Chapter Text
Two days after Jon’s supposed return (Damian knew exactly when, but he deemed the detail to be trivial, so he didn’t mention it to Jon), Jon came to see him. Wearing civilian clothes, Jon with an oversized plaid shirt borrowed from his dad and Damian’s black turtleneck blending into the dark shades of Gotham’s night, they occupied their exclusive spot on the Manor’s rooftop. Jon did most of the talking, because Damian, for the first time in both of his lives trained by the World’s Greatest Detective, didn’t know what questions to ask, still trying to pick out all the once familiar childish traits on his best friend’s face. Jon’s messy hair stayed jet black and messy, baby blue eyes stayed bright. But Jon lost the roundness of his cheeks, and gained the barest hint of sharpness on the curves of his once pouty lips. The realization carved out something hollow in Damian’s chest.
“I don’t wanna be homeschooled, but I really need to catch up on everything before even thinking about attending high school.”
Jon looked at Damian, his eyes crinkling. “But I’m lucky enough to have my best friend with several PhDs to help me with that.” Jon gave Damian’s shoulder a light bump.
Damian’s nails dug into his palm, noticing the startling resemblance between Jon’s smile and Richard’s. He’d always had to slightly look up to catch Jon’s glance, but since Jon was so much taller now, Damian might never be able to reach him anymore. Still, he answered.
“Of course.”
Jon talked about the alternate universe, his own imprisonment, and his outer space fights. Damian had to will himself away from an impending panic caused by the distress dulling Jon’s eyes. Jon murmured about the lost opportunities he had with his family and friends, with Damian , and the flashes of horror upon realizing time and time again that he lived too far ahead from everyone else. Damian listened to it all, hyper-aware of the gap between their shoulders, a few inches of air felt almost intergalactic.
When they exchanged goodbyes, Jon hugged Damian too tight, his chin resting on Damian’s soft ungelled hair, and Damian allowed his own fingers to tug on Jon’s shirt - smelling too much like Clark - for a while longer. The muted sonic boom of Jon’s launching punched a breath out of Damian’s chest, and he waited until Jon’s figure disappeared among the murky clouds of Gotham’s sky before returning to his room, cold air lingering on the back of his neck.
Damian lied in bed for hours, arms squeezing the extra pillow he retrieved from the wardrobe. His best friend was alive and well, but Damian mourned him all the same.
*
Richard visited the Manor a week later, bringing bags of dog treats and cat food with him. He and Damian took Titus to the backyard, playing catch. Later, they sat on the untrimmed lawn, green blades of grass tickled Damian’s ankles.
“How’s Jon?” Richard prompted. The name rang strange to Damian’s ears. In his mind, he’s still struggling to replace his memories of a little boy with a more fitting image of the handsome seventeen year-old who had come to see him last week.
“He’s… managing well.” Damian replied. He didn’t mention the lost look on Jon’s face like he’d missed a lifetime, or how Jon tugged Damian close to his heart like he would somehow escape the pull of gravity and be whisked away if he didn’t hold Damian tight enough. It reminded Damian of the very first time Jon’s flying power manifested. His feet couldn’t touch the ground. Jon had clung to Damian’s arm and floated around for a whole afternoon until Superman came to the rescue.
Upon Damian’s answer, Richard made a thoughtful noise, then added, “How are you, then?”
“I don’t see the relevance, Richard.” Damian frowned.
“Don’t play that game with me, little D. You know exactly what I’m asking.” Damian didn’t look at his brother, but Richard sounded like he’s rolling his eyes.
Damian still kept the extra pillow in his bed. The flat scent of the cotton pillowcase had blended into a more familiar smell. Damian hoped he’d be able to put it back to the wardrobe before it smelled too much like an extension of himself.
“...I don’t know.” He answered, letting the silence stretch, then confessed at last. “He’s changed.”
I don’t know if I can ever get Jon back, Damian wanted to tell Richard, but his teeth blocked the words from jumping out. His brother seemed to sense all of it anyway - hurt, desperation, frustration, loss - because he pulled Damian into a hug. Damian let him, eyes sewn shut, the heaviness of Richard’s chin on the top of his head made his eyelids hot.
