Work Text:
The world is so hot. It’s hard to breathe through it, hard to breathe at all beneath the simmering just under the surface of his skin. He’s a volcano, about to erupt, about to scorch the landscape around him…
“Breathe, Jon.”
He can’t. He can’t open his mouth, can’t move a single muscle because there’s something wrong with him.
“Breathe.” Conner’s voice is calm, but firm. Not quite agitated, which is a relief. When Conner is agitated, his brain tends to turn straight into panic mode. Conner is the experienced one, of the two of them, so he’s not allowed to panic when Jon is also panicking. It’s all wrong.
He wants this to stop.
“Jon. Jon, you have to listen to me, okay, bud? You need to breathe. It’s okay now.”
“B-but—But—”
“No buts. Breathe.”
Jon inhales quickly. The inside of his throat is so hot that it’s like he’s in the middle of a desert, and he whimpers before he can stop himself.
“Again. Just like that.”
Conner’s hands are cool against his eyes when he presses the heels of his palms more firmly down against his face. It’s a comforting weight. Conner is so much stronger than him, even though they should be about the same in time, but he’s never been scared of that difference. It’s annoying, sometimes, when they race and he always wins, when they tussle and he always gets the upper hand, but he’s never been scared of Conner being stronger than him. It keeps him calm, now, knowing that Conner could hold him down if he erupted.
He’s being silly. He knows that, deep down. It’s just hard to make his mind remember that through screaming, blank terror.
“Jon, you have to breathe, bud.”
He manages another quick inhale, chokes on a sob when the inside of his throat burns just like his eyes. “C-Conner—”
“It’s okay. I’m right here.”
From somewhere behind him, Damian makes a sound that’s disturbingly close to a snarl. There’s a slight scuffle, and then Tim is murmuring, “Relax, Robin. He’s okay.” Damian is a good friend. Damian would fight anyone he thought was hurting him in a second even if he didn’t think he would win. Damian had the presence of mind, when Jon started panicking, to yell for Conner instead of his dad, and—and he needs to thank him for that. When he can talk again without sobbing.
Conner starts to move his hands from off of his eyes and Jon grabs for him on instinct so he can’t. He hasn’t opened his eyes, but the heat is still there. It pulses like lava beneath a caldera, like blood beneath a bruise. Waiting.
“Jon—”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he blurts, trying to keep from raising his voice, and the terror is a living thing inside his chest that wants to claw its way out but Conner is here. Conner is calm. “I-I can’t, I can’t—”
“It’s just me, Jon,” Conner says, voice light, almost amused, “I’ll be okay even if you did zap me. Remember?”
He almost moves his hands again, and Jon digs in his nails, wails, “I don’t want to hurt you!”
Conner freezes. He can feel the jolt that races through him, his heart jumping before it steadies, and almost sobs. If Conner is scared of him, too…
Damian snarls again behind him. He hears the distinct drag of boots against the concrete, Tim’s hushed urgent murmur of “get a hold of yourself” followed by Damian’s indignant “if he is not going to help—”
“Robin,” Conner says sharply, and there’s no mistaking the edge to his voice for authority, “Either stay quiet or leave.”
Damian falls silent. That feels like it bodes badly, Jon realizes in the back of his head, if Damian is actually listening to their brothers instead of arguing with them. He almost sobs again, keeps his eyes squeezed shut. If he opens them, he could hurt Conner. He will not hurt Conner.
Conner takes a deep breath, his heartbeat steadying once more. “I shouldn’t have joked about that,” he says ruefully, “But listen to me, Jon. I’m not scared you’re going to hurt me. You know why?”
Jon waits. His own pulse thunders beneath his skin, so he tries to listen to the steady way that Conner breathes in front of him, his hands pressed over his eyes like a seal, protecting him from himself.
“Because you’re my brother,” Conner says quietly, and Jon almost jumps when he feels Conner’s forehead—cool compared to his own—press against his hair. “And I know you’d never hurt me, just like I’d never hurt you. You don’t trust yourself, right now, but I trust you enough for both of us. You’re not going to.”
