of Jon, his dad, smiling softly, caressing his black, wavy hair, his fingers running through Jon's hair so fondly, all of them seemed happy, so impossibly happy, his dad's face seemed somewhat blurry, though, but they were playing something, a hand-clapping game, for some reason, Jon's face was sore and aching from smiling so much; the world seemed bright and alive for the first time, he was living, actually living, not merely existing, his life had and held meaning for once, that was exactly what he always wanted, his only wish, to be a real family, to be a normal kid, a normal human being, to be happy.
Even Conner was there, his dad's clone, smiling at him from the distance and laughing softly, all at the same time, waving his hand, his big brother, supposedly, not looking at him warily anymore, not looking at him like he was a whole stranger in the apartment Clark Kent and Lois Lane owned, no, not anymore, they were family, they were Jon's and they were absolutely perfect, his heart was whole for the first time in his entire life, no longer a void waiting to be filled. He was whole and he was happy, his purple eyes were sparkling like they had stars inside of them.
He heard his dad's voice, asking him, while they still played: "Are you okay, Jonno?"
And he was, he really was, more than ever, but... Clark never called him Jonno, he was just Jon, that didn't seem right, that wasn't right, he wasn't Jonno, he was Jon or simply Jonathan; he had never been called that before, his dad's face became blurrier, Conner's laughter started fading in the background, his mom's body could no longer be seen standing on the doorstep, smiling at their direction.
Jon extended his arms the way only a starfish could, wanting to hold onto his dad, this moment, this happiness, but they were fading away, even the farm; covered in mist, he heard his own voice, small and young, so impossibly young, younger than usual, calling out for them, pleading for them to stay, but they didn't stay, they didn't have any reason to do so, now, did they?
Jon knew, since the moment he first gained consciousness, that he wasn't someone worth staying for, because he wasn't the normal child they wished for him to be, he wasn't the normal child he so badly wanted to be. He was physically and mentally incapable of feeling actual, tangible happiness, this, whatever this was, wasn't real, wasn't him, but he wanted it to be real so badly, more than anything, so much that he could feel his own chest hurting, aching, impossibly heavy.
His face was feeling wet all of sudden, he wasn't smiling anymore, he dropped his arms to his sides, didn't reach out any longer, there was no point, that wasn't real, that wasn't him, because he was broken and he wasn't... Whoever this was, the real Jonathan Kent was not happy, he wasn't normal, he didn't smile, didn't laugh and he never, never, not even once, played hand-clapping games with his dad, Clark Kent would have been over the moon, had that ever been the case, exactly as Lois would have been.
That wasn't real.
It was time to wake up.
Jon finally snapped his purple eyes open, and that was the moment he understood why his face was feeling so wet, there were tears running down his face, he raised a finger, tapping the skin around his eyes, hand shaking, fingers trembling like a leaf, he was still crying, after all, he probably never stopped, he had been dreaming all along, even if he had never dreamed of something like that before. He blinked, his eyes were swollen, they were burning, aching, he slowly sat down on his bed, the sun was peeking through the window he forgot to close, falling upon his pale skin and his face, he looked at the space-themed clock hanging on the wall, the clock marked exactly six o'clock in the morning and he had been staying up all night, crying, he remembered falling sleep at five o'clock, that meant he had only been sleeping for an hour, no more, no less.
He should have been relieved, he thought, because he was finally capable of feeling something other than anger, but... He wasn't relieved, because sadness turned out to be a feeling he did not like in the slightest, he shouldn't have been basically praying his life away to feel something so consuming, so heavy.
It was taking a physical toll on his body, his eyes were burning terribly, and they were itchy, his heart was feeling heavy inside his chest, his throat was itchy, too, every single time he swallowed, he couldn't help but feel like he was straight up swallowing shards of glass, ripping his throat as they went down, he couldn't help himself as he brought his hands to his neck, scratching, pulling on the skin, almost like he was gasping for air.
And he spent the whole night like that, crying, hugging the pillow for some reason he didn't even understand, as if he had almost been seeking for comfort, but that didn't make sense, because Jon never needed to be comforted in his entire life, he never cried before, not even the exact same moment he had been born.
Clark and Lois always said he never cried that day and he definitely wasn't the type to cry now, but... He remembered last night so vividly, the heavy, impossibly heavy, invisible weight of loneliness falling right above his shoulders and Damian never went to sleep last night, his soft snoring, the only thing that Jon looked forward to every night, his own personal music box, not like the one his dad gave him when he was five years old and had issues sleeping, Damian's soft snoring actually worked, the blood son of Bruce Wayne didn't know, but they went to sleep together every single night, didn't they?
