Archive of Our Own

If you walked up to Damian and asked him if he thought his father loved him, he'd click his tongue, roll his eyes, and say something insulting. Then, he’d walk away leaving you too angry to dwell on the question you'd asked as well as too put off to ever willingly approach him with such a dumb question again.

But quietly, in the privacy of his thoughts; in the empty halls of a lonely manor, Damian would admit, if only ever to himself, that his father did not love him.

It wasn’t anything he held against his father; nor was it something he held in any high regard. If pestered to prescribe any emotion to this fact, Damian would say that the closest approximation of how he feels regarding his father’s lack of love, is a disappointed sort of apathy. He did not expect his father’s love when he came, only his acknowledgement.

Receiving neither left a bitter taste in Damian’s mouth that was easy to swallow past when he remembered that only the acknowledgment portion mattered. And acknowledgement was a far easier thing to achieve than love.

In Damian’s opinion, love is a fleeting thing, conditional in nature and fickle at the best of times. It was a lot like sand. Abundant in certain places, but difficult to grasp. The tighter you clung to the sand in your hands, the more grains would slip through your fingers.

And it was a worthless endeavor to search for sand on the tops of snowy mountains. Damian would not try. Why waste the effort to fulfill an unattainable goal? Afterall, if there is one thing Damian has learned throughout his life, it's that love cannot be earned. No matter how hard you try.

Respect, however, was a much more stable emotion.

His father did not love him. Not in the way he seemed to love Richard, or used to love Todd; his father did not love him in the same way he loved Drake for his usefulness. But his father did seem to begrudgingly regard Damian as an asset.

Being an asset was nothing new to Damian. That is, afterall, what he was for a majority of his life. He was his grandfather’s heir. A title that had less to do with the power of succession and more to do with being a replacement body for Ra’s Al Ghul. Still, it was a title that commanded respect nonetheless.

The title of Robin, in Damian’s eyes, was much the same. He was just another replacement meant to fill the shoes of whatever student his father had taken on prior. However, Damian couldn’t afford to be just another replacement. Replacements got replaced and the cycle would continue until either no replacement could fill the requirements or the need for the position expired.

Being Robin meant safety from a great number of threats. The league of assassins for one, enemies of the league of assassins, as those are near infinite, other vigilantes, people are distrustful of who they deem "outsiders", and most of the criminals in Gotham city.

Robin was a protection he could not afford to lose; especially now that he’s been marked as a traitor by the league of assassins due to his mother…discharging him from the league's ranks.

This desire to keep the protections that being Robin offered had in part led to Damian’s past attempt on Drake’s life. Being put on a threat list in the league was essentially the same as being given a death sentence. Threats were eliminated promptly, regardless of relation. Damian saw no reason why being with his father would be any different.

Even with Batman’s refusal to kill, the process used to incapacitate him could be anywhere from a swift knock out and imprisonment, to using excessive force to render Damian’s mind or body unusable. Neither of which were acceptable outcomes.

So Damian had struck first, pushing Drake off of the inaccurate replica of a tyrannosaurus rex that is housed in the batcave, in hopes that the threat to his new found position could be quietly eliminated.

Of course, as Damian found out, this action did nothing of removing the threat against his new title. If anything, it made the threat worse. Batman, for all of his desire to work alone, seems to place an insurmountable amount of worth in the safety of his colleagues.

Placed firmly on the outskirts of both his father and his father’s wards respect, Damian had then had to build his way back up from the now hostile, suspicious “tolerance” that those around him treated him with. Overall, the attempted murder of Drake had not been worth the trouble, as now, instead of apathy tinged with suspicion, Damian would forever have to deal with his father and Drake treating him as a violent dog constantly one incident away from being put down.

But that too was fine. If he could not be loved, or be useful in the way that Drake was, then Damian would aim to be irreplaceable. Take as many odd jobs as he could until he did so much that replacing him would be nigh impossible.

He'd be their mechanic, hacker, tracker, enforcer, artist, doctor, and whatever else they needed.

Hopefully, with enough effort, Damian could become useful enough, despite his perceived volatility, that the safety that came with his title would remain intact even after he vacated the position.

And if he earned his father’s respect along the way, then that was an even greater boon than Damian would currently believe possible.

Maybe, one day, with enough of his father’s respect earned, Damian could even quit the whole vigilante scene as a whole and fuck off to be a doctor or manga artist in the middle of nowhere while maintaining his father’s protections.

A fond dream, but one he’s sure will never become a reality. No, that possibility was rendered null the second that his father learned of Damian’s bloodied hands.

Killing, in his father’s eyes, would always be a choice, and Damian supposes that, for him, on some level, it was. It was the choice between his life and theirs, and Damian had always been more willing to choose his own than someone else's.

At least, until his father had died. Damian hadn’t known him long when it had happened, but it had still saddened a small, hidden part of Damian’s soul that he’d long thought he’d buried.

With his father’s death came the sudden and disorienting return of all the dangers that had been absent in his father’s presence. This too was fine. If his father could no longer protect him, then he would protect himself. He would dawn the mantle of the bat and ensure that any threat would think twice before crossing his path. Unfortunately, that hadn’t worked out for Damian either. The title had instead fallen to his father’s oldest ward, Richard, which had, at first, done nothing but elevate Damian’s rising alarm.

After all, why wouldn’t Richard remove him now that his father was gone? There was nothing that tied him to Gotham anymore, and it wouldn’t be too hard to claim that Brucie Wayne’s new son had gone back to live with his mother after the heartbreaking death of his father.

The idea had terrified Damian, making him itch with paranoia as he waited for the moment that Richard would decide that Damian was more trouble than he was worth and oust him.

But thankfully, Richard was a sentimental fool that kept Damian around despite his supposed difficulties. Damian would forever be grateful for that.
Things had been good for a while, great even. Him and Richard had become a team, the best team, actually. And if you were to ever ask Damian if he thought that Richard loved him, he’d roll his eyes, scoff and mutter that– “That fool loves everybody” before walking off to hide the fond smile that would make its way across his lips. Which was as much of yes as you’d ever get regarding that question.

Things were good with just the two of them, and then Dick had introduced him to the Titans, which…he had decidedly not been happy with. Not at first anyway. Forced interactions with his…peers…was not something Damian was interested in.

Nor was it something that he was particularly good at. Most social interactions with people that were not familiar with Damian did not go well. And this was something that Damian had only now had the chance to grieve over.

He was unsure where exactly the problem lay; what about him was so off putting that the people around him seem to take his words as hostile even when that is not his intention. Damian doesn’t have the time, nor the heart, to dwell on this for long. Besides, it's not like the other parties were interesting enough to earn Damian’s attention anyway.

At least, that’s what Damian first thought. Gradually, the Titans also grew on him and he grew on them in return.

