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Jon trudges into his house, kicking his boots off at the door. Middle school is the worst, and he hates it and he wants to quit, because it’s not fair. Damian doesn’t have to go to school. He just gets to run around being a superhero all the time. He bets that Damian’s algebra teacher doesn’t pick on him, or call him a dreamer, just because he doesn’t understand how to solve for X. It’s not that Jon wasn’t paying attention it’s just that . . . math is hard. He likes English, and words and feelings, and math doesn’t feel useful at all.
Except then Jon gets a kind of angry thought. None of Damian’s teachers probably pick on him, because Damian probably gets math. Damian just understands everything because he’s oh so perfect and his mom was like, the assassin queen, or whatever.
That’s about the time Jon hears voices in the kitchen. He focuses on his super hearing, trying to discern who they are. One is clearly his mom, and then the other-
“Connor!”
He practically flies down the hall and around the corner, tackling his big brother where he sits at the dining room table.
“Oof,” Connor says, catching him against his chest and then squeezing him until Jon sputtered out the last of his air. “You’ve gotten pretty strong, bud.”
“Thanks,” Jon wheezes as Connor releases him. Jon slides to the floor, and lays partly under the table while he catches his breath.
“Connor, please try not to break your little brother,” Lois says from Connor’s other side. She elbows Connor a little bit.
“Hey, he’s tough,” Connor says.
“Yeah I’m tough!”
Lois peaks underneath the table, and then nudges Jon’s side with her shoe. Jon jerks and giggles. He’s always been the ticklish sort.
“Super tough,” Lois says. Jon scrabbles up to Connor’s side of the table and peers across with a pouty accusation that just makes Lois laugh. As he does so he notices that there’s a photo album spread out on the table.
“What’s this?” Jon asks, pulling one close to him. Inside there are a bunch of horribly dressed kids from the 80s smiling at the camera. They’re standing in a barn . . . A barn that Jon recognizes as Ma and Pa’s place.
“Photos from when your father and I were young,” Lois says. “Connor was curious.”
Connor coughs into his fist and looks off to the side. This peeks Jon’s interest, Connor is never embarrassed about anything, he’s too cool for that.
“Why did you want to look at pictures of Dad and Mom,” Jon says, flipping through a book. There’s a really bad prom one, where Clark has the worst 80s hair Jon’d ever seen, and he’d seen pictures of Dick back in the day. Lois looks at Connor, and waits for him to answer. Connor sighs, scratches the back of his head, and then looks at Jon out of the corner of his eye.
“Well, I was uh, asking Lois about-”
“Just call her mom,” Jon cuts in. It makes him nervous when Connor won’t say Mom, like maybe that sort of disconnect will bleed over to Jon, and then Connor won’t want to be his brother anymore. He knows that Connor wasn’t raised with their family, and that he didn’t get along with Dad at first, but now he’s here, and Jon won’t give him up for the world.
“Let him use whatever makes him comfortable, Jon,” Lois chides, reaching around Connor to bop Jon on the head gently.
“No, it’s fine, uh Mom,” Connor says. Now he’s really blushing, up to the tips of his ears. “Sorry bud, it’s just, you know, force of habit.” He reaches over and ruffles Jon’s hair. Lois tries to hide how wide her smile is behind an elegant fold of her hand, but nothing can hide the smile lines beside her eyes. Jon preens proudly, and remembers the family motto. The house of El: stronger together. Jon rarely feels stronger then when he proves the El name true.
“Anyways, I was asking Mom about what she and Cl-Dad used to do together. Tim’s been really swamped with work the last few weeks, and I was thinking it’d be nice to do something, uh you know, special for him,” Connor finishes, rubbing the back of his head, and looking off to the side while a bright blush coated his cheeks.
Jon grumbles, resting his head on the table.
“You’re so lucky that your Robin is nice,” he says with a pout. Connor sits up in his chair and waves his hands in a great big ‘no’ gesture.
“Woah, woah, woah, first let’s get one thing straight. Tim is not nice. I don’t know if I’ve met anyone who’s more jaded and bitter than Tim. Second off, what makes you so pouty about Robins?” Conner asks. Jon puffs out his cheeks, and then slowly blows all the air out. It ruffles the photo albums on the table.
“Tim is nice though,” Jon says, dodging the question.
“Tim has an amazing heart, a mind that is built for understanding complex sympathies, but he’s not nice. There’s nothing surface or polite about him . . . Or any of the Robins for that matter,” Connor says. He watches Jon with a careful, scrutinizing gaze that isn’t natural to Connor’s easy going sensibilities. “They’ve got Icarus complexes, all of ‘em. It’s where the wings come from. Even Damian has his wings. He doesn’t really think about the collateral, kinda naïve maybe, but he has big plans and is determined to make them come true.”