Not physically, of course not, but they did, except for last night, because Damian spent the whole night talking to the dog, he hugged the dog, his hands were almost drowning in the animal's fur, his voice was soft and vulnerable in a way Jon had never heard him speak before.
Jon opened up to him, but Damian opened up to the dog instead of him, that made sense, because no one opened up to him, not his mom, not his dad and clearly, especially, not Damian Wayne; he wasn't worth the effort, he wasn't someone worth staying for, Jon longed for Damian, but Jon knew perfectly well that the youngest Wayne saw him as a temporary asset to assist him for as long as he could, whereas the son of Clark Kent and Lois Lane was the actual leech. But the dog wasn't temporary, Damian and the rest of his family made that much clear, the dog was there to stay, another leech, feeding off Damian's blood.
Jon's purple eyes darkened at the mere thought, he didn't want to be lonely again, this was his only chance to feel something or, more exactly, his only chance to at least grasp the concept of happiness correctly, because anger was addicting, but sadness wasn't.
"What's so bad about me?" He wondered out loud, his voice was raspy, probably for crying all night long; he believed he could understand his mom and dad, now, how miserable they were every single day of their lives; because of him.
Meanwhile, Jon was feeling like this because of a dog, because he didn't want to be left behind more than he had already, because he didn't want to lose what was his and Damian, Damian Wayne was Jon's, he was meant to be his the exact moment he made him feel... Alive. "I... I never asked to be like this." He whispered so, so softly, he almost couldn't hear his own voice and he had very good hearing.
He didn't want to blame his mom or his dad, because there was no way they could have known, but more often than not, he wished they never had a child together, he wished he hadn't been born at all. And, as he slowly got off his bed, the thought only grew stronger, because now, the thought wasn't empty, the thought was covered in sorrow, purple eyes watery as he walked towards the bathroom, he knew he needed a shower, especially after what happened yesterday, after what he did and he also knew, deep down, that he could have done so much worse, but he didn't, his mom asked him to be good, ever since he got his powers; but he didn't know how to be good when he knew, deep inside his bones, that the world wasn't good or even kind to him in return.
The other kids at school asked him to kill himself everyday, laughed at him, called him names and, for what? For what? He didn't do anything, he was merely existing, but even his existence seemed to be an inconvenience for the people surrounding him, even for Clark and Lois and now, he understood, he believed he did, their pain, their sorrow. If this is how he made them feel all the time... Then, he really wished he got older, so that they could finally be free of his presence, so that they could finally be happy again, or angry at each other, he didn't know.
What he did know was that anything was an improvement over this inescapable feeling of sadness.
When the spray of cold water coming out of the shower finally hit his body, he pressed his forehead against the wall, eyes empty, as always, but his heart wasn't empty for once; the water was pooling around his feet, water dripping from his hair, the water was so, so cold... But he didn't shiver or flinch, he never did, because he was broken, now more than ever, because at some point, while he cleaned himself, rubbing the soap so hard his skin almost bled, he couldn't tell the difference between the water and the tears streaming down his face anymore.
"Are you okay, Jon?" His mom asked as soon as her purple eyes, those that mirrored his own, fell on him, a pained grimace forming on her face; he didn't know how he looked, but he did know he didn't look good at all, he didn't sleep, how could he? When Damian left him to sleep all alone, he knew his eyes were swollen, he knew he probably looked like a walking mess. "I made some pancakes." She offered, kind, trying to smile, but the smile was so fake Jon thought he wanted to throw up, even if he didn't know why.
"I'm not hungry," He almost never was, the food didn't have flavor, the food was like dirt dissolving in his mouth, had been like that since forever, but he made the effort for them every single day of their lives, but today? Today he didn't want to, today he couldn't.
He looked around the living room.
"Where is dad?" He asked then, to change the topic swiftly, approaching the refrigerator, every step took effort for some reason, his body was yelling at him to stop moving, to lay down on the bed and sleep, but he didn't want to, he couldn't, not without Damian, not anymore.
He grabbed a small juice box, apple flavor, the ones they bought for him so that he could take them to school; as that was the only drink, aside from water, that he didn't completely dislike. He pushed the straw inside the small foil hole, taking a short sip, cool, refreshing, the first sip made him realized he had been dehydrated all this time, he supposed that made sense, the second sip was longer in response, his mom only stared at him, her eyes were sharp, like she was analyzing every move he made, he didn't understand why, other than his appearance, he thought he was acting exactly the same way as he would have done every other day of the week, but Lois Lane didn't seem so convinced, she was staring, always staring, at the way he drank from the juice box, at the way he walked, his swollen eyes and his messy hair.
