Archive of Our Own

I

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Jon had worked up his courage at the end of patrol. He and Damian had just stopped a group of bank robbers who, frankly, hadn't been much of a challenge.

Just ask him. It's Damian. He's your friend. It's not an interrogation.

Jon wiped his sweaty hands against the thighs of his suit.

It's now or never.

He'd been thinking about this for weeks, ever since his father had told him stories of his own childhood in Smallville, of the autumn fairs, the smell of roasted corn and cotton candy.

He cleared his throat before speaking, trying to sound casual.

"Hey, Damian… Uh… Do you have plans on Friday?"

"Training. Patrol. The usual. Why do you ask?"

Damian stared at him. He knew Jon didn’t usually ask questions like that just to be polite; there was almost always something more behind them.

He had gotten used to him, after so many shared patrols, training sessions, late-night messages when neither of them could sleep. Discovering that Jonathan Kent wasn't entirely insufferable.

Jon ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more.

"It's just that… there's a fair. In Kansas. In my town, well, the town where I grew up. Metropolis is great and all, but Smallville is… It's different, there are a ton of attractions… And…"

He stopped. He was rambling.

Damian raised an eyebrow, that expression he wore when something surprised him but he didn't want to admit it.

"And…?" he said, inviting him to continue.

"I wanted to know if you'd want to go with me."

The words came out faster than he expected. Jon felt heat in his cheeks and mentally cursed his Kryptonian skin that couldn't hide anything.

Damian looked at him intently. Searching for something—a trap, a joke, or ulterior motives.

But there was none.

Just Jon, with his heart in his hand, wanting to show him his true home. Not the Fortress of Solitude. Not the Watchtower. Smallville. The cornfield behind the house. The porch where he learned to fly. The place where he had begun to be Superboy.

"You mean it" said Damian. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah. Though it's fine if you don't want to, it's silly… forget it."

He regretted it instantly. What was he thinking? Damian Wayne, with his League of Assassins upbringing, his impeccable manners, and his disdain for everything he considered "unsophisticated," at a Kansas fair.

He couldn't imagine it in a million years.

Damian saw the embarrassment, disappointment, and sadness on the face that was usually radiant like the sun that never quite reached Gotham.

And I hate that expression.

"It's fine."

"What?"

Jon blinked. Once, twice, three times. Had he just accepted?

"Really?" he asked, unable to hide the emotion rising in his chest and sounding in his voice.

"I said it's fine. I've never been to a… fair" Damian pronounced that word for the first time in his life. "What time and what day?"

"Friday. In the afternoon" the smile returned to Jon's face. " And you could stay the night. We could watch movies and eat whatever we get at the fair! Popcorn, candy, that kind of stuff… Dad has a collection of old movies that…"

"Jon."

"Yeah?"

"The time."

"Four o'clock!" Jon blurted out. "Four o'clock. Does that work?"

Damian nodded.

"I'll be there at 4. Send me the location." Damian stood up, he had to get back to the manor.

And let his father know he'd be going out on Friday.

"You'll really come?" asked Jon, standing up as well.

"I said so."

"I know, I know. It's just that…" Jon scratched the back of his neck. "I don't know. I thought you'd say it was a waste of time."

Damian looked him in the eyes.

“I don’t make promises I won’t keep, and I don’t make plans I don’t want to follow through on” he said seriously.

Jon felt something strange in his chest.

His heart thumped hard, almost painfully… but it was addictive.

He smiled to himself.

He was going to take Damian Wayne to the Smallville fair. He was going to show him his home.

They said goodbye with a fist bump that had become their tradition without either of them noticing.

II
•✦───────────────────────•✧

Jon couldn’t sleep.

He’d tried. Seriously. He’d tossed and turned for what felt like hours, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom in Metropolis.

The city lights filtered through the curtains, casting shifting shadows that only reminded him he was awake. That he couldn’t sleep.

Insomnia was horrible.

He tried counting to a hundred. He made it to two hundred and fifty-five before realizing it was pointless.

He tried closing his eyes and thinking about nothing, focusing only on his breathing.

Nothing worked.

Jon buried his face in his pillow and screamed silently.

Damian Wayne had said yes. Damian Wayne, the most serious, most impossible boy he knew, had said yes. He was going to Smallville. He was going to see his grandma Martha’s house. The porch where Jon had learned to fly. The cornfield where his dad used to run around as a kid.

Why am I so nervous? It’s just Damian. It’s just the fair. It’s just…

But there was nothing just about it. He kept imagining the look on Damian’s face when he saw the fried food stands. How he’d react to the pig judging contest. Whether he’d like Lois’s apple pie or eye it warily before taking a tiny, barely noticeable bite, the way he always did with unfamiliar food.

Jon kicked off the covers.

What if he gets bored? What if he hates everything? What if he sees the farm and decides I’m some ridiculous country bumpkin and never talks to me again?

He pulled the covers back over himself.

No. He’s not like that. Damian’s not like that. Everyone thinks he is, but…

But the fear was still there.

He looked at the clock: 11:47 p.m.

Great. Four days to go, and I’m already losing sleep. I’m going to be a zombie by Friday.

He pictured Damian arriving at the farm, immaculate as always, with his neatly pressed clothes and superior expression, while Jon had dark circles down to his knees and yawned through every game at the fair.

