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“This is Jay… my boyfriend.”
Damian had always been good at hiding his emotions. Trained in the art of apathy since birth. Fighting and indifference, that’s all he’d known. Until he met Jon. Until the barriers began to shatter and fall away. He’d never been a kid before then, just the grandson of the Demon and Son of the Bat. But with Jon it’d been different… Trading manga volumes, sleepovers in Metropolis—awake till dawn, popcorn thrown in front of the blue glow of a television. Normal. For the first time in his life.
Jon taught him how to be a kid, Damian taught Jon how to be a hero.
And then Jon left him, from ten to sixteen.
It’d taken some getting used to, yet with time, their bond returned. At the end of the day, he still had his idiotic, bright, optimistic Kryptonian by his side, and that was all that mattered.
But things had changed, or at least Damian had— grown up, even if it wasn’t as much as Jon. He’d noticed things. Slight things. The cleft of a chin, that stray strand of black hair falling over inhumanly blue eyes, almost violet under streetlights. How went he laughed, his whole body shook, the dimple on his right cheek.
It was harder to hide the flush of his cheeks. Jon had broken down his emotional defenses long long ago, and it was unnatural to build those walls back up.
It was simply easier to talk himself out of it. It could never happen… Jon wasn’t like that. Jon had kissed Saturn Girl and talked of crushes and pretty girls on tv.
Loving someone who cannot love you back is easier than loving someone who could, but doesn’t.
Maybe if Damian had just taken a chance, ignored the odds. Maybe, just maybe. Maybe then there wouldn’t be a boy standing in front of him, gloating and cheerful and so fucking happy that Damian felt sick.
He was taller than Damian, older by a year, maybe two— Jon’s age. Bright hair, self dyed with showing roots, and too big glasses that reminded him of the fake ones Jon used to wear when they were kids. His hoodie was too small for him, tight on his body, with a coffee stain on the blue Nightwing symbol— the one he’d lent to Jon only a few weeks back.
He didn’t look a thing like Damian. Would it hurt less if he did? His nose was flat where his was hooked. Wide dark eyes to hooded green. His features were all smooth and soft and gentle, where Damian was all sharp lines and cheekbones. Pale skin, and a smoothed brow, with a faint mark just above his upper lip. He was attractive, self assured. He had a kind-looking face, the kind of person you knew would always try their best to help. He was the kind of person Damian could never be.
There was concern in those dark eyes, a careful look. Waiting for judgment.
“That’s mine,” he said, gesturing at the hoodie, even though that wasn’t what he was talking about.
“Damian,” Jon interject, voice hesitant, wavering. Full of anticipation and nerves. Like he thought Damian would love him any less for this. Maybe Damian wanted that. Wanted Jon to hurt. Some kind of punishment for not telling Damian any sooner, for not telling him when he could have actually done something about it. Not wave it in front of his face before snatching it up, like a cruel owner and a dog.
But he thought of Jon’s face filled with hurt, a novice at hiding it.
Maybe Damian should have known this was going to happen eventually. The gap between their age hadn’t changed, only reversed. One always had to move on without the other. It only made sense. It should have made it easier. It didn’t.
“Damian—“ Jon tried again.
“He’s wearing my hoodie,” was the only thing Damian could think to say.
“Would you shut up about the fucking hoodie!” Jon snapped. He swore. He never swore. H e double hockey sticks, and freaking gosh darn it’s, but never… Damian’s heart constricted tighter.
“But it’s mine…” He said, feeling so so small. Standing in the shadow of his best friend and his new boyfriend.
“I’m trying to tell you something here!” Jon sputtered, words coming out in a messy jumble. Scared. So very scared. And Damian wanted to move into his space and hold him the way Grayson sometimes did when Damian got overwhelmed and overtired. To run his hands through his hair, to tell him it would be alright, that everything would be okay.
“Damian… I— I’m bisexual.”
It wasn’t fair how much those words made his heart soar. How proud he was that Jon was confiding in him like this. How there was no doubt Damian was the first person he was telling this. How it made him selfish, made him think he had hope. It was so selfish. But it always had been when it came to things like this.