With Richard, he had found safety, friends, and family. Something he would always treasure, even if those things ended up fading with time. Even if they slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.

Good things end, as is the nature of all things. But Damian has found, in his short time on earth, that good things exist for far shorter than the any other. Drake had brought Damian’s father back, and in the first few months of his return, Damian found himself wishing that he hadn’t.

What an odd thing, to wish your father had stayed dead after so long of wishing that you had the chance to know him. That he in turn had the chance to know you.

But those wishes were rendered obselete when his father’s return had summoned Richard's departure. Dick had left, both the manor and seeminly, Damian’s life. Gone to Blüdhaven, visiting Damian as frequently as he dared, stepping down from Batman and away from his role in Damian’s life to avoid stepping on Bruce’s toes.

Just a horrible dance that crushed Damian’s hopes, relationships, and joy beneath his brother and father’s awkward, clumsy heels as they tried to re-find the rhythm of Bruce’s presence in a world that had moved on without him.

This wasn't the only departure Damian had endured. His titans had also split. They moved on to their own work; to bigger and better things. Far better than Damian. Only beast boy remained from the group, as Drake’s titans reformed around him. Leaving Damian alone again.

Well, almost alone. His company now, instead of friends or brothers, was a father he did not know and most likely would never understand. A father who would look at him and only see bloody hands, viscous words, and painful pasts of lost loves and league corridors.

Damian hated it. The way his father looked at him like he was a wild circus animal who's trainer took a vacation leaving Bruce to fill their shoes. And maybe, quietly, Damian hated his father too. For coming back and uprooting Damian’s entire life and treating him like he's in the wrong to complain. It's a horrible feeling that Damian swallows past everytime he looks at his father.

But beyond that simmering resentment, Damian still finds the little boy who had desperately craved his father’s approval. The young boy who had heard stories of a man larger than life and ferociously craved to be worthy of his name and attention.

Idly, Damian thinks he hates that boy too; for daring to want something that is impossible to achieve.

It's safe to say that Damian and his father butt heads constantly, never fully able to find equal ground as they both wished for the past. His father longed for Timothy while Damian longed for Richard. Damian found himself looking for and sending cues to his father that only Richard would understand and do.

His father seemed to do the same for Damian; sending signals he didn’t understand and berating him when he failed to follow orders he hadn’t known had been given or pushed boundaries he hadn’t seen drawn in the sand.

Though this hadn’t changed, it had gotten…better?...After the fiasco with Owlman and the court of owls. Something had changed in his father, and Damian wasn’t sure what, but it had left his father looking at him with regret, somberness, and some other emotion that Damian couldn’t name.

Damian couldn’t really care to name it either. He had spent far too long being what his mother and father wanted, and now he wanted to try and find out whoever the hell he was without their expectations. He wanted to be whoever he was when he and Dick had been a team. But Bruce would always be watching if Damian had just gone to Dick.

Would have always loomed in the background and silently pushed for whatever it was he wanted regardless of whether Damian or Dick agreed.

And Damian had been afraid that eventually there would be a chance that Bruce wore Dick down and Damian would be right back where he started with his father. So, he left. And through leaving, he'd found Maya.

Damian had never had a sister before Maya, and if you’d asked him if he enjoyed having one he’d tell you no. Siblings were a nuisance.

They ate the food you saved, stole articles of your clothing if they fit, and bullied you relentlessly. But if you were to say anything bad about her, they’d never be able to find your body.

Things had once again been good. The two of them had traveled together, sharing a variety of adventures and forming a bond deep enough to consider each other family despite both of their prior experiences with the word.

It had been Damian, Maya, and Goliath against the world for a whole year as Damian attempted to atone for his previous year of blood. Like most of his relationships, Damian and Maya’s start had been rocky. That sort of thing tends to happen when you're responsible for the death of someone’s father.

But eventually, they had grown close. Two assassins, carrying legacies doused in blood and violence desperately trying to escape the shadows of their predecessors and find out who they are. For Maya, that remained Nobody, and for Damian, at least at the moment, it was Robin.

And like always, good things had to end. He returned home, had to enroll at Gotham middle school, and had to deal with his father attempting to set up a playdate between him and Kent’s son. Damian had been greatly displeased by this, especially when he learned that Jon’s lack of control over his powers had led to the death of the Kent’s family cat. So together with Maya, he had investigated the youngest Kent to ensure his powers would remain controlled.

They hadn’t, and Damian had kidnapped him because of it. Which had led to their fathers forcing them on the world’s worst team building exercise of the century. It worked, Jon was his best friend now, besides Colin anyway, but still, not something he’d recommend.

After befriending Jon, a long and arduous journey he sometimes questioned the worthfulness of, Damian avoided his father and the cold, empty manor more often. For a large span of time, if Damian wasn’t in the manor with his animals, or in Blüdhaven visiting Dick, then he was most likely at the Kent’s family farm.

He was there so often, that whenever Damian ran from home, the Kent farm became the first place anyone in the family looked. Which of course meant he eventually had to change him and Jon’s hiding place.

The supersons, as Jon was so intent on calling them, were eventually able to build their own base under the sea. Which was then almost immediately broken into and flooded.
…This had been the cause of many of Damian’s complaints months after the incident had been resolved, and Jon had joined in his lamenting.

For now, he and Jon were lurking inside a treehouse Damian had built in the Yellowstone National park. Jon would insist that he helped build it, but Damian would tell you that eating m&ms while Damian pieced the structure together was not in anyway helpful.

“So, your Birthday’s coming up.” Jon said around a mouthful of twizzlers.
Face contorting in disgust Damian scoffed and offered a simple, “Tt. Don’t talk with your mouthful, super slob,” before he turns back to his task of adding defences to their treehouse.

Jon rolls his eyes, before a small grin breaks out onto his face. Reaching a hand into his twizzler bag, Jon stuffs his face even fuller than it had been and asks Damian, “So what’s the plan?”

Not bothering to turn away, Damian mutters an agitated, “idiot” before continuing his work. The biometrics were done, and now he had moved on to the passcodes required for entry.

Waiting a moment in case Damian will speak further, Jon allows his eyes to rove over the hundred or so, small drones that Damian had laid out on his work bench. They weren’t yet assembled, but Jon had already found one that he deemed his favorite. It was little, and mostly green with a very rotund appearance.

The small thing had tiny, round, retractable nubs for limbs and one large camera planted dead center on its face. From a brief glance, the robot looks a lot like a granny smith apple.

The robot, once properly pieced together, makes a whining noise with its internal fans, humming cheerful as it greets its creator.

Damian is swift to politely shoo the automoton away, picking up another robot to work on as he does so. The green robot, which Jon has now christened Apple, makes its way over to Jon in an uncoordinated fashion. Slowly getting the hang of its limbs before greeting Jon happily, camera lens zooming in on his features.