She then frowned, standing up from her seat at the table, she was still in her pajamas, whereas Jon was wearing a big, purple hoodie that matched his eyes and a pair of blue jeans, he didn't have to go to school that day, Lois said she still hadn't taken back her words about the lies she spread, about the family emergency they had.
Jon realized she was approaching him and, for the first time in his entire life, when he was able to feel her hand on his shoulder, probably meant to offer him some kind of comfort, he flinched, actually flinched, the juice box slipped from his hands and she, she took her hand away from his shoulder like she had been burnt, eyes widening.
"Jon," Lois pronounced his name carefully, crouching down in front of him, because he was small and she wasn't, because he was feeling vulnerable for the first time in his life and Lois Lane was or could be many, many things, but she was not weak, she wasn't vulnerable, not unless she wanted to be.
She then spoke again.
"Baby." She held his face between her hands, her eyes were watery for some reason, was she sad again?
Jon didn't know, he did know that he was sad, though, impossibly sad, because he was not normal and he would never be normal, because Damian loved the dog, Clark and Lois had each other, but Jon had no one at all, he was alone, bound to be alone forever.
But he didn't want to, perish the thought, let the thought burn forever in hell, he wasn't going to be lonely again, he couldn't, not anymore, no more.
"Don't touch me." He said, grimacing, he never said that to any of them before, but he didn't want to be touched right now, he was so tired, so... Sad, a feeling so overwhelming, so consuming, so different to anger, but not in a good way, no, in the worst way possible, instead.
He always said he would have taken anything over the void he always had consuming and taking over his heart, but maybe not anything, maybe he really was greedy, maybe he really was selfish, he didn't even understand himself or what he wanted anymore, all he knew was that he wanted Damian Wayne.
More than anything else in the entire world.
His mom didn't let go of him, she was still touching his face, still caressing his cheeks and Jon, Jon told her to stop, he told her no, why did no one ever listen to him? Especially not his mom and his dad, they thought they knew best, always.
His eyes started burning again, so much, Lois looked at him, her expression pained, like she wanted to comfort him but didn't know how, but Jon didn't want to be comforted, he didn't need to, exactly as he didn't need to be touched; his mom and dad always hugged him, he always let them, but not this time, he didn't sleep, he spent the whole night crying, he ripped a man's arm off, he had been covered in blood yesterday, from head to toe.
Damian said he was dangerous, he knew that, he was aware, but he didn't mean to, he never did; he didn't mean to do what he did this morning, he didn't mean to, he hadn't wanted to, but she didn't pull away even though he asked and his eyes, his eyes were burning so much, he saw her, the way her eyes widened, but she wasn't fast enough, of course she wasn't, she wasn't Superman, she wasn't his dad and he should have known, but he didn't.
He snapped.
"I said don't touch me!"
The beam, scarlet, hot, dangerous, hit her straight in her right shoulder, piercing her skin, the smell of burnt flesh filling the living room, his eyes, now back to their usual purple shade of color, widening, she didn't even have the time to pull away, she fell on the floor like she weighed nothing.
There was blood coming out of her shoulder, the hole in her muscle, in her skin, was about one inch wide and long, her bone was visible, the tendons, her face was pale, smoke was coming out of the open wound, she gasped in pain, but she didn't scream, not even once, like she didn't have the strength inside of her to do so, not anymore; that wasn't the blood of some random criminal, that was his mom's blood, a pool forming around her body, beneath her back, dark and thick.
Jon took a step back, a gasp escaping his own lips as he stared at the bloody scene right in front of him, something he did, he actually hurt Lois, his mom. He wanted to call out for his dad, to scream, but no sound came out, he was paralyzed, he didn't know why, he placed a hand over his own lips, trying to muffle his own gasps, the sound of his own heavy breathing.
He didn't love Lois Lane, he never did, but he also knew he didn't want to hurt her, especially not now, that he understood her sorrow, the tears that left her eyes almost everyday, because of him and now, she was bleeding, because of him.
He fell on his knees, crawling towards her, ignoring the blood staining his jeans, his purple hoodie, he was the one who grabbed her face this time around, the one who actually started the physical contact between them. "Mom?" He murmured, looking straight at her eyes that were an exact mirror of his own, they were glassy, but she wasn't crying, that didn't feel right.
That wasn't right, his mom was usually so loud, so full of life.