No. I can’t let that happen.

He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Thought about boring things: his math homework, endless League meetings, the sound of his grandpa’s tractor.

And finally, when the clock read 4:13 a.m., he fell asleep.

III
•✦───────────────────────•✧

The next morning, Jon shuffled downstairs. The smell of coffee and pancakes filled the kitchen. He dropped into a chair with a dull thud and poured himself some cereal without looking.

Clark and Lois exchanged a glance as Jon came in.

Their son wasn’t exactly subtle.

"Good morning, sleepyhead" Lois said. "It’s ten o’clock."

"Mmm" Jon replied.

Clark set a plate of pancakes in front of him.

"Everything okay? You look like you didn’t get any sleep."

"I didn’t sleep much."

Lois studied him with her journalist’s eyes, scanning him.

"Nightmares?"

"No."

"Worries?"

"No."

"Then what is it?"

Jon sighed. There was no getting around it. His parents always figured everything out.

It was as if they had a sixth sense for the things he didn’t want to tell them. Or maybe he was just terrible at lying.

"I invited Damian to the fair in Kansas."

The silence lasted exactly two seconds.

Clark raised an eyebrow.

"What did he say?"

Jon smiled without realizing it.

"He said he’d come."

Lois blinked.

"The one who pushed you into the abyss in the Batcave just to see if you could fly the first time you met?"

"That’s the one" Jon said proudly.

Clark shook his head, but he was smiling.

"And how did you convince him?"

"I didn’t convince him. I just asked. And he said yes. He said he’d never been to a fair."

Lois and Clark exchanged another glance. This time, there was something more in their eyes.

Surprise? Affection? Concern? Fear?

Clark topped up his coffee and sat down across from Jon.

"That’s… unexpected."

"Why?"

"Because Damian isn’t exactly the kind of person who enjoys fairs" Clark said carefully. He knew about Damian’s past, the things Bruce had told him in confidence. His childhood in the League of Assassins. His relatives on his mother’s side, his struggles to fit in even with his own “brothers,” and his refusal to accept them.

Jon shrugged.

"Maybe he’s never given it a chance. Maybe…" He bit his lip. "Maybe he just needs someone to show him that everything doesn’t have to be training and missions and serious stuff."

"Well" Lois said, closing her laptop "then we need to get ready."

"Get ready?"

"Damian Wayne is coming to our farm. To spend the night." Lois stood and started clearing the dishes. "We need to make sure rural life doesn’t traumatize him."

Clark laughed.

"Lois, it’s a farm, not a battlefield."

"For someone who grew up in a mansion with a butler and as a prince in Nanda Parbat, it’s the same thing" Lois said. "I’m going to make sure the guest room is spotless."

"Grandpa’s room is fine" Jon protested.

"Grandpa’s room has a knitted cow blanket and a scary painting of a rooster" Lois said. "No. I’m putting fresh sheets on the bed. And taking down the rooster painting."

Jon rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He knew it was pointless.

Clark leaned toward him.

"Are you sure about this, Jon? Damian is… intense."

"I know."

"And he isn’t always easy to get along with."

"I know."

"And—"

"Dad" Jon interrupted, meeting his eyes. "I want him to come. I want to show him where I come from. I want him to see that my life isn’t all about the Fortress or the Watchtower or… all of that. I want him to know Smallville."

Clark studied him for a moment. Then he smiled, that warm smile that reminded Jon why he was the most beloved man in the world.

"Then we’ll give him the welcome he deserves."

Lois nodded.

"Martha will be thrilled. She’s been wanting to meet this friend you talk about so much."

Jon blushed.

"I don’t talk about him that much."

"You talk about him all the time" Clark said with a smile. "‘Damian said this,’ ‘Damian did that,’ ‘Damian saved my life on that mission.’"

"That was one time!"

"It was last week."

Jon buried his face in his hands. Lois laughed.

"Okay, okay. Don’t be embarrassed. It’s sweet that you have such a close friend. Especially someone who…" She paused, searching for the words. "…who understands this life."

Jon looked up. Lois was watching him gently.

"Yeah. He understands me."

Clark reached over and ruffled his hair.

"Then it’ll be a good weekend. Do you want us to make anything special for dinner on Friday?"

"Apple pie!" Jon said immediately.

"Apple pie," Clark repeated, nodding. "Got it."

Jon went back to his cereal, but he wasn’t hungry anymore. Well, he was hungry, but he was too excited to focus on eating.

Four days.

Just four days.

"Hey, Jon" Lois began.

"Yeah?"

"Does Damian… know he’s going to a small-town fair? With pig judging contests and all that?"

Jon laughed.

"He has no idea."

Lois smiled.

"This is going to be interesting."

"I know" Jon said, his smile growing even wider.

After breakfast, Jon picked up his phone and typed a message to Damian. He needed to make sure their plans were still on.

Jon put his phone away and lay back on the steps, looking up at the sky.

Four days.

Four days to go.

IV
•✦───────────────────────•✧

Friday arrived sooner than Jon expected. He spent the whole morning helping his mother around the farm, feeding the chickens and repairing a fence that had fallen in the last storm. But his mind was elsewhere. On the clock. On the door. On… someone.

