Chapter Text
Someone was leaning over Damian.
He was twisted around, head flipped as far back as it could be against the ground so that his hair scraped into the dirt, wild eyes locking onto Jon. A man was sitting on top of him, choking him with the chain of the handcuffs containing him, and blood had clearly been dripping from his nose and onto his lips, but with the change in angle, the blood forged a new path up his face, cutting diagonally across dirty tan skin like it would drip into his eye.
He stared at Jon but he barely even seemed to see him, busy flashing crimson-stained teeth at the man on top of him, busy trying to breathe, busy struggling for another few minutes of safety and survival-
And then Jon was the only one standing in the entire room, and there were corpses around his feet, and his hands ached with the memory of bone snapping like twigs between his fingers-
Jon woke with a start and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, heaving himself up and out the doorway before he could get his foggy brain functioning enough to recognize his surroundings as safe. He chased the vague hum of insects and water down the hall, bare feet padding quickly across cold tiled floors until he reached a large wooden door. He pushed it open with one hand and stepped out onto a balcony, where he was able to see the dark cave beyond, dimly illuminated by the little glowing lamps embedded in the rock walls here and there.
He breathed in slowly, then out, sinking down to sit on the edge of the carved stone of the balcony railing as trembling hands brushed over his legs. Jon tipped his head back, taking in deeper lungfuls of air that tasted like saltwater, moonlight, cold stone, and seaglass. He let his eyes wander, let his body untense slightly, and shut his eyes to focus on the sounds he could still hear.
The bugs, the fish, the faint lap of the water against the stone walls around him… and then, quieter than the rest, a heartbeat never too far from him that he never seemed to lose, never silenced even under all this cacophony. He pressed the back of his hand against his lips as he focused on the sounds, then the sights.
It was beautiful in here, even if he was rendered half-deaf from the sheer volume of it all. The roar of the waterfall that hid the cave entrance was close enough and violent enough to overpower his hearing to the outside world… and to overpower its hearing of what lay inside. That was what he and Damian were counting on to ensure their maintained secrecy. He couldn’t say for sure if it was working, but it was the third day and his father had not burst into the hidden community with the Justice League in tow, so he had to believe that they were truly as invisible as Damian had thought they would be.
All those who lived within the cave had specialized earplugs and could read lips as well as use sign language to bridge any gaps in hearing. Damian had given him a pair of the earplugs, but they weren't quite enough to mask the chaos of it all from his inhuman senses. Jon had accepted that he would have a perpetual headache from the roaring by now and was almost becoming numbingly used to it.
Was it better than hearing the sirens, the hospitals, the screaming, the laughter?
He rested his head back against the wall, taking in a breath, holding it, then letting it back out the way Kon always told him to when he got too anxious, his brother telling him rather seriously that keeping control and learning how to live with emotions was important. Jon wondered distantly if the breathing trick was one that Kon had figured out, or if he'd learned it from another hero. Clark or Tim might have taught it to him, though Jon couldn't really picture his father being anxious.
He’s probably anxious now.
Jon swallowed, watching the spray of the water as the thought trickled across the back of his mind, and couldn't help but jump when fingers skimmed down his arm. He looked around sharply to find Damian smirking at him.
"I'm not used to being able to sneak up on you," he observed, looking so positively smug with self-satisfaction that Jon was surprised he hadn’t manifested the ability to purr. He moved fluidly to perch onto the railing at the other end of the balcony from where Jon was seated, eyes twinkling. "But I like it."
"You're the worst." Jon threw a pebble at him and Damian caught it between his pointer and middle fingers. Jon rolled his eyes, but wasn’t able to fight a smile at the display of his friend’s quick reflexes. He was such a show-off. "Just so you know, I let you catch that. I made that one easy for you."
"Make it harder then," Damian suggested, throwing the pebble back at Jon, who caught it in return. He threw it at the ceiling of their balcony next and Damian had to jump to his feet to snatch it from the air. He threw it to the left, and Jon tossed himself sideways, almost perpendicular to the water below as he caught the pebble. He chucked it backwards and Damian did a flip, catching the pebble in his mouth. Jon broke out into a laugh as he righted himself and Damian's eyes crinkled up as he settled beside him again, letting one leg dangle over the side of the railing. “Child's play,” he said when he took the pebble from his lips.
