Work Text:
Jon met him on a late summer evening. The sun was just starting to dip below the mountains in the distance. The air was hot and humid, and it smelled like a thunderstorm was about to roll in. He was sitting on the edge of the castle wall, feet dangling over the edge. An enormous drop was below him, and Jon had paused, wondering if his goal was to fall. But it seemed he was just sitting there.
They were both young. Jon himself had just turned fifteen earlier that summer. He couldn’t have been much more than seventeen. But even at seventeen, he was so handsome.
“What are you doing?” Jon asked, ready to rush forwards in case he fell off the wall, whether that be on purpose or because Jon startled him.
Instead, he looked over, raising an eyebrow. He was wearing a military uniform, the pins on his collar indicating his commanding rank and importance if Jon hadn’t known who he was already.
Sitting before him was Prince Damian Al Ghul. They had met a few times, but they’d never actually talked past formal greetings.
“Lord El,” the Prince greeted with a tilt of his head.
“Why are you sitting on the wall?”
“Why does it matter to you?”
Jon shrugged, tucking his hands into his pants pockets. “It doesn’t.”
Damian sighed, looking back out over the horizon. His hair was cut incredibly short, barely any length left on top. His tanned skin was marred by scars, notably a large one streaking up over his cheek, towards his eye.
“Sit down, Lord El.”
“It’s just Jon.”
He carefully hopped up onto the wall anyway, sitting next to the prince, but leaving about a foot between them. They sat there for a bit. Damian didn’t speak, and Jon didn’t know what to say, so he stayed silent as well.
“I’m leaving tonight.”
“What for?”
Damian let out a soft breath, his shoulders falling a bit. “Grandfather is sending me to the front. He wants me to take control of the divisions there.”
The front. Where Ra’s’ “holy” war had been going on for months now. They were fighting against a few countries, notably France, Italy, and a few of the other smaller European countries. They were resisting Ra’s’ attempt at taking over, and he wouldn’t just give up on them. It was also a highly dangerous area. Not many people had come back, and even fewer had come back in one piece. Sending someone to the front was practically like a death penalty.
“Oh,” Jon said softly.
He looked over at Damian and found that he was being watched. The prince’s head was tilted to the side just slightly.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“Father had some business with your mother, I believe.”
“No. You misunderstand. Why are you here? No one else would dare approach me.”
Jon shrugged, holding eye contact.
“You looked scared. I thought you were going to jump off.”
Damian scoffed, shaking his head. “Not likely.”
“To which?”
“Either.”
Damian sounded defensive, and he glared at Jon a little, but it fell short. Jon could see fear in his eyes, thinly masked by anger and guarded by a shield of superiority. Damian clearly knew what he was being sent into. But he couldn’t say anything, couldn’t stop a decision that had already been made.
“Why’s he really sending you?”
“I think I defied his plans one too many times. And. . . and now he’s decided to do away with me.”
Jon reached out without thinking, and picked up Damian’s hand. Damian’s head immediately snapped over to him, and he started to pull it away, and then stopped. Jon smiled.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’re prince Damian. You’ve made it out of everything so far.”
Damian shook his head. “You are young and innocent, Lord El. You’ve not seen the bloodshed I have. Do not let your innocence turn you into a fool.”
Jon’s smile only widened, pulling Damian’s hand up and kissing his knuckles. “Maybe so, My Lord. But I have faith.”
“In me?”
Jon nodded. Damian snorted and shook his head.
“Certainly a fool then. You don’t even know me.”
“Then explain how I know that you are utterly terrified. Explain how I know you fear your grandfather and fear death, but would never dare to say that out loud."
Damian’s eyebrows rose. “Bold claims.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
Damian just snorted softly and looked away. Jon shook his head, dropping Damian’s hand.
“I may not know you now, but I’d love to get to.”
“In case you somehow forgot, I’m leaving. I may not come back.”
“Write to me then.”
“Jon-”
“No,” Jon interrupted. “I’m serious. Write me letters. I’ll respond. You ask whatever questions you want and I’ll answer them, as long as you do the same.”
Damian snorted and shook his head.
“Fine, you have a deal,:" He said after a very long pause.
“It’s been an honor bargaining with you, my lord.”
