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Damian, at his desk, comfortably sketching while Jon lounges, sprawled across Damian’s green sheets, could not be more at ease.
“I’m bisexual, I think.”
Jon’s words interrupt the carefully cultivated silence within Damian’s room, the latter looking up from his sketchbook at the sudden admittance. Whilst vaguely aware of sexuality, Damian had become more fascinated with the phenomenon known as homophobia. He didn’t understand it, when he truly began analyzing the data.
Many heterosexual couples get together and cannot or choose not to have children. It does not seem to consistently make those partnerships less strong or worthy, so the element of successors was ruled out. When Damian had first arrived in Gotham, ideas of providing an heir still haunted his future, Nanda Parbat ghosting his choices. He’d been merely 10. Now, at 15, Damian knew that such concepts were arbitrary and unnecessary. He had moments where he lapsed within his judgement, considering life with a child when he’s within his adult years.
He has stopped punishing himself for those musings and only reprimands the kinds that assume it’s mandatory. That it’d be for any other reason than joy. He need not produce an heir. He, since arriving, has become more than one. More than two. With reproduction ruled out as a logical cause of homophobia, Damian did more research. He learned of Western religions and their roles in the suppression of queer identities. That confused him more. The irony of shunning one, harmless state of being for your own, claimed, harmless state of being. He found that much of that harmful rhetoric did not align with the true nature of these teachings, and that similarly, many involved in such religions openly opposed those whose hands aimed invasive and oppressive.
He ultimately found that many concepts found comfort in homophobia, and many things could be shaped to fit convenient reasonings.
His first introduction to queer ideas had been through Richard, merely a year after he arrived in Gotham. He’s sure it existed within her city limits before he observed it, but he’s since allowed himself the grace to have let some things be without recognition. It was a confusing, stressful time.
He and Dick had been sitting together at some restaurant that has long since shut down, both of them contently munching on a shared order of fries before Dick suddenly choked, nearly coughing up a lung as he ducked, evidently using Damian as a shield. Damian had instinctively ducked too, prepared for a threat before catching onto the easiness behind Dick’s demeanor. When questioned, Dick had used a fry to point, gesturing to something behind Damian as he spoke.
“Sorry, sorry! Some guy I dated was going by and I really don’t need him to know I come here.”
Dick laughed, sitting up, lowering the fry he had used to point at some unassuming man walking outside. He was far away enough now that there was a low risk of them being spotted from distance alone. Damian quietly swiped the fry from Dick’s hand as compensation.
Although Dick appeared easygoing, Damian didn’t miss the way his gaze lingered on Damian’s face instead of continuing to monitor the ex-partner in question, clearly anticipating a response. Damian had not known then that a negative one rooted in the gender of Dick’s past lovers was what he’d been concerning himself over.
“Perhaps it is for the best that he remains unaware. It would keep that eyesore of a shirt further away from me,” Damian had muttered, grimacing as the only thing visible of Dick’s ex was now solely the bright, Patrick Star pink shirt the man adorned. It clashed horrifically to the rest of his outfit and the surrounding world. Dick had barked a laugh, fist hitting the table as his amusement fizzled into giggles fewer and further between, and that had been that.
Damian had never considered relationships beyond one between a man and a woman, and even then, it hadn’t been a scenario he exactly pictured himself in. He filtered away the new information and labeled it as something to look into further later.
Now Jon, similarly, looks nervous, despite his attempt to seem casual. His breathing seems faster than normal, and his fists are tightly clenched within his lap. Damian’s eyes filter over him before he asks, “You are attracted to both men and women?”
Jon nods, easing up slightly at the neutral tone Damian uses. Damian hums once, short and simple, then continues on with his drawing. Within his research following the incident with Dick, he had learned about “coming out”, a ritual in which one would inform their loved ones (or otherwise) of their romantic and/or sexual preferences, or of their gender identity. He didn’t understand why Dick hadn’t come to him with such a statement, until coming across a “Reddit thread” about how some coming out endeavors weren’t so overt.
