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Clark thought he was a good father. He wouldn’t go out of his way to say he was the best father, Clark would always say that his own father held that title a lot better than Clark ever could. But he thought he was good. Okay. Passable. Ma had always said she was proud of him, anyway. And Lois reminded him every single day how good he was with the boys.
Which was why it seemed to him that when Kara suggested on a rare trip to the farm that Clark think about getting Jon training that he was… apprehensive. Training meant that he was confirming that Jon was in danger. Training meant that Clark was stating the very real possibility that he might not be able to get there in time in order to protect him. Which wasn’t something that Clark was a fan of admitting. “I’m just saying, Clark,” Kara said in her big, bulky sweater and black framed glasses, sitting next to him on the roof, the rusted rooster compass blowing in the wind. “What if you’re off planet, and Jordan’s helping with some world crisis and one of your enemies shows up to get the non-powered twin?” She cradled the mug of hot chocolate they had made earlier between her palms, blowing gently over the steam of it and watching him with that look that told him that she understood him in a way that no one else really could. “Alex could do it. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind helping out.”
Alex could do it. She was one of the best at self defense Clark had ever seen and she knew their secret and was willing to keep it. Moreover, he trusted Alex with his kids, his cousin, his identity. But Clark wasn’t sure if he wanted someone with government affiliation to teach Jon how to defend himself. Alex relied on guns, on Kryptonite, on a slew of things that Clark, frankly, wasn’t even sure how they would affect a full Kryptonian, let alone a half Kryptonian.
His face must have shown his unease.
Kara sighed and rounded her back, staring out at the twinkling stars above them. “You have more friends than just us, though, Clark.”
Clark knew he did. Not that Jon would ever be allowed on Themyscira - while Diana wasn’t going to deny the opportunity to train anyone (especially if Clark asked) she wouldn’t be able to bring him to the people that had trained her. Wonder Woman or simply Diana, she still had gaps in her abilities that the other Amazons filled seamlessly. There was Barry - both Kara’s Barry and Clark’s - but Barry worked with the speedforce more than he worked with his fists.
It left only one person, really.
And Clark wasn’t in the habit of calling in favors to Bruce Wayne.
Not that they didn’t get along, no, Clark had never had a better friend than Bruce. But Bruce was brutal. He fought for survival. He had a long list of people he had trained - younger than Clark’s sons and older and some with abilities that outshined Bruce’s human ones. Bruce Wayne was capable of training but he would train with the same ruthlessness that he approached any mission. He had the ability to care and take care of others but Clark… Well Jon wasn’t one of Bruce’s children. He needed a different approach. He didn’t have the same layer of trauma blurring his reality. Clark prided himself in that. He had raised both of his boys to look at the world without first seeing the threats and Bruce Wayne thrived in shadows with his kids being the only bit of light he would let in most of the time.
“I think Bruce is available in Gotham.” Kara said lightly, observationally and sipped slowly at her drink.
Clark laughed, of course her mind had gone to the same place as his had. Kara had the barest of interactions with Bruce and his family. She had spent time with Kate, but that had been a Kate of a different universe. Clark had brought her around Bruce maybe once, introduced them the way Bruce introduced Clark to those he had claimed were his own, and then Kara had gone off, done her own thing, become her own hero. She hadn’t needed the person Bruce was to teach her how to be human - Kara had always excelled at that.
But that made it so that the only Bruce that Kara knew was the Bruce Wayne that Clark’s friend put out to the world to see. The suave, billionaire, playboy that shocked the world by taking in a slew of orphaned children and called them his own. She didn’t know the war Clark had seen Bruce fight every single day within himself to be the good man that Clark believed he was. And she most definitely did not see how that war affected those that Bruce took it upon himself to train. “We’re not going to Bruce.” Clark decided with a long, deep sigh.
“Then what are you going to do, Clark?” Kara shot a glance at him, eyebrows pointed inwards with a frown. “We can’t train him ourselves.”
“And leaving him untrained is setting him up to be bait for the rest of his life.” Clark agreed. “I know, I’ve heard the rant before.” From Jonathon even. General Lane could help but Clark wasn’t sure if he trusted him after… everything. He cared about his grandsons, Clark knew that, but he didn’t know if he could trust them with him. Especially if he couldn’t trust General Lane with himself . Plus, Lois didn’t seem too particularly keen on her father spending more time than was necessary with the boys and Clark respected her opinion too much to go against it.
Which set up another problem. If Clark even wanted to go to Bruce for help, it didn’t matter how much she knew Bruce never did anything with malice in his heart - Lois wouldn’t stand for it. Bruce was too angry, too brute force, too… emotionally unavailable. Lois understood Clark’s friendship with him, she even liked the man, but she would rather send Jonathan and Jordan all the way to a different planet than have them square off against Bruce Wayne in a training room.
Especially not after Jason.
He could ask Jason…
No, Clark mentally slapped himself. Jason was a good kid, he had been dealt some terrible cards at a very young age, but he was inherently the most like Bruce out of all of his friend’s children. He was responsible, yes, and Clark didn’t doubt that Jason would actually train without the trauma training could cause but Jason was a handful himself. And Clark didn’t want to explain to Lois why their son had to be dropped off in the worst parts of Gotham in order to get training. He didn’t want to explain to Lois why they had to bring their kids to Gotham in the first place. They had gone to one holiday gala with the boys and convincing Lois it was a good idea had been like pulling teeth (and it had been a good idea. Nothing had happened, Bruce had been on his best behavior and freakishly good with kids.). She didn’t hate Clark’s Justice League friends (family… they were all family in everything but blood. Clark didn’t trust anyone to have his back quite like he trusted Diana and Bruce). “Doesn’t Bruce have kids?” Kara asked absently, staring up at the twinkling stars.
