Archive of Our Own

"Checkmate," Damian said, moving one of his black bishops and forcing the white king into a corner, hinting at a smirk from his son's confused expression.

Thomas cursed through clenched teeth and crossed his arms over his chest with an exasperated snort. This game had been going on for hours, and for once, he really thought he was going to beat his Baba. "I just don't understand how you do it," he muttered, puffing up his cheeks like a child. At the ripe old age of thirty-two, he had still not been able to win a chess match against his parent, despite constant training. "It's impossible to beat you," he said.

"That's what your father always says."

"In my opinion, you are cheating," Thomas muttered, ignoring his Baba's outburst of hilarity as he looked around. "Speaking of Pop, where is he? I haven't seen him for a while."

Damian rolled his eyes in amusement. "Since he retired, he's discovered a passion for fishing," he hinted as he tidied the chessboard to put the pieces back in place, and Tommy glared at him.

"Really? And why didn't you go with him?"

"Are you kidding, eaziz?" Damian looked genuinely astonished, then burst out laughing. "I let my habibi enjoy his hobbies," he dismissed the matter with a hilarious snort, rising slowly to avoid putting too much weight on the prosthesis. Age had begun to take its toll, and though he insisted he was still in great shape, his past sixty years didn't feel the same. "Besides, I always hated going fishing."

"Fishing and your lack of patience don't go together, do they?"

"You try sitting on a boat for hours waiting for a fish to be stupid enough to take your bait."

"Nah, that doesn't sound appealing to me."

"Now you see why I'm here and not there."

Tommy laughed and gave his father his arm to help him up, and Damian, despite himself, agreed to walk slowly with him to the couch. His new prosthesis would arrive within the week, and as much as he would have preferred to do things on his own as he always had, he had learned over the years not to disdain a little help from his family members. So the fact that their son often visited them in the country brought back old memories of the time when they all lived together, those days when laughter and fun-filled moments were the order of the day, and Damian admitted that he really missed having the house full and always filled with merriment. Now he understood how his father had always felt.

The day seemed to pass too quickly. Thomas had stayed for dinner and helped him prepare it, hinting at a greeting for his father who had returned from fishing miserably empty-handed; they had teased him a bit, Jon had retaliated by tickling them both, and he and Tommy had literally escaped from his clutches while amusedly yelling that they wanted to be left alone and that if he wanted to eat he had better help. And just like Damian, Jon was more than happy to have his son running around the house again. Tommy had started his new life in the city, had asked Mandy to marry him and would soon be starting a family, and he and Damian could not have been more proud of the path their boy had taken.

As Tommy said goodbye to them and mentioned that he was going to turn in early so that he could wake up rested for the next day's trip, Jon invited Damian to join him on the couch, tapping the empty spot with an amused grin before Damian, amused, raised his eyes to the ceiling and sat down, snuggling up next to him. It had become a routine for several years now and Damian would not give up these moments for all the money in the world.
"I'm glad Tommy decided to stay," Jon whispered, planting a kiss in Damian's hair.

"Me too. It's been a while since we got to spend some time together."

"It seems like only yesterday we were changing his diaper."

Damian smiled nostalgically. "And look at him now."

"We did such a good job."

"With our ups and downs."

"With our ups and downs," Jon repeated, smiling back, and would have added more if he hadn't started to sneeze.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, it's just..." Jon sneezed again and Damian gave him a skeptical look, grabbing the blanket from the couch and throwing it over his shoulder.

"Someone's got a cold."

"Nah, I'm fine, I just..." Jon began to sneeze in fits and starts, fumbling for a handkerchief in his pocket to blow his nose noisily and eyeballing Damian's grin with a furrowed brow. "Don't laugh."

"You may not have caught any fish, but you sure caught a cold."

"That's not funny, D."

"Maybe you're right. Or maybe not." Damian leaned in to steal a lip-smacking kiss. "I'll prepare you a hot bath, idiot."

"I don't need one, I just need..." another sneeze stopped him and Damian tapped him on the nose.

"I'll get you some medicine as well. Now get on with it," he ordered, not wanting to hear a fuss, and though grumbling, Jon followed Damian to the bath and waited patiently for him to prepare the tub for him.

As he carefully soaked himself, Jon sighed with pleasure at the warmth that enveloped his old and tired limbs, lowering his eyelids to enjoy the steam and the scent of the foam despite a few brief sneezes. He refused to accept that he was retired and growing old; he and Damian had never been able to sit idly by and would have worked less if they had sold the farm and moved to the city, but Damian had been the first to insist. They had rebuilt the house from the ground up, they had found their peace there in the country, and Damian himself had come back to life because of what they had experienced, and Jon would never be able to move back to the city and...

"Habibi? I brought you the medicine."

Jon lifted an eyelid and hinted at a smile at the sight of Damian, holding back a sneeze as he raised a damp, foam-filled arm to beckon his companion closer; he played nice, accepting the glass of water and taking the medicine, brushing against Damian's arm a few moments later before smiling back. "Come here," he said suddenly, wrapping his fingers around Damian's wrist, who frowned.

"What are you-- Jon!" Damian let out a surprised exclamation as Jon pulled him into the tub with all his clothes on, shaking the water out of his hair to look at Jon, realizing he had ended up straddling him. "Aren't you too old for this?" he asked wryly as he felt the bulge under the water's surface, and Jon grinned.

"Never. I'm still in my prime."

Damian laughed helplessly. "You're a pervert, Mr. Wayne-Kent," he confirmed, taking his face in both hands and caressing his cheeks, brushing his lips against im. "I love you," he murmured, resting his forehead against Jon's and feeling Jon's hands on his hips.

"Me too, D," he whispered, pulling them into his embrace.

Until the end of days. Neither of them said it, but in their gestures and kisses, it was as if they had.