That’s not the approach Jon chose, however, so Damian carefully selects his response. The thread suggested that there is no one way to respond well to a coming-out. The best strategy is to let the person coming out to you set the tone of the conversation; to follow their lead. Damian meets him at casual.
“Your preferences make no difference to me, Kent. All relationships seem distracting.”
Jon finally cracks a smile at Damian’s familiar kind of approval; one that condemns change and uncertainty and instead reassures. Jon is still himself as is Damian, and Jon’s preferences simply don’t change Damian’s view of romance as a hindrance in the field: man, woman, or otherwise.
“You and your laser-focused mind,” Jon laughs, sitting in a far more open and relaxed position. Damian chooses to join him, making his way over to his bed and promptly sitting on one of its edges. Jon scoots across the surface until he reaches Damian’s left, settling comfortably next to him.
As well-researched as Damian tried to be, he’s a bit out of his depth now that he’s faced with his very own personal someone-coming-out-to him endeavor. He decides to ask, “Were you worried I would disapprove?"
“It’s stressful no matter what, honestly. One moment, you’re keeping part of who you are a secret, and the next, you’re showing a painful part of your soul to someone from the palm of your hand-” Jon’s tone falters slightly, eyebrows furrowing as his hand, a tight fist, briefly opens. Damian carefully pokes the center of it. The smile Jon gives him at the action settles Damian’s tense shoulders “The support I have doesn’t take away from the cruelty I will face, y’know?”
Damian does know, but he’s not sure he understands. “I will swiftly handle any trouble you encounter,” he offers. Jon grins, something easy and amused.
“Any? Not just the gay kinds of trouble?” Jon asks. Damian shakes his head, momentarily considering both his own words and Jon’s.
“Any," Damian confirms. "There’s far worse trouble that you could get into, and none of it needs to be dealt with by your lonesome.”
Jon smiles even wider, toothy and childish. His shoulder knocks into Damian’s, and nothing further is said.
That’s why, when Tim comes out, Damian feels much more prepared. A few nights ago, Tim had nervously requested everyone be present so he could discuss something, and schedules had been cleared for tonight. Bruce has seated himself on a recliner, slightly isolated from everyone else, who’ve gathered across the couch and the area below it. Jason and Dick sit next to each other, occasionally kicking the other as they await Tim’s return, who had briefly stepped away with Alfred.
Cass sits on Dick’s other side, happily toying with one of Duke’s hands, who’s sat on the floor in front of her. One of his arms is extended upwards slightly, the couch used as an elbow-rest to remain as comfortable as possible while Cass wiggles Duke’s fingers for him. Damian sits the furthest away, on the other end of the couch, and the one that happens to be on the side closer to Bruce’s recliner.
Alfred’s sharp but quiet footsteps click through the softly buzzing living-room as he reappears in the doorway with Tim by his side. Alfred remains in the space between the living-room and kitchen while Tim instead goes to stand in front of the couch. He positions himself slightly more towards Jason, Dick, Cass, and Duke, their presences offering more comfort in one way or another than Damian’s or Bruce’s.
Damian takes no offence and catalogs it all the same. With a deep breath, Tim speaks, as if not allowing himself the chance to back out or hesitate before the words become too jumbled to get out.
“I’m bi. Bisexual.”
Damian nods in understanding, now recognizing why Tim had been so nervous. As he had read, it didn’t matter that their family was openly supportive or that some of them too, were queer. Tim was nervous all the same. Besides, this is not Tim’s first experience with a family. He’s uncertain as to whether Janet or Jack Drake had ever known this part of Tim’s life, or if they were or would have been accepting.
That’s why Damian bristles when someone starts laughing.
Jason’s hand collides with his own knee, a sharp smack rippling through the living room. He leans over as he exaggerates needing to catch his breath out of pure amusement. Dick, to Damian’s horror, giggles at Jason’s antics, his attention fixed. Cass rises from her seat on the couch, carefully stepping around Duke, who’s smiling wide, and gently embraces Tim with a quiet “love you”.
“Jay…” Bruce’s voice carries a hint of warning, a quick address before he nods at Tim. While Damian’s appreciative that Bruce made any kind of effort to stop Jason’s theatrics at all, he hardly thinks it’s enough.