“Yeah,” Clark agreed, doing a mental count of exactly how many kids Bruce had nowadays. There was Jason - who Clark had already said no to even if that was only to himself, Tim - who Clark hadn’t seen since Conner and… Clark wasn’t sure if he would be a welcome sight or not, Stephanie - spunky and hilarious but still new, Barbara - fantastic, wonderful, a good teacher if she wasn’t in a wheelchair and busy with her police work, Cassandra - terrifying, the best fighter Clark had ever seen, an absolute sweetheart, but Clark didn’t think her and the boys would quite get along enough, Dick - wait. Dick. How had Clark not thought about him? He perked up and fished for his phone in his pocket.
The last Clark had heard from Dick Grayson he had been living in Bludhaven, freshly graduated from the police academy, in a two bedroom apartment that he paid for with his own paycheck (and was very proud about that too). Clark loved all of Bruce’s children, they were all a different aspect of his best friend, but Dick Grayson was a rock in the otherwise unsteady waters that tended to be the Wayne family. Steady, strong, kind . He had played a hand in training all of those that came after him, offered a heart that Bruce wasn’t able to give, and… Well, and Clark trusted him. More than he, perhaps, trusted anyone other than Diana and Bruce. Clark still remembered back when Bruce and Dick were fighting nearly every time they saw one another - when Dick had given up Robin and Bruce had been training Jason for a war Dick hadn’t wanted any part in anymore. The boys had been eight, Dick had been eighteen, and Clark had shown up at his first apartment that Bruce was still secretly paying the majority of the rent for and had dinner with him once a week. Sometimes with the boys, most of the time without, and he had listened as Dick laid out his life plan - become a police officer, make his parents proud, fix Bludhaven.
Of course, things didn’t always work out the way they were meant to. Dick had his friends, the Titans, his siblings. Jason had died, Bruce had gone off the deep end, and Dick had been simply trying to hold on while Tim showed up. Clark had listened to his list of woes, sometimes Clark thought he was the only one that had truly been allowed to see the weight Dick shouldered in the ever growing Wayne family, and he had told him a story. The same one he had told him when Dick had been on bed rest when he was Robin.
And then he had given him the name.
He always reminded me of you. Nightwing. The hero of the people.
Dick had been nineteen, tried on the new title, and blossomed.
“Who did you think of?” Kara asked excitedly, nudging his shoulder with her own strong and steady one.
Clark smiled, brushed his finger over the text chain he had sporadically going with Dick Grayson and nodded, something heavy and comfortable settling into his stomach. “An…” How exactly would he, could he, describe Dick? Clark considered him a friend, perhaps, but they were closer than that. Clark had been twenty three when Bruce had taken Dick in - Bruce only twenty-five (the age Dick was now , come to think of it). He had watched the boy grow from acrobat to vigilante to world class hero. Friend seemed too simple, too uncaring for what Dick meant to him. Clark hadn’t had much experience around kids until Dick came around, when the boys were having their particularly difficult moments and Bruce and Ma had proved unhelpful, Clark had reached out to Dick instead. “A nephew.” He settled with, unsure if that was even the correct term for it.
If Bruce was his brother in everything but blood and Dick was his eldest child then it only stood to reason that Dick was his nephew. After all, he had called him Uncle Clark for a time in his childhood (only to tease him or get Clark to do something for him but, still, the sentiment was the same). “You have a nephew?” Kara asked with a curious look.
Clark typed out his message - Are you free anytime soon? - and sent it with a small, hopeful smile. “Yeah.” He agreed instead of expanding.
Kara understood, he was sure. After all, they were cousins and she too had a family that Clark barely knew anything about.
--
Clark waited until winter break to talk it over with the boys - the two of them in Jordan’s room, heads bowed as they read what Clark was hoping was a textbook and not something he didn’t want to think about. Lois had paused when he had offered the idea to her, her mouth in a contemplative line before she nodded. “I miss Dickie,” she had said in agreement. Dick Grayson, a healthy line between Clark and Bruce Wayne, sometimes the only sane member of the entire Wayne family (in Clark’s experience, anyway). Dick knew twenty different ways to dispose of Clark if he would ever need to and yet he had never threatened to use any of them. Both Clark and Lois trusted and adored him.
He could only hope the boys would think the same. “Boys.” Lois interrupted their thoughts and they both looked up, twin questions at the interruption on their faces. Clark could never forget that they were twins, but sometimes he forgot just how alike the two of them were. It wasn’t simply with the way that they had mastered nonverbal communication in a way that Clark had never seen before, but that they both had the same eyes, they both took after Lois in the way they winkled their forehead, they both had separate, yet very similar, nervous ticks. Not that they were doing them now and not that Clark had had any difficulty telling them apart since they were three but the similarities struck him sometimes in a way that he hadn’t expected. “Your father and I want to talk to you about something.”
Clark had never stopped to envision this life for himself when he was younger. Not in a detrimental sort of way - Clark had always wanted a family, he had simply believed he would never be allowed to have one. And there was something to be said about having children too. Clark couldn’t explain the fear he had felt ever since he had first found out Lois was pregnant that one of his many enemies would find them and take the boys from him. Bruce had understood when he had called him to confess about his fears after three weeks of barely sleeping. He hadn’t said much to prove it, other than a soft I know , but Clark knew Bruce well enough to know that was a confession in and of itself. “You’re not hiding any other world changing secrets are you?” Jonathan joked with a little, anxious smile sent between the two of them.
“No,” Clark placated with a matching look of his own, and Lois sat down in Jordan’s desk chair, turning so that it faced the two boys with a contemplative look on her face.
“Well,” she corrected him. “It might.”
The boys communicated with a glance that Clark couldn’t read, and straightened their shoulders, ready to hear whatever it was that Clark and Lois had come to tell them this time. “It’s nothing too huge.” Clark tacked onto the end in a hope to quell any worry that he could see the boys felt.