By 3:45, he had showered, put on a blue T-shirt and jeans, and settled on the porch, swinging his legs impatiently.

"Are you nervous?" his mother asked, coming outside with a glass of lemonade.

"Me? No. Why would I be nervous?" Jon took the glass and drank too quickly, almost choking.

Lois smiled and sat beside him.

"Because your best friend, who happens to be Batman’s son, is coming to a fair in Kansas. And you want him to enjoy it."

Jon sighed.

"It’s just… I don’t know. Damian isn’t like everyone else. What if he gets bored?"

"Jon" Lois said, using the voice she reserved for something important "if Damian agreed to come, it’s because he wants to be here. With you. Don’t forget that."

Jon nodded, though he wasn’t entirely convinced.

At 3:58, the sound of an engine broke the countryside’s silence. Jon sprang to his feet, spilling a little lemonade on his shirt.

"He’s here!" he said, clumsily wiping at it.

Lois laughed and patted his shoulder.

"Go greet him."

Jon ran toward the driveway just as a sleek black motorcycle, completely out of place in a town like Smallville, stopped in front of the house. Damian removed his helmet, shook out his dark hair, and looked around with a neutral expression.

"This is… more rural than I expected" he said, getting off the motorcycle.

Jon laughed nervously.

"I told you it was a small town. What did you expect?"

"Nothing. But I wasn’t expecting…" Damian gestured vaguely toward a rooster staring at them from the pen. "…that, either."

"That’s Kevin. Don’t worry, he’s harmless. Unless he sees something shiny. Then he’s a problem."

Damian looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

"Kevin seems quite the character" he remarked.

"Yeah, he is."

"What other animals do you have?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

"Cows, horses, chickens… We have a few pigs, too" Jon said with a smile.

Damian nodded.

"Want to meet them? Later, of course."

"That would be acceptable."

Jon picked up his travel bag and led him toward the house.

"My mom made lemonade. Want some?"

"Yes…"

As they walked toward the porch, Jon felt something in his chest settle. Damian was here. At his home. In his world. And although he wasn’t smiling, he didn’t seem to want to be anywhere else. He watched everything closely, but without judgment.

"The fair opens at five" Jon said. "We can walk there. It’s about fifteen minutes away."

"Fifteen minutes" Damian repeated. "Sounds fine."

Jon smiled. It was going to be a good night. He could feel it.

Lois was waiting on the porch with a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses on a tray. She smiled when she saw Damian. He really had kept his word and come.

"Damian, it’s good to see you. How was the trip?"

Damian stopped in front of her. Jon glanced at him, expecting a curt reply or a sarcastic comment about the roads, the heat, or the lack of civilization. But to his surprise, Damian inclined his head slightly.

"The trip was fine, Ms. Lane. Thank you for having me."

Jon nearly tripped over his own feet.

Ms. Lane?

Lois blinked, clearly just as surprised as Jon, but recovered quickly.

"Lois is fine. And you’re welcome. Jon hasn’t stopped talking about your visit all week."

"Mom" Jon hissed, feeling his ears turn red.

"Understood… Lois."

Jon watched with a mixture of relief and amazement. Damian was being… polite? Nice?

"Sit down, sit down" Lois said, gesturing toward the table. "Are you hungry? Jon said you were going to the fair, but I made some sandwiches just in case."

"That isn’t necessary—" Damian began.

"I insist. I can’t send a guest off to a fair on an empty stomach. That would disgrace the Kent family."

Damian opened his mouth to protest, but something in Lois’s expression stopped him.

He sat down.

Jon had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. It was fascinating to watch Damian, the boy who argued with Batman without blinking, surrender to his mother’s hospitality.

Lois placed a plate of turkey sandwiches on the table beside the lemonade.

"So, Damian" she said, sitting across from him, "Jon tells me you’ve never been to a fair."

"No. The opportunity never arose."

"And what do you think about going?"

Damian considered the question seriously, as though Lois had requested a tactical report.

"I don’t know what to expect. Fairs aren’t… common where I come from. In any of the places I come from, actually."

"Well, that’s fine. Everything will be new to you." Lois smiled. "Jon, have you told him about the pig judging contest?"

Jon shook his head, holding back a laugh.

"Not yet."

"A pig… judging contest?" Damian repeated, as though the words made no sense together.

"Yeah. Farmers bring their pigs, and they compete to see which one is the fattest, the prettiest, the most…" Jon made a vague gesture. "…pig-like, I guess."

Damian stared at him.

"You’re telling me we’re going to watch pigs… being judged?"

"Yes."

"And that’s… fun?"

"Yes!" Jon and Lois answered at the same time.

Damian looked at both of them, then down at his sandwich, and Jon could have sworn he saw something like resignation in his eyes.

"All right."

Jon nearly choked on his lemonade.

"All right? That’s it?"

"What else do you want me to say? I don’t understand the logic, but…" Damian shrugged, a gesture so uncharacteristic that Jon blinked. "I suppose I’ll see for myself."

Lois smiled, satisfied.

"I like this boy, Jon. He’s smarter than I thought."

"Mom."

"What? It’s a compliment."

Damian didn’t reply, but Jon noticed his ears turning faintly pink. Which was so rare, so incredibly strange, that Jon decided not to mention it. For now.

