Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Somehow I think you think this is funnier than it is.” 

Tim stood staring at his new brother. Brother? Yes, one would call him a brother. Despite only coming forward after the death of Bruce and then conveniently taking his place afterwards. At least he helped take down the League of Shadows, Tim supposed. 

But that, and everything in relation to it, was not the reason for this particular meet up. On this particular day, Tim, who has shaved his head due to his history of being in a wrestling ring, was faced with Damian who, for some reason, had thought it was hilarious to go ahead and present himself in a bald cap. 

“You look good, man. What? Did you want me to say that?” 

Damian, who has been sporting a sour look on his face ever since he got there, really didn’t seem to pick up nor understand Tim’s nonchalant attitude. 

“No. Don’t you get it? I wore it to show you how ugly it looked.” 

“But it doesn’t look ugly.” Tim turned back to face his computer, typing away.

“How does it not look ugly?” Damian grabbed his whole head in his palm, “You used to have a full head of hair. Do you see anyone pursuing you anymore?” 

“Do you think that would hurt my feelings or something?” Tim squatted his hand away, “Don’t you think the reason why no one is pursuing me anymore is because I have a wife?” 

“Bet she’s just letting you down easy.” 

“Somehow I feel like this is less about me and more about your receding hairline and actual damaged hair follicles, which, remind you, I do not have.”  Tim traced his still healthy hairline with his finger. 

“I don’t have damaged hair follicles.” Damian almost reached up to the scar on his head which stretched down onto his face but stopped his movement all together as Tim turned around. 

“Please.” Tim stood up swiftly, yanking the bald cap off Damian’s head in one quick motion, “I might not have stalked you like you did us but everyone knows you haven’t been able to grow a single hair here,” Tim tapped directly onto the deep scar on his head, “Ever since you were a child.”

Damian slapped his hand away. “Fuck off.” 

“Hit a sour spot didn’t I?” Tim’s receiver started to beep. “Now if you please excuse me, my loving wife who loves my ugly head is calling.” He waved his hand. Barbara's icon popped up on the screen, signalling it was very much time for Damian to excuse himself. “Oh, piece of advice,” Tim tossed the bald cap, Damian caught it as he turned, “Next time, mock someone you actually have the balls to walk in their shoes.” 

“I can shave my head!” Damian threw the bald cap into the trash, head held high.

“Oh yeah?” Tim smirked, leaning back onto his chair.

“Oh dear.” Barbara sighed before her full visual came onto screen, “What did I come on to?” 

“Yeah! I can! You’ll have to swallow your words for calling me a coward, Drake! There isn’t anything you can do that I can’t!” 

With that, Damian stormed out. Barbara gave Tim a look as he turned to face her. 

“What? He called me ugly.” 

“He’s 5 years your junior, honey. And we’re closing into our 30s.” Tim pouted as she flipped through her notes with an amused look. “And for the record, you’re not ugly.” 

“Ah— bluh— eh– Yeah! I know. I even told him that.” 

Barbara just chuckled as Tim straightened himself, catching him up with the recent happenings in Gotham. 

Damian swung back to a small house slightly out of the outskirts of Gotham, barely reaching Metropolis and Bludhaven. 

He pulled off his Batman cowl. Facing him in the mirror was himself, now fully shaven. He ran his hand across his scalp, shivering slightly from the breeze and the odd sensation on the palm of his hand as the little pricks of hair one by one tickled his skin. 

“By Rao, have mercy on my soul.” He mumbled to himself. 

Perhaps he went a bit too far with his pride this time, falling right into Tim’s taunts without thinking of the one person he does not actually want to appear ugly to before the deed has been done–

“D! You’re home! Common in the sitting room, I bought some takeouts!” 

Jon’s voice echoed through the house, rendering the dark and gloomy area in which their house resides completely irrelevant. The sun did not need to reach their abode, Jon could light up even the darkest of places. 

He could care less about how everyone thinks of his looks but Jon wasn’t… ‘everyone’. 

It’s difficult to comprehend how much they do and don’t have in common. Secret sons of the leaders of the Justice League, out to find out the corruption of arguably Earth’s strongest heroes and plan to take out the monster behind it all.

That said, Damian was kept a secret because Bruce didn’t think his aunt’s words were real, too high on his own sickness to differentiate what is and isn’t factual. While Jon was kept secret for his own good, for him to have a life that a kid has the right to have. 

That was their core differences. 

Jon was, is, normal. Jon didn’t grow up scheming to take out his grandfather nor did he grow up around weird adults to swing around buildings. Then again, he did grow up around a man who flies. Maybe that weirdness about him would be enough to convince the normal side of Jon’s brain to ignore the new look Damian had been forced into sporting. 

“Hey.” He greeted, his armour, suit and cape came off with a zip. His hand placed them inside the nearby cabinet. It flipped inside out, hiding this clothes before closing itself, looking like a seemingly normal figurine display. 