“It could be.” Lois shrugged.
“This incredibly cryptic conversation isn’t helping anything.” Jonathan pointed out and Jordan nodded in agreement.
Clark ducked his head in a sheepish laugh. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. This can’t leave this room, okay?”
“Grandad can’t know.” Lois implored with wide, pointed eyes at the two of them.
“What is it?” Jordan toyed with his fingers as he asked, twisting them to and fro.
Lois pointedly looked at Clark and he winced. The boys knowing his identity as Superman had both made things easier and infinitely more complicated. Clark was tasked with knowing countless secret identities and he was very much aware of the fact that he hadn’t cleared telling anyone with Bruce first. He hoped he wouldn’t mind. After all, Bruce hadn’t bothered keeping Clark’s a secret from his children and no one understood family quite like Bruce did (not that he understood it well . Bruce kept a lot of different secrets from a lot of different people). Perhaps he was better off leaving the whole thing to Dick to relay… At least there would be less threat of kryptonite involved then. “Jonathan, I know you mentioned wanting to get some self-defense training.” Clark started awkwardly and scratched the side of his neck.
The boys looked between them again. “Yeah….” Jonathan trailed off.
“Well, I happen to know quite a lot of people that… know a thing or two about self-defense.” Lois rolled her eyes at Clark’s stalling techniques and Clark shrugged in her direction. Perhaps it would be better to tell it to them like ripping off a bandaid, but the identity of all of it was what was tripping Clark up.
“Do you boys remember, when you were eight, your dad would take you to Bludhaven sometimes to have dinner with one of his friends?” Lois offered as a way to help.
They shrugged in unison. “Sort of.” Jordan agreed.
“Yeah, the guy with the really blue eyes.” Jonathan supplied.
Lois’s eyebrows ticked higher into her hairline and Clark could see her, mentally locking whatever it was that Jonathan had accidentally let slip, behind for later examination. “Well, he’s… His name’s Richard Grayson. Dick Grayson.”
“He goes by Dick ?” Jordan asked incredulously with a wrinkle of his nose.
Clark coughed around a laugh. “He’s agreed to come here and teach you a few things.”
“Okay,” Jonathan nodded with an odd look on his face. “Why?”
“Well, you wanted to learn how to defend yourself.”
“Yeah, but… why him?”
“Yeah, couldn’t Alex just come and teach us some stuff?” Jordan asked with a confused look between his parents.
Rip off the bandaid , Lois’ eyes pressed. Just tell them .
Clark should just tell them. It wasn’t like it was going to change the perspective the boys had on him. Clark was still their father and they still didn’t think Clark was anywhere near the coolest person in the world. He could tell them. He should tell them. “Well…” Clark shared a shrug with Lois. “He’s been trained by Bruce Wayne.”
“In what ?” Leave it to Lois Lane’s kids to keep going for the throat with their questions.
Lois slapped his thigh, light enough that it didn’t hurt but hard enough that Clark got the point. “In how to beat me in a fight.”
“Why… would Bruce Wayne know how to beat you in a fight?”
“Isn’t he a billionaire?”
“Trillionaire.” Clark corrected absently.
“ Clark .” Lois snapped.
He winced. “He’s Batman.”
--
His ears were still ringing from the noise of complete shock that had passed out of both boy’s throats when “ he’s Batman” had passed Clark’s lips days before. Lois had left him to explain it all too, sitting back in Jordan’s desk chair with something downright petty in her eyes. She got simply too much joy in watching Clark squirm in front of their teenage sons. His ears were still ringing but he could hear the boys breathing steadily upstairs in their rooms, asleep and peaceful and safe and he had heard the car crunching on the road miles away.
Clark met him in the driveway in a car Clark was sure Bruce didn’t enjoy Dick having bought himself - used , Clark could imagine Bruce saying with a small scoff - in the late night. He had driven the entire way, crossed the distance between Bludhaven and Smallville in a matter of days and he had to be tired and yet, still, when he climbed out of the car he looked more awake than Clark had felt in fifteen years. “He’s not alone.” Clark mumbled more to himself than to Lois but her gaze was intent on the side of his face anyway.
“Who did he bring?” He could tell, by the tone of her voice, that Lois was mentally checking off every single member of Dick’s family as likely or unlikely. There was a time when Clark would have visited the farm with Lois to Tim Drake huddled on one of Ma’s wooden chairs and sharing a chat with her about school while Conner made breakfast. Clark hadn’t thought about that in a while.
He hadn’t thought about Conner in a while.
Not for long since his funeral.
Clark shrugged and unfolded himself from the chair on the porch to say hello regardless. Dick wasn’t the sort of person to bring along company unannounced unless he could help it. Lois huddled farther into the blanket she had dragged outside with her and huddled closer to her mug of hot tea, choosing to allow Clark a moment to greet his old friend alone.
Sometimes Clark forgot how similar Dick moved to Bruce. It wasn’t obvious, his muscles weren’t as bulky as Bruce’s, his body more lean and always acrobatic. Still, he held his head like Bruce held his own, his expressions, sometimes, were innately Bruce Wayne . But they didn’t look much alike as Dick moved from child to adult. His skin, for one, was never going to be as pale as Bruce’s, settling instead on a light tan no matter the time of year. His eyes were lighter than any of his brothers’ - Jason’s were the closest, but they swam with green too whereas Dick’s were clear and bright. He was tall, lithe, and elegant. He saw Clark and smiled and, for a moment, Clark forgot he was looking at a grown man and not at the ten year old child that had a habit of climbing his shoulders and swinging on chandeliers. “Hey, Clark,” he said it softly, much softer than Clark was used to hearing him speak, but it was clear that while Dick knew Clark could hear him he hadn’t quite meant for the greeting to be heard.