*
They still patrolled together and hung out a few times (less than before, and it’s mostly Jon who asked), but Jon never mentioned his request for Damian’s academic tutorship again. At one point, Damian had to force the question to the back of his mind, because it’s none of his concern if Jon had gotten help from somewhere else. At night, he clutched the pillow tighter to his chest.
During some of their conversations, Damian would make snide, nearly malicious comments in a hopeless attempt to get a punch or two in the face, but the words hit Jon like raindrops sliding down window panes. Jon only frowned disapprovingly, the curves of his mouth turned harsh, or his expression closed off, making Damian even more furious.
“You’ve been snapping at me a lot lately.” Jon commented, weighing the wrapped burger in his hands. It was late, somewhere after 2 AM, and they were sitting on a windy rooftop at the end of Damian’s new patrol route - it was changed three weeks after 10 year-old Jon left Earth. Adaptable as he was, Damian hated unfamiliarity - new route, new Jon, new whatever it was between them right now. Jon’s statement was left unclarified.
“Is it me, or was it something else?” Jon tried again, and the uncertainty of his voice got Damian clenching his fists. Jon’s question came from a place of not-childish-vulnerability where Damian knew all too well. He lived in shadows and darkness most of his life, after all.
“None of your business.” Damian said without any bite to his tone, but the hurt in Jon’s eyes made Damian’s spine ache. He’d rather Jon shoot him with his lazer beams so he wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath.
“Why?” Jon persisted, and Damian shook his head, because he’s afraid of choking up on his own words. The night breeze gently weaved through the gap between them, and it felt ice cold.
“We’re best friends, Damian, for fu- whatever sake it is!” Jon threw his hands up in frustration, and Damian would chuckle for the way Jon tried to mask his swearing under less emotionally complicated circumstances. Jon was seventeen. Damian had been swearing since the age of three.
“It’s-” Not you, Damian wanted to assure, but it was Jon, it was always Jon, and how badly Damian wished it wasn’t.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. The burger in Jon’s hands probably turned cold by now, and Damian wanted to tell him to just eat the thing already, but he’s exhausted, so he let all those unsaid words weigh him down to the concrete ledge of the roof.
“I don’t know how it happened to me, of all people, really,” Jon spoke up with a new tremble in his voice, “But I think you will understand, in one way or another.”
“Sometimes my family looks at me, but it’s not me they’re looking at. They’re looking for someone who died, Damian. And you’re doing that too.” Jon’s accusation twisted the knife already plunged deep in Damian’s gut.
“And it makes me have this fear of… of running on borrowed time. What if something like that happens again, and this time everyone will leave, because they can’t stop looking for someone who wasn’t there anymore?”
Jon’s eyes were so blue with unshed, pleading tears, and Damian wasn’t sure if he could afford those tears.
I’m hurting too, I’m sorry.
I wish I was there with you, I’m sorry.
I need time, I’m sorry.
“I know,” Damian said. He hugged Jon before leaving. The next morning, he put the extra pillow back in his wardrobe.
Jon still reached out a few more times, but Damian always had something else to keep himself busy, giving Jon no truthful answers for his withdrawal. Richard brought dog treats over and asked about Jon a few more times, then he stopped asking. Damian’s chest still felt hollow, but he believed it would stop just like that, too.
*
They barely kept in touch, except for a few texts on birthdays and yearly Christmas presents. The way Damian actively blocked Jon out of his life was unfair, but he doubted Jon would care much about it considering his new relationships and adventures. Damian held onto the fact that the gradual fallout of their friendship was inevitable even without Jon’s being aged up, and he’s good at it. He lived by facts and concrete evidence. The same three-year gap didn’t seem so minimal anymore when Damian enrolled for high school, and Jon graduated. Damian didn’t attend Jon’s graduation ceremony.
Sometimes, Damian would look to the window near his bed, ears strained to catch any clop-clop sound of pebbles hitting glass. When the sounds never came, Damian mouthed out the name with half-hearted hope that no super-hearing would catch it, then someone would throw pebbles at his bedroom’s window minutes later.
*
On extremely rare occasions, Damian extended his kindness towards annoying people by picking up their coffee order. He had business to attend to at Wayne Enterprises in fifteen minutes, and was the last of the nine-people waiting line.