Catching the rock, or making me laugh? Jon wondered, but didn't say anything, and he watched as Damian tossed the pebble into the water below. He couldn’t quite hear it plunk down into the water, but he could see it, could watch it sink below the white foam beneath. The rest of the world was quiet around them, letting the roar of the waterfall take over, and Jon rested his head back against the wall again as he let himself drift a bit on the odd contradiction of the noise and the quiet.
Damian was much better than his father when it came to silence. Batman's silences always carried weight with them- judgment, intimidation, anger, disappointment, or thoughts that you had to simply guess at, because his mind never stopped. If Bruce Wayne was happy with you, he would tell you so or make some other light conversation. He was rarely quietly content, so anytime there was a drawn-out pause, it left Jon scrambling to wonder what the older man was thinking or feeling, and if Jon had done anything and if so, what he could do to repair the problem.
Damian, on the other hand, gave little to no weight to his silences. If he was angry, he would sure as hell tell you and in great detail how you had upset him or messed up. If he was happy, he sometimes didn't know how to express it or was uncomfortable doing so, and would fall back to quiet rather than pushing himself to try to speak. Sometimes the quiet meant he was tired, or worried, or thinking, but he rarely hid any of those things from his expression the way Bruce did. Jon never struggled to read what Damian was feeling, and so he knew that most often lulls simply meant that his friend was content with the moment as it was.
Jon glanced at his partner, who looked all the world content to sit here for the rest of the night rather than harass him into going back to bed the way Kon would have, then looked back at the water, and let out a sigh. “I had a nightmare,” he muttered.
"Fiction or fact?" Damian asked, resting his own head against the wall in a reflection of Jon's position, their ankles brushing as Damian stretched his left leg out in front of him. He watched Jon, jade eyes shadowed to look more emerald in this dim light, and Jon blew out a breath but didn't look away as he hugged his other knee against his chest. Damian scoffed at many things, but nightmares were something he had always been uniquely understanding of.
"Fact," he said finally, and Damian inclined his head. Jon pressed his palms together, twisting his hands back and forth without pulling them apart. "I just... I waited so long to get to Gotham, Dami. I was so sure you could take care of yourself or-"
“I can take care of myself," Damian said immediately in a warning tone, the sound so dangerously similar to ice on a lake cracking underfoot in threat, and Jon grimaced.
"No, I know. That's the problem. I know how strong you are, and how good you are at what you do. You’re amazing and everybody knows that, me more than anybody. You'll be Batman someday." He couldn't help but let his lips twitch into a grin when Damian puffed up slightly at that phrase, the same way he had when they were just kids. The smile was short-lived. "But because of that, and because I didn't want to- I don't know, insult you by showing up, I stayed home. And you were hurt. Tim was hurt. If I had just gone to you as soon as I woke up and realized things were looking bad, you would have both been fine. And maybe I wouldn't have..." He curled his fingers around the sides of his hands.
Damian's foot tapped sideways against his. Hard.
"You were following the rules that Gotham lives by. That is what you are supposed to do," Damian said firmly. "And when you realized that the situation was truly dire, you came to our aid and saved Drake's pathetic behind." He was silent for a beat, then, "And mine. They didn't want to kill us, but they could have done damage that is... undoable, had you not come when you did. Timothy wouldn't have recovered."
Despite himself and the grave nature of their conversation, Jon let out a short laugh. "Just Timothy, yeah?" He raised his head to look at him again, but was surprised to find Damian watching him seriously without returning the smile.
“Red Robin has always struggled with his worth- as an individual, as a hero, as a partner, and as a member of the family. That is, in some part, on me." His eyes flicked away briefly, the smallest of tells of his discomfort at his own guilt, and Jon felt his chest loosen and ache.