Dick Grayson was a hugger which used to make Clark laugh at how blatantly Bruce hadn’t been until Dick came around (and even then, he was only affectionate with his children and Selina Kyle unless it was a dire event). He had to lift himself up a little bit to be able to wrap his arms around Clark but he did it as easily as he stood, solid, warm, leather jacket crinkling beneath Clark’s hands. “Hey Dick,” Clark chuckled, something settling warm into the pit of his stomach.
Family.
Clark had never been gifted with much of it, but the piece of himself he had found in Bruce and Diana would always be something he remembered when he looked at Dick. The first product of all of their collective hard work. The best of all of them. “I brought a freeloader.” Dick said after a moment, pulling back and hitching a backpack onto his shoulder. He smiled crookedly and waved over Clark’s shoulder at Lois. “Hope that’s fine. Bruce had to go out of town and I think someone would have died if I left him alone with Tim.”
Clark raised his brows, Tim wasn’t notoriously hard to get along with. All of Bruce’s children were remarkably easy to get along with (especially compared to their father). “Of course,” Clark agreed immediately. After all, Dick was doing him the favor here. As far as Clark was concerned, he could have stuffed Bruce Wayne in a suitcase and Clark wouldn’t have been that annoyed with it. “Let’s get you guys unloaded. You must be tired.”
“It’s a long drive.” Dick agreed and tapped on the top of the car, the sound of it reverberating against Clark’s ear drums. “Come on, Dami. Use your words to say hi.”
Clark hadn’t met the youngest of Bruce’s kids - technically, the only one that was related to him (if Bruce hadn’t officially adopted Tim there had been talk, for a long time, about whether Bruce would have an heir to begin with - not that Clark agreed with that. Ignoring Dick and Jason’s existence simply because they didn’t look like Bruce was an incredibly unfair thing to do). Damian Wayne had arrived in Bruce’s life so quickly after Clark’s own had started picking up and there hadn’t exactly been any world ending crisis moments since Bruce had… returned. But Clark had heard about him - chats with Diana, quick catch up calls with Bruce, texts with Dick. Damian was a good kid, from what Clark had been told - but like all of the infamous batkids Damian had a bucket load of trauma that he was just beginning to work through. What with the… being raised by assassins thing.
Damian stood from the car smoothly, no ache to his bones, fifteen with the air of aristocracy that Clark noticed Bruce had carefully trained himself out of showing every moment. He looked like Bruce. Like the younger Bruce that Clark had met so long ago. He was about Dick’s height, maybe an inch or two shorter, with dark hair, dark skin, and Bruce’s eyes. He didn’t smile when he looked at Clark, and his gaze seemed to be cataloguing Clark for weaknesses. He wondered what Damian was seeing, if he was writing Clark off as harmless like so many had before.
Then again, Damian wasn’t simply raised by Batman who had never labeled Clark as such. Clark had gone up against the League exactly once and it was more than enough for him to know that they weren’t people to be messed with. “Mister Kent.” Damian said, his voice slightly accented (like Dick’s had been when Bruce had first taken him in) and carefully measured. “Richard has told me a lot about you.”
Dick ducked his head with a chuckle. “Come on, kiddo.” He reached around the driver’s side to tap Damian on the shoulder. “Let’s get you to bed.”
--
Damian didn’t have much of an opinion on the Kent family. They weren’t particularly interesting - Superman was someone that he was pretty sure he could take in a fight even without kryptonite. But Richard had been working on keeping Damian socialized and, while his father was off the planet for some Justice League business, Damian had been offered the choice of staying behind with Timothy or spending the holiday with the oldest brother. And it wasn’t that Damian and Timothy didn’t get along anymore - they got along fine - it was just that… well, Damian never felt that he spent quite enough time with Richard.
It was obvious which of his brothers was his favorite, which brother Damian felt most comfortable with. Which brother was a second father, even despite the ten year age gap.
The Kent farm was quiet, Kansas a completely different location than Gotham. Damian had done his research - things wouldn’t be as cold in Smallville as they were back at the mansion, the farm didn’t actually house any farm animals, and the likelihood of Damian seeing any snow was slim to none. It was fine with him, Damian didn’t much enjoy the cold. He woke up at the same time that he always did, met Richard at the base of the stairs, running gear already stretched over both of their bodies. “Ready?” Richard asked with a wink and Damian nodded, stretching his arms above his head and following him out the door.
Damian admired all of his siblings - Jason was a testament to survival, Timothy was smarter than their father and ten times more clever, Cassandra was lethal but hid it behind her calm exterior, Stephanie was entertaining yet cunning, Duke was kind even against adversity - but he feared that Richard would always have a special place in his heart. Not that Damian was in the habit of telling him that. He had spoken about it only once with his father - the two of them coming off a long night of patrol and Damian speaking without thinking about how much he missed having Richard around. His father had looked insulted, for only a moment, before admitting that he, too, missed the tempering force that was Richard Grayson.
Damian and his father were much too alike.
Richard Grayson was the perfect force to teach them both how to be human once more.
They ran among wheat and corn fields, the stalks reaching up towards the sky despite the chill in the air. They moved in pace with each other, even though Damian was well aware that Richard could outpace him easily (he was always doing that, underestimating himself and easily adapting to match everyone else) if he wanted to until they came to the end of a road and Richard pointed with a big, goofy smile to his left. “Dami, look.” He was the first person to call him that. Dami . He had protested when he was younger, his mother’s voice ringing in his ears about the uselessness of nicknames and familiarity. Now it always unfurled something warm inside of him. Family . He was family here. Richard Grayson had always been the first person to remind Damian that he was family . “Cows.”