“I just don’t see why he has to be so mean,” Jon says. Some part of him realizes that he’s just misplacing his anger at school. It’s not fair of him to throw accusations at Damian just because he’s mad, even though it’s easy and true, and Damian is mean, and arrogant, and a real prick in general.
Connor looks helplessly at Lois. Lois pats him on the shoulder, tapping in.
“Jon, not everyone has been blessed with the same privileges and advantages you have. Damian is, oh what’s the word, he’s not abrasive, it’s a little more poignant than that,” Lois says. Connor hums.
“It’s like, instead of being sand paper, he’s just a bunch of glass,” Connor says. Lois snaps her fingers and points at Connor.
“Yes, glass, he’s sharp! Damian’s heart has a lot of broken pieces that he forces together because somewhere out there is a promise that one day it’ll all work out. He’s starved for attention and affection,” Lois says. Jon rolls his eyes.
“What, so if I give him a hug whenever he throws a fit, he’ll stop being such a troll?”
Connor and Lois look at each other and then shrug.
“He doesn’t have any kryptonite in his utility belt does he?” Connor asks.
“Not that I know of,” says Jon.
“Then, yeah. That might actually work.”
Jon stares at the both of them for a moment before he gets up from the table.
“That’s dumb,” Jon says. If hugging Damian would solve his problems, he should be better. After all, it’s not like he’s never gotten a hug before. . . Right? His family must hug him. Jon can’t imagine a family that doesn’t hug, at least once a day.
“Well it won’t’ solve all his problems, but it’s a start,” Lois says, in a soft, gentle voice. Jon freezes for a moment. His mother rarely sounds genuinely sad. She’s the kind of woman who, when she sees something tragic, or terrible, writes about it. She exposes it. She finds something she can do to make it better. Sadness doesn’t become her. She is so rarely helpless. But here she is, looking out the kitchen window like the world is ending just beyond it.
Jon trudges off to his room to do the math homework he hates, but in the back of his mind, he works what is mother said over and over.
. . .
“You fools! I was not aware that this team was both weak and incompetent! When I say preform exit move gamma, I do not mean at your earliest convenience, I mean-”
Damian is red in the face, yelling at his strike team. Connor had let them in on a Young Justice mission that took a sharp turn for the worse. Damian’s team looks varying levels of wearied, and frustrated. No one is unbloodied, and if Jon had to guess, they probably all just want to lay down somewhere. Jon watches for a moment, and then remembers what his mother said. He walks over to Damian. Damian holds out a hand, as if to say, I’ll listen when I’m done here. Jon ignores it. Instead he wraps his arms around Damian’s middle and hefts him up in the air. The two years he’s known Damian has only heightened their height difference. Jon hit puberty and has been growing like a weed. He’s able to pick Damian up a good few inches.
Damian’s yelling shuts off immediately. He practically dissolves into a fit of sputtering.
“There, there,” Jon says.
“What are you-put me down this instant!” Damian screeches. Now he tries to kick and wiggle is way free, but Jon is stronger than he is. He just holds tight and spins them around a little bit. Damian’s face is bright red, even his ears are glowing. Jon thinks it’s kind of funny, and nice. Damian’s skin is dark enough that the blush doesn’t come off splotchy or angry, it dissipates beneath his skin.
“Not until you’re not angry anymore,” Jon says. Damian pushes at Jon’s face, trying to pull himself free. Jon just flips his hold so he’s holding Damian upside down for a few seconds before turning him right side up again. Damian blinks, sufficiently stunned by Jon’s man-handling.
The other heroes watch in fascination.
“My mom says he’s only mean because he’s attention starved,” Jon explains. Damian squawks again, and renews his efforts to struggle away from Jon. “Stop that,” Jon orders. “Accept my affection.”
“This is lunacy I am not ‘attention starved!’ How dare you spread such lies!” Damian shouts. The others on his strike team snicker and then, one by one, they dissipate. Jon decides he wants ice cream.
“C’mon Damian,” Jon says, readjusting his grip, so both of Damian’s arms are free as they head towards the cafeteria. When they are out of sight from anyone else, Damian deflates, resting his arms on Jon’s shoulders.
“Where are we going?” he asks. It takes Jon a second to realize he said ‘we.’ Damian is willing to go wherever Jon wants. Jon smiles to himself.
“To get ice cream,” he says.
“I demand chocolate.”
“With lots of sprinkles and those sour gummy worms?”
“And cookie dough. Obviously. . . I can walk on my own, by the way.”
“Are you gonna yell some more?”
“No but I am going to kick your ass.”
Jon has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He makes a mental note to thank his mother.