This just earned another amused snort from Damian. He glanced around, then turned and swung his legs around, standing up off the wall.
“I must go. I hope to see you again, Lord El.”
“And I you, Prince Damian.”
They clasped hands for a moment, and then both turned and walked separate ways.
The letters started coming a few weeks later. The first one was blank except for “Jon-El” written on the front in fancy script. A servant had brought it to Jon, and hadn’t been able to tell him who it was from. But he knew immediately.
He snatched the letter away and sat on his bed, almost tearing the envelope in his excitement to get it open.
Lord Jon-El.
As this is our first correspondence, I hope this letter properly reaches you without any complications.
I do not have much to say, I suppose, past the customary formalities.
How are you? How is your family and land?
I shall go ahead and report that the fighting here is not strong, but I suspect that will not last, or else I would not have been sent here.
I must confess that it took me a while to sit down and write this letter, as I simply could not decide what to say in it, and yet did not wish to send you a mostly empty letter, or one just full of questions. So I am simply hoping this is satisfactory.
Sincerely,
Damian Al Ghul
Jon smiled to himself, setting the letter on his desk, going and picking up a pencil and a sheet of blank stationary. He sat there thinking for a bit, pencil hovering over his paper, before he decided what he wanted to write.
Dear Prince Al Ghul...
The letters started becoming a frequent occurrence at that point. Never addressed, nothing on the letters except Jon’s name. That was how he knew who the letter was from. For a while they were fairly formal, inquiring after Jon, after his family, after things happening in the rest of the world. Jon always did his best to answer each question truthfully, and to provide enough of his own questions to stimulate an answer.
Over time, the formality of the letters disappeared. He went from “Lord Jon-El” to “Jon-El” and “Dear Jon”. Damian stopped writing like he was making a formal report to his grandfather, and more like he was just talking to an old friend.
“You’ve been receiving letters pretty regularly,” Kon said to him one day, watching him snatch a letter away from the servant that brought it to him.
They didn’t keep a lot of staff at the fortress, just a few servants and cooks. The family of Kryptonians were capable of doing most things by themselves, and Kal often expected his sons to take care of their own problems. And he’d had this attitude since Jon was a child. Which meant Jon had learned early not to depend on anyone else. Not even Kon, because help from Kon meant a favor owed.
“What of it?” Jon snapped back, tucking the letter into his pocket, careful not to bend it.
Kon’s eyebrow raised. “Nothing. I was just curious.”
“Well put your curiosity elsewhere.”
“Okay little man, no need to get so snippy.”
Jon didn’t respond, just grumbled under his breath.
“Oh you’re sure hiding something. What, got a cute girlfriend you’re keeping secret?”
“Shut up, Kon.”
“What, am I not allowed to get to know my little brother a little better?”
“Not if it includes being incredibly nosey!”
“Geeesh, finee!” Kon exclaimed, holding up his hands a bit, rolling his eyes.
Jon just shook his head, continuing to casually read his book, pretending he wasn’t anxious to rush back to his room and read the letter.
“If you tell me who it is, I’ll leave you alone.”
Jon groaned and put down his book, looking up at his brother.
“You won’t drop it will you?”
“Absolutely not.” Kon grinned at him with a slightly evil smirk.
“You can’t tell dad.”
“Okay-”
“No. Kon I need you to promise me you won’t tell him. This is like the biggest secret ever okay?”
“Okay fine, I won’t say anything!”
Jon hesitated. This was dumb. He shouldn’t say anything to Kon. It’d only end up getting him in trouble. He’d learned he couldn’t trust Kon, so why was he now, especially with something so important.
“It’s Damian Al Ghul.”
Kon was silent, just staring at him. Then he scowled.
“Why the fuck are you involved with him?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You know how dad feels about his family!”
Jon scowled back, crossing his arms. “We both know Kal has had enough dealings with Talia to be a hypocrite.”
“That doesn’t mean you should be getting involved with the Prince! He’s- it’s just not a good idea, Jon.”
“It’s not your choice to make, Kon!”
Jon jumped up, tossing his book down onto the sofa.
“Jon I’m not-”
“Mind your damn business!” Jon snapped.
