Chapter Text
Jonathan found Damian crouched on top of a gargoyle on the side of an old clocktower in Old Gotham, the lights of the city flickering in the oppressive heat of the summer.
He descended from where he hovered in the sky to the stone behind the teenage boy, careful not to make any noise and send him running. It was funny; once, Jonathan had struggled to even maintain a hover above the ground. Now, flying anywhere at speeds well above what he could run was as easy as walking.
Although Jonathan thought he was perfectly silent as he began to walk forward, Damian’s shoulders tensed and he spun around, drawing a batarang from his waistband.
"Oh,” the boy said, relaxing a bit as he recognized Jonathan. He tucked away the weapon, shifting from a fighting stance to the one he usually used when he was doing something important- perfect posture, with his chin cocked upwards so he was looking down at whoever he was talking to, and definitely not the relaxed, easygoing form Jonathan had seen Damian take whenever he thought nobody was looking. “Good evening, Superboy. What brings you to Gotham?”
"Hey, Damian-” Jonathan started, before Damian reached up and tapped the yellow R on his chest.
“We’re out in the open, Superboy. Keep the first names to a minimum; they make me look like an amateur."
“Right…” Jonathan winced, nodding as he glanced over Damian’s costume. The R was shining even more than usual, and he’d also noticed that a few of the bullet holes in the yellow cape were gone- he must’ve just gotten the whole thing replaced. Jonathan wished he could do the same- his costume was already too small on him again despite it being replaced only a few months prior- but they were running out of the Kryptonian cloth, and it would be very expensive to make even a little bit more. “Um, my da- I mean, Superman just wanted me to come let you know that Penguin’s got a few weapons trucks coming into the city over the next few nights. Didn’t feel urgent enough to use the League radio, I guess.”
“I appreciate the warning, but tell him not to bother next time. Penguin running guns into the city is as sure as the sun going down on any given day.” Damian smirked, amused with himself. He turned back to look over the cityscape. “You are free to go. I’m sure you’d like to be back home in time for dinner, after all.”
Jonathan hesitated, but instead of sitting down, he strolled over to the edge of the roof, lowering himself down so that his legs dangled off the side of the building. He tried not to look down; even with the ability to fly, he could never quite shake his fear of heights while on a building.
“How’ve you been?” Jonathan asked, glancing back up at Damian, trying to discern emotion through his pitch-black mask. “We haven’t talked in a while. Not alone, at least.”
Damian stared down at him for a moment before looking away, wiping a bit of sweat off his neck with the edge of his cape. He let his shoulders droop, almost relaxing before turning away and returning to his pin-straight posture.
“Fine, I suppose. My punishments for the actions we took a few years ago are finally starting to be lifted.” Damian muttered, shrugging. Memories flashed through Jonathan’s head- the feeling of jagged crystal piercing through his stomach, his hand in Damian’s, both of their costumes covered in blood- before he pushed them away, accidentally tearing off a baseball-sized chunk of stone from the edge of the tower in his sudden panic.
“That’s good,” Jonathan murmured, nodding. “Di- Nightwing told me Alfred can be pretty strict, said he runs a tight ship. Is that true?”
Silence.
“Damian?” Jonathan asked, turning to see what the boy was doing, but there was nobody where Damian had stood a second ago. There was a thud on a nearby rooftop, and Jonathan stood to see Damian splayed out on the shingles of a church, another figure standing over him with a large gun in hand.
“D-” Jonathan started to call out before he heard a hiss from behind and was suddenly overcome with white-hot agony.