"Damian, you were a kid. You were trying to earn a place there."
"I was trying to take his," he disagreed, tilting his head slightly to the side. "By force, very overtly, so no one could claim it should be anyone but the victor's. It was a mistake. I did not know how... more normal mentors and families worked. I did not know that a position in the family was something just freely given or earned through effort rather than blood." He was quiet again and Jon tilted his foot to the side, tapping Damian's toes gently in an echo of what Damian had done for him.
"He forgave you," he reminded him. "That was years ago now. Tim loves you, even if you guys still argue all the time. Heck, he forgave Hood, and Hood actually slit his throat." Amongst other things.
"He's nearly as soft as Richard," Damian muttered darkly under his breath, and Jon laughed again, the ache easing slightly from his lungs. Damian's eyes were softer when he continued. "I don't know what would have become of Timothy if they had moved him and sold him. He is strong-willed and a capable fighter, but he self-destructive and with a tendency to isolate and self-blame. He never grew out of those traits his childhood ingrained into him."
"Unlike you," Jon agreed dryly.
“I am prone to some of the pitfalls I had as a child," Damian allowed after a beat, "But I have never been burdened with those. I would not deem my worth by the action of others, would not deem myself as less if events had continued and resulted in damage to my body. Not the way my brother would have." He hesitated a long moment more, then admitted quietly, "But I would have deemed my worth as less for failing to protect him." His chin raised before the softness of that statement could sink in. "Regardless of age, I will someday be the head of the Wayne family and the Bats. It is my responsibility to ensure that we are strong both mentally and physically. So... I am grateful, Jon." Jade eyes met sapphire and held them. "Thank you," he went on to say, so quietly it was almost lost under the sound of the falls beside them. "Sincerely. Thank you for aiding me and protecting my family at great cost to yourself."
Jon felt oddly weightless for a beat, his skin oddly sensitive as he looked at his best friend, lit by the faint pale blue of the lanterns, tan skin almost unearthly in the glow. Breath felt strange and boundless as he opened and closed his mouth, then gave a small nod. Damian's eyes crinkled slightly.
"I know that you cannot say that I am welcome, and that what you did to protect us weighs on you. You are in danger now, and fraught mentally with your own morality." He waved a hand vaguely like that was of small consequence, and Jon couldn't help but give a small chuckle. The way Damian categorized things never failed to make him laugh. "So I will guard you until we have a way forward for both of us.”
"Dunno, Dami." Jon looked out at the water as he felt himself lose the battle against the smile creeping across his face. "That sounds... kind of sweet of you."
"Sweet," Damian scoffed, and then his foot was raising and giving a very distinct kick, knocking Jon off the railing. Jon gave a shout of surprise that turned to laughter as he caught himself, hovering a few inches above the water below, and then he soared upwards again and landed on the railing in a pose like Peter Pan with his hands on his hips.
"You said you were over your childish urges," Jon said, pointing down at him with a grin. "Pushing people off things- dinosaurs, buildings, balcony railings- that was totally your MO back in the da-"
Damian tackled him then, knocking them both through the air, and Jon heard his own laughter bounce off the cave walls as they plummeted together. Damian just held on with a grin on his face, eyes dancing, and there was so much trust in it all that Jon found himself breathless.
Trust wasn’t something Damian just gave anybody.
But it was there, demonstrated in the way that he was able to play carelessly and know Jon couldn’t be harmed, in the way that he wasn't even looking to calculate a way to catch himself because he knew that Jon would take care of them, in the way he was just simply letting Jon see his best friend smile in a way that so few people could.
What a gorgeous smile, he thought somewhat dazedly, then, "Wait, what?"
Damian's eyes widened at something behind Jon's back. "Jonathan-we're-getting-close-to-the-"
"Oh, shit, right!" Jon shook himself and wrapped an arm around Damian's back, turning their freefall into an arc so late that water skimmed up the back of his shirt. He flew upwards and hovered above their balcony for a moment as Damian laughed,
God, you have the best laugh, Jon found himself thinking before he could really stop to analyze the thought or how unnervingly it paired with his previous one.