He turned and stormed out, going to his room, his stomach doing somersaults the whole way. If Kon said anything to Kal, he was screwed.
One day, nearly two years of them constantly sending letters back and forth, the greeting at the top of Damian’s letter forced Jon to stop. He saw it, and went silent, just staring at the top of the page.
Beloved Jon,
I do hope this letter finds you well. And that such a greeting does not make you uncomfortable, as I plan to get right to the point of this letter, in hopes of receiving an answer in return quickly.
I find myself with a confession to make. Over the past years of our correspondence, I have found myself growing increasingly more drawn to you. I admit to growing impatient between our letters, and wishing to be able to talk to you more, but unable to find a way to do so.
Given the circumstances, I am aware that this may be a little unusual for you to hear. I do not wish to damage any relationship between us. I have come to greatly value your companionship, and I fear I would be amiss without that.
Despite our current separation, I must confess to having developed something of an attraction to you. I suppose one could call it love. I’m unsure if that’s the correct word. But I do know I am deeply fond of you.
It was important to me to be able to say all of this now, should anything happen to me, god forbid.
I hope to hear from you, and my apologies if this letter was not received well.
Sincerest,
Damian
Jon just sat there and stared at it for a long time. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his stomach was fluttering with nerves.
Damian liked him? No wait. Damian loved him? Is that what this letter said?
He reread it a few more times just to double check, and each time left him with the same question, and the same apparent answer.
Damian had just confessed to having feelings for him. Even though the last time they’d seen each other in person had been when Jon was fifteen (he was seventeen now). Their only communication had been letters and yet Damian said that.
Jon wanted to say he was crazy. He wanted to tear up the letter and never write back. No that's not what he wanted. That's what he knew was expected. He knew that's what his father would order him to do if he was caught with this letter. But instead, he folded it up and stuck it in his pocket. He didn't write back right away. In fact he didn't write back for a few days.
He just let the words from Damian's letter run through his mind. He held them close at night, as if he could soak up the words and the emotions expressed. As if that'd bring Damian to him. As if that'd give him the words to write back. He carried the letter around so long, it was crumpled and worn, and some of the words weren't even legible due to creases.
After five days, he finally sat down at his desk and once more pulled out a piece of stationary. Fittingly, it was the last of this pack. He'd have to get new ones. He picked up his pen, and stared at the blank page for a moment.
Dearest Damian,
Your letter did find me well, and I hope mine makes it to you safely.
Bluntly, I was a little surprised by your last letter. I didn't expect a confession like that, but… I’m not upset by it either.
I think I share similar feelings.
It does seem a little absurd, considering our only contact being through these pieces of paper. But the longer I thought about it, the more I found it to be true.
I want you to come back. It's been so long and I'm sure we've both changed so much, but I miss you. Which, again, seems absurd, considering the situation, but is no less true.
Write again soon, please stay safe. I hope to see you again.
All my love,
Jon-El
The following letters after that weren’t entirely different than usual. Just a bit. . . more. More everything. They were longer, fuller, Damian seemed a little more open, but still within the lines of his letters, Jon could tell he was hiding something. But he never really felt like he was in a position to ask and push him for answers.
The letters always started with “ Beloved Jon” now. Jon always ended his with “All my love, Jon” . They sent current pictures with one of their letters, and once, Damian sent a drawing of Jon he had done. It was surprisingly accurate, and Jon clung to it like he had Damian’s confession letter.
Jon dreamed of Damian often. He dreamed of him coming back, of getting to be held by him, and to hold him in exchange. He just wanted to be together . To prove to himself that all these feelings weren’t an illusion, that he wasn’t crazy for loving a boy he’d last seen years ago. He longed for Damian.
The letter came late fall.
Jon was with his family, eating dinner, when a servant brought it to him. Jon knew who it was from instantly. He just smiled and thanked the servant and tucked the letter under his leg for when he could read it privately.
His heart was pounding, and he knew everyone at the table could hear it, judging from the raised eyebrows. It had been longer than usual since Damian’s last letter, and he’d started getting anxious.
He constantly feared that something would happen to Damian and no one would tell him. No one would know to tell him. Why would he have any attachment to Prince Damian Al Ghul?