"It's okay," She said, but he could tell she was lying, because she was bleeding a lot and now her blood was in Jon's hands, her brown hair looked so dark right now. "It's— It's okay, baby."
"Mom," He tried to wipe the blood off her face, but the red liquid refused to come off, he tried to use the long sleeves of his hoodie, but the blood didn't come off, still, she was bleeding so much. "I—"
One of the windows broke, shards of glass flying around the living room in the apartment, the one who busted in through the window was not Clark Kent, but Superman, wearing his red and blue suit, his cape hanging off his shoulders, his blue eyes widening in horror as he saw Lois Lane's body limp on the floor, blood coming out of her shoulder, the open wound, her bare bone, visible to the naked eye, he looked at Lois, then at Jon, piercing the puzzle together inside his mind quickly.
He immediately flew towards his wife's body, one arm sliding beneath her knees, the other holding her waist tightly, she was limp in his arms, gasping, blood staining his dad's suit, his arms were shaking, he looked at Jon again, his eyes did not look angry, they looked sad, but he didn't say anything to his son, for the first time in his entire life, he flew past him, a rush of wind moving Jon's hair as his dad disappeared using the broken window, leaving him all alone in the apartment, as he flew away, Lois Lane in his arms, didn't even give his own son a second glance.
Jon looked down then, his jeans covered in blood, his hands, his mom's blood.
And, for the first time in his entire life, he almost gave in to the urge to scream, he didn't understand why he didn't feel like this last night; last night, he almost killed a man and he didn't care, not in the slightest, didn't even give the criminal bleeding out on the floor a second thought, but this, even if he didn't love her, this was his mom and, in his dream, they were happy, a real family, she had been smiling from ear to ear and now, the only sounds he remembered coming out of her were her pained gasps, not her laughter, not her voice trying to comfort him.
"I didn't mean to," He murmured, tears coming out of his eyes, for what? He didn't know, he could never know or really understand feelings. "I didn't mean to. It was an accident."
His dad came back a few hours later, found Jon still on the floor, staring at nothing at all, not crying anymore, he was merely existing, empty, as always, as he should have been, dried blood covering his hands, his nails grasping the wooden floor, blood coming out of the tips.
"She's stable, she'll be okay," He heard his dad say, but he sounded so exhausted, his feet finally placing themselves on the floor, not flying anymore, his eyes were swollen, too; he had been crying, Jon realized, and a lot. "She needed surgery," His words were said clumsily, hurt, blue eyes watery as he approached Jon carefully. "But I took her to the Titans, Raven managed to stabilize her, she'll be as good as new in a few days."
"I didn't mean to," Their son avoided looking at him, blood coming out of his nails, as he scratched the wood beneath his body. "I really didn't."
"I know, I heard you," His dad swallowed, he crouched down in front of him, stopping Jon's hands, grabbing them tightly, but gentle, still gentle after what he did, after everything. "I'm not mad, Jon."
But Jon was mad, at himself, at everything, at everyone, at the whole world. He lost his temper, he wasn't capable of handling his own feelings, he wasn't capable of controlling himself, he was dangerous, Damian said so, he knew that since the start, but he never thought he would present a threat to his mom or to his dad, he remembered Bruce Wayne's words, Damian's father, so clear and so loud inside his mind.
"He may be able to hurt others."
And then, his dad's voice.
"He would never. Jon is a good kid, Bruce."
At the end of the day, he proved Damian's dad right, didn't he? He proved him right all along, gave him every reason to be wary of him, what if he didn't allow him anywhere near his son now? And Jon realized he was a really bad person for worrying about that, when he should have been worrying about his mom, but dad said she was stable, didn't he? Said she would be as good as new in a few days, so maybe that was fine, maybe there was nothing to worry about. He blinked, looked at his hands, they were always covered in blood lately, weren't they?
Whether that blood was his or the blood of others. There was one word the other kids at his school, back in Smallville, in here, always called him, a word that always stood up from the others and he hadn't understood why, a word that ran deep inside of him, that held way more meaning compared to when they called him a maniac, occasionally, although not very often, they called him a monster, he never understood why, not really, he knew he was broken, but being broken and being a monster were two completely different things, weren't they?
But then, everyday, the line became thinner and thinner, he was one step away from crossing that line and then, what then? What was going to be left of him? What was he going to become? A monster? A villain? A murderer? The kind of person who hurt his own mom and didn't even worry about the aftermath? What would have happened if Clark hadn't arrived? He hadn't done anything to help her, didn't even try.
If his dad hadn't been here, what would have happened to her?