While awaiting a response, Jon plays with Apple; who seems intensely fascinated by the boy's fingers, as it bats at them playfully with its little nubs. Wiggling his fingers, Jon lets the small thing swat at him, smiling as Apple's body vibrates with joy, little motor making happy purring noises as it does. Jon strokes the smooth metal surface of the robot as he listens to the sounds of welding and robot chirps.

Jon’s attention is drawn back to his friend once he realizes that Damian seemingly has no plans to answer his question. Silence having graced the air while Jon had been occupied with Apple.

“Damian. Damian. D-A-M-I-A-N. Damian. Dami, D, Robin, Rob, R, R-O-B-I-N, Damian, dude, bro–” Jon enunciates each call with an accompanying nudge of his foot against Damian’s chair.

Eventually, Damian gets fed up with this action and, without ever looking, throws a screw driver at Jon’s head.
“Ow!” Jon whines, rubbing at a spot he pretends is sore from the hit, “Jerk.”
Damian tuts and once more rolls his eyes before finally answering, “What plan?”

Hands quickly abandoning their soothing motion on his temple, Jon excitedly slams them against the back of Damian’s chair, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, “Your Birthday plans! Duh!”
Apple seems to let out a little chime in agreement, which Jon rewards with another rub to the robot's metal exterior.

Unamused, and slightly disoriented from the shaking, Damian’s focus remains on the task in front of him, "I don't have any.”
Shocked by this, Jon shakes Damian’s chair, “What! What do you mean you don’t have any birthday plans!?”

Damian scowls, slapping Jon’s hands away from the back of his chair with one hand as the other soothes his growing headache, “Exactly what I said. I don’t have any plans for my birthday.”

“Why?!” Jon asks bewildered.
With a sniff, Damian answers, “I do not see a need to.”
Jon’s brows furrow in confusion and mild upset, “Are your brothers planning something?”
“No,” Damian waves the question off, “Dick’s busy, Jason is undercover, and Tim has a date with Bernard that day.”

“Is your dad planning anything?”
Clutched firmly in Jon's hands, Apple makes a similarly inquisitive noise, camera focusing on its creator's face as the other boy moves from welding the robot in front of him, to coding it.
Damian shrugs, “I do not see why he would.”
“Because he’s your dad? That’s kinda what dads do.”

“Well, mine does not. We did not celebrate my last birthday at the manor either.”
Jon’s face scrunches even further as his upset grows, “What about Alfred? Didn’t he celebrate with you last year?”

Jon’s grip on Apple grows tighter, the small drone making a quick squeak of distress before Jon lets it go with a hasty apology, stroking soothingly across its metal head.

Damian tilted his head thoughtfully, “I believe that he took me to an art show I had been wanting to go to for a couple of weeks. I’m not certain that the trip was specifically for my birthday though.”

“Did you even have cake last year!?” Jon asks, growing visibly more distressed as his friend speaks.
Apple emphatically repeats the expression, an outraged whoosh coming from its fans as it mimics its new companion.
With a sighed hum Damian responds, “Hm. Alfred made me some the day after, if that counts.”

Jon’s face sours, “I’m planning your birthday this year.”
With a raised eyebrow, Damian shakes his head in exasperation, “Knock yourself out, hayseed."

With that, another robot is done. This one is also spherical, however, what are soft edges on Apple, become harsh on Damian's newest creation. The little thing's eyes consist of three small, triangular cameras in the center of its front. If Jon were to take a marker and connect the eyes, they'd also form a triangle.

On its sides, the robot has seams that seem to indicate some kind of hidden weapon or compartment. The thing looks decidedly more edgy and Jon has decided to call it Rob; short for Robin.

Silence hangs in the air for a moment before Jon resumes his interrogation, “Who do you want there?”
“Nobody.”
Jon rolls his eyes with a huff, “You can’t have nobody at your birthday. You have to invite people.”
Damian’s eyes also roll as he scoffs, “Tt. Not nobody, Nobody.”

During this conversation, Apple makes its way over to Rob, fans whining excitedly as it goes to greet its new friend. Rob seems far more hesitant, making an irritated beep as it backs up, sharp legs clacking harshly against the metal table.

Confused, Jon’s lips form into a pout before he finally understands, “Oh! Nobody! Cool! Anyone else? I mean obviously I’ll be there, but is there anyone else you want at your party?”

Apple has now invaded Rob's personal space and decided that Rob's personal bubble is its new favorite place, much to Rob's supposed ire.

With a sigh Damian starts soldering another drone together, “I’m not sure. I guess, Abuse?”
Jon nods, “Alright. Are you inviting any of the titans?”

Damian scowls, “No.”
Rob bats at Apple.
“Why not?”
“Did you forget about when they went behind our backs to help an evil version of Red Robin try to kill you? I didn’t. I’m not letting them in the same room as you. They’d only find a new, worse way to make asses of themselves.”

Jon smiles slightly, “Aw! You do care!”
Apple takes the bat as an initiative to play, repeating the action much to its brethren's annoyance.
With a harsh, embarrassed blush on his face, Damian sneers, “Shut up!”

Rob makes a similarly flustered noise, much like its creator as Apple happly rubs against the other robot, gaining another light smack from the dark green robot's triangular limbs.

Buzzing sadly, Apple tries its best to rub at the place Rob hit, lifting tiny nubs in an attempt to reach its forehead. Rob releases a worried chatter, reaching its arm out as though to pet the "injured" area in Apple's place before hesitating, morosely lowering its limbs with a dejected beep.

Damian, doesn't even glance at the two, reaching out a hand to smooth his fingers across the slightly scuffed paint of Apple, who lets out a pleased hum at the attention. Retracting its sharp legs, Rob gives a sad "bwoo" as it turns its three red cameras down towards the work bench it sits on.

Jon lifts the robot, cradling it in his hand and using his other to pet across Rob's round back. It isn't Rob's fault its limbs are so sharp, it just needs to learn to be carefuler next time.

Snickering, Jon continues his teasing, “You’re such a tsundere! C’mon! Is it so bad to admit that you care about me?”

Flicking Jon’s nose and gaining a yelp from his friend, Damian grits his teeth, “I’m not a tsundere.”
Grinning even wider, Jon crows, “You totally are! Don’t even try and deny it!”

This earns Jon a hand desperately pushing at his face, which only serves to amuse the boy.
With Rob held high above Jon’s head, he slaps playfully against the hand pressing against his face. Damian reaches over with his other hand to pinch Jon, gaining a pained yelp as the half kryptonian rubs at the sore spot with a slight pout.

Damian rolls his eyes, fingers twitching slightly before clenching into a fist. Instead of completing whatever action his fingers wanted to fulfill, Damian taps lightly against Apple's back, causing the small automoton to shudder before a circular compartment opens.