“Found a few of your favourites this time around town.” Jon busied himself with putting things out on the table, his feet hovering ever slightly off the floor. Damian eyed him cautiously, his hands clamping up at his sides the longer Jon has his back turned. “And hey, I managed to scoop up a few things on the streets recently. Have you heard that the suic—” 

Damian held in his urge to gulp, knowing with Jon’s hearing he would have picked up immediately. He tried to calm his heart beat down with a specific breathing pattern he learned as a kid in the League. Though, just because his heart wasn’t jumping out of his chest didn’t mean Jon didn’t understand what that breathing pattern meant. 

“D—” 

“Hah, crazy stupid, right?” Damian jumped in before Jon could criticize him. “Would you believe, Tim got me into his mess. It’s so stupid I know. It look ugly as hell but I do have a few wigs in storage s–” 

“Huh?” 

“Hah?” Crap. Jon’s eyebrows had gone up. He had fallen into Confused Puppy state. He wasn’t buying the story at all. “Well. You know. I was visiting Drake today and we were doing our usual banter. And that bastard started coming at me and— Well, it all started because, you know how he thought it’d be a good look on him to shave his head? And we all know it’s not the best idea, yeah? I mean, both Jason and Grayson who have shaved their head grow it back eventually but today he—” 

“So you—” 

“Hey, wasn’t my idea for him to shave his head. Wasn’t my idea for me to shave my head either. I mean, do you see how bad it looks? My head is all dented on the back. You gotta have, like, a good round head to actually look good all bald and I definitely am not those kinds of people. Not that Drake is. I mean– what I meant was—” 

“You shaved your head to show Timothy Drake how bad it looks?” 

“Well I didn’t start off shaving my head but it just sort of fell into it, you know. Drake, he’s a scheming bastard. I started off only wearing a bald cap, you know. Hah. And he started roping me into things even though I don’t really want to shave my head. I mean, who wants to shave their heads, you know? Or be bald–” 

“You’re usually not so talkative. Nor intolerant.” Jon was fully not buying Damian’s incessant rambling. In full transparency, Damian wasn’t technically lying about the events either. He just happens to not say it outright. “Just be honest, what happened? You know I won’t get mad at you.” 

“I hate it when you talk that way.” Damian groaned, pulling out a seat. 

Jon floated towards him, head darting up and down with great interest. Too much interest. “Can I touch it?” His hands were already hovering above Damian’s head. 

“Sure.” 

With childlike glee, Jon’s hands flop onto Damian’s head, rubbing his scalp gently with his fingers, giggling at the same sensation that made Damian shiver in disdain just a few moments ago. “I don’t know what you're making such a fuss about,” Jon was rubbing his cheek on his head now. Damian let him be, pulling his serving to himself, “You look amazing like this.” 

His hand paused, food inches from his lips. “You… think so?” 

“Mhm.” Jon nodded, pulling Damian’s head to his chest, hand still fiddling with his prickly hairs, “You can listen to it if you think I’m lying.” 

He wrapped his arms around Jon’s waist, almost shyly. They had only just started dating barely a week ago, after all. “No one really looks good with a bald head, even buzz cut.”

“Well I suppose I have bad taste.” Jon giggled as Damian’s hair tickled his throat. Slowly, Damian found himself smiling as well. 

For a few quiet moments they stay like that, with Damian listening to the calming beatings of Jon’s heart and Jon rubbing his head with his hands and face. 

“Say, why do you hate this type of look anyway?” Jon traced his hand gently onto Damian’s scar. The scar itself ran deep from the back to his head towards the scap, down to his forehead, across his face, down to his cheek, less and less visible as it went down.

It was true that his hair had stopped growing from that area ever since he had it as a young child. But with hair he could style it in ways that could cover it up, conceal it, out of sight, out of mind. With hair, it would be a barely visible scar across his face, only visible if you go and look for it. Without the hair, it was a dirty reminder that he was nothing but a tool in someone else’s game. A child breed and created from scheme, cruelty and assault and grew from neglect and abuse. 

He didn’t need to tell Jon any of it. He had already heard it before. Had already expected the answer with the way he was caressing him. So Damian just nodded. 

“Well, as someone who can’t develop scars, I’d say it just makes you look really cool.” His lips pressed upon the scar, resting his cheek onto his head. 

“Why would you want to develop scars anyway? Just reminds you of things you want to forget.” 

“Maybe. I think of them as little memories. Like… how a woman's stretch marks is the body’s memory of it growing to accommodate something or someone.” 

“So my scar is a little memory of my shitty past?” 

“A little memory of your survival through your horrible past. Shows how brave," Jon nuzzled closer and closer, "and strong," He peppered Damian's head with kisses, "and cool you are.” Damian groaned half heartedly.

“Oh shut up.” Damian poked his sides, pulling Jon into a giggle fit, forcing him to detach himself.

They settled onto their nightly routine, eating dinner, relaying the information they’ve found throughout the day. All the while, Jon rubbed his palm on the pricks of hair on the back of Damian’s head and Damian sat with his posture up and confident. 

Maybe he, and Drake by proxy, don’t look too bad with a shaved head.