He heard a distant memory inside his mind, his own voice, whispering: I'm sorry.
What for? What for? Who was he even apologizing to?
"Jon," His dad called out for him, still grabbing his hands tightly, but not tight enough to hurt. He didn't understand why Clark didn't hurt him, if someone ever did anything remotely similar to Damian... He would have hurt them, badly, regardless of who they were. Because Damian was Jon's and Lois was Clark's, wasn't she? His wife, Jon's mom. "It was an accident, she told me, I heard you, okay? You were crying, did you think I wouldn't know?"
He didn't really know why he had been crying, though, but still, he nodded softly, still not returning his dad's gaze.
"Jon, your mom and I... We decided no one else can know about this," Jon's eyes widened, he thought they would tell everyone; Bruce Wayne, the entire Justice League, why didn't they? "Not the Justice League, not the government, no one."
"Why?" He genuinely wondered, they should have told on him, shouldn't they? Expose him as the danger he was perfectly aware he was, tell Bruce Wayne he was right.
"Because we love you and we need to protect you, Jon. Raven promised she wouldn't say a word, she understands what that's like... Hurting someone without meaning to," Clark licked his lips, nervous, worried, but he caressed Jon's hands, covered in his mom's blood, but his dad didn't really seem angry, he seemed sad, tired, but not angry, never angry, not at him, at least. "And you've never cried before, Jon. You care about your mom, right?"
Did he? He didn't think so, the only person he cared about was Damian and that was because he was, is, always will be, selfish.
His silence must have spoken volumes or so he thought, because his dad didn't seem to think the same.
"Jon, you won't say anything, alright? Not even to Damian, I know you consider him... Your friend or something, but you can't tell him, okay? Bruce can't know about this. Do you understand?" His dad's voice was serious, but kind, still; talking carefully, like he needed Jon to understand every word that escaped his lips.
"I understand." Jon said, relieved for some reason even when he shouldn't have, because he was a bad person and only worried about whether he would still be allowed to see Damian or not; even if he wanted to love his mom, he couldn't, even if he wanted to be a happy family, they couldn't be, not yet. "Can you..." He swallowed, throat feeling impossibly tight and dry. "Can you tell her I'm sorry?"
Was he? He didn't know, but he did feel something the moment she fell on the floor, something heavy, something that hurt, the life he had in his dreams fading away in front of him, the sound of her broken voice, her heartbeat, slow, working lazily, heavy against her rips, as she bled out in the middle of the living room; the rug absorbed a lot of the blood, even if the wooden floor was clearly dark and stained in that dry red, now.
"I don't need to," Clark smiled weakly, he let go of his son's hands, standing up slowly, assessing the state of the apartment with his blue eyes. "She knows. You're a kid, Jon, kids feel angry, sad... It's just that we weren't prepared for it, not because..." He took a deep breath. "Regardless of the reason, we'll be prepared now. You didn't mean to, sometimes our powers are hard to control."
Jon swallowed, tight, his dad continued, trying to pretend he was fine, relaxed, not worried about Lois, but everyone knew how much they loved each other; Superman and Lois Lane, the power couple. "When I was your age, I accidentally set up the farm in fire," The kid looked up, curious, he thought his dad didn't make that kind of mistakes, he thought he was the only one who didn't know how to use, as his mom would say, the gift that they had, because he was broken and wrong; always had been, always will be. "Pa never got angry, he understood I was different, that I didn't mean to, that was the moment I discovered I had heat vision."
"But I didn't destroy furniture, I hurt mom, what you're saying is different," Jon stood up slowly, as well, looking at his dad, straight in the eye, as Lois Lane always did. "We're different."
"Jon—"
"I'm not you, dad, I'll never be. And maybe... Maybe you should accept that," He looked at the broken window, the sun was bright and powerful that day, a perfect contrast to the reality of their situation. "Maybe you should accept who I am. The real me. You know, mom always says I have to be good... But what about the others? Why aren't they good to me? How is that fair?"
"Jon, don't say that..." Clark tried to reach out, but Jon smacked his hand away; at least, at least his dad he couldn't hurt, not physically.
"Damian understands. Why can't you?" He bit his lower lip, so hard he could taste the metallic flavor of his own blood, filling his tastebuds. "Do you think I wanted to be like this? All I've ever wanted is to be normal, but I'm not. I'm trying, but what if I can't? What if I'm never normal? What then?" He wanted to be, so badly, but what if he never could? Truly, he wondered, what then? What would happen then?
"We'll still love you." Tears were running down his dad's face now, he tried to approach Jon, but he took a step back, he always did, today.