"You are the biggest oaf, Kansas," he scoffed, standing on Jon's feet as they were still hovering in the air, the way he had since they were fourteen. This stance gave Damian stability as well as an extra couple inches made them a little closer in height. Damian often claimed that his second growth spurt would put him finally much taller than the half-Kryptonian. Jon was privately hoping that said growth spurt would take forever to arrive, just so he could tease Damian forever about being such a pipsqueak, but didn’t dare ever speak that hope aloud for fear of his friend’s vicious retribution.
"Yeah, well." Jon couldn't find a funny comeback, his mind curiously blank as he looked down at his friend, who shifted his weight on Jon's feet after a few beats of eye contact. Jon shook himself and landed, releasing Damian from his arms so the other teenager could take a step back onto the tiled floor. "Uhm. How's your ankle? Oh gosh, and your ribs," Jon almost moaned, realizing belatedly that play-fighting against someone with a sprained ankle, a healing stab wound, and two broken ribs wasn't really the best idea. His face felt hot and he pressed his palm against his cheek to try to hide it as he quickly stepped back.
“I’ve had worse injuries after a sparring match with Duke," Damian said derisively, waving a hand, and Jon eyed him before offering his arm anyway. Damian stared at him like he had just walked into the room wearing a Joker cosplay. Jon rolled his eyes and elected to ignore the way he could feel his own face burning hotter than ever.
"Oh, come on. How are you gonna repay your life debt to me if you walk around normally on a sprained ankle and make it worse?"
"It isn't a life debt," Damian muttered mutinously, but took Jon's arm and allowed him to help him carefully walk off the balcony and back inside. "It's a blood debt if anything. Honestly, it’s like your father never bothered to teach you anything of importance."
"I will make sure to pass on your concerns when I..." Jon trailed off, helping Damian back down the hallway, and Damian was quiet, too.
When he what? Saw Clark again? He didn't even know when that was going to be, or if it was going to happen.
"Don't get yourself worked up," Damian said, and Jon glanced back at him quickly as they stepped into the room they had been given by the strange people that lived in this cave system. "We're going to go home, Jon. You won't have to stay here forever. We just have to wait long enough until they are concerned enough to overlook any explanation we gave them."
"That is your plan?" Jon stared down at him and Damian raised his eyebrows with a shrug.
"Jason Todd came back with a bag of severed heads, mumbled something about waking up in his own grave and then being tossed in a Pit, and no one asked any follow-up questions. We still don't fully know what truly happened to him, and no one asks further questions. They're too relieved to have him back."
"Damian, that's not a good plan," Jon breathed in horror, and received a smirk in return. "No, I'm so serious, we didn't die! They aren't gonna just not ask questions!"
"They don't know if we're dead or not." Damian settled himself onto the bed as Jon gaped at him. "I'm telling you. My family is relentless, but blinded by their emotion for each other and to the oath to avoid ever burying another Robin. Your father is not much different. We give it a few months. Maybe a few years... they won't look too deeply into the answers we give them."
"A few months to years," Jon repeated, staring down at him, and Damian tucked one arm under his head. His pajama tank pulled up with the motion and Jon caught a glimpse of a muscled abdomen with white scars tracing across the tanned skin like striations in quartz. His gaze was oddly stuck there for a moment, then jerked back up to Damian's face. His friend was watching him with something like curiosity, almond eyes narrowing slightly in thought as he studied him.
"It will be fine," he assured him after a moment, still looking like Jon was a puzzle he was trying to figure out. "Better than the alternative."
"And what alternative is that again?" Jon asked, partially for the answer and partially to continue directing the conversation away from that look on his best friend's face that made him feel very scrutinized by the son of the best detective on and off the planet.
“You being executed or imprisoned, potentially made to endure frequent exposure to Kryptonite or red sun energy for the rest of your life, some magical inhibition to causing violence even at protection of yourself and others, and/or memory modification." Damian rattled the potential consequences off like it was a grocery list, voice bored, but he wasn't looking at Jon anymore.