After the sandwiches, Jon took Damian to leave his bag in the guest room. The rooster painting had been removed, just as Lois had promised, and the fresh sheets smelled of lavender.

"This is where you’ll be staying."

Damian stepped inside and set his bag on the bed. He looked around carefully, as though memorizing every detail.

"It’s… adequate" he said at last.

Jon laughed.

"That’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ve given all day."

"Don’t exaggerate."

Damian remained standing, looking out the window at the cornfield stretching behind the house.

"Is that corn?" he asked.

"Yeah. My dad used to run around out there when he was a kid. Well, before he discovered he could fly."

Damian nodded slowly. He said nothing else.

"Hey, Damian."

"What?"

"Thanks for coming. Seriously."

"You don’t need to thank me for keeping my word."

"I know. It’s just…" Jon rubbed the back of his neck. "…it means a lot to me. Having you here. In my home. Meeting my family."

Damian studied him for a moment. Then the corner of his mouth shifted. It wasn’t a smile. But it was the closest thing to a warm smile Jon had ever seen from him.

"Your family is… interesting" he said. "There’s even that rooster who likes shiny things and looks at me as though he wants to attack me."

"Kevin’s territorial. It’s nothing personal."

"I noticed."

Jon laughed. Damian didn’t, but his shoulders relaxed a little more. Jon got up from the bed.

"Want to meet my grandma? She’s in the kitchen. She made apple pie."

Damian nodded.

Jon smiled and led him back down the hallway.

When they entered the kitchen, Martha Kent was taking the pie out of the oven. At the sight of Damian, she smiled with a warmth that seemed to brighten the entire room.

"So you’re Damian" she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "Jon never stops talking about you." She looked him up and down. "You’re more handsome than I imagined."

"Grandma" Jon protested, but Martha was already extending her hand toward Damian.

"Martha Kent. It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man."

Damian took her hand carefully, as though afraid he might break it.

"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Kent. I’m Damian Wayne."

"Oh, what a gentleman." Martha patted his arm. "Would you like some pie? It’s fresh out of the oven."

"Yes, thank you."

Martha cut two slices and placed them on plates. Jon took his and sat at the table, watching Damian try the pie.

He took a small bite, chewed slowly, and then nodded.

"It’s delicious."

Martha laughed, delighted.

"I’m glad you like it. It’s Jon’s favorite."

Damian looked at Jon, and for a second, something passed between them.

Then Damian turned back to Martha.

"Jon has good taste."

Jon felt himself blushing again. Damn his Kryptonian skin.

Martha poured more lemonade and sat with them, asking Damian about Gotham, school, and his hobbies.

Damian answered every question with a courtesy Jon had never seen from him.

No sarcastic comments.

No superior looks.

Just polite, straightforward answers.

When Martha got up to check something on the stove, Jon leaned toward Damian.

"What’s gotten into you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You’re being… nice. Too nice. Are you sick?"

Damian glared at him.

"I know how to behave when the situation calls for it, Kent. Your grandmother offered me pie. I’m not going to insult her."

"But you practically tripped over yourself calling my mom ‘Ms. Lane.’"

"Your mother is Lois Lane. She’s a respected journalist. And she welcomed me into her home. That deserves respect."

Jon stared at him, his mouth open.

"What about me? Don’t I deserve respect?"

"You’re you. I don’t need to soften my personality around you. With you, I can be myself."

Jon didn’t know whether to feel offended or flattered. He decided on the latter.

"Okay. I guess that makes sense."

Damian took a sip of lemonade.

"Besides, your grandmother reminds me of Alfred. I don’t want to disappoint her."

Jon was quiet for a moment.

"That’s… surprisingly sweet of you."

"Don’t say that again."

Jon laughed and gave him a light nudge on the shoulder. Damian didn’t pull away.

From the kitchen doorway, Lois watched the scene with a smile. Clark, who had just come in through the back door, walked over to her.

"How’s everything going?" he asked quietly.

"Better than I expected" Lois said. "I think Damian Wayne just found somewhere he doesn’t have to be the heir to anything."

Clark looked at the two boys sitting together at the table, sharing apple pie and lemonade.

"Then it’ll be a good weekend."

"Yes," Lois said. "It will."

Jon looked at the clock on the wall. It was 4:30.

"The fair opens in half an hour. Ready to go?" he asked.

"Now?"

"Yeah. It opens soon, and I want to get there before it gets crowded."

Damian nodded and stood.

Lois came over and handed them twenty dollars—approximately 370 Mexican pesos.

"For anything you want to buy. And don’t stay out too late, okay? Dinner’s at nine."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Thank you, Lois" Damian said, taking the bill with an expression Jon couldn’t quite read, as though it were the most precious and unexpected thing he had ever received.

They walked down the dirt path, leaving behind the house and Kevin the rooster, who watched them until they disappeared around the bend. The sky was beginning to turn orange and pink, and the air smelled of freshly cut grass and something sweet drifting over from town.

"What’s that smell?" Damian asked, frowning.

"Which one?"

"That one. Like… burnt sugar"

Jon laughed.

"It’s the food stands. They must be heating up the fryers already"

"Fryers?"

"Damian, you have a lot to learn."