When Drake had done it, sat them all down in the cave and told them, and his father had stood and hugged him and told him how much he loved him. Damian had felt nothing but selfish rage. Because Drake wasn’t the blood son, and it didn’t matter who he loved. He hadn’t spoken to Drake for three weeks after that, he knew he’d lose control and break down and shed those walls and he desperately didn’t want Drake to see him like that. Father had not been pleased. Disappointed with Damian, is what he’d said. But Damian knew just how disappointed his father would really be if he told the truth.
“Okay.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
Damian tried to remember all the things his brothers had said to Tim, all the ‘i love you no matter what’ and ‘we’re proud of you.’ But when he tried to speak those things, he found his mouth dry. He didn’t want to lie to Jon. He wasn’t okay. Not with any of this. Why hadn’t he said something sooner? Why had he found someone else? Why was he flaunting it in Damian’s face to make him feel all kinds of hurt and jealousy?
“I can’t— I don’t—“ Was what Damian eventually said. And Jon took a step back, pale and wide-eyed, even as his boyfriend reached over and clasped his hand in support. Even as their fingers wound together naturally, like they done it a hundred times. Oh god. How long had they even been together? How many moments had he and Jon shared together whilst Jon was loving someone else. “No.” Said Damian feeling cold all over, “No I’m not.”
“I need to leave,” Damian said, backing away, each step shattering something in Jon’s face.
He reached the window. Jon didn’t call for him. Tell him to stay, ask for an explanation. Fight him on it. All the things he’d usually do when they had a fight. He let him go in complete heart-wrenching silence.
Damian’s mind wouldn’t let him rest all the way back to Gotham. Replaying imaginary reels of Jon and the boyfriend. Damian wondered if he’d been replaced. If Jon had taken his boy to their rooftop in Metropolis where they used to sit and watch the sunset, if they’d gone to the Kent farm and fed the chickens there, laying in hay bales and laughing until dawn… He couldn’t… He hurt so much and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Like recording over old film to keep new, better memories.
Jay Nakamura, the computer screen in the bat cave read. A Gamorran refugee studying at Jon’s college. They’d met there, Damian supposed. Damian had helped him write the applications, Damian had sent donations to the school, Damian had helped him pick his classes, helped set his timetable. Had he done this? Was this all his fault? He scrolled down. Occupation: Journalist, founder of an underground new site—
Damian’s heart stopped.
Newsite: The Truth
His mother had always told him fate was a cruel thing. How if you wish too hard for something, it will always turn the worst.
“It’s an underground stream called The Truth, they do reports on what others are afraid to, I want you to check it out,” he’d said.
His hands shook on the mouse. Aching with anger he slammed his fist into the screen. Shards splintering and slicing into his fist. He didn’t care. He wanted to hurt, he wanted to scream. His hands were going red as he smashed them into the screen again and again, right at the portrait of the pink-haired boy who’d taken everything from him.
“Baby-bird, are you alright?”
Damian couldn’t stop. His vision was blurry, he didn’t want to cry. He’d done this. He’d done this.
He was being pulled back, tugged away until his fists lashed out and hit the air. He squirmed, fought back, twisting and turning, until his fists met solid once more, slicing forward in the air until he heard the crack of bone and another shout. The grip released for just a second before taking hold once more. Yes, Damian thought, yes, this, I need this.
It was more difficult to land a blow this time. His opponent was skilled. Fast on his feet. But Damian was better, smaller, quicker, and filled the brim with blinding rage. His opponent never struck him, though Damian wished he would. Even as he was held back by another set of arms wrapped around his shoulders, someone larger, better. A fighter Damian could never be. He screamed, tasting salty tears, kicking his legs out, trying to get release. Still, he was held tight, lowered to the ground, cuffs cinched across his wrist, biting and tight. Two hands were on his face, trying to hold him still, yet Damian shook them off biting a finger so hard he tasted metal. Another shout.
There were voices, quick and sharp. Damian didn’t care. He just wanted to fight.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Get his legs!”
“Fuck he bit me!”
“The gremlin’s gone rabid.”
“Damian, what’s wrong?”
“Somebody get Bruce!”
“What the fuck!”
“Wait I have an idea!”
Damian thrashed desperately, but there were three bodies holding him still, legs tied together and pinned to the floor. “Get off me!” He screamed, voiced breaking, raw and desperate. “I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you!”