Damian looked over his shoulder and caught sight of them immediately. They were brown with black spots, heads bent down towards the grass they were gnawing on, a calf huddled close to their mother’s legs. His lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. “Do you think father would enjoy it if I brought one home?” He asked absently.
Richard chortled and nudged his shoulder with his own. “You know as well as I do that Bruce wouldn’t fight you on it.”
Truthfully, father barely fought him on anything. The things between them had gotten easier as the years went on and Damian, dare he say it, loved his father. But the relationship he had with Bruce Wayne was entirely different from the relationship he had with Richard Grayson. Partners. Parents. Whatever it was, Damian wasn’t quite sure, except that when he was injured he would rather Richard be there when he woke up than his father. He had mentioned it to Timothy once who had simply shrugged - Dick’s special to all of us , he had said, he wanted to make sure you had the childhood he never did . Sometimes Damian wanted to ask him, he knew there had been a period of time where Richard and his father never spoke, he knew that Richard hadn’t enjoyed the pressure of being the Batman, but he also knew the importance of keeping what was in the past in the past. Still, none of them worked as well with father as Richard did - a fact Damian knew all of them knew and dealt with in their own ways.
They ran back toward the Kent farm after an hour, stretching out on the grass and then trudging inside to grab a shower.
Personally, Damian wasn’t sure what it was that his father and Richard saw in the Kent’s. They seemed fine . Nothing special or worthy of wasting much time on. “He’s family,” Richard had told him on the ride over before breaking into stories of the adventures he had gone on with Uncle Clark . Not that he called him that often, but he had slipped a few times, betraying the relationship he imagined the two of them had.
Oh well, Damian thought with a snort. If Richard trusted him, then so would Damian and at least Kansas was a different environment than sitting in the big manor by himself for the entire holiday. Superman - Clark Kent, son of Jonathan and Martha Kent, his father’s files had said - met them in the kitchen, an apron tied around his waist and useless glasses sitting on his nose. Lois Lane - General Lane from homeland security was her father, her sister Lana Lane - was at the kitchen table, sipping from a mug of coffee and flipping through a paper newspaper with keen eyes. “How was your run?” Clark asked happily, his eyes doing that sparkle thing they did the night before when he had first seen Richard again.
How long had it been for them? Several years, at least. “Pretty good,” Richard commented and passed the glass of water Clark handed him to Damian before getting one for himself. Damian rolled his eyes but obligingly took a sip (which reminded him exactly how thirsty he actually was. He gulped down a few more swallows before brushing the back of his hand against his lips with a small flush to his cheeks). “Damian wanted to steal a cow.”
Damian repressed the urge to kick the glass of water Richard held between his hands and glared at him instead. Of course he would feel the need to bring that up in front of their hosts. Lois Lane laughed, a soft happy noise. “Do you like animals, Damian?”
“They’re easier to understand than humans.”
In short, yes , Damian liked animals. Damian liked animals more than he liked most people. They were inherently kind, smarter than they were given credit for, and intensely loyal. Richard raised his eyebrows at Damian because he knew that Damian’s answer was as much of a non-answer as it was the truth. “How old are you, Damian?” Clark asked lightly from where he was flipping pancakes at the oven. “I think Dick mentioned you’re a few years younger than Tim?”
Timothy had gotten a look on his face when Richard had mentioned bringing Damian with him to the Kent farm that had been close to badly hidden heartbreak. He had been close to Superboy , or so Richard had told Damian in the car, best friends, possibly more (something that Timothy certainly wasn’t confiding in any of them about but that, curiously, Jason seemed to know the most about). The fact that Timothy had declined the invite with a simple shake of his head and Richard hadn’t pushed said more than their words ever could.
Damian wasn’t going to gossip with Clark Kent about his brother. “He’s fifteen.” Richard supplied when it became obvious that Damian wasn’t going to answer the question himself.
“So are the boys,” Lois said with a bright smile. “I’m sure you three will get along well.” Damian doubted it. “They could introduce you to some of their teammates.”
“And I think Sarah’s coming over for dinner tonight.” Clark tacked onto the end of his wife’s sentence.
Damian wasn’t interested in meeting any of them. “I’m going to take a shower.” He told Richard and settled the empty glass of water at the edge of the sink.
Richard nodded with a small smile. “Can you text Jason? See how things are going?”
“Yes.” He had been planning on texting Cassandra to check on Alfred the cat anyway and Jason, Cassandra, and Timothy were all spending the holiday together.
“Thanks, kiddo.”
He nodded and moved quickly up the stairs.
The Kents were much more talkative than Damian had hoped they would be.
--
Their first training session was that afternoon, but Damian hadn’t bothered leaving his guest room since he had disappeared after his shower. Richard had brought him food, sat on the edge of his bed, and helped him with translating part of his English assignment for the break. While all of Damian’s siblings spoke different languages, Damian found only him and Richard were the ones that didn’t speak English as a first language. None of the others quite understood how confusing the language could be, even if they were willing to help.
Be that as it may, Damian had finished his work by the training session - something that was meant to be a baseline, or so Richard had told him. He followed his oldest sibling to the barn, helped him clear debris out of the way, and sat himself on the rafters to watch.
They were twins, but Damian could tell just in how they carried themselves who was who. Jordan didn’t introduce himself, he stood by the doorway with a tense set to his shoulders and mouth pulled into a nervous frown. Social anxiety, his father’s files had said. He was also the twin that seemed to show that he had inherited his father’s Kryptonian abilities. Laser vision, enhanced hearing, super strength, flight, although he was still just figuring the last two out. He wasn’t interesting, Damian decided easily. Jordan Kent wore his entire being on the sleeve of his shirt.