“Thank you for telling us,” Bruce smiles, his expression gentle and accepting. It’s simple, but things with Bruce, in matters like this, tend to be. Fanfare over relationships or similar agenda tend to be met with approval so long as health and happiness are maintained in conjunction.
Before Bruce can get much else out, Jason interrupts.
“Oh, come on! Yeah yeah, whatever formalities you need, Timbit, we all knew,” Jason grins, waving a dismissive hand as Dick chimes in.
“Yeah, sorry Timmy. I’m glad you told us.”
Tim’s face burns as it flips between various expressions, each one shifting before Damian can properly analyze it. Tim masks it well enough with an indignant, “No you didn’t!”, though it only seems to rile up the pair more.
Duke’s head flips between Jason and Dick, then back to Tim before he pushes himself from off the floor, replacing Cass’ hug as she steps back. Tim gratefully accepts the contact, eyes flicking to Alfred, who’s stood smiling approvingly. It’s far softer than usual, but familiar. Knowing.
Tim’s face stays pressed to Duke’s shoulder for a few moments too long, although Duke takes it in stride. Damian watches as Duke’s arms tighten around Tim, evidently seeing how much he needs that added bit of support. Tim’s face, at least what Damian can see of it, is bright red. Jason’s laughter hasn’t stopped, although it’s far less intense. With every brief rise in volume, Tim shrinks further and further into himself. Dick’s face is still riddled with amusement. Tim’s eyes repeatedly flicker to Damian, even as he and Duke separate. Duke presses a brief kiss to the side of Tim’s head when nobody else seems to be paying much attention, and Tim relaxes slightly.
Dick pipes up again, “Really, we’re all happy for you. You know that.”
Damian, as the room begins to settle, knows he too needs to contribute so Tim can be assured of his support. He speaks, finally.
“That should not matter,” he states blandly, not hiding the faint irritation in his tone. He couldn’t imagine what Jon would’ve felt had he responded to his coming-out with laughter, and Tim hardly seemed less nervous going into this.
“Yeah, you likin’ dudes changes nothing,” Jason says, agreeing with a sentiment that Damian hadn’t voiced in the first place.
“That’s not what I’m referring to. It’s unnecessary to make such remarks about having known or how obvious it apparently was to you. This is a personal part of Drake’s life that he chose to share with you. One that has and will take many positive experiences away from him and one that will welcome many more. It’s more than the support you offer now, but the support you offer when other parts of his life are not so accepting. Calling his vulnerability unnecessary is hardly beneficial,” Damian’s tone grows sharper with each sentence, his nails digging into the fabric of his jeans, his initially poised scolding transitioning into frustrated rambles. He relaxes in the following silence, Jason no longer laughing and Dick no longer smiling.
“I am grateful you informed us, Drake. I cannot imagine it was easy,” Damian turns to Tim after a deep breath amidst the quiet, nodding in approval. Tim’s lips press together tighter than they had been a moment ago, evidently wobbling a bit. He does not miss the way Tim’s eyes gleam slightly, but no comments on the matter are needed.
Damian did not hug Jon after Jon had come out to him, and some part of him wishes he had. He has the comfort that at the very least, that Jon felt assured enough by Damian’s response to not be embarrassed about the ordeal. Tim, on the other hand, is still standing as if it takes effort to remain at the center of the room. His hands are still shaky and his eyes are still hesitant to meet any others.
Damian stands up and easily embraces his brother. Like a punctured balloon, Tim deflates, gently easing his weight within their hug. Damian accepts the weight and stands steadily, a supportive structure. He hears two pairs of footsteps following his lead but he knows better than to let go. Both Jason and Dick layer themselves within the hug, Jason more reserved in his methods.
“I’m sorry, Tim, anytime you want to talk, I’m here. We love you so, so much,” Dick mutters easily, to which Tim hums. Damian’s quite sure that Tim would’ve verbally replied if he trusted his voice to be steady or reassuring. Jason makes no such verbal apology, but tightens his hold. Damian doubts Jason would’ve joined the hug had Dick not paved the way, but he supposes that doesn’t matter all that much. The effort was made regardless of the courage buffer he had, and Tim seems to appreciate it all the same.