Then something fluffy was plopped on his chest, winding him suddenly. And then something wet across his cheek. Huffing and wining and pawing at him.
Damian finally stilled.
The dog licked his other cheek again, nuzzling at the side of Damian’s face.
“Titus,” Damian said soft as a whisper, using his now free hands to gently stroke behind the dog's ear, before pulling him tighter to hold.
Titus let out a soft bark of appreciation, and then another whimper as he licked at Damian’s teary cheek.
There was a purr at his side, as the Alfred The Cat rubbed his head along Damian’s arm, and Damian lifted him so he was seated comfortably in his lap as well. He settled curling in a ball between Titus’ front legs.
“Damian…” Said a soft voice, Grayson, crouched beside him, nursing a bleeding hand. His nose was broken blood spilling down his face. Damian gulped. He was going to get in so much trouble.
“Is it over?” Said Drake, standing arms folded behind Grayson looking petulant as always.
“Damian.” Damian squeezed his eyes shut when he heard his father’s voice. He didn’t want to do this. He just wanted to be left alone.
He shifted Alfred and Titus off his lap and moved to stand, he was tired, he could deal with the mess he’d made later.
“Apologies for any inconvenience.”
He knew he was being followed as he walked back up to his bedroom. He wished he hadn’t gone down to the cave, wished he hadn’t let his jealously get the better of him. Wished he didn’t know it was all his own doing.
“Damian, what’s going on?” Grayson asked following him into his bedroom.
“It’s nothing.”
“No it isn’t? Who was that person on the screen? What did they do?”
“Nothing,” Damian lied.
“Whatever that was back there, that was not nothing.”
Damian sunk down on the end of his bed, head falling to his knees.
“Jon’s boyfriend,” he mumbled into his jeans.
“What?” Dick asked coming to sit beside him.
“He’s Jon’s new boyfriend,” Damian said, louder now.
“Oh…”
As silence fell, Damian began to wish he hadn’t said anything. Did Grayson know? Could he tell? Even still, his mind just kept supplying images of Jon and Jay rewriting all his and Damian’s history together. Replacing him. Having all the things he’d never have. He imagined them kissing, Jon’s lips would be so soft, hesitant, and careful. He’d take his time, just lips brushing lips, a slow hand winding around a neck, pulling closer until mouths opened into one another with shared breaths. Damian would never know what that would feel like, and Jay already did.
He lent forward again, elbows on knees, head hanging forward. He didn’t want to cry anymore. It was selfish to cry. Jon was happy. Jon was happy without him.
Grayson was rubbing his back in slow, methodical circles. The faintest brush of fingers along the fabric of Damian’s shirt.
He didn’t understand why it all hurt so much. He knew him and Jon was a far-off possibility. He’d always known it was just a sick little fantasy of his. Yet still, it felt like something had been brutally ripped away from him, like a part of his body was missing yet he could still feel the hurt, like a phantom limb.
Jealously was a sick and twisted thing. He’d seen its corrosive powers first hand. What it had done to his mother. Did she feel like this when she thought of his father and Kyle? All those years watching his father from across the world, had it broken her like this? He didn’t want to be his mother, he didn’t want to bare the same heartbreak that had turned her cold. Would he turn cold too? Would all those years of breaking down walls, and shattering his defenses mean nothing? All his father’s training, all the love his brothers had taught him to share— would it mean nothing?
“I don’t want to be her… my mother…” Damian said, voice shaking once more.
Grayson said nothing, though his hand stilled on his back.
“I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to hate… I just… I don’t want this to destroy me…”
“It won’t, Damian.”
“It already has.”
Grayson let out a soft chuckle and squeezed the base of his neck, “You’re still a kid, you’ve got a lot of growing up to do. And Jon’s been dating this guy for what? A few days? I can’t imagine him keeping this from you for any longer than that. This isn’t the end of the world, Damian. You’ll be okay.”
Damian just shook his head, trying to wipe his eyes. “Then why wasn’t it me… Why didn’t he tell me when I had the chance to do something about it…”
“Maybe it was the same reason you didn’t tell him…”
“I just… He’s moving on without me— so fast that I can’t keep up— I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose him…”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“But I know you. And I know you won’t give up without a fight.”