Jonathan Kent was different in a way that Damian couldn’t quite put a finger on. He had the shorter hair of the two, his curls arranged carefully on top of his head, and seemed the more athletic of them. Football quarterback, Damian remembered, his eyes sweeping over his body and cataloging the muscles that seemed to ripple under his shirt. He was protective, Damian noted from the way he stood just slightly in front of his brother and spoke before Richard could pose any questions to Jordan. He was nervous, unsure how to handle the situation he found himself in but excited. Eager.
Hopeful.
Damian hummed and Richard, as though feeling Damian’s gaze on his back, glanced over his shoulder before sending him a thumbs up.
He would just be observing for the day.
That was more than fine with him.
“Okay,” Richard said, using his most patient voice (the one he used for particularly stressful situations with civilians). “Today I figured we’d go over a baseline. Figure out exactly where you’re at. Does that sound good?”
Jonathan Kent glanced back at Jordan Kent and they shrugged in unison. “Sure.” He said with a nod and easy half smile.
Richard matched it with one of his own, always a master (in Damian’s opinion) at seeming disarming. A master at misdirection. Even Damian had underestimated him when they had first met. He fell into an easy, light, fighting stance. “Try to hit me.”
“I’m… I’m sorry?”
Damian stifled a snort into the crook of his arm. Jordan Kent narrowed his eyes at him and down below, Jonathan Kent’s cheeks colored to a light, dusty pink. Richard gave him a warning flick of his fingers and Damian rolled his eyes. Play nice, Richard’s fingers said. “Do we have to have an audience?” Jonathan whined.
“This is Damian,” Richard introduced him and Damian, feeling a bit cocky, waved his fingers in response. “He’s just observing.”
“He’s judging .”
Interesting, Damian thought. Not that Jonathan noticed exactly what it was Damian was doing but that he was willing to call Richard out of his blatant lie. Perhaps Jordan had taken after Clark Kent and Jonathan had compensated by taking on Lois Lane’s more cut-throat nature. Unfortunately for Jonathan Kent, Richard Grayson didn’t take to whining very well. They had all been raised by the same people - neither Bruce nor Alfred tolerated it much beyond the surface. “How can I judge,” Damian drawled. “When you haven’t done anything?”
“He’s just nervous.” Jordan Kent defended - it seemed he was only willing to speak to the two of them when his brother was directly threatened. Damian would find it sweet if it wasn’t utterly useless. Even Timothy knew when actions were needed more than words.
“Damian has been trained by some of the greatest minds in the world.” Richard supplied needlessly. “Trust me when I say his insight is priceless.”
Damian sat up a bit straighter, the praise something he hadn’t expected to hear that day. Granted, Richard had always been easier to get praise from than either his mother and father, but Damian knew what those words were when they were spoken. Richard didn’t hand out his approval and trust to simply anyone. “Right,” Jonathan set his jaw and nodded. “So I just… try to hit you?”
Another interesting thing, Damian thought. He had accepted Damian’s presence a lot quicker than his brother. Richard smiled and nodded. “Anywhere you can get.”
Unsurprisingly, Jonathan Kent did not manage to hit Richard. He didn’t even manage to get close, but Damian noticed the same things Richard did. He had some good foundations, he knew how to throw a punch, knew the basics of dodging, and had at least some athletic ability. Not completely useless, Damian could hear his mother whispering in his ear. He was right handed where Damian was a lefty, but he paid attention to his surroundings. He was clearly more used to holding weapons than being a weapon and his eyes kept looking at his environment to see what he could use to help defend himself. He telegraphed his strikes too easily, he tended to drop his hands from his chin rather than keep them in place, and from the way he moved his feet it was obvious to see that he had years of football experience and little else.
But he was having fun.
Which was also something Damian hadn’t expected.
He laughed when Richard tapped his chin, laughed again when he was down on his back, and seemed to pick up the pointers Richard did toss his way rather quickly.
Jonathan Kent wasn’t particularly talented in hand-to-hand combat but it was obvious, at least to Damian, that he was determined .
They were there for hours and, for some reason, Damian found he hadn’t grown bored once.
--
The Kents did, indeed, have a girl named Sarah over for dinner. She sat beside Jordan Kent, their hands linked between the fingers, and she seemed perfectly kind . Damian said nothing to her besides a simple hello when they were introduced and he found himself curling into himself as Richard asked the girl about school and regaled them with tales of his own time at Gotham Academy. He tucked his toes under Richard’s thigh and scrolled through his text messages with a carefully blank face.
Cassandra had sent a variety of meme’s to the family group chat, father hadn’t responded to anyone, and Timothy had sent him a picture of Alfred the cat sleeping curled up on Jason’s chest. “You’re both on the football team?” Richard asked kindly, settling back in his seat and stretching his arm along the back of the couch the two of them had claimed.
“Yeah,” Jonathan supplied easily, wincing as he moved from the soreness Damian was sure he was already feeling in his muscles.
He watched him over the top of his phone - why, he wasn’t entirely sure, except Damian found his eyes were constantly being pulled in that particular direction. “How American Dream of you,” Damian muttered.
Richard snorted and nudged his knee. “Says the kid in fencing classes.”
Damian scoffed. “Fencing is useful.”
“So’s football.” Clark defended. “It teaches teamwork and -.”
“If your children don’t already know teamwork perhaps they need a different sort of coaching.”
Richard shut his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Damian didn’t know what the problem was, he wasn’t being purposely insulting, merely pointing out a flaw in Clark Kent’s logic. His children were twins . He was sure they already knew how to work with a team. “Damian…” he cautioned softly.
“What?” He asked, glancing between Richard and the other teenagers. “Is it even safe for them to be playing?”
“Why wouldn’t it be safe?” Jonathan challenged.
Damian gave Jordan a significant look, finding he rather enjoyed the pink tinge to the more human twin’s cheeks. “Football has been known to cause severe brain damage to the players.” He said instead of pointing out what he was sure was a rather obvious reason why they shouldn’t be allowed to play.
