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I walked across an empty land
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand
He knew this might happen, he knew, but seeing it for real, having his nightmares actually come true, was something Damian would have never been prepared for.
You could have told him years ago that this would happen; could have seated him down on one of those stupidly comfortable love seats, wrapped him in a blanket and delivered the news as lightly as possible, given him time to come to terms with this--and he still wouldn't have been ready for the sight in front of him.
I felt the earth beneath my feet
Sat by the river, and it made me complete
The metal parts connected to his skin made him look murderous, the knowledge that it was cold, nothing like his soft, warm, fair skin that he was so used to almost made the teen sick to his stomach. He looked so wrong standing there with the Justice League, body picked apart like the rest of them, one steely blue eye-piercing right into his own, but not like how they used to.
He looked like he was studying him, analyzing the best way to take him down; the most painful way to let him know that he's lost. That everything was for nothing. That seeing his neck snap right under those paradoom's palms was just so he could taunt him like this now.
Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?
Jon, his humble, kind best friend with too big a heart for the world to handle, much less Damian who has most of its affection directed at him, was standing across from him, arms out in front of him showing off just how strong the boy of steel was; how easily he could take them all on and win with brute force. A menacing glare on the parts of his face that he could still move--the parts that were still skin, bone, and muscle.
I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on
Charging forward, the young assassin could already feel tears pricking his eyes, and for once in his life, he didn't give a damn. No--he was about to go in, sword-swinging high, aiming for his best friend in the whole world, one of the only people to truly understand him, with the intent to take him down.
So no, Damian Wayne, grandson of the Demon's Head, could not have cared less when he felt the unfamiliar trail of tears tracking down his face.
So tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin
Face unwavering from its blank look, Jon meets Damian in the middle, fists flying with accuracy Damian didn't even know he had.
Then again, was the person he was facing off with even Jon anymore?
Boots digging into the ground, Damian keeps his stance as best he could. He's a little more shakey then he'd like to admit, and his hits are missing more than they should, but like hell was he was going to give up on Jon.
No, he'd fight until he was six feet under if it would get Jon--his Jon back.
I came across a fallen tree
I felt the branches of it looking at me
Making his first attack, Damian lets loose a loud battle cry, voice cracking in the middle of it, as he brings his sword down on Jon's chest, knowing full well it wouldn't hurt him.
With a snarl--the first noise he's heard from the other raven since they're battle had begun, Damian feels his katana ripped right out of his grasp and watches frozen as it glides through the air, clattering some 20 feet behind Jon; nowhere in reach of either hero.
Frustration seeping into his bones, Damian whips out his escrima sticks as he does something he's never done before. He pleads, "Jon, it's me, D, please."
Is this the place we used to love?
Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?
Pausing, for no more than a fraction of a second, Jon's head cocks to the side, as if confused as to why that name sounded familiar. But, as soon as that moment had begun, it was over.
Flying forward, the fastest Damian had ever seen the boy go, Jon pulls his fist back, anger flaring in his eyes. The murderous look returned, amplified only by Damian's own words.
Sweaty hands scrambling with his utility belt, Damian was almost certain he might just throw up. He was sick with guilt about what he was about to do. The only reassurance he had was that there was really no other choice, but even that didn't lessen the heavy feeling crushing his chest.
Plucking out a small lead case from his once shiny yellow belt, Damian swipes the glowing green rock out just as Jon was practically on top of him.
Shoving his emotions down, something he had gotten so good at doing, Damian lifts his arm and stabs the lethal rock right into his best friend's shoulder.
Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?
I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on
Crying out, making possibly the worst sound Damian had ever heard in his life, Jon crumbles to the ground, heaving in heavy breath after breath, sweat already forming on his brow.
It had been drilled in the green-eyed boy's head by everyone he knew, every adult he'd ever come across, to never lower his guard around the enemy, but it seemed like now all the training was going to waste.
Crashing down next to his Darkseid enslaved friend, ignoring the sting in his knees from the rough impact, Damian gathers the boy in his arms, placing his head on his lap.
He wasn't sure if he should remove the piece of kryptonite, it would possibly give Jon the chance to recover, but his thoughts were cut short by yet another whimper from his friend, each one quieter than the last.
So tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin
End of the world be damned, Damian was not going to be the reason his best friend, his only true one, suffered for the last few moments of his too-short life.
Hands wrapping around the small green rock that he all of a sudden hated down to his very core, Damian dips his head towards Jon's as he whispers out a broken, "I'm sorry," before yanking with all his might.
Back arching in pain, a wail cuts through the battlefield, though no one but Damian seems to have heard it. Eyes squeezed shut, Damian watches as one crystal tear makes it way out of Jon's only remaining eye. the other glowing an ugly red; replaced by Darkseid.
Stroking the wild raven hair of the boy in his lap, Damian continues talking to the de-powered super, hoping to get through to him, break his programing before he can fully recharge, "It's okay Jon, it's okay, It's Damian, you're alright."
And if you have a minute, why don't we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know?
Distantly, Damian can make out that fact that he too is trembling, despite the fact that he is not the one with a stab wound in his shoulder. The lack of response from his friend only makes him cry harder, letting out all the emotions he's kept bottled up for so long.
Pressing his forehead to Jon's, Damian fists a wad of the boy's sweatshirt up, clinging to him like he's a lifeline, "Damnit Jon, please."
Eyes slipping closed, Damian's breathes hitches with the fear that they'll never open again. It feels like a lifetime before they flutter open, though realistically it was probably only a few moments.
Grabbing either side of the boy's face, Damian almost lets his frustration get the better of him as he grounds out, not even caring that his words are most likely falling upon deaf ears, "You stay awake, you hear me? I swear, crybaby if I see you close your eyes again I'll kick your ass into next week."