Damian reaches inside, pulling out a piece of apple flavored laffy taffey and handing it over to Jon, causing a large grin to erupt across his friend's face, taking over the pout that once sat pertly atop his features. Jon pops the candy into his mouth, a satisfied hum purling from his vocal chords as the flavor delights his taste buds.

Apple seems surprised, spinning in a circle in an attempt to view this newly discovered hidden compartment. It falls over in its overzealous state, resulting in a panicked beep and an embarressed return to its feet, hiding its camera against Damian’s stomach.

Petting Apple softly, Damian gives another eye roll, “Whatever. Point is, they can’t go if you do.”

Jon’s smile drops, adopting a more serious, thoughtful tone, “You know, you can invite them if you want. I already forgave ‘em for doin’ that.”

Damian’s eyes roll, agitatedly lifting Apple to repaint its scuffed surface as a distraction, “Yeah, well I didn’t. They aren’t coming.”
Shrugging, Jon responds with an unbothered, “Okay.”

Paint job finished, Apple escapes it's creator's grasp, ambling over to Jon and focusing its camera on Rob with a shrill cheep. Rob burrows further into Jon’s hand, hiding its lenses behind Jon’s fingers. Apple remains undeterred, lifting its circular appendages to climb over Jon’s hand and butting its head against Rob's in a friendly manner.

A new coating of paint covers the scuff, and some of it comes of to adhere to Rob's darker metal. Rob makes a questioning beep that Apple answers with a cheerful chirp and excited full-body waggle. All is forgiven, it seems. Apple and Rob shuffle over to the upper edge of Damian’s work desk, leaning against eachother as they watch their creator resume his prior task.

“So, whose going? Just me, Maya, and Colin or you got anyone else? What about Steph and Duke?”

"Names, stupid boy." Damian tsked.
Jon rolls his, sighing in an aggrieved manner, "Whose gonna hear? The trees? We're in the middle of one of the largest forests in America!"

"Trees have ears, and you're not the only one with super hearing, super dumb," Damian sneers, "And Yellowstone isn't even top ten of largest forests in America. It's in the lower forties."

Curious, Jon asks, "Really? What's the largest?"
"Tongass national forrest in Alaska." Damian answered, eyes glued to the task in front of him.

"That's really cool—wait! You're trynna distract me! Are you inviting Stephanie and Duke or not?!"

Damian shakes his head, “Brown also has a date that day. Her and Cain are going to see swan lake.”

Jon’s face screws up a little, “Do they know that it’s your birthday that day?”
Damian makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat as he tests the mobility of the drone in front of him, “I’m not sure. Dick and Jason should know, Tim probably knows, it would be strange if Father didn’t know, Alfred knows, my friends know, but I’m not sure if anyone told Brown and Cain.”

“Then, do you want to tell ‘em?”
Another head shake, “No, I don’t want to interrupt their date.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. They can always go to Swan Lake some other time.”
“True, but they’ve been looking forward to this for a few months now. If I have to tell them, I’ll do it the day after.”

“If you say so,” Jon says, dubiously, “Is Duke free?”
“I think he’s hanging out with his cousin that day. However, I am unsure. I can ask if he’d like to attend.”

“Alright! So, so far we’ve got Me, Maya, Colin, and possibly Duke! Not bad! …Do you…want your mom to come?”
“Even if I did, it’s not like she could attend.”
“Why not? Don’t tell me she’s busy too.” Jon groans.
Damian hesitates, “My mother…is not exactly welcome in Gotham."

“Then we won’t have it in Gotham. We can have your party on the farm.”
Damian tugs on Jon’s ear lightly, “Don’t you have to ask Mr. and Mrs. Kent before you go around planning parties at their house?”

Jon winces dramatically, bringing up a hand to lightly bat at Damian’s hand, “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind! Besides, they love you! I’m sure they’d be happy to host a birthday bash for you if you couldn’t do it at the manor.”

Clicking his tongue, Damian gives another sharper tug before letting go, “Just don’t come whinging to me when they say no.”
“They won’t.” Jon affirms.

Damian doesn’t respond, once more divulging his attention to the drones in front of him. Apple and Rob seemingly bored of watching their creator, commandeer a tool he had been using and start passing it between eachother.

“Oh! What about that new kid you met!”
“Tt. You’ll need to be more specific. I meet new people all the time.”

Jon gives Damian a weird look at that, shaking it off as he speaks, “No, no! That–uh–new kid! Y’know! Blonde, tan, had a bow and arrow?”
“You mean Hawke?”
“No! I think his name started with a C? C’mon! You gotta know who I’m talkin’ about! You seemed to have fun with him the last time we ran into each other.”

“No, I’m right. You’re thinking of Connor Hawke,” Damian pulls out his phone scrolling through his contacts until he reaches Connor’s number and shows Jon the profile pic, “Is this who you were thinking of?”

“Yeah! Him!” Jon agrees, pointing excitedly at the picture of Connor Hawke with a cat eared filter on, “Why don’t you invite him?”
While Jon squints at the picture, trying to get a closer look, Damian shoves his face away, “I guess I could? I’m not sure he’d say yes though.”
Not even budging, Jon shrugs, “Couldn’t hurt to ask him.”
It could, but Damian wouldn’t bring that possibility up.

"Oh! And we can bring Apple and Rob!"
"Who?"
"Apple and Rob! The drones you just finished!" "...Those aren't their names and we are not bringing them to my party."

"What!?" Jon gasps in outrage, "Why not?! And what do you mean those aren't their names? I named them! Just now!"
"1. They're staying here to protect the base. And 2. They're names are Artemis and Philotes."
"Well, those names are dumb! They look much more like a Rob and Apple to me!"

"Tt. I'm not calling them that."
"Too bad. That's their names now."
"I made them, I should have the final say in naming them." Damian counters.

"Fine! Let's call the names we think they should be called and whoever they walk towards can choose their names!"
"...Tt. Fine. It's a deal."
The boys call for the two robots; both metal creatures looking confusedly between the two before Apple wanders over to Jon with Rob following slowly behind.

"Traitors." Damian says, eyes narrowing has he sulks. Jon sticks his tongue out in victory, petting the two drones in celebration, "I win!"

Grumbling, Damian returns to the bot in front of him, hooking up the little automation to his glove to code a hopefully less traitorous drone.

“Do you wanna specific time for everyone to show up? Or you just wanna sleep over the day before and tell everyone to come whenever they can make it? Doesn’t matter much to me. It’s your birthday afterall.” Jon inquires, letting the smug, cocky expression leave his features.

Damian pauses for a moment, considering his options before almost sheepishly muttering, “Sleep over.”

With a smile stretching from ear to ear and a loud cheer Jon gets to work on party planning. He starts by texting everyone involved in the situation, and getting the numbers of people he doesn’t have from Damian. If Damian’s family won’t throw him a birthday party, then Jon would just have to throw his best friend the best birthday party ever instead.