“We wear helmets.” Jonathan said dryly.
“Plus,” Sarah said unhelpfully. “They’re both pretty good. Jordan got the most valuable player of the year.”
Her and Jordan looked proud of the title and Jonathan simply flicked his eyes to the side and picked at a loose thread in his sleeve. “Clearly.” Damian clicked his tongue and stood up. “I’ve heard you can see the stars here.” He stated and waited for a moment. Richard nodded, slight but Damian had grown to read his slight movements, granting permission.
“Why don’t you kids show Damian some constellations?” Lois offered, perched on Clark’s armchair and handing Richard a glass of red wine.
“That’s not necessary.”
“Sarah was going to help me with my math assignment.” Jordan said in what Damian was sure was meant to be an innocent manner.
“Door stays open.” Lois directed.
The boy grinned and Sarah’s cheeks colored.
Damian didn’t much care for either of them and the door slipped shut after him, the chill of the night air brushing against his skin and giving him a light splattering of goosebumps. It was much quieter in Smallville than Damian had ever expected it to be. He had grown used to the noise of Gotham and he was practically nocturnal thanks to his extracurricular activities as Robin. He had an energy that he found restless. He wondered if the cows at the farm down the street were still awake, or if they had fallen asleep. He wondered whether Kansas had any bats that he could find. “Hey Damian,” he nearly groaned in response, but instead dropped his chin to his chest.
Alone time was a luxury that Damian had long ago grown accustomed to not actually receiving. “Jonathan.”
The other boy settled against the railing beside him, his back to the field and hand outstretched and holding a sweatshirt in offering. Damian realized it was one of his own, Richard had probably fetched it for him. “Not that it’s cold or anything.” Jonathan said lamely but Damian took it from him anyway.
Damian found it difficult to interact with people his own age - Jason said it was probably because he had been raised by assassins. His first friend had been Colin, but Colin had long since moved from Gotham and Damian had been labeled the weird foreign kid at Gotham Academy the moment anyone had heard his accent. He didn’t suspect that it would be easier to get close to Jonathan and Jordan Kent than it was to get close to any of his classmates.
It was fine to Damian, though. He had his siblings. He had his family.
He didn’t need anyone else.
He could just picture Timothy’s disbelieving face and Cassandra’s soft tutt in disapproval. Even they had friends.
Damian was rather pathetic for his age.
“Your, uh,” Jonathan kicked out against the air and bit into his bottom, pink lip. “Your brother - he is your brother, right?” Damian raised a brow and nodded. “Your brother’s pretty cool.”
“Yes.” He agreed.
Many people did find Richard rather “cool”, especially once they heard the Nightwing of it all.
“And you’re, uhm.” Jonathan twisted his fingers. “You’re Robin, right? Currently.”
Just how much had Clark Kent told ? Damian was pretty sure he hadn’t gotten his father’s permission to be dropping their identities. Not that Damian thought his father would care much considering it was Clark Kent but, Damian was sure he would pretend to care. “I am.” He said instead.
“That’s really cool, though.” Jonathan said.
“I suppose.”
Jonathan gnawed on his bottom. “You don’t really talk much, do you?”
Damian bristled. “I talk plenty.”
“You’ve said, like, three words the entire time you’ve been here.”
“Perhaps you are not as interesting as you think you are.”
Surprisingly, Jonathan Kent ducked his head and laughed, hands stuffed low in his pockets and light brown curls bouncing on his head. It was a good noise, a soft noise, one that Damian found he rather liked. “That’s probably true.” He admitted sardonically. “Jordan’s the more interesting of us.”
Damian frowned. “Because he has superpowers?”
Jonathan shrugged self consciously. “I mean….”
“That just makes him easier to read.” Damian snorted. “Super powers rarely make someone more interesting.”
“Then what does?”
Damian swiped his eyes down his body and then looked up at the stars, disliking instantly how much his cheeks were starting to heat. “You take after your mother.” He said instead of answering. “My mother would say that a strong woman is a good person to take after.”
Jonathan turned around to lean his arms on the railing, eyes following where Damian’s were looking and back arching in the air as he stretched. “I used to really like playing football, you know? I was good at it.”
“Are you no longer good at it just because your brother is playing as well?”
“No,” Jonathan shook his head. “I just…” He sighed. “It’s selfish, I know it is. Jordan’s always wanted to play and he only joined to shut the guys up about me but….”
“Individuality is hard to find when you’re a twin, I imagine.” Damian watched the way Jonathan’s fingers rubbed at each other and he felt rather than saw the look the other boy sent in his direction. “I have several siblings.” Damian said in response to the unasked question. “I use the same mantle that four others have.”
“Football used to be my thing.”
“I used to kill people.”
Jonathan laughed and Damian raised an eyebrow. The other boy quickly lost his smile and widened his eyes. “You’re… you’re not joking.”
Damian allowed a slow, teasing smile to overtake his face. He wasn’t joking, Damian had killed plenty of people by the time he was ten. But he hadn’t killed since and he wasn’t planning on starting again any time soon. “Who says football can’t still be your thing ?” He asked instead of elaborating.
Jonathan swallowed. “It seems pointless, you know?” He asked the sky. “We almost died a few months ago. My dad’s Superman. My brother has these powers.” He shrugged. “What’s the point of football when we could be killed by some supervillain at any moment?”
“Richard told me that hobbies are important to pull us out of the bad moments in life.”
“What’s your hobby?”
“I like animals.” Damian supplied after a moment of silence.
Jonathan hummed and nodded. “We have a really shitty aquarium in town,” he offered. “If you want to go check it out tomorrow.”
“We’re here to train you,” Damian pointed out uselessly. “Not sight-see.”
“You can’t do more than one thing in a day?”
Damian felt his lips twitch into a ghost of a smile and shook his head. “How bad is this aquarium?”