So he sat through dinner with a smile on his face, hiding his shaking hands under the table. And the moment he was excused, he jumped up with his letter and dashed to his room, ignoring Kal’s calls to him. He threw the door shut behind him, hastily locking it and then running to his bed and sitting on the edge. He just looked at the letter for a moment, heart still pounding. Then he slipped his finger under the seal of the letter, breaking it off, and carefully pulling out the worn stationary from inside.
Beloved Jon
I apologize for the delay in my letters. We were being overwhelmed for nearly a week, and finding time to write was, well, simply not possible.
I assure you, I am well, other than a few minor injuries, and I hope you are as well.
I received news that I think you will find most pleasing. I am being called back to the Castle. Grandfather’s letter arrived today, he has more need for me back at Nanda Parbat than he does for me here. I will return home shortly.
And then I will come to be with you. Though admittedly, I do not know how long we can stay together. However I still intend to come see you. It’s been far too long, and my dear, my heart aches for you a little more each day.
Until we’re together,
Damian
Jon was crying. Tears were slipping down his cheeks, hot and salty.
Damian was coming home.
He would be safe.
They could be together.
Jon just fell back on his bed and cried. He was so relieved. He often had nightmares of what would happen to Damian out there. He was going to come home and be safe from this stupid war that’d been going on for far too long. And then he’d be with Jon. He was going to be okay.
He just had to survive a little longer.
Jon had written back that night, since he had no idea how soon Damian was leaving, and didn’t want to risk the letter missing him.
He waited anxiously. Waiting for either a return letter, or for someone to tell him Damian was there. It killed him to not be able to get constant updates on what was going on. And it was even worse that he was convinced no one would tell him if something happened to the Prince.
There were mornings he woke up sick, throwing up due to nightmares of Damian, of horrible things happening to him. He spent a lot of time in his room, pacing the floor, unable to focus on anything. His family, of course, noticed, but no matter how much they pried, he’d never tell. He was silent a lot these days, and he had a permanent sore on the inside of his mouth from chewing on his cheek.
And then, after a month and a half, a new thought wormed its way into Jon’s head.
What if Damian had changed his mind? What if he had just been using Jon’s letters as a distraction, something to keep him amused while he was at war. What if he was just taking advantage of Jon, and was secretly laughing at him.
He was sick all that day.
He didn’t want to believe it, so therefore, he simply refused to. It simply couldn’t be true. Damian wasn’t the type of person to do that. He wouldn’t waste his time on stupid games. Or would he? After all, Jon didn’t really know him that well, now did he? They were nothing more than glorified pen pals. He couldn’t tell anyone he truly knew Damian. He knew Damian’s favorite sweets, and his favorite color, and some of his most treasured memories. He knew the older boy was a talented artist, and a good leader, and that he secretly feared so much.
But did he really know Damian?
The answer was no.
And that only caused the doubts to wrap around him tighter. It only caused him to be more miserable, the longer things went.
It had been nearly two months when the news reached him.
Kon was the one to tell him. His older brother who, admittedly, wasn’t always gentle with him, and very rarely interested in anything in Jon’s life, was the one to approach him.
Jon had been lying on his bed, staring up at his ceiling. He had just gotten out of dinner, having barely eaten anything, and excused himself to his room with the excuse of needing to tend to his studies. He hadn’t been doing any of his studying for the past few weeks. He was most certainly going to get in trouble for that.
But then there was a knock on his door and he rocketed upright, staring at it.
“Come in.”
The door swung open, he saw Kon, and instantly his heart fell.
“What is it?” he sighed, going to fall back down.
Then he saw, held in Kon’s hands, a letter. He froze. Kon looked down at it, and then up at Jon.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, holding it out.
“What for?” Jon asked, snatching it away, ripping it open without looking.
Beloved Jon,
I’m sorry for the delay-
This wasn’t Damian’s handwriting.
Jon had spent years memorizing the exact loops and curls and lengths of letters that made up Damian’s handwriting. He could probably copy it if he wanted too. This was not Damian’s writing.
-but I have more pressing matters, considering my limited time.
I won’t be coming back.
Jon’s eyes went wide, and he hurried to scan the rest of the letter.