"Memory modification?" Jon repeated, sinking to sit on the edge of the bed beside his friend, who continued avoiding his gaze. “To what, forget what happened in the warehouse so I’ll be less inclined to break the rule a second time?”
"Perhaps. Or, if they determine that someone was a negative influence on you and that’s what led you to act out violently, they may think that removing that trigger would remove the problem," Damian said, voice careful and light and absolutely unlike himself.
Jon's fingers felt numb as he stared at the only person in the world he one-hundred-percent knew was on his side right now. "Hang on, you think they'd- you think they'd take you away? Make me forget you? All of it from the past seven years? Our whole friendship?!" His voice raised in pitch slightly and Damian moved his hand without turning his head from the wall, wrapping his fingers around Jon's wrist.
"I don't know," he admitted, and it was such a quiet admission, so frighteningly vulnerable, that it made Jon’s breathing hitch in his chest. "I have no idea what the League or the public would do when faced with a violent Kryptonian, or what lengths your family would go to in order to circumvent whatever punishment would otherwise meet you. They may think it more humane to alter you and let you walk free than to put you in a cell as you are. But I'm not going to let them. We just have to figure this out."
Jon watched him for a moment, chest tight and lungs stiff when he tried to take in a breath. He swallowed and it hurt.
The idea wasn't so crazy. He knew his father would do almost anything to keep him alive and safe, but what lengths would he actually be willing to go to when faced with this dilemma? The Justice League had done some shady things before in the name of protecting the world or each other. Would they see this as an extension of that?
Hell, Batman had a contingency file on every single one of them in case they acted out.
Was this what was in Jon's file?
Would Kon and Clark let that happen to protect him from jail or death? Or would they be so angry at what he'd done that they'd actually agree that it was for the best for Jon to forget?
People had spent their whole lives remarking about how good Jon was for Damian, how glad they were to see them (mostly) getting along. He had heard countless people remark to Clark and Bruce and Lois that Damian’s behavior and attitude were improving with a friend to ‘socialize with’ or to ‘rub off on him.’ It had pleased Jon when he was a kid, that he was helping.
With every year that he grew older, it became more and more grating.
He didn’t need to be good for Damian. There was nothing bad about him in the first place, nothing bad to rub off on Jon or that needed to be wiped away by Jon’s presence. Damian was just… complicated. Everyone in their community was, but Damian had always gotten a harder look than anyone else because he had been so young.
Is the damage irreversible? They had always seemed to ask when the League caught a glimpse of the two boys playing or arguing. Is he going to turn out like his grandfather?
Even now, even nearly eight years under Bruce’s wing, there were heroes still waiting and watching Damian like a hawk, fully expecting him to slip up.
No doubt if word got out about the murders at the warehouse, there would be some who said Damian had done it, not Jon, not a third party. And he was right– there was no doubt that others would say that Jon only had gone that far because he had spent so much time with someone whose morals were so much more nuanced than his father’s.
It wasn’t a stretch to think that some people might fully believe that he needed to be cleansed of that ‘bad’ influence, regardless of what he wanted.
Jon shuddered and scooted further onto the bed, pushing Damian to the middle with the movement. Damian made a noise of complaint, starting to sit up, and Jon laid down in the space he'd just been in, burrowing his face against the pillow so he didn't have to see Damian look down at him.
"Just for tonight," he mumbled, and Damian was utterly still beside him for a moment, then laid back down, pulling the blanket up and over both of them.
"Fine," he allowed, and Jon wondered if he had meant it to come out more stern than it had as the sides of their hands rested against each other in the space between them. "Just for now."
And as Jon drifted, inhaling the easy-comfort familiar scent of rosemary, leather, and roses that always clung to his best friend, he wondered vaguely if Damian had meant to say ‘for tonight,' or if he had meant to leave it as open-ended as ‘for now’ sounded.
He thought briefly back to the moments on the balcony and falling through the air, then of the stripe of skin he hadn't been able to look away from, but he fell asleep before he could let himself analyze the picture these moments made.