It was meant to come out threatening, to scare Jon into staying awake for him, but with the way his voice cracked on each syllable, and how raw his throat felt, Damian doesn't think he achieved his goal.
This could be the end of everything
So why don't we go
Maybe he should go find Clark and Lois? He wasn't even sure if either adult knew their son was here, corrupted by Darkseid himself to serve in his makeshift army. He knew that's what he probably should be doing, but there was no way he would get his body to move, to leave Jon behind even for a moment.
It was stupid, this feelings crap, he'd always been told that they were useless, a weakness he needed to rid himself of. Yet, here he was, a blubbering mess because some over-happy golden boy was injured.
"I was there when Bruce learned about Dick's death," Clark's voice rings in his head, tormenting him and calming him all the same, "It affected him. It almost got through."
If sappy feelings were enough to almost break Batman out of Darkseid's control, it was worth a try on the boy who cried when ants were stepped on, right?
Somewhere only we know?
Somewhere only we know
Wiping a gloved-clad hand under his nose, Damian takes a moment to get his thoughts together. He wasn't the...ideal person to have to do this, but he knew somewhere in the back of his mind, he wouldn't have wanted anyone else to have this job, not even Clark or Lois.
It was time to tear down the emotional barriers he put up, and let his feelings come flooding out, "I'm almost never wrong. I would say I'm strictly never, but that would be a lie. I was wrong about you, Jon."
He doesn't care anymore, it's the end of the world anyways; reaching up, the young assassin swiftly rips his mask right off, revealing two fogged over emerald eyes, glistened with tears, "When I first met you I was....not impressed. I thought you were an incompetent annoyance that I would never be able to work with.
"That, Jon, was where I was wrong about you; where I was wrong about us."
Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?
I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on
Hands moving to hold down Jon's own, as the boy began to weakly struggle in his lap, Damian can feel how fast his heart is racing, can hear the blood pumping in his ears, "It took a while, but you began to....grow on me. And that scared me, it still does."
Closing his eyes for a moment, Damian can hear the fights going on around them. Absently, he wonders why he hasn't been attacked yet, why would they just leave him be? But, he doesn't ponder on that too long, remembering how important what he was supposed to be doing was. Maybe not to others, but to him and that's all that mattered in the end.
"Damnit Jon, it scared the shit out of me. I'm not a likable person, yet somehow you saw passed my flaws and tried your hardest to bring out the best in me," hands gripping Jon's even tighter, Damian turns his head away slightly, shaking his head before locking onto those sky blue eyes again, "And even if there aren't many good parts to bring out, they found their way to the surface when you were around."
So tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin
He wanted so badly to punch something, to rip the first thing he came across to shreds just to let his aggravation out. Truly, Damian wasn't sure exactly what it was he was feeling. He thinks its agitation, but he's never been good with recognizing feelings; letting them take over.
Maybe it was sorrow? Or perhaps guilt? But he'd felt those things before, more times then he'd like to admit. Like when Grandfather died, or when he got tangled up in the court of owls with Talon, resulting in Father getting injured.
No, whatever was gripping at his chest was neither of those two things. It was new, foreign, but something in the back of his head was finally able to name this awful feeling; fear.
Not normal fear, not simply being scared, he was terrified. Here he was, on a strange distant planet from his own, one made to torture and kill, holding his best friend in his lap, desperately trying to just get through to him.
So yeah, Damian thought he had a pretty good reason to be petrified.
And if you have a minute, why don't we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know?
Tracing the back of Jon's hand with his finger, in a moton that Damian hopes is comforting, the young bird moves his other hand to cup Jon's jaw, forcing the younger teen to look him in the eye, "I need you, you idiot. We're the Super Sons, I don't want to lose that, I can't. I can't be alone again, Jon."
Gasping around a sob, Damian refuses to let it escape his throat. He can't break down now, He had to get out what he needed to say, in fear he would never get the chance again, "I need a light to balance out my darkness; a breathe of fresh air to save me from suffocating and that's you."
This could be the end of everything
So why don't we go?
So why don't we go?
"So you can't let him win, okay?" Placing his forehead back onto Jon's, Damian should probably feel bad about the salty tears falling from his eyes, landing on Jon's face, but he doesn't, "You just, can't."
That was it; he'd just spilled everything he could right out, words tumbling from his mouth without Damian even realizing what he was saying. They were spoken from the heart, something he doesn't think he'd ever done before, nor will he ever do again.
But he had nothing else to say, it might have been the fact that he'd started crying too much to even be understood, or the fact that he'd finally started realizing what he was saying, the things he was letting to light. Whatever the reason, he just couldn't continue.
He just hopes what he said was enough.
This could be the end of everything
So why don't we go
It felt like they'd been sitting there for an eternity, the only sound resonating from the small huddle of limbs being Damian's broken sobs when in reality it was only a few seconds.
The teen didn't pay much mind to it at first, but when Jon's struggling ceased, Damian was immediately on alert. Jerking from the hunched over position he was in, the former assassin lets his eyes trail down to Jon's
The angry glowing red from the artificial eye had begun to dim, going from blindingly light to just barely lit. It couldn't have worked, could it? Damian Wayne delivering such a heartfelt speech to actually break Jon free; what a joke, right?
But when the icy glare his baby blue eyes once held started to fade, morphing into something warmer, something sickenly familiar, he'd known it worked.
Somewhere only we know?
Weakly looking up at him, eye drooping with exhaustion, Jon whispered out so quietly, that if the teen holding him wasn't so close he would have missed it, "Damian?"
Somewhere only we know.