"But I don't love you." Jon said, even as his eyes started burning, even as his lips started quivering.
"I know. We know. You don't have to love us, Jon." But he had to, they were his family, he wanted to, why couldn't they understand?
"But I want to." He whispered, clenching his fists together.
"We know that, too. And that's enough for us."
He didn't see Damian that day, he skipped their routine patrolling session at night.
And, for some reason, he hoped Damian Wayne wouldn't be too mad at him for that.
Jon... Jon missed him.
Monster, their voices whispered at him.
And yeah, maybe they were right about that, too.
He saw Damian on Wednesday, five days after the incident at the apartment; not because he went out looking for him, not because they were patrolling, but because Damian Wayne snuck out through the open window in his bedroom, Jon didn't even flinch, didn't blink, he turned around and stared, by now, he already knew the sound of Damian's heartbeat like he could recognize the sight of his own open palm, the same way his dad recognized his mom's heartbeat, who was now sleeping in their shared bedroom, no injury left, none at all; whatever that woman called Raven did, she made sure there wasn't even a scar on his mom's skin, almost as if nothing had ever happened to her.
She was still resting, though, recovering, Jon didn't see her much as of lately, but he did see Clark Kent, every single day of the week now, except for this one, because he was in space, said he would be back in a few hours, told him to stay put, to go to sleep, but he didn't. Jon looked at Damian, whose cape was moving behind him as he made himself comfortable in Jon's room, closing the window behind him, as if he had the right to enter his room without permission and maybe he did, have the right, he meant, if Damian was Jon's, then Jon could be his, too, if only Damian didn't spend all of his time worrying about a dog instead of him, when all Jon thought about was Damian, every single day.
"Where have you been?" Damian demanded, didn't ask, he demanded to know, frowning visible even as he wore his dark green domino mask, placing a foot on top of Jon's purple rug, surprinsingly enough, the heel cap of his green boot was clean. "I have been unable to go out on patrol because of your absence." He spat out, approaching Jon now, who was on his desk, simply staring, homework completely abandoned. "We had a deal, Kent."
"I know."
"That doesn't appear to be the case to me, we had an agreement. And I need you to do your part or we're done. You heard me? Done." Jon's eyes widened, done? What did he mean by done?
Done, done.
Done.
No, that couldn't be right, Damian was his, they couldn't simply... Be done of each other, that wasn't how their dynamic worked.
Damian snapped his gloved fingers, right by his side, now, so close that Jon could feel the weight of his cape on top of his arm, touching his pale skin. "Do your part or I will find someone else to be my partner."
Someone else.
No, he couldn't find someone else.
He wasn't going to.
Jon wasn't going to let him.
"No." He said, cold, serious, and Damian's eyes widened, taken off guard.
"No?" He asked, raising his voice, angry, clearly, but Jon couldn't care less about that.
He threw away his domino mask, showing Jon his enraged eyes, those that screamed bloody murder.
"No." Jon stood up, threw the chair far away from them, the chair went against the wall and broke in pieces, the small wheels falling all over the rug, Damian did not flinch, of course he didn't, but his heartbeat was faster, now, he was angry, clenching his fists. "We're not done, Damian."
"That is not your choice to make!" The blood son of Bruce Wayne snapped, grabbing Jon by the collar of his pajamas, strongly, meant to hurt. "That is mine. I have been doing my part, you are the one who bailed on me. Like a fucking coward! I said I wanted to go on patrol, you were the partner I chose and you dared to bail on me!"
They were so close to each other, now, staring right at each other's eyes, purple and green; pure emerald and amethyst.
Jon's very own heartbeat was fast, too, he was angry, Damian wasn't the only one; he was so, so angry, Damian always managed to make him feel that way, more than Lois had achieved that day, more than Clark, more than anyone. That was exactly why they couldn't simply be done, this was not temporary for Jon, this, this was forever; like Damian's dog, like the leech he was, feeding off Damian's blood. He wasn't going to be lonely again, he wasn't going to be locked up in this apartment, by his own accord, for the rest of his life, not anymore, not ever.
"You need me," Jon said, because the two of them knew that was true. "Who are you going to find, Damian? Mom and dad don't accept me. Does your dad accept you? Do you think I don't know?" He grabbed Damian by the collar of his Robin suit, pressing down, hard, but Damian didn't move, didn't give up, didn't stand down, even when Jon had the power to snap his neck like a twig. "They gave you a dog because they think you did a good job, but you covered for me."
Damian grimaced, understanding dawning upon his features. "You were listening on me."