Damian huffed but didn’t argue.

They walked in silence for a while, and Jon noticed Damian studying everything: the trees, the scattered houses, the cornfields. As though memorizing the terrain. Jon knew he always did that. Damian couldn’t help it. It was part of his training.

But there was something else, too. A curiosity that wasn’t tactical. Something Jon hadn’t seen in him before.

At the end of the path, the fair’s lights began to appear on the horizon. Rides, from carousels to the enormous Ferris wheel visible from a distance, brightly lit stalls, the distant sounds of music and people. Jon felt a flutter in his stomach.

"There it is" he said, pointing.

Damian followed his gaze. He stopped for a moment, assessing the scene as though it were a battlefield.

"It’s bigger than I expected."

"Scared?"

"Waynes don’t feel fear."

Jon laughed again.

"Of course they don’t. Come on."

And together, one wearing the biggest smile in the world and the other barely concealing his wariness, they stepped through the entrance to the Smallville fair.

V
•✦───────────────────────•✧

Jon asked Damian what he wanted to do first.

Damian looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

"You invited me."

"Yeah, but you’re the guest. So you get to choose."

"That makes no sense."

"Damian."

"Kent."

Jon laughed. He knew he wasn’t going to win that argument.

"Fine. Let’s start with the food. You always start with the food."

Damian nodded.

Jon led him toward the row of food stands. They had everything: hot dogs, burgers, tacos, Mexican street corn, fries, cotton candy, funnel cake.

It was exactly as Jon remembered it: loud, colorful, and full of people speaking with that familiar Kansas drawl.

"Okay. First, the essentials."

Jon stopped in front of a stand with a hand-painted sign.

┌───────────────────────────────────┐

CORN DOGS — THE BEST IN THE COUNTY

└───────────────────────────────────┘

"What do you want to try?" Jon asked.

"Whatever you recommend."

Jon smiled. This was going to be fun.

He pulled out his wallet, but before he could open it, Damian was already paying. Jon looked at him, surprised.

"Hey, you don’t have to…"

"You invited me into your home" Damian said, taking the two corn dogs the vendor handed them. "The least I can do is pay for the food."

Jon opened his mouth to protest, but Damian was already handing him one of the sticks.

Damian eyed his own suspiciously, as though it were an alien device.

"It’s a battered, deep-fried hot dog" Jon explained. "Trust me."

Damian took a small bite. Chewed. Then took another, bigger bite.

"It’s… acceptable."

Jon bit into his corn dog and tasted the familiar combination of hot sausage and crispy batter. He closed his eyes for a second.

"It’s so good."

They kept walking, and Jon took him to a stand selling Mexican street corn.

Damian paid again. Jon noticed he wasn’t using the bill Lois had given him. He was taking money from his own wallet without making a show of it.

"Aren’t you going to use the money my mom gave you?" Jon asked.

Damian glanced at him.

"That’s different."

"Why?"

"Because she gave it to me as a kindness. I’m not going to spend it on food. I’ll keep it."

Jon didn’t know what to say.

After the corn, they tried the fresh lemonade. Damian paid.

Then they reached a cotton candy stand, and Jon saw Damian’s eyes brighten slightly at the pink cloud the vendor handed him.

"What exactly is this?"

"Cotton candy. It’s melted sugar spun into threads. It dissolves in your mouth."

Damian bit into it. Or rather, tried to. The cotton candy stuck to his nose and cheek, leaving a pink coating on his skin.

Jon laughed so hard he nearly choked on his lemonade.

"Don’t laugh" Damian said, but he sounded more embarrassed than angry.

"It’s just… you have…" Jon pointed to his own nose, unable to stop laughing.

Damian wiped at it with the back of his hand, which only made things worse. The sugar stuck to his fingers. He stared at it in horror.

"This is ridiculous."

"It’s part of the experience" Jon said, still laughing. "Here, let me help."

He pulled a napkin from his pocket and, without thinking too much about it, wiped Damian’s cheek. He realized what he was doing just as his fingers brushed Damian’s skin.

"There" he said, his voice a little higher than usual. "All gone."

Damian stared at him but said nothing. He kept walking, and Jon had to hurry to catch up.

The silence between them was strange, new, but not uncomfortable.

Then they reached the funnel cake stand. Damian paid again.

Jon stopped protesting.

He knew it was a losing battle.

The funnel cake arrived hot and dusted with powdered sugar, and Damian managed it more successfully than the cotton candy.

"This, I like it" he admitted.

"See? I told you fair food was good."

"I didn’t say it was good. I said I liked this."

"Same thing."

"It isn’t."

Jon smiled, his eyes bright as he turned toward Damian.

"Hey, want to try the carnival games? The ones where you aim at stuff. There’s one where you knock down bottles, another where you toss rings… I’ve never been able to play those. Because of my powers, you know. It feels like cheating."

Damian looked in the direction Jon was pointing. There was a row of booths with flashing lights and stuffed prizes hanging overhead. Children running around with popcorn, teenagers laughing, couples competing.

And, against his will, his mind returned to the place he still couldn’t escape in his midnight nightmares.

The place he feared his father might someday send him back to.