—-

Planning a birthday party turned out to be a lot harder than Jon thought it would be. Jonathan had wanted to help Ma Kent make Damian’s cake, but quickly found that baking was not part of his skill set. Nor was patience.

Turns out using heat vision instead of an oven was a very bad idea. Ma had laughed it off though, playfully shoo him away from the kitchen as Pa Kent patted him on the back in commisery, teasingly whispering that some people are better eaters than bakers.

After that small mishap, getting everyone together had been a truly awful task. Trying to get five very busy people, who are already hard to contact, in one location at around the same time was a bit of a nightmare.

Jon had ended up having to physically search for Talia just to make sure she knew about the party and that Damian hadn’t put off telling her in case she couldn't come.

Jon couldn't say he liked Damian’s mom. Her first impression hadn’t been the greatest, and Jon was still wary about trusting her with Damian. It was Jon’s humble opinion, that holding a sword to your child's throat is not a proper way to say hello.

But Damian loves her, so Jon will be civil. And he's sure that at least in some small amount, Talia loves Damian too. Damian is a very easy person to love, past all the spikes and thorns.

Talia had informed Jon, with only a mild look of disapproval at him, that she would be attending in the later hours of the day. Jon thought that it was safe to assume that Talia didn't like him either.

While he was preparing to leave, Talia stopped him, voice cold as ice and steady as a mountain, “While I appreciate your loyalty to my son, I warn you now that if this loyalty is ever betrayed, it is not the bat you should fear. If I ever find out that you have hurt my son in some way, then not even your father would be able to protect you.”

Shocked silence hung between them as Talia glared menacingly at Jon, hands clasped behind her back and lips held in a neutral frown.

Jon smiles wryly, eyes wrinkling at the edges as they sparkle with unexpected amusement, “He's my friend. No matter what, I'll always have his back. Even if you or his dad don't.”

Talia seems to relax at that, shoulders untensing ever so slightly as the hardness of her eyes soften. She nods once in approval and they go their separate ways. Jon can now say with certainty that Talia loves Damian.

He can also tell where Damian got his love language of threatening other people to dissuade them from harming the people he held dear.

With everyone invited and the cake all set, Jonathan's focus turned towards decorations.
“What theme do you want for your birthday?”
“Does my birthday need a theme?”

“Well, no, but it can certainly make it more fun!”
Damian hummed in disbelief, “That sounds stupid.”

“It's not stupid! It's fun!”
“Tt. It's childish.”
“So what? We are children! Let us be childish! Who's gonna say anything?”

Irritated, Damian disagrees, “1. We're teenagers, and 2. My mother.”

Jon pouts, eyebrows wrinkled with anger, “Well it's not her birthday.”
Damian rolls his eyes, lips twitching up in a fond smile as he looks out at the cows grazing lazily in the Kent’s pasture.

Unwilling to drop the subject, Jon continues, “If you really don't wanna theme, I won't pick one. But, how about super heros? Who's your favorite? It's me right? Gotta be me! As your best friend, I automatically claim top spot!”

Damian snorts, “I'm not having a super boy themed birthday, straw for brains. Besides, you're only my second favorite.”

Jon’s expression stretches with surprise, “What! The betrayal!” He flops himself dramatically against Damian’s side like a fainting maiden, “Say it ain't so! Who'd be so cruel as to poach my rightfully earned title as favorite hero? Who caused your heart to stray so thusly?”

Letting Jon push most of his body weight against his own, Damian deadpans, “Nightwing.”

“Alas! My spot has been wrenched from my hands by the dreaded fiend nepotism! However will I go on?!”

Damian scoffs, finally pushing Jon away with a toothy grin, “Oh please! Like your father isn't your favorite superhero!”

Stumbling slightly, Jon looks away, “Well, yeah, but you're a close second!”
Damian cackles, “Ha! Behold hypocrisy, thine name is Jon! Nepotism, your dreaded fiend, has struck your heart as well.”

Jon’s eyes roll, playfully knocking shoulders with Damian as he huffs, “Whatever. Am I at least second favorite?”

Jon's eyes go wide, lips held in a faux pleading expression as he attempts to look like as much of a kicked puppy as he can.

Damian bites off a smile, head shaking with in fond exasperation, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, super dork.”

Jon lets out a squeak of mock outrage rage, slumping against Damian’s back, placing his head atop Damian’s, and leaving his arms to dangle limply in front of his friend.

“Damian!”
“Jon!” Damian mockingly threw back.
“Damian!” Jon whines again.
“Jon!” Damian whines back, jokingly.

Jon pokes Damian’s check annoyingly, “Tell me I'm your favorite!”
Batting away Jon’s hands and shrugging his friend off his shoulders, Damian sighs, “You’re such a child.”

“Takes one to know one!” Jon chirps back, jabbing Damian lightly in the side.
“Shut up! Fine! You're my second favorite superhero! Are you happy?”
“Very!” Jon smirks, “I'm gonna hold this over everyone else’s heads. I'm your favorite superhero.”

“Second favorite.” Damian grouches.
Jon flaps his hand in dismissal, “Dick doesn't count. He's almost everyone's favorite.”
“Oh?” Damian raises a brow, clearly fighting off another twitch of his lips.

“Yup. Only reason he isn't in second place behind my dad is because I met you.” Jon says seriously.

Damian’s eyes widen, just a fraction, mouth opening slightly in shock as he whips his head to the side to stare at his best friend. Jon is looking at his fingers, three held up as his index presses lightly against his ring finger to detail where Richard is on the list.

His brows are furrowed in thought, and his tone indicated that this ranking was the obvious choice. As though choosing Damian was so obvious that it didn't even need to be said.

As though the act of saying it was the same as announcing that the sky was blue or that water made things wet.

It was said so easily, one could confuse it for a fact instead of his best friend's opinion. Of course he was the favorite. What other options were there?
“Really?” Damian asked, starting to mask his shocked expression.

“Of course! You're the best!” Jon exclaimed, “Even if you're a jerk sometimes, you're still super cool!”

Jerk isn't said in disparagement. It is said with such profound fondness that it makes something in Damian’s chest melt and stick itself to the back of his throat.

Trying to swallow around it makes his eyes tear up so instead he allows it to sit where it is, itching at his throat uncomfortably while he turns his head away. The best. For once, Damian thought that being the best might mean something.

He had been the best before. The best heir, the best son. But for once, Damian didn’t have to fight for the title. Didn’t have to claw his way through expectations and disappointment for the brief acknowledgement that he was the best but could always be better.

This too was said as a fact. Damian was the best, the sky was blue, and he was Jon’s favorite hero, second only to Superman.
He doesn't feel like he earned this. He's done nothing to prove himself worthy of being the best in Jon’s eyes.