Damian is only able to escape his affection-based containment when Jason and Dick seemingly feel less bad about not just upsetting Tim, but missing how each laugh upset him further.
The night dies down from there. Damian is the first to part from the others, rising at the end of a tense game of Monopoly, bidding his adieu. As he ascends, he detects another set of footsteps chasing after him. Not particularly panicked, but certainly intentional. He doesn’t turn until he’s stood waiting at the top of the stairs.
Tim appears just moments later, simply meeting Damian’s gaze.
There’s a certain hesitance to his demeanor that keeps Damian from making any teasing, provoking comments. After all, he had made some rather brash, presumptuous comments scolding Jason and Dick. Perhaps Tim had something to say on the matter.
He carefully scoops Damian right back into another hug, one that Damian begrudgingly allows. Tim surely catches the way Damian’s mouth curls into a smile against his shoulder, huffing, the sound short and amused.
Tim finds the words, largely using Damian’s patience as an aid. “Thank you,” he says, shifting their weight from right to left with a subtle sway. He inhales, voice packed with things Damian can’t begin to identify. “You don’t know how much that meant to me.”
There’s a world of truth behind the sentiment, as Damian, truly, isn’t sure he ever will. Sexuality confuses and eludes him all the same. A constant state somewhere between a lack of interest and a lack of preference. He’s hopeful that if the day ever comes that he were to come out, that this would be a helpful lesson to his family, to let it be more than a guessing game or betting pool.
Damian isn’t particularly sure what to say to this, though. Gratitude has always been a much trickier subject. How much is too little, and when is it enough? Although, thinking about it, Damian would much rather mess up a “you’re welcome”.
He doesn’t quite do that either. He nods. Tim grins at him as they part, his arms gently releasing Damian, not at all disguising the way his gaze moves between Damian’s fidgety hands and the uncertainties he carries with his shoulders.
Retreating into his room, he remains unaware of the whispers discussing his intervening defence with approval. After only thirty minutes since he parted from the others, another two sketched cats, and a handful of songs humming quietly through one earbud hanging vaguely from his ear, there’s a knock at his door.
Damian pauses his music, pulling the earbud fully out and letting it drop onto his mattress beside him, speaking a simple “come in”.
Bruce enters, approaching Damian’s bed, who watches with trained eyes, curious and unsure. He’s simply met with a kiss to the temple as Bruce braces one hand on Damian’s bed, leaning down. He sits down at the edge of Damian’s bed, turned inwards towards him. The silence persists, although it is not uncomfortable. Eventually, Bruce speaks.
“Dick came out to me when he was in his twenties as if it were just another day. I thought I had it all figured out, how to be there in that moment. I am so proud of you, Damian. I am endlessly proud of you. I’m sorry you had to step in where I failed to keep Tim comfortable.”
Affection from his father is something Damian’s rather familiar with. He has the privilege of being one of the latest children who’ve entered his father’s care. Of arriving after many lessons learned and mistakes made. That doesn’t render Bruce impossible of it, but affection has been pouring from his father’s hands since he understood how far and few between it could become. It does not make it easier to accept without blending feelings of undeservedness and uncertainty.
He does agree that Bruce should have stepped in. He would not change how he handled the absence.
“Thank you, Father.”
“You are so kind, Damian. The best of us,” Bruce takes Damian’s controlled response in stride, smiling impossibly softly. That look always seems to find Damian in his best and worst moment returns, eyes sweetly scrunched at him. Damian wilts slightly, if only to wonder what his siblings would think of Bruce calling any one of them exclusively, “the best of us”. Bruce seems to catch on, hands gently finding Damian’s face to pull his head near for another kiss to the temple.
“You prove my point. Goodnight, Damian. We’ll see you in the morning.”
Damian’s face scrunches, inciting a small laugh from his father. The sound coaxes the sweet upwards twitch of Damian’s own lips.