The League of Assassins. The red room. Shooting drills that lasted for hours. Punishments for missing. Ra’s al Ghul’s hands on his shoulders, correcting his stance. Talia’s voice, cold and precise: Again, Damian. Until it’s perfect. Until there’s no room for error.

Games weren’t games. They were training. They were tests. They were opportunities to fail and be punished.

For a moment, Jon watched him get lost in something. In memories, in a place Jon couldn’t see.

"I don’t like play  games" Damian said, and it was the first time Jon had ever heard his voice sound so small.

Jon’s heart clenched.

He didn’t like it… He didn’t like that expression on Damian’s face, and he felt he would do anything to make sure it never appeared there again.

"That’s okay" he said gently. "Let’s go see the agricultural exhibits. They have enormous pumpkins. Like, the size of a small car."

Damian blinked, returning to the present.

"Pumpkins the size of a car?"

"Yeah. It’s a Kansas thing."

"That’s… inexplicable."

"I know. That’s why I want you to see them."

Damian nodded and followed him. The tension in his shoulders eased a little, but not entirely.

They were heading toward the exhibition pavilion when a voice stopped them.

"Oh, look. If it isn’t the farm boy."

The voice cut through the air like a knife. Jon tensed immediately. He knew that voice. He knew that tone.

He turned slowly.

Tyler. Tall, blond, blue-eyed, wearing the school baseball team’s jacket. Behind him stood his usual entourage: five boys who laughed before anyone even made a joke.

"Aren’t you going to introduce us to your boyfriend, Johnny?" Tyler said, and the others laughed.

Jon felt his face burn. He didn’t answer. He wanted the ground to swallow him whole. Why did his bullies have to find him on the very day he was out with Damian?

"Well, well" Tyler continued, stepping toward them. "What’s this? You brought your little boyfriend to the fair? How sweet."

The other boys laughed again. One made kissing noises.

"Have you kissed on the Ferris wheel yet?" another asked, laughing.

Jon clenched his fists. He tried to calm down. He didn’t want to do this. Not here. Not in front of everyone at the fair. Not in front of Damian.

"Tyler" he said, making his voice as firm as he could. "Go away."

"Or what? Are you going to call your dad? Or is your tiny boyfriend going to say something?"

Damian stepped away. Jon glanced at him, alarmed.

But Damian wasn’t leaving.

He walked toward a boxing machine beside the exhibition booth. One of those with a punching bag and a digital display that measured the strength of a punch.

"Hey, where are you going?" Tyler asked, amused. "Going to cry?"

Damian didn’t answer. He took a bill from his wallet, fed it into the machine, and waited for the punching bag to light up.

Tyler kept mocking him.

"Look, Johnny’s little boyfriend wants to throw some punches. You think you can—"

Damian punched.

The sound was sharp and loud, like thunder. The punching bag swung violently, and the digital display flickered before showing the number.

999
NEW RECORD

The silence was deathly.

Tyler’s mouth fell open. So did his friends’. People nearby stopped to stare.

Jon blinked.

Damian straightened slowly. Adjusted his shirt cuffs. Then turned his head and looked at Tyler.

It wasn’t just any look. It was the look Damian reserved for Gotham’s criminals. That cold, calculating look that said, Imagine the punching bag is your face.

Tyler swallowed. Took a step back. Then another.

"Let’s go" he muttered, and his entourage followed without protest.

They left quickly, almost tripping over one another as they disappeared into the crowd.

Damian returned to Jon’s side.

"Are you all right?"

Jon looked at him. His heart was racing. His mind was a whirlwind.

"What… what was that?"

"What I had to do."

"You scored nine hundred and ninety-nine!"

"The machine must be faulty."

"It isn’t faulty! You broke it!"

"I didn’t break it. I merely used it."

Jon laughed, a mixture of disbelief and relief. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Damian, that was… that was incredible."

Damian shrugged.

"Nobody mocks you in front of me."

"Damian…"

"Right. Where are those giant pumpkins?"

Jon smiled. A small smile, but a real one.

"This way."

They walked together toward the exhibition pavilion. Jon said nothing about what had just happened. Neither did Damian. But at some point, their shoulders brushed, and neither of them moved away.

VI
•✦───────────────────────•✧

Epilogue

Jon led him toward the agricultural exhibition pavilion, feeling his heart beat a little faster than usual. He wasn’t sure why. It was just Damian. Just the fair. Just his home.

But when they entered the pavilion, Jon felt something expand in his chest. He wanted Damian to see everything. He wanted him to understand why this place mattered.

"Look at that" Jon said, pointing to a pumpkin that was, without exaggeration, the size of a small car. "I told you I wasn’t exaggerating."

Damian stopped in front of the pumpkin. He looked it up and down.

"How does it grow that large?"

"I don’t know. Kansas stuff, I guess. My grandma says it’s the weather. Or love. Or something in the soil."

"That isn’t a scientific explanation."

"Damian, I’m not a scientist."

"Clearly"

Damian studied the pumpkin a moment longer. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

"It’s… impressive."

Jon smiled. He knew that in Damian’s language, “impressive” was practically an epic poem.

They walked through the pavilion’s aisles.

Jon talked nonstop. He told him about the jam competition, about the time his grandma had won second place with her peach pie, about the year a farmer had brought a watermelon weighing over two hundred and twenty pounds.