This is the only time in Damian’s life where being the best has settled lightly on his shoulders like a coat instead of tightly around his neck like a noose. The heavy weight comforting rather than oppressive.

Damian vowed to himself that he would one day be worth being the best in Jon’s eyes. That he would earn the title given to him.

Because Jon looked at him and saw a hero. Not an assassin. Not a failed heir. Not a troubled little brother. Jon saw his best friend. Jon saw a hero.

And Damian hadn’t seen himself like that for a while now.
There was wetness at the corner of his eyes, and the lump in his throat was still there, if marginally smaller now.

Blinking his eyes, Damian clears his throat once, rolling his eyes and bumping their shoulders together again.

“Tt. Idiot.” Damian scoffs.
“Tsundere.” Jon shoots back, grin shining like the sun.

And Damian laughs. It is choked and wet with emotion, but it rings in Jon's ears and wells like a bubbling spring in his chest, happily burbling over his ribs and filling him with joy until he too can't help but join in the laughter.

They continue walking past the pasture, before Jon eventually suggests that they go to the top of the silo.

Damian agrees, starting the long trek back before Jon picks him up and flies him over instead.

Damian had once told Jon that he'd missed flying. They’d been riding in a car talking about all sorts of things, when eventually his death had come up. His father, in what Damian assumes was some misplaced sense of responsibility, had revived him.

And upon his return, for a short while, Damian had known what it was like to fly. Once he knew, Damian had never been able to forget the feeling.

He'd only ever told Jon this once. But Jon hadn't forgotten. Nowadays, whenever he was with Jon, he flew more often than not.

It wasn't the same, but it meant the world to Damian. Here, sitting on a silo with his best friend, Damian feels the most himself he has in a long time. Possibly the most himself that he has ever been.

It's...nice. Really nice.

“So, do you want a birthday theme?”
“Mmn. I'm not sure.”
“That's okay! We'll just go through some options and if you don't like anything, we'll ditch the theme idea.”
“Hmm.”

“You got any ideas?”
Damian shakes his head, staring at the setting sun as it paints the farm in hues of burning orange and yellows.

“You want me to throw some out?”
Damian shrugs one shoulder, resting on his palms as his legs swing on the round edge of the silo.
“Alright–uh–how about an anime theme?”

Pausing to consider the option, Damian lets out a negative sound in response.
“A manga? I know you prefer slice of life's, so we could have–like—a Manga panel photo backing and have a bunch of manga themed activities? Oh! Like–we could each make our own Manga page! And then put them together to try and make a story!”

Hand making a so-so motion, Damian’s eyes seem to light up with mild curiosity. Jon decides to place it in the maybe pile.

Staring at the clouds, Jon tries to think of other ideas, “Hmm, Oh! We could decorate the farm like the rainforest Cafe! You could even build some animatronics for decoration!”

Damian side-eyes Jon, squinting slightly at his friend, “No.”

Jon nods, sheepishly, “Yeah, I guess that would be a lot of work. And if we wanted a place to be like the Rainforest Cafe, we'd just go to the Rainforest Cafe.”

Damian nods in agreement, eyes refocusing on the setting sun.

“We could have a drawing party? We could put a bunch of styles in a cup and whatever we pull out is what we have to draw in? And we could do a bunch of other types of drawin’ challenges!”

“That could be fun…” Damian agrees.
Pumping a fist up in the air, Jon gives a shout of elation, “Woo! Yeah! Alright, so we got ourselves a theme!”

Chuckling, Damian hides his snorts behind a hand, “Snnnirk! You're such a dork!”
“I know what you are but what am I?” Jon snarks back.

Being the mature one, Damian sticks out his tongue in rebuttal. Jon laughs in response, shoulders shaking with the sound as his finger pokes Damian’s tongue, resulting in a truly disgusting face as Damian wipes his tongue against his shirt sleeve.

“You’re disgusting.” Damian states, face still wrinkled with displeasure.
“Shouldn't have stuck your tongue out then.” Jon, the hypocrite, says, sticking his tongue out after.

Damian, of course, seeing an opportunity, takes revenge, causing Jon to pull a similar face to Damian’s own revolted one.

Jon squints at Damian as though to ask why, Damian only snickers, mockingly “Shouldn't have stuck your tongue out.”

The sun sets, casting the two friends in shadow as the day ends and night takes its place, exchanging one star with many as the moonless sky hangs above them, beautiful and melodious as the cricket chirps laugh along with the two boys.

–

One week from Damian’s birthday, Alfred asks if he has any plans.
“Yes, Jonathan is throwing me a birthday party at the Kent’s farm.”

“Oh? This is wonderful, Master Damian. Will you be staying the night there or will you be returning here?”

“Staying the night.” Damian replies, quickly deciding that even if Jon couldn't host him after the party, that he'd stay with someone else. He could not bear to imagine going home to a cold, lonely manor after being near the liveliness of his friends.

It would only serve to make the icy tendrils of loneliness freeze themselves that much farther into his bones.

“Alright, Master Damian,” Alfred says, sounding somewhat disappointed with Damian’s answer, “we'll have to celebrate it together some other day than.”

Hesitating, Damian stares at the cutlery besides his plate, knuckles turning white as he grips his pant leg tightly underneath the table, “Actually, Pennyworth, I'd be most appreciative if you attended the party at the Kent family farms,” there is silence for a moment that Damian rushes to fill, “If you are unable, it is of no major consequence–”

“I'd be delighted, dear boy,” Alfred interjected, mouth curved into a soft smile as his eyes shone with joy, “What time would you like me there?”

Releasing a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, Damian relaxes, “Around 11am, if you have the time, Pennyworth.”

“For you, Master Damian, I'll always have time.” Alfred says, reaching a hand over to squeeze Damian’s shoulder gently.

Something in him unknots at Pennyworth's answer, soothing a tender ache he hadn't noticed was there. Damian doesn’t speak in response. He isn't sure he'd be able to make any noise even if he tried.

So instead, Damian just nods, fighting back tears for the second time in two weeks.

–

The day of the party, Damian gets a text from Jason.
“Where are you?”
Damian wasn't sure why that mattered, seeing as Jason was undercover so he just asked– “Why?”

Jason’s text is almost immediate, “wtf you mean why? It's your birthday, idiot. I'm gonna spend it with you??!!!”

Damian is a bit confused by this, “How would you spend the day with me? You're undercover.”

Jason responds with a simple, “And?!!”

Damian decides that this conversation isn't worth the trouble, and texts Jason his location, earning a passive-aggressive thank you and an eta of around 30 minutes.

Damian continues to help put the last finishing touches on the decorations for the party when Richard texts him, “Hey, Damian! I'll be over at the manor later on for your birthday. I won't be able to stay long, but I should be able to spend an hour or two with you before I have to hit the road again.”