Jon lowered his gaze, there was no turning back from this now. "Yes," He confessed, finally, not even flinching as Damian's hands were on his neck, now, not holding his pajamas, not anymore. "We need each other, Damian. That's a fact."
"You were listening on me! How could you?! That is my life, my privacy! Do you think having superpowers gives you the right to do whatever the fuck you want?! This is real life!" The pressure on Jon's neck became tighter, his face paler than usual, but he didn't let go of Damian, even as he snapped, as he screamed at him, he never let go. "Real life has consequences, you moron! You were my partner!"
"I still am," Jon said, weakly, his grip becoming less strong, but still there, heavy, real. "You can't replace me, Damian. And I can't replace you."
Damian clenched his teeth together, the sound impossibly loud in Jon's ears, clenching, pressing down, hurting. "Fuck you!"
"Damian," Jon laughed for the first time in his whole life, an humorless, broken laugh escaping his lips, he was feeling like he was losing his mind, right then and there, even as Damian was basically choking the life out of him. "You are the only one who managed to make me feel something and... I can't let you go, Damian, not after that. I don't know why you are the only one who makes me feel." He looked up again, at those green eyes, so fierce, so full of anger. "But you are and we can't change that. Picture this for me: Your whole life, empty, radio silence, not being able to feel anything. Kids laughing around you, crying, smiling, throwing a fit. Your mom and your dad, crying everyday, trying to convince themselves you're not broken, but you know you are. If you suddenly found a goddamn goldmine, someone that actually made you feel something, someone that didn't look at you like you were wrong just for existing... Wouldn't you want that? Wouldn't you need that?"
Damian Wayne, for once, actually stayed silent, didn't retort. "I need you, Damian, but you need me, too. You want your dad to accept you, right?" Jon's voice broke. "I want that, too. I want my mom and dad to accept me. I want to be normal! That's all I've ever wanted!"
The grip on his own throat became tighter for a few seconds, but then, Damian, his Damian, let go of him, scoffing, pushing Jon away from him, crossing his arms over his chest, his breath was heavy, shallow, his entire body, smaller than Jon's, was shaking, from anger, from something else he didn't understand.
"Your eyes are not empty right now," The other kid murmured, clicking his tongue, Jon didn't know, he couldn't look at himself right now. "You are fucked up, Kent. Really fucked up."
The son of Clark Kent and Lois Lane nodded, grim. "I know."
"We can't never be normal, Jon," That was the first time Damian ever called him by his name, his purple eyes widened, his name held meaning in Damian's voice, something deeper. "That's not how things work. Maybe you are the one who needs to accept that, as I have. There is no such thing as normalcy in this world. Do you genuinely think your father is normal?" The youngest Wayne laughed, mocking, but honest. "He is a fucking alien."
Jon didn't say anything, how could he? He was right, he was right in every sense of the word.
Who was the one who didn't really accept him? His mom and dad? Or himself? The line was so thin, he didn't know anymore.
Maybe they didn't accept him and he didn't manage to accept himself for who he was, either.
"How much did you hear?" Damian asked, walking across the room, staring, at the space-themed clock, at the music box, his gloved fingers touching everything he saw, curious.
"Not enough, not... Everything," He closed his eyes for a moment. "I wanted to respect you, I wanted you to tell me yourself. I... Wanted you to open up to me, the way I opened up to you. I only heard about the dog," The lie rolled off his tongue, convincing, enough for Damian's shoulders to finally relax. "I was... I thought maybe you would say something about what happened that day, I promise that's all." He didn't say that they were sleeping together every night, he didn't say how much he actually knew, because he wasn't lying about one part; he did want Damian Wayne to open up to him.
"Do not listen on me, ever again, or I'll murder you, Jon," Damian meant every word, he knew that, by the timbre in his voice, by the way his heart rate became slower, calm now. "That's a promise. And I am not the type to break my promises, unlike a certain someone around here."
"Yeah, I know," Somehow, he did know, like he knew Damian already.
He needed him so badly, he wanted him.
He was no one without him.
"Father and I had an argument," His purple eyes widened, was he... Opening up to him? To Jon, of all people? Damian was so reserved usually, didn't talk much, not even to his family. "I was raised by the League of Assassins. I killed a lot of people, I killed animals, every type you can think of. I dismembered people." He remembered the arm, his mom bleeding out on the floor, her bone visible. "And I enjoyed every second. I did not regret a single thing, I did not think about their families, I did not think about anything but making my mother and my grandfather proud."
