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"Hey, Mom, we weren't expecting you," Jon said as he stepped aside to let his mother in, a tired look on his face but a smile on his lips.
They had been busy on the farm lately and hadn't had much time for themselves, no matter how much they always tried to carve out time for little Tommy; it had been three months since they had found him in that cornfield, and that little boy had managed to completely revolutionize their lives in a flash, changing their family dynamic with the snap of a finger. Damian himself had changed, he had given his heart and soul to that little boy, making sure he got the best care even if it was just a trivial cold, and Jon could see how that little boy's presence had become extremely important to someone like Damian. They had learned to love that child as their own, even if Damian had ended up neglecting himself a bit, despite Jon's recommendations and constant telling him not to overdo it unnecessarily. Moral of the story: it had been more than a week since he had been in bed with a fever and Jon had taken a leave of absence to be there for him and Tommy, to be there if needed. Having his mother there had certainly been a welcome presence, but as tired as he was after managing to get Tommy to sleep, he didn't deny that he would like to take a nap himself.
"Sorry, honey, I should have warned you." Lois stood on tiptoe to give her son a kiss on the forehead, shaking a few curls out of his face. "You look tired," she whispered, lingering over the dark circles under his eyes, but Jon smiled and gently moved her hand away to clasp it in his.
"Maybe a little, but I'm fine. Really," he reassured her as he made his way to the living room, not before he had his coat handed to him. "Damian got sick and I'm taking care of everything, but it's okay. Don't worry."
"Sick? How he is?"
"A little better. He's had a high fever lately, but it's gone down. Mostly I just reminded him not to overdo it and that I would take care of Tommy."
Lois patted him on the cheek, lifting her gaze to look him in the face. "You know, you could have called. Anything I can do to help?"
"Sit down and let me do for you something," Jon joked, whining as his mother unceremoniously pulled his nose. "All right, all right, sorry," he lamented, massaging his toe and muttering to himself as he picked up the scattered toys and blankets to sit his mother on the sofa. "And sorry about the mess too, I was playing with Tommy to get him to sleep."
"It's been three months, right?"
Jon smiled brightly as he folded the blanket and nodded before turning back to his mother. "It seems like yesterday that he came into our lives, and... Damian and I have never been happier," he admitted, picking up one of the dolls to watch him. "We never - you know, we never really talked seriously about having kids. We wanted to one day, but being on guard had put even the idea of becoming parents on the back burner, so we didn't--I don't know, we didn't think about it. And look at us now."
Lois smiled as she hugged her son. "Now you have a beautiful child, and every day you learn more and more. When you are a parent, you never stop to do it."
"I'll take your word for it," Jon teased, returning the hug before inviting her to sit down and disappearing into the kitchen in time to make tea.
Before returning, he had also checked on Tommy and taken the medicine to Damian, quietly entering the room to leave it on the bedside table, quietly locking the door behind him, and joining his mother with tea and cookies that would have made even Mr. Pennyworth proud. Jon had learned about the goings on in Metropolis, how his father was busy not only as Superman but also following a news case in Star City, and how Conner filled in for him from time to time to lighten his workload; sometimes his Aunt Kara joined them as well, and it was good to know that she came back from Kandor more often than she should, so he could introduce her to Tommy before he left for space again.
It was good to have his mother to keep him company, Jon did not deny that. Talking about this and that had done him good, distracted him a bit from the tasks of the past few days and relaxed him, and he admitted that he also selfishly wished that he had asked her to stay for a few days, but he didn't. He knew his mother would agree, and he preferred to fend for himself while he could. He was about to invite her to stay for dinner, when a noise caught their attention and they both turned to see Damian stagger past just outside the living room archway, and Jon was the first to get up to go after him.
"D! You shouldn't get up yet, you're not--"
Jon interrupted, stopping a few steps away from him, his mother not far behind. Something was wrong, Damian's gaze was fixed and dull, his half-closed lips released breath so quickly that his chest rose and fell at irregular intervals, as if he were hyperventilating; he seemed unaware of where he was or of himself or his surroundings, as if he were...