“Damian Wayne?” An unfamiliar voice dashed up behind him, full of incredibility. Rolling his eyes, Damian turned around, and froze when he caught a glance of an obnoxious shade of pink.
Jay Nakamura smiled, and Damian’s head was starting to ache in dull throbs. He shook the hand extended towards him.
“Jay Nakamura - Jon’s boyfriend, nice to meet you. Jon told me a lot about you, you know.” Nakamura introduced. His head was slightly tilted, watching. Damian found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the pink hair, and felt mildly irritated.
“He did?” Damian replied, checking the line of waiting customers.
“You’re his best friend, and everyone wants to hear about the Waynes,” Nakamura shrugged, then added, “Do you wanna come over there? Get to know each other a bit more?”
His finger pointed towards a secluded table at the corner of the coffee shop, and Damian’s estimated annoyance quota for the day was already running out at 9 AM in the morning.
“I’m not available right now.” He stated, quietly scolding the sleep-deprived college student in front of him to stop fumbling with their voucher.
“A busy bee, aren’t you? Or should I say busy bird ?” Nakamura mused.
“Is that a threat?” Damian turned his whole body towards the pink-haired boy. Nakamura raised his hands in a placating manner.
“Hey, it’s just an expression,” He explained, then asked in hushed whispers, “Don’t you wanna know why I think you’re a bird?”
Damian took a few seconds to observe Jay Nakamura. “I need to get my coffee first,” He relented at last. Nakamura smiled, heading towards his preferred table.
A few minutes later, Damian joined his reluctant companion, Drake’s order in one hand and his own in another. “What do you want?” He inquired, and went straight for a sip upon hearing Nakamura’s sigh. Damian disliked coffee, but some caffeine might be helpful right now.
“Come on, it will just be a friendly chat.” Nakamura assured him.
“Friendly as in ‘threatening a public figure with unconfirmed, unsupported deduction’ ?”
“I think it’s a matter of perspective, Damian, and in this case you do seem to have a secret to keep,” Nakamura seemed amused, “I achieved said deduction by myself, by the way, no Jon involved.”
“What a relief,” Damian grunted.
“God, now this seems like a bad idea to me,” Nakamura’s hand ran through his hair. “I guess I was just wanting to find out whatever it was that got us - me and Jon - into such a complicated situation, and you just kind of… popped up.”
“I didn’t ‘pop up’, I was minding my business. Besides, I wasn’t professionally trained for couple therapy, and don’t intend to be.” Damian argued.
“Fair enough. And I lied to you earlier, you know, about Jon’s telling me a lot about you. He doesn’t. He mentioned you a couple times, but I can tell when there’s something occupying his mind.”
Damian thought about all the times he looked to the bedroom’s window and called Jon’s name, then refused to dwell on the possibility, however slim it might be.
“I must let you know that he’s not on my frequent contact list anymore, and there hasn’t been any field-related business of mine that involved his participation for a long time. Whatever idea you have in mind, it’s got nothing to do with me.”
Damian clarified, but Nakamura brushed him off.
“I know, it’s just that… Okay, I’ll admit that I’m kind of bitter, because things are not working out for us right now, and I need to pinpoint the causes. I don’t put the blame on you, though. Me and Jon- We’re having different sets of issues to worry about. In other words, we’re not each other’s top priority anymore. And I just want to talk to someone who knows Jon for both of his identities.”
“Then I’m the last person you should come after.” Damian mumbled, watching Nakamura’s fingers hugging his coffee cup.
“Believe it or not, I’m in Gotham for my own business, just happened to see you. Even then, you’re still the first person I should talk to considering your status.”
Damian raised his eyebrows, unsure of the sudden significance Nakamura regarded him with. From his own perspective, this conversation was pointless and irrelevant, unless Nakamura knew something that Damian had not yet realized.
“I heard you’re a journalism major.” Damian didn’t hear anything. He had done an extensive background search on Jay Nakamura.
“Lois Lane is my heroine.” Nakamura smiled, and Damian chuckled.
“She will fight gods for the truth.” Damian nodded. “And don’t you intend to be the next Lois Lane?”
“No, I want to be the first Jay Nakamura.” Nakamura’s smile turned to a bitter edge. “Jon might have donned his father’s title, but he’s also his own person, and the same goes for me.”