My division was preparing to evacuate, to come back to the Capital, when we were ambushed. Most of my men did not survive.
I’m not going to either.
A broken sob escaped Jon and he clamped his hand to his mouth. No. No this couldn’t be true.
I’ve sustained severe injuries, and the field doctors are doing everything they can, but I know what will happen. I can barely move, so I doubt I’ll last much longer. This letter is currently being written by one of my servants.
I’m sorry, my love, I know you’ve probably been waiting in anguish for me. And I hope you can forgive me for leaving you without word for so long. But I would never ask your forgiveness for leaving you. You have every right to be angry at me for this.
But still, I find the only words I want to say to be I’m sorry.
There are many things I wish I could say, but do not know how. So I will simply say this.
I love you, and I wish only the best for your future. You have been the light keeping me going. And for that I thank you.
Forever yours, in this life and next,
Damian Al Ghul
Hot salty tears were streaming down his face. He could barely see the letter at this point. He was choking on his sobs, silently screaming.
A gentle hand took the letter and set it on the table beside his bed. And then he was being pulled into a hug. He just turned and threw himself on Kon, the dam breaking loose, all his screams and sobs finally escaping. They burned his throat and made his ears ache, but he couldn’t stop it.
“I’m sorry, Jon,” Kon whispered, gently stroking his hair. “We got word just before the letter arrived.”
That confirmation just broke him even further. It felt like something was reaching into his chest and just, tearing his heart apart, piece by piece. It hurt and he couldn’t stop crying and he just wanted it all to stop. He wanted it to go away. It wasn’t true and he wouldn’t believe it. He would rather die than have it be true.
He cried until he physically couldn’t. And then he just sat there, numbly staring at the empty space over his brother’s shoulder. Kon was silent for a while after he quit crying.
“You really loved him?”
“More than anyone I’ve ever met before.”
The man sighed softly and nodded.
“I’m sorry, Jon. I’m sorry.”
The funeral was three days later. Out of respect to their connections with the Al Ghul family, the El’s were going. And Jon couldn’t decide if he was going to be able to make it through everything fine, or if he was going to end up throwing up.
Oddly, he had this morbid sense of curiosity. He wanted to see Damian. See what he really looked like, even if it was a cold dead corpse. He’d take what little he could get.
They packed up what they'd need for the trip, and then started flying towards Nanda Parbat, where the funeral was taking place. Kon kept giving him concerned looks, while Kal gave him confused ones. Which was understandable, considering Jon constantly felt like he was about to break down sobbing again, except he had cried all his tears dry.
The funeral was painfully formal, full of stuffy proceedings, professional mourners and other things that only made Jon feel worse. Ra's himself was pretending to be close to tears and that just made Jon angry. He knew Ra's didn't give a shit about Damian. Damian had just been another pawn, a player in his game to be moved and manipulated. Jon hadn't been told a lot, but he knew Ra's had treated Damian horribly.
But he sat through the funeral quietly, hands clenched in his pants, glaring at the floor. Kon kept nudging and kicking him, trying to get him to act normal.
After the funeral proceedings were done, they all slowly walked past the family and offered their condolences. This was an incredibly slow and boring process and Jon just wanted to get up there, peek a glimpse at Damian and then run.
After what felt like hours, they finally made it up. Talia had a thin black veil covering her face, and she actually looked genuinely upset.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Talia,” Kal murmured softly, reaching out and touching her arm.
“Thank you, Lord El.”
Jon hesitated when he was in front of her. They looked at each other for a moment. Jon opened his mouth, and Talia just smiled sadly, and nodded.
“I know,” she murmured.
Jon nodded back, turning and following his father. He didn’t stop at Ra’s, as Kal had already walked past. But he slowed his steps dramatically as they passed Damian’s coffin, stepping a bit closer to look inside.
His skin was ashy, and it looked almost like wax. He looked like he had in pictures, save for a few injuries on his face that had been poorly covered with makeup. He was dressed in fine green silks, a sword held upside down in his heads. Jon stared at him for a moment, and then turned hurried away, gagging.
Kal found him in the bathroom a few minutes later, retching over the toilet.
“Are you okay?” Kal asked, crossing his arms.