Damian listened and asked questions.

"How do you judge jam?"

"By its flavor, texture, and color. And whether it has seeds."

"And if it has seeds?"

"Disqualified. No appeals."

"That’s… strict."

"This is Kansas, Damian. Jam is serious business."

Damian nodded as though he understood perfectly.

Jon pointed out a stand.

"Mrs. Henderson made that jam. She lives three houses down from us. Once, when I was little, I ate a whole jar and got sick."

"That sounds like something you would do."

"Hey."

"And those flowers?"

"Those are from the Pérez farm. They have a huge greenhouse. My mom says they grow the best roses in the state."

They passed the baking competitions. There were red velvet cakes, apple pies, cookies decorated with royal icing, and animal-shaped cupcakes.

"That one’s pretty" Jon said, pointing to a chocolate cake shaped like a castle.

Damian looked at it.

"It’s inaccurate. Castles don’t have towers that small."

"It’s a cake, Damian."

"Accuracy matters."

Jon laughed.

They were about to leave the pavilion, ready to explore the other attractions, when Jon spotted the shooting gallery.

A row of pellet rifles lined the counter, and above them, hanging from a hook, was an enormous Detective Pikachu plush. It had the signature hat, a magnifying glass, and an expression that was both serious and adorable.

Jon stopped dead.

"Oh."

Damian looked at him. Then at the plush. Then back at Jon.

"Do you want that?"

"No, no, it’s silly. It’s just…" Jon rubbed the back of his neck. "…when I was little, I always wanted one of those. I could never win. The pellets never hit the targets."

"Never?"

"Never. And now… well, you know. My powers. It would be cheating."

Damian said nothing. He simply walked toward the booth.

"Damian, you don’t have to…"

Jon didn’t finish.

Damian was already at the counter, taking out a bill. The booth owner, a bearded man in a trucker cap, handed him a pellet rifle.

"You have to knock down five targets to win the big prize," he said. "Good luck, kid."

Damian raised the rifle. Jon held his breath.

Damian handled it with a familiarity Jon had never seen before. Not like a child with a toy. Like a professional with a tool. He settled the stock against his shoulder, closed one eye, and fired.

The first shot. A target fell.

The second. Another target.

The third. The fourth. The fifth.

Jon blinked. He hadn’t missed a single shot. Not one. Damian moved the rifle with almost unnatural precision, as though it were an extension of his body. As though he had been born holding it.

Of course, Jon thought. The League of Shadows. Training since childhood.

But seeing it in person was different. It was… impressive. Terrifying. Beautiful.

Jon hated thinking about everything Damian had never had. About the childhood stolen from him.

About how Damian had said, I don’t like play games, and yet, and yet, he was doing this to win Jon a stuffed toy.

Jon noticed the tension in Damian’s muscles, the way his gaze had hardened.

Damian set the rifle on the counter with something like relief.

The booth owner, looking defeated, pointed to Detective Pikachu.

"Claim your prize, Kent."

Jon stepped forward, dazed. The booth owner handed him the giant Detective Pikachu with an astonished expression.

"Never seen anyone win that fast" he murmured.

Jon hugged the plush. It was soft and enormous and smelled brand-new.

"Thank you" he said, looking at Damian.

Damian shrugged.

"It wasn’t difficult."

"For you, maybe."

They walked toward the next booth. Jon carried Pikachu in his arms, feeling a little ridiculous and very happy.

"What else is there?" Damian asked, feigning indifference.

"What?"

"The games. What other games are there?"

Jon blinked.

"Well, there are water gun races, basketball games, ring toss…"

"Let’s go."

"Let’s go?"

"Yes. I want to play."

Jon stared at him, open-mouthed.

"But didn’t you say you didn’t like games?"

"I’ve changed my mind."

"Why?"

Damian looked at him. His green eyes shone beneath the fair’s lights.

"I like winning."

And yes, that was part of the truth. Damian had been raised to compete, to strive to win, to strive to be the best… But no victory in his life had ever given him as much satisfaction as watching Jon receive that ridiculous stuffed toy.

"Do you want to play, too?" Damian asked.

Jon looked at him, surprised.

"Me?"

"Yes. You."

"It’s just… it feels like cheating."

"Then don’t use your powers."

Jon fell silent. He’d never thought of it that way. He’d always assumed he couldn’t play, that it was better to stay on the sidelines. But Damian was right. He could play without using his powers. He just had to… try.

"Okay" he said. "But don’t make fun of me if I lose."

"No promises."

The next booth was a water gun race. The goal was to fill a balloon until it burst.

Jon fired. Missed at first. Adjusted his aim. His second attempt hit the target. The balloon began to fill.

Damian fired beside him, precise and steady. His balloon burst first.

"I won" Damian said.

"It’s not a competition."

"Everything is a competition."

Jon laughed and kept firing. His balloon burst a few seconds later.

"I did it!"

"Congratulations. You’re officially mediocre."

"Thanks, Damian. You’re great for morale."

They moved on to basketball. Jon missed his first three shots. Damian made all five.

"How do you do that?" Jon asked.

"Practice."

"You practice basketball?"

"No. I practice aiming."

Jon decided not to ask any more questions.

Then came the ring toss. Jon landed two out of five. Damian landed all five.