“I won't be at the manor.” Damian texted back.
Dick sends a bunch of question marks and exclamation points in return, followed by a– “wdym? Where'll you be?”

Damian, agitated that his phone has gotten so many messages in such a short time, types back, “The Kent’s farm. Jon’s throwing me a birthday party.”

“Why was I only just told!!??” Richard asks, adding a dizzy emoji at the end.
“You were busy.” Damian replied.
“Not that busy??!!!! It's your birthday! Of course I'd be there!”

Damian leaves the message on read, not knowing how to reply.
Putting his phone away to go back to work Damian is once again interrupted by his phone.

This time, Damian’s phone rang, Timothy's stupid ringtone blaring obnoxiously in Damian’s ears.

“What?!” Damian snaps, gripping the phone so tightly that his knuckles ached.
“Woah! Who pissed in your cereal, Demon brat? All I did, so far, is call you and you already sound like you're about to light all my shit on fire. What's up? Are you good?”

Damian pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes screwing shut as his eyebrows furrowed, “I'm fine. I've just been annoyingly popular today. You are the third person to contact me over the phone in the past fifteen minutes. What do you want?”

“Duke's getting ready to leave for your birthday at Jon's, he told me before he walked out the door this morning. Were you going to tell anyone?”

“I told people.” Damian said defensively. Which wasn't technically a lie. Sure, he only told Pennyworth while Jon informed the rest of the guests, but still, one person counts towards the anybody that Timothy had asked about.

“Alright, fine. If you didn't want me at your party, you could have just said. But why didn't you tell Jason or Dick? Aren't they like--your favorites or whatever?” There's a slightly hurt quality to Timothy's voice as he asks, though it is covered up with his usual derision towards Damian. If Damian were to guess, Timothy probably stubbed his toe or something. That's the only logical explanation for the pain in his voice.

“I don't have favorites,” Damian lies, after all, using Jon’s logic, Dick doesn't count, “And you have a date with Bernard today.”
“Yeah? And? What does that have to do with anything?”

Damian’s confusion grew, “I assumed that would mean you would be unable to attend.”

“Yeah, well, you know what they say about assumptions. They make an ass out of you and me. I'll be over in 20.”

“What about your date with Bernard?”
“Bernard and I have reservations at 6. I was always going to swing by to hang with you for a bit before going on my date with Bernard. Bernard is also coming. He says he wants to say hi and give you your birthday gift from him.”

Damian is extremely confused, “Do whatever you want.”
“Thanks,” Tim says dryly, “I will. See you in twenty.”

“See you soon.”
“Bye, brat.”
“Goodbye, Drake."

Tim hangs up and Damian stares at his phone for a few seconds, daring it to ring one more time.

When it doesn't, Damian cautiously puts it back in his pocket, and slowly resumes his task. No more than five minutes later, his phone erupts in a diluge of text messages.

“It's your birthday?!!?? Why didn't you tell me!!!??? (*｀Д´)ノ！！！” Stephanie asks not allowing Damian to answer before she sends another text.

“I had to find out from Tim! Tim!!!! When were you gonna tell me??!!! Huh???”
Damian begins to type out a response before the three loading dots appear on screen, causing him to delete his message.

“Cass doesn't know either???!!! When were you gonna tell us it was your birthday????!!!! ( (y`•□´•)y When!!”

Damian waits a moment to see if another barrage of texts will go through. When nothing more messages come in, Damian answers.
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow???!!!! Why would you tell us tomorrow???!!! (｡-｀へ´-｡)?”

“Because you and Cain are going to Swan Lake today.”

“???!!!! Not anymore!!!??!?! It's your birthday?!!?!?!?”
“But you and Cain were super excited for it? You've been planning this for months. You don't have to cancel your plans on my account.”

“Shut up!!! We're going!!!! We can see swan lake some other time!!! It's your birthday!!!!(o･｀Д´･o)!!”

“You don't have to come. We can celebrate it tomorrow if you really must.”

The speech bubble appears and disappears three times before finally answering message comes through, “Cass says you're an idiot, but she loves you. Of course we're going to your party, dumbass!!!! We'll be there in an hour! God! We're gonna have a serious talk tomorrow about all this shit!! Love you, idiot!! <(｀^´)🖕”

“Love you too, fat girl 🖕🏾” Damian responds, quickly turning his phone off and stuffing it in his pocket in embarrassment.

Another five minutes pass, and Damian's phone was again bombarded with texts. This time, instead of his family, it was the Titans; his Titans. Lots of birthday wishes, and a couple of playful complaints that they weren’t invited to the party. A few comments on him growing up and entering a rebellious phase, and another barrage of texts Damian didn't bother to read. Damian sent a quick thank you in the group chat before going back to his task.

His phone doesn't ring again after that.

–

The party was fun. Damian genuinely enjoyed the event. A few more notable moments include when Jason broke into a full Shakespearen speech about betrayal over a lost game of uno; which then led Jon and Damian to mock him in a similarly Shakespearen fashion, and that led to a brawl.

Duke losing a game of manhunt because he flashbanged Dick in an attempt to escape insteadof just turning invisible. Duke's blinding tactic didn't work, however, as in Dick's struggle to feel the areas in front of him, he managed to trip and fall directly into Duke during Duke's attempted escape while he laughed at Dick.

Connor shooting an arrow at a cupcake balanced on Colin's head while he was transformed, which gained much applause from every party goer except Mr. Kent.

Maya and Damian won a game of Manhunt and collected a shit ton of blackmail material of all the losers spectacularly failing. These photos an videos included Duke's flashbang trick and Jason scaring Tim out of a tree, amongst other things.

Stephanie dumped glitter on Damian and Jon in revenge for trying to keep the birthday party a "secret".
Then, during the final hour of the party, the night ended with truly horrible, god awful, round of poorly sung karaoke before most of the party goers had to leave. Overall, the party was more fun than Damian thought it would be.

There, surrounded by his friends and family, Damian found himself filled with joy. His face was split into a smile so wide that it felt like his face would tear if it curved any further.

Laughter came easier, bubbling out of his throat like carbonation in soda.
Yes, love was like sand.

Even if it slipped through your fingers the tighter you grasped it, the grains would always stick to you. They would well up in the soles of your shoes, cling to the sweat on your skin, bury themselves between the threads of your clothing, and pool beneath every footsteps until you found sand on your floors, in your clothes, and in your baggage for days after.

Yes, love was a similar thing indeed. The more you desperately reached for it, the less would rest in the palm of your hands. But the more you were around it, the more that it would cling to you.

Here, amongst his friends and family, Damian was surrounded by love. In every hair ruffle, in every hug, every point of contact, every laugh, every smile, every conversation, Damian loved and felt loved.

