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Damian rests his feet on the massive desk in front of him, a tablet in his hands. Well, ‘rests’ isn’t exactly the right word. It’s much more aggressive than that. His heels dig in the table before him as he balances himself on the edge of his chair, only two legs on the floor. The Batcave is empty except for the boy in a chair that’s so much bigger than him it almost swallows him whole. The only light in the room comes from the giant computer screen that sits on the desk. Everything disproportionately large for the cave’s current inhabitant. Jon stares at him from the doorway beaming with Alfred behind him, eyes permanently rolled back into his head in annoyance.
“Master Damian,” He says communicating as much sass as he can into his monotone voice.
“Pennyworth,” Damian fixates his gaze on Jon, “I see you brought a guest. However unwanted.”
Jon’s smile somehow grows larger. “Oh come on Dami you know you love me.” He sing-songs as he bounces his way over to the desk.
“I could explain how wrong you are. In order of either priority or alphabetically. Your choice.”
“Priority please.”
Damian glares over his tablet. “Well, at this moment the most pressing is you calling me ‘Dami’.”
Jon makes his way closer and pokes Damian’s cheek. Or, rather, attempts to. Damian swats his hands away with a scowl. Jon’s eyes focus on the Robin and his eyebrows draw together.
“Bad day?” he asks, genuinely concerned.
“No,” Damian’s response is short and clipped and wrong. Jon had spent enough time with him to know. Exactly 7 years 2 months and 14 days. Jon keeps track just in case. In case of what? He doesn’t know. But the important part is that he knows when Damian is lying even when it’s to himself. Especially when it’s to himself.
“You big grump,” Jon murmurs to himself, hands on his hips. “Let’s do something fun.”
“We can’t go on patrol just yet-“
“Patrol is not fun, dummy.”
Damian sneers. “You just cut me off. I am wiser, more intelligent, better trained, and older-“
“But not taller,” Jon says pointedly looking at the ground. Almost if he knew he was on the verge of being murdered.
Instead, Damian drops the tablet into his lap. Jon peers over his shoulder and sees what looks like the inner workings of some important software that Jon has never encountered. Even in his time at Damian’s side. Damian drops his head against the back of the chair with a thud.
“I have work to do Kent.”
Jon scrunches his face up. “Dami...”
“Damian.” The Robin corrects.
Jon huffs and rolls his eyes. “Well then, Damian. I guess I should leave you to brood like the bat you are.”
Damian stares at the ceiling teeth grinding together as Jon puts his hands in his pockets and begins to walk away.
“Kent,” Damian says swinging his feet off of the table, spinning the chair with the momentum. “I could…”
Jon watches the older teen in front of him struggle. Damian stands backlit by the light from the screen, his hair freshly cut. The edges shaved down and a pile of dark spikes on his head. Jon had always wondered how they managed to stay in place while looking so soft. After years of sleepovers, John knew that the spikes were never tamed. Even when Damian rubs the sleep from his eyes when no one is looking, quietly yawning into his hand bruises covering his arms from the fight the day before.
Jon knows that Damian sleeps light as a feather if he ever sleeps at all, but Jon likes to think that it helps when he’s there. Not next to him. Not pressed shoulder to shoulder, but there in the room where Damian can hear his breath. He likes to think that he’s the only one who really gets to see the scowl on Damian’s face melt. Leaving him relaxed, giving him a youth that was so forcibly stolen from him.
“I-,” Damian starts but his voice sounds weak in his own ears, with a grumble he tries again, “I wouldn’t mind some company.”
Jon smiles at him. A smile he knows that Damian loves. He can tell by the speed of his heartbeat and the lack of tension in his shoulders. Jon waltzes back over to his partner coming as close as he can. Damian’s eyes widen and follow him as he moves. The deafening sound of Damian’s heart slowly speeding up. The red tips of his ears highlighted by the light behind him.
He goes stiff as Jon reaches past him, hand brushing his arm. “I am honored to be that company,” Jon says directly into his ear, smile palpable in his voice.
Damian hears a click behind him and the speakers in the cave come alive with a boom. Jon leans back as music fills the air around them. “I have an idea,” he says.
Damian regains his composure as he watches the pale blue light of the computer wash out the color of Jon’s face. Jon’s face, that was always rosy and smiling and there. Always. A constant in Damian’s life. The first constant, the first one worth anything important. One that felt safe, secure and as much as Damian hated to admit it, like home.
Guitar booms throughout the room. Jon bounces on his heels to the beat. “You like it?”
Damian rolls his eyes. A smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “No.”
“Oh come on Dames! It’s Mr. Brightside! Who doesn’t like Mr. Brightside?”
“Me.”
Jon scoffs and it sounds wrong coming out of his mouth. Damian must be rubbing off on him. The idea leaves Damian oddly satisfied and uncomfortably warm.
“It’s probably just cause you’ve never heard it before,” Jon says swaying to the music. “If I know you at all, you don’t like anything you don't know about.”
“Don’t know about?” Damian repeats crossing his arms and juts out his hip, eyes narrowing.
“What? Jamming to The Killers up in those mountains were you?”
I just can’t look it’s killing me.
“Dames it’s almost the chorus, come over here!”
“No.”
Taking control.
Jon swoops forward using his super-speed, which is cheating and grabs Damian’s hands. He starts to swing their connected arms back and forth like a middle-aged mother trying to get her grumpy 13-year-old to dance at the annual family get together. Jon spins Damian under his arm.
“If you’re going to dance this uncoordinated at least move to the beat.”
Jon pulls Damian into his chest with a breathy laugh. “Never,” he says. Hot air spilling onto Damian’s shoulder. “Dance with me.”
Jon weaves his pale fingers through Damian’s tanned calloused ones pulling them apart once more, an arms-length away. Jon smiles his blue eyes crinkling at the edges as he tightens his hand. He starts to shift his feet to the music encouraging Damian to do the same. Begrudgingly Damian twists his feet to the song. His movements jerky, eyes focused on the floor.
Jon pulls Damian an inch closer worming his way into Damian’s gaze. “It’s just us Dami. No one is watching.”
Damian breathes hard through his nose. “Someone is always watching.”
Jon spins him again and pulls him down into a dip. “Not right now.”
Damian grumbles something about how dips don’t fit the song at all as Jon’s brings his face close to Damian’s. His eyes were so blue but more than that they were familiar. They were Jon’s. “I’m a better dancer than you,” Jon says eyes flickering over Damian’s face as he pulls him up.
Damian scoffs, “You’re not a better anything than me.”
“Prove it.”
Damian grabs Jon’s hand rather roughly, a sharp contrast from Jon’s firm but gentle grip. “I will.”
Damian beats his foot to the music getting a sense of the pacing. “It’s not that hard Jon. You just need to move.”
“Then move,” Jon shrugs smugly.
Damian mimics Jon’s movements from before with a smirk. “Ready?”
Before Jon could answer Damian starts to bounce on his heels looking as focused as he does in battle. He swings Jon around the Batcave, hands still connected, almost intertwined. They spin and jump and move to the beat, Jon’s laughter filling the air with more than just music. Damian’s shoulders lose some of their tension and a genuine smile slowly starts to transform his face.
As the song starts to wind down Jon pulls Damian closer. “You sure proved me wrong,” he says into the crook of his neck.
“When have I not, Corncob?”
“Corncob huh? I thought it was ‘Jon’ earlier.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Domain says his hands going slack in Jon’s, light still gleaming in his eyes.
“No?” Jon says with a light smile.
“Never.”