"This is unfair" Jon said.

"Life is unfair."

"You’re insufferable."

"I know."

But Jon was smiling. And Damian, although he wasn’t smiling, had something in his eyes. Something Jon hadn’t seen before. Something like amusement.

By the end, Jon had so many prizes that they’d had to buy bags. Teddy bears, rabbits, unicorns, a green dragon, a turtle, and the giant Detective Pikachu Jon carried as though it were a trophy.

"This is ridiculous" Damian said, looking at the bags.

"It’s fun" Jon corrected. "I can’t believe you won all this."

"You won some of them, too."

"Yeah, but you won most of them."

"It’s a matter of practice… We can practice so you can win bigger prizes next year."

Jon felt that heartbeat again, that pleasant thump in his chest. Damian was thinking about next year, about going to the fair with Jon… And Jon could only nod, because there was a lump in his throat.

When the sky had gone completely dark and the fair’s lights shone brighter, Jon looked toward the Ferris wheel. It was tall, lit with colorful lights, and from the top you could see the entire fairground. Beyond it, the town. And beyond that, the stars.

"Hey, Damian."

"What?"

"Want to ride the Ferris wheel? To watch the fireworks. They start in a few minutes."

Damian followed his gaze. He looked at the Ferris wheel. Then at Jon.

"All right."

They got in line. Jon was still carrying the bags and the giant Pikachu. Damian had his own bag and the stuffed wolf.

"I can carry something" Damian said.

"No, no, I’ve got it."

"Kent, you have six bags and a stuffed toy the size of a child."

"I’m fine."

I’m fine sounded much better than These are the prizes you won for me, so I’m going to carry them like trophies and collect every envious, astonished look I get.

Damian took a bag from his hands without another word. Jon looked at him, surprised, but didn’t protest.

When they reached the front of the line, they climbed into the gondola. It was small and enclosed, with clear plastic windows. They sat across from each other, and the wheel began turning slowly.

Jon looked out the window. The fair spread beneath them, a sea of lights and colors. He could see the food stands, the games, the people moving like ants. Beyond them lay Smallville, with its little houses and quiet streets. And beyond that, the cornfields, dark beneath the starry sky.

"It’s beautiful" Jon said.

Damian didn’t answer. He was looking out his own window, but Jon noticed that his expression had changed. Softer. More relaxed.

The wheel stopped at the top. Jon looked down and felt that familiar flutter in his stomach. It wasn’t fear. It was excitement.

"Damian."

"Yes?"

"Thank you for coming."

Damian turned toward him.

"You’ve already told me that."

"I know. But I wanted to say it again. It matters to me. Having you here. Having you meet my family. Having you see my home. Having you…" Jon stopped, searching for the words. "Having you want to come."

Damian smiled at him.

"Thank you for inviting me."

Jon felt his heart turn over.

The fireworks began.

The sky burst into color: red, gold, blue, green. Shapes expanded and faded, lighting Damian’s face with shifting flashes.

Jon watched the fireworks. They were beautiful. He’d always loved them.

But then, unable to help himself, his gaze drifted toward Damian.

Damian was watching the sky, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open.

The fireworks reflected in his pupils. His expression was… peaceful. As though, for a moment, all the demons he carried had gone away.

Jon couldn’t stop looking at him.

It wasn’t just that Damian was handsome.

Well, he was. He always had been.

But it was more than that.

It was the way his jaw relaxed. The way his shoulders lowered. The way, for an instant, he looked like an ordinary fifteen-year-old boy at a small-town fair, watching fireworks.

Jon felt something in his chest. Something he couldn’t name. Something that made him want to stay there forever, in that gondola, with Damian, watching fireworks.

"Kent."

"Yeah?"

"You’re looking at me instead of the fireworks."

Jon blushed.

"No, I’m not."

"Yes, you are. I saw you."

"Well, it’s just…" Jon searched for an excuse. "The fireworks look better reflected in your eyes."

Damian looked at him. For a moment, Jon thought he would say something cutting. Something like “that’s ridiculous” or “don’t be absurd.”

But Damian said nothing. He simply turned back to the fireworks, and Jon could have sworn he saw a faint blush on his cheeks.

The silence between them was warm. It was theirs.

The fireworks ended in a final burst of gold and silver. The Ferris wheel began turning again, carrying them slowly toward the ground.

Jon sighed.

"Well. I guess we should head back. Dinner’s at nine."

Damian nodded.

"Yes."

They climbed out of the gondola and walked toward the fair’s exit.

When they left the fairgrounds and took the dirt path toward the farm, Jon looked at Damian.

"Did you have fun?"

Damian glanced at him.

"It wasn’t terrible."

"That’s a yes."

"It’s whatever you want it to be."

Jon smiled.

"I’m taking it as a yes."

Damian didn’t answer, but Jon saw his lips shift. Almost a smile. Almost.

They walked beneath the Kansas stars, with stuffed toys in their bags and the memory of fireworks in their eyes. Jon didn’t know what any of this meant. He didn’t know why his heart beat so fast every time he looked at Damian.

But for now, that was okay. For now, he just wanted to walk. With Damian. Toward his home.

There was still dinner. And apple pie. And movies. And everything that would come afterward.

Jon smiled in the darkness.

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