"Damian..." The youngest Wayne didn't look at him, he was touching the keyboard of Jon's computer, the only piece of technology, along his gaming console, that he was allowed to own, he didn't have a phone, like Damian and the other kids his age probably did.
"Father wishes I was different, he does not want me killing people, but what if that's all I know? It's my legacy," Damian let out a laugh, mocking, angry. "And look at you, I just told you I have killed and dismembered people in cold blood, and you do not care."
Jon shaked his head, softly, not angry anymore, but he was trying to understand, Damian was actually opening up to him; the first person who ever opened up to Jon was him.
"The man whose arm you ripped off," He said, tapping his keyboard, slowly. "He is dead. I wanted to tell you that, but you were absent."
Jon's heart stopped working for a second, he stared at Damian, shocked, actually shocked. "I killed him?" He asked, then, he looked at his hands, imagined the blood in there, thick and red, imagined the smell.
"I believe so, yes."
He closed his purple eyes, he... He thought the man was going to be fine, he thought the ambulance, the medical staff, he thought they were going to be able to fix the damage he did.
Monster.
Yeah... Yeah, he was one.
But the man touched what was his and Jon responded, Jon... He didn't do anything wrong, did he? What was he? A villain? A monster? What was Jon?
Who is he?
Somehow, he knew he was going to ask himself that very same question for years.
He didn't even feel remorse over what he did, not even when Damian looked at him, straight in the eye and told him the man was dead, because of him.
"I... I don't really care," He told Damian and the other kid smirked. "He..." Touched you, is what he did not say.
"I am aware."
Damian walked across the room, but not towards Jon, no, he walked straight towards his bed, laying down, didn't even bother to remove his boots. Jon's heart started beating fast, now.
"What are you doing?" He asked, watching Damian as he stretched his arms over his head, taking all of the space in Jon's bed.
"Crashing here for the night. You owe me, Kent. Sleep on the floor, I am taking the bed, Father can track me down if he wishes to do so, but me being here is not something he'll be upset about."
Damian Wayne was on his bed, inside his room, asking Jon to sleep on the floor of his own room, after they almost killed each other, after Damian almost choked him to death, after Jon felt the urge to snap his neck and just hurt him, over and over again.
Something inside him changed that night.
Jon couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, placing a hand over his lips, trying to muffle his laughter, as Damian raised an eyebrow at him and stared at him like he had definitely lost his mind.
"You almost killed me," He said, feeling light all of sudden, laughing, genuine laughter for the first time in his entire life, his shoulders were shaking, his body was starting to feel warm all over. "And I almost... I almost killed you."
Damian smirked and then, slowly, laughter came out of his lips, too. "Please, you were not even close. Me, though? I could have killed you in the blink of an eye."
Jon sat down on the floor, still laughing, he couldn't stop, tears were coming out of his eyes, but not because of sadness this time.
He felt so impossibly light, so warm.
He wanted to stay like that forever.
If only life had been that easy.
"There are rumors around here," The figure wearing the red helmet said, moving a gun between his hands, staring at the man in front of him; his posture was relaxed, one leg over the other, he was resting his back against the wall of the alley they were in, he had a brown leather jacket on. "Rumors say that you know the new Robin's name."
"Yes, I... But I haven't told anyone, Red Hood! I promise! But I can tell you! I have the information! I... I heard it. The one who did this to me said his name!"
"Is that so?" The voice was robotic, a voice changer inside the helmet; deep and taunting. "What's the name, then? Who's Robin? Come on, don't get all shy on me."
"His name's Damian! I swear! I wouldn't lie to you! I just... I just want revenge!"
The man was on his knees, he didn't have an arm anymore, of course he didn't, not since Superboy used his palm to rip it off his body, there were bandages all over his body to try and cover the damage, but he barely made it out alive.
He remembered Robin, Superboy's red eyes, burning his skin.
"Huh," Red Hood suddenly laughed, surprised. "You really do know his name. Well, shit, that's a problem."
He pointed the gun to the man's head.
"You see," Red Hood explained, taking the safety off, the man's eyes widened. "I have a lot of codes, but I'll tell you the two I like the most: One, I don't kill or harm children." He softly pressed his finger against the trigger.
"And two," He followed, as the man started trembling and tried to run away, but Jason Todd was faster, as he put a foot over his back. "I protect my family."
He shot.
The sound of the bullet firing sounded all over Crime Alley.
Jason Peter Todd then walked away, taking the gun with him, as blood came out of the man's head, brain matter all over the floor, he kicked the body away, no respect for the dead, his combat boots stained with blood as he walked and disappeared through the darkness of the alley.