Jon swallows, hard, trying to keep his fear contained. Somewhere, listening to Conner, he started breathing again. The heat is subsiding, with each inhale-exhale. He can whisper, “I-I don’t want to.”
“And you’re not going to. Okay?” Conner’s hands ease up a fraction, still there, but ready to move them. His forehead is still pressed to the top of Jon’s head, as close to a hug as he can get while his hands are preoccupied, which means that… that he’s looking at Conner’s neck. At his heart. “They’re still your powers and you can still control them. I promise.”
If he’s wrong, he will fry his brother’s skin. The thought is enough to almost make him hyperventilate again, his heart skipping in his chest. “I-I can’t—”
“Jon,” Conner says, patient but firm, “Do you trust me?”
It’s so hard to, but he does nod.
“Then believe me when I tell you that you’re not going to hurt me. I promise.” Conner’s hand eases up a bit more, but lingers over his eyes. “Keep your eyes closed. I’m going to move my hands. Trust me.”
He doesn’t want to, but he has to. Jon nods again, quick.
“Good job, bud. Okay. Hold on…”
Slowly, so that Jon can stop him if he really doesn’t feel ready—he hasn’t shrugged off Jon clinging to him, hasn’t so much as moved since he kneeled on the pavement who knows how many minutes ago—he pulls his hands back. Jon’s eyes are closed but he can feel the heat simmering just beneath them, and it feels worse with the light shining through his closed eyelids, like it can come up again any second even though his eyes are closed…
“See?” Conner says, quietly pleased, letting their joined hands fall to the sides of his face. “You’re controlling it. Just like I said you would.”
Jon swallows hard. “I-I don’t want to open my eyes.”
Conner laughs under his breath. “Want to know a secret, Jon?” he whispers, kissing the top of his head before pulling him into his chest, Jon’s legs folding so he’s collapsed on top of him. “You don’t need to open your eyes. All you have to do is keep them closed until you’re calm.”
It’s such a relief to be facing sideways, to not be looking at Conner’s face and fearing that will be where the fire goes when it escapes him. “It’s still there,” he admits quietly.
“Heat vision comes from heightened emotions,” Conner says, stroking his hair. “And I can wait as long as you need until you feel like you’re calm enough to open them. I promise. You just need to keep breathing until then.”
Jon whines under his breath, turning his head into Conner’s shirt before he can tell himself he shouldn’t. He might… no. There’s nothing over his eyes, now. Nothing is going to erupt out of him unless he chooses to open his eyes, and he can keep them closed until the burning subsides. He can control it that way, even if he can’t make it go away.
He’s not going to hurt anyone. The relief hits like a tidal wave, and he grabs for Conner’s shirt and burrows in. He kind of wants Dad, now, but Conner is here and that’s good enough. Conner won’t leave him until the pressure behind his eyes is gone, until he can control himself completely.
There’s no urgency in Conner’s voice or the movement of his hand through his hair. The danger has passed, now. He can breathe.
“There you go,” Conner says quietly, tucking him into his arms. “I’ve got you. Just keep breathing.”
“Y-You’re not scared I’m going to…”
“Course not,” Conner says, “Who would ever be scared of you, Jon?”
It’s exactly what he needs to hear, exasperated edge and all. Jon laughs under his breath and tucks his head into his shirt. “Thank you for coming for me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Conner says fondly, tussling his hair. “Tell Damian to yell a little louder, next time. I didn’t quite have the heart attack he was aiming for.”
Damian scoffs from the corner, where he’s waiting with Tim. Jon knows him better. He sounds relieved, as relaxed as Damian would ever get in the field. “You are exaggerating,” he says tartly.
“I flew with him,” Tim says under his breath. “You ever been with a super when they broke the sound barrier?”
He probably shouldn’t be smiling, but he does. He’s never seen Conner do that before—he wasn’t even entirely sure he could do it. But he did it for him.
“Thank you,” he murmurs again.
He doesn’t need to have his eyes open to know Conner is smiling, too.