“Yeah,” Jon muttered softly. “I think I just ate something bad.”
Kal didn’t respond but Jon could sense his judgement.
“Come on, it’s time to go.”
“I’ll be there in a bit.”
He heard Kal’s footsteps retreating. He sat there for a few more minutes, waiting for his stomach to settle. Then he went and splashed his face with some water, patting it dry with towels.
He was headed out to the courtyard where he assumed his family would be waiting, when a girl stepped in front of him.
“Excuse me, Lord El?”
“Yes?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, arms wrapped around his stomach.
“Prince Al Ghul wished for you to have this,” she said softly.
Jon looked down at the object in her hands. It looked like a book of some kind. He took it from her, and she bowed and then quickly disappeared. A quick glance inside the leather bound book told him that it wasn’t a book, but a journal instead. He swallowed hard, glancing around and then tucking it under his shirt, hiding it from his family.
The flight back was quiet and tense. Jon just felt numb at this point.
He went straight to his room the moment they got back, stripping out of the stiff, formal clothes and into an old shirt and sleep pants. And then he just crawled into bed, staring at Damian’s journal. Damian had given it to him, which means he wanted him to read it. But still, it felt wrong. This was Damian’s personal thing. It would be just rude to invade his privacy.
He made it two days before he pulled out the journal, peeking inside. Each entry was dated. This one seemed to start back before Damian had left, and judging from the dates, he didn’t journal every day, or even every week, there were some entries that were months apart even. And the entries were so formal, as if he was giving a field report to a commanding officer.
Jon just skimmed through the first section, and then he found where Damian first started talking about him. At first it was just a mention of meeting him, and agreeing to exchange letters. Damian hadn’t seemed inclined to actually follow through at first. But by a couple entries later, he mentioned that Jon’s letters were actually “quite pleasant”. The more Jon read, he noticed Damian’s writing shifting. He no longer talked like he was giving a report, but more that he was actually talking to someone. The entries became more frequent, but shorter, some barely a page long.
Then he stopped at one particular entry. Around a year and a half after they first started exchanging letters.
I find myself in the unfortunate situation of dealing with feelings of a kind I am entirely unfamiliar with. I find myself thinking about Jon, longing for a response to my letters, and yet fretting over writing my own, unsure what the right thing to say is. It takes me days to respond, just because I want to make sure the letters are perfect.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m sure it will be dealt with shortly.
Then a few months later, another entry.
I have realized these feelings for Jon are no longer platonic. I assume it’s some foolish desire, some response to the attention he gives me. It will fade shortly and it’s not worth mentioning to him. These types of feelings are weakness, and I can only imagine what mother would say if she knew I had developed attraction to not only a man, but a man I had only met a few times. She would be disgusted, and frankly I am not sure how to feel about it either.
The next week's entry was a complete flip.
I’m going to tell Jon. The longer I think about these emotions and feelings, the more I realize they are not going away. It is silly. I only hope once I tell him, and he inevitably rejects me, that will encourage me to get rid of such foolish feelings.
I will write him in my next letter and explain.
The next few entries were talking about events that had happened in battle, and were frankly rather horrifying. Jon couldn’t believe half of the stuff he read, the things Damian must’ve seen. But not one of the entries mentioned Jon or their letters.
I received a letter back from Jon today.
He shares similar feelings. I’m not sure how to react. I need to think about this for a while. I did not expect him to reciprocate.
As Jon read further into the diary, he found more and more entries about him. He was mentioned at least once a week, and oftentimes multiple times a week. Damian talked a lot about the uncertainty of his feelings, of how much he struggled with accepting what was happening between them. But even after he had spent paragraphs talking about how it was wrong and silly, he always reaffirmed at the end that despite all that, he was still certain of his feelings. Then it was like he had given up trying to convince himself that this was wrong. He talked more about his fear of the war, of not making it out alive. Of how much he longed for Jon.
Jon read the journal from start to finish the next few days and almost every time he ended up crying again. It hurt. It hurt to have this book in hand, to see everything written out clearly. To know just how deeply Damian had longed for him. And to know that he’d never have that again.
Damian was never coming back.
He’d never get to be with Damian.
And he was just going to have to figure out how to move on from that.
A truly impossible task.