Even if they couldn't stay for long, Damian knew that his family loved him.
…Or…at least most of them did.

His father, though most certainly aware of the party, failed to attend.

Damian received no call, no text, and no card even signifying that his father even knew it was his birthday. In fact, his father hadn't contacted him at all. Not for a mission, or curfew, or to ask when he would return.

The joy that filled his chest like air was smothered slightly. Choked out by the depression confirmation that his father really didn't love him. Didn't even seem to care.

It was a sad feeling that sat in the back of Damian’s mind for the rest of the day. Only when he went to sleep, lounging on an air mattress next to Jon’s bed, did the thought take over completely.

Damian thought he'd be fine without his father’s love. He thought he'd be fine if all he ever earned was his father’s respect.
But Damian had been wrong.

Selfishly, Damian had wanted his dad to love him too.

Maybe Damian hadn’t done enough to deserve it yet, and maybe he never would, but all he wanted was to know that his father had loved him. Even if only a little.

Idly, as tears ran silently down his cheeks, tinging his eyes red, Damian wondered if he was being too greedy.

His brothers loved him, his sisters loved him, his friends loved him, his mother loved him, and Alfred cared. So was it really fair to ask that his father loved him too? Was that too big of a wish for a shooting star or birthday candles to grant?

Damian could only assume so.

Despite his best efforts, Damian’s breaths came out wetly, shaking his lungs painfully as he tried to force the carbon dioxide out in calm, steady streams instead of the hiccuping sobs it seemed to want to.

Snot dripped from his nose as Damian sat up and desperately wiped his eyes with his sleeves. Quietly peeling back the blanket, Damian carefully slipped off the air mattress, aiming to go to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face in hopes that the icy feeling combats the heat of emotion that burns itself behind his eyes and reddens his cheeks.

Halfway to Jon's bedroom door, Jon stirs. Damian freezes, heart hammering in his chest as he tries to keep the sniffles and hiccups that fight against the lump in his throat quiet. He attempts to muffle whatever escapes behind his sleeve covered palm, but it doesn't seem to work.

Tiredly lifting his head, Jon's fuzzy black hair sticking out in every direction as his pale blue eyes blink sleepily at Damian, Jon mumbles, voice thick with sleep, “Damian? What's wrong?”

Damian sniffs, hoping the sound comes out more dismissive than lamenting as he responds, “Nothing is wrong, Jonathan. I was just attempting to reach the bathroom without waking you. You can go back to bed.”

This only serves to wake Jon up more, “No, something's wrong. You don't talk like that unless you're nervous. You feelin’ alright?”

For once, Damian curses how well Jonathan knew him. Staying silent, Damian keeps his back facing Jon, even if the action makes his spine itch uncontrollably. Jon wouldn't hurt him.

Instead of repeating his question, Jon shuffles further into his bed, lifting the blankets as he pats his mattress.

Still frozen, Damian takes a moment to consider his options. He could escape to the bathroom now, return like nothing had happened, and refuse to talk about it. Or, Damian could take Jon's invitation.

Unsticking his feet from the floor, Damian shuffles in place before slowly, skittishly making his way towards Jon's bed.

Once he's in, Jon covers them both in his comforter, wrapping an arm around Damian and pulling him close.

“Do you want to talk about it?”
Shaking his head, Damian doesn't answer any further, choosing instead to bury his face against his best friend's chest.

Jon doesn't say anything else. He simply holds Damian tighter, rubbing soothing circles as they fall back asleep.

The next morning, before the sun has risen and warmed the Kent’s farm with the first few rays of sunlight, awake from a fitful rest, Damian whispers to what he hopes is a still sleeping Jon, “I don't think my father will ever love me.”

Jon, if he's heard, says nothing. Eyes still closed, breathing still steady, and face still slack with sleep.

For a moment, after he spoke, Jon's arms tightened, and Damian is frightened his friend has heard.

But Jon makes no other movements, nuzzling against Damian’s hair and releasing a satisfied sigh as he relaxes again.

Damian sighs in relief, eyes once more closing as tries his best to go back to sleep. Tired, and emotionally wrought, he forgets that Jon is not the only person that could have heard. And come later morning, when he's more awake, Damian still doesn't consider the idea that anyone else might have been listening.

The Kent’s had always been better with privacy than Damian’s family, and as a result, Damian had often felt safer talking in their house rather than his own. Besides, Mr. Kent and Connor were off planet until tomorrow morning. There shouldn’t have been anyone else to hear Damian’s quiet, sorrow-filled words, as he laid his deepest insecurity to his sleeping best friend.

Later that morning, when both he and Jon eventually drag themselves out of bed, Jon shows no signs of having been secretly awake during Damian’s grief-riddled confession.

Jon doesn't act any different than usual. He jokes with Damian, playfully arguing with him and teasing his best friend over breakfast; happily enjoying Damian’s companionship as he stays with the Kent's through breakfast and lunch, until 4pm when Alfred comes to collect him.

Clark Kent isn't home until a little after lunch, which Damian finds strange. He was supposed to be back in the morning, a little before breakfast at 10am.

Usually, if Mr. Kent misses breakfast with Jon and Mrs. Lane, he'll attempt to at least have lunch and dinner with them to make up for it.

It's part of a rule the Kent’s have. Whenever they aren’t off planet, they have to eat all three meals together if possible, and if not, then they have to at least eat two together. Maybe the mission off planet went on for longer than usual? Or maybe he had to deal with a crisis somewhere else on earth before returning to the farm?

But Damian hadn’t seen anything about superman on the news. Whatever. It's probably not important anyway, Mr. Kent will just take them out for snacks to make up for his absence. He's soft like that.

When he gets home, his father greets him at the door, clapping a hand against his shoulder with a firm utterance of Damian’s name.

Cautiously, Damian observes his father, looking for any signs that he might have been replaced or controlled.

“Hello, father.” Damian says slowly, green eyes never leaving his father’s form as he keeps his hands folded behind him, one hand grasping a panic button in a tight fist, just in case.

His father says nothing, firmly nodding and wandering away, seemingly satisfied with this reaction.

Later, when Damian tells Timothy of this interaction in hopes of proving something is wrong with their father, Timothy just snorts, shaking his head.
"Something's wrong with him alright.”

“Do you think he's been controlled or replaced?” Damian asked, his index finger minutely twitching in anxiety.

Timothy shakes his head, “Neither. Bruce is just an idiot. Don't worry about it too much. He did the same thing with me when I was a kid. He'll do this for a month or so then go back to normal. I think it's his way of acknowledging that we're growing up? I'm not sure though. But seriously, don't worry about it too much.”

Damian nods slightly, though his nerves don't disappear. He supposes that this answer makes sense.

Still, he'd check in with Cain and Richard just to make sure. Damian didn't want to take any chances.