"The blood..." Damian whispered through clenched teeth, scrambling to his feet as he made his way to the front door, leaning against the wall to his right. "My hands... are stained with blood..."
"Jon, what..."
"I don't know, Mom," Jon admitted, coming closer.
Damian had never suffered from somnambulism, but he knew never to wake people up in that state, so he tried to move slowly, making as little noise as possible and avoiding noises that were too loud, trying to find out what was wrong with him; for a terrible moment, Jon feared that he had once again become detached from reality, dissociated from it, just as he had in the early days of living with the loss of his leg. He didn't want Damian to fall into a catatonic state again, did not want to see him shut down or lose himself, did not want him to go where he could not reach him or help him.
"I have to wash them...I can't touch my son with blood on my hands," Damian said again as he fell to his knees, rubbing his hands furiously, repeating the words over and over under the worried eyes of Jon and Lois. "The heretic will never have my son, the League... the League..."
"D-" Jon swallowed, searching his mother's eyes for help, but she herself didn't know what to do except take a step toward Damian, as unsure of what to do as he was.
"The League is destroyed, darling," Lois tried to say, crouching at his side at a reasonable distance. "You don't have to fear them anymore."
Damian turned so quickly that for a moment they feared he would break his neck. "You swear?" His gaze was fierce, his eyes exaggerated with fear and confusion, as if seeking absolution. "I... I can't, I can't let them touch my son, I can't touch my son myself. The blood, I've done... I've done so many terrible things, I..."
"You're okay, D." Jon crouched too and stared into his eyes. They were feverish and red, but had begun to light up again. "It wasn't your fault, it never was."
"What if he turns out like me?" Damian squealed suddenly, grabbing Jon's arms and squeezing the fabric of his shirt between her fingers so hard she dug her nails into the flesh. "I don't want him to turn out like me, I don't-"
"D, hey, look at me." Jon put a hand to his cheek. "Tommy would be proud to be like you."
"How could he? I'm a monster, I've killed so much, I've hurt so many people, I-"
"You left that life behind you, D. You fought for what was right."
Damian ran his hands through his hair, gripping the short dark curls so tightly you almost thought he wanted to pull them out by the roots. "They point at me, they try to pull me down with them, I can feel the chains around my neck, I can feel them scratching the walls with their skeletal fingers, I..." Damian began to breathe heavily again, almost on the verge of screaming. "T-They talk and scream and-they want you and Thomas, they want to punish me, they--they never shut up. Make them shut up. Please, Jon... just make them shut up."
Make them shut up. Jon repeated those words over and over in his mind, a whirlwind that seemed to swallow up everything else, but he also braced himself for Damian, grabbing his shoulders as he felt his mother's hand give him strength on his back as well, giving them space and comfort at the same time. "I'm here, I won't leave you. Listen to my voice," Jon began to murmur, resting his forehead on hers. "Tommy and I are here, we're okay. We are in our house, Tommy is sleeping peacefully and you have nothing to worry about."
"I... Jon-" Damian swallowed over and over, the grip of his fingers loosening and his breathing beginning to regularize, though it still took him a long moment to focus on his surroundings, blinking in confusion. He did not seem to understand how he had gotten there, and only later, after looking at Jon, did he realize that there was a third presence with them. "Lois?" he whispered uncertainly, and the woman smiled.
"What-what did I do? I-"
Lois put a finger to his lips. "It's all right, Damian. You can rest now."
Damian looked at her with shining eyes, his lips quivering for a long moment before he sank his face into her chest and cried, cried so hard that Lois herself was stunned by it, holding him in her own arms and stroking his back as slowly as Jon had begun; Whatever he had been dreaming about, whatever mechanism the fever had set in motion in his head, seemed to have vanished for a moment, collapsing the wall of that castle in which Damian's psyche had been barricaded, leaving only room for the outlet that he seemed to desperately need and that Lois had no intention of denying him.
The traumas of his past would never leave him, but he wouldn't be alone.