--
Jonathan joined Damian and Richard on their morning jog the next day and he kept a good pace, even though they had to stop and rest sooner than they would have had to had they been alone. They stopped by the cows again, and Damian even reached out a hand to brush over their soft fur before they were off again, gravel crunching under their sneakers. Richard settled right into training that morning, he didn’t bother giving Jonathan a moment to rest beyond chugging a quick glass of water.
He did both better and worse that morning and Richard, in a fit of exercise induced madness, decided to drag Damian into the training as well. Not that Damian disliked training, but he had been told that this trip was meant to be a vacation. He was pretty sure Richard had pulled Damian into the training session simply because he wanted a challenge himself, but Jonathan was much less skilled than any of the other people Damian had been tossed into training beside. He got in the way, eyes seemingly stuck watching the way Damian and Richard moved around each other.
There was no other way to say it - the two of them were brutal. Damian wasn’t afraid that he was going to hurt Richard and Richard wasn’t afraid that Damian was going to be covered in bruises. They knew what the other was capable of. Richard relied on acrobatics and Damian relied on the training he had received from the League. They dodged, flipped, countered and attacked as easily as breathing. Fighting came to Damian like English came to his siblings and like acrobatics came to Richard. He swept Richard’s feet out beneath him, knew when Richard was going to roll back into a handspring, and caught him with an elbow to the side of his face. His brother went down, not too hard, and with a laugh, Damian’s hand planted on his chest and his breathing shallow.
He tapped out and Damian smirked. “You’ve been practicing.” Richard commented and sprung up quickly onto his feet.
Damian shrugged. “Father is getting old.”
“That was really cool.” Jonathan said eagerly, his lips curled into a bright and amazed smile. “How did you know what move he was going to do next?”
“We’ve trained together for years.”
Richard scoffed. “Damian’s been training since he learned how to walk.”
Probably true, although Damian didn’t actually have any proof to that. “You telegraph your moves too much.” He told the other boy rather than comment on Richard’s baseless observation. “That’s why you keep going down quickly.”
Jonathan blinked. “I do not.”
“You do.” Richard agreed with a small wince. “Listen, Jonathan, the talent’s there. You’re absolutely trainable. You’re just…”
“Predictable.”
The other boy glowered. “I’m sorry I don’t have years of experience.”
“It’s not an insult.” Damian rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “Most people are too loud with their movements. Come,” he jerked his head to the side. “I’ll help you learn how to feign.”
“Did you really just use that in a sentence?”
“Do you want to learn or do you want to end up on your back every time?”
Richard coughed and when Damian sent him a questioning look he found his brother looking between the two of them with a knowing smile. What he knew, though, Damian didn’t. “Carry on.” He said when he noticed Damian looking. “Don’t… break him, Dami.”
“I know how to work with civilians, Richard.” Damian said with a glare.
--
The aquarium was rather pathetic. It consisted of four tanks full of freshwater fish and a display of homemade jewelry. Still, Damian was rather thankful to be out of the Kent farm - while the place was homely it was also not at all what he was used to. Not that the aquarium was much better but he supposed it was the thought that counted. “Jordan said we could meet him and Sarah at the diner for lunch, if you want.” Jonathan said, leaning in to look more closely at the brightly colored fish swimming circles in the tank.
Damian looked at his reflection, his dropped shoulders, the way he seemed to scroll through his phone as if he expected a message from someone other than his brother and then tucked it away when he realized no one else had messaged him. He was under the impression that Jonathan was used to being the popular one of the two of them, so much so that he didn’t quite know what to do with himself now that he wasn’t. “Diner food is terrible.” Damian said instead, tilting his chin up and reading the scarce information on the swimming fish that the aquarium had tacked on the side. “This aquarium is abysmal, Kent.”
Jonathan rushed to quiet him, glancing over his shoulder at the aquarium worker glaring at them from the desk with a nervously placating smile. “Smallville isn’t really all that bad.”
“You don’t believe that.”
He winced.
It was enough of a confirmation. “Fine,” Damian agreed reluctantly. “If you’d like to have lunch with your brother and his girlfriend we can.”
“And if I wouldn’t?” Jonathan asked nervously.
Damian shrugged. “Then we don’t.”
Jonathan nodded with a sigh and rocked back on his heels. “I’m sorry if Smallville isn’t exactly where you wanted to spend your holidays.” He followed Damian down to the second tank. “I’m sure you have all these traditions you’d rather do at home.”
“Not particularly.” Damian admitted absently. “Father and I would probably be patrolling. Richard would come over for Christmas breakfast.” He shrugged. “We usually visit Thomas and Martha’s graves with Alfred.”
Jonathan stared at the side of his face. “That’s… it?”
“Holidays don’t matter much to our family.”
They didn’t. Not really. They celebrated birthdays and the odd second birthday (aka, when Jason had resurrected) but never really holidays. His father wasn’t big on them and neither were the rest of them. They got each other presents and spent breakfast around the table, but the criminals in Gotham didn’t exactly take a break long enough for the family to celebrate together. “I think there’s a farm stand nearby if you want to grab something to eat there.”
“You don’t have many friends, do you?”
Jonathan flinched. “Do you ?”
“No.” Damian shrugged. “I would say it’s difficult to make friends but I don’t really enjoy most people.”
“But this isn’t annoying?”
“You’re interesting.” Damian admitted. “I can’t quite put my finger on why yet.”
Jonathan smiled - it looked nice on him, Damian thought, the same way a smile looked nice on Richard. It brightened his face, softened the lines of worry around his eyes. “You’re confusing, Damian.”
Damian shrugged and found the words didn’t sting. Not coupled with that smile. “I’ve gotten that a lot.”
“So,” Jonathan stuffed his hands in his pockets, a motion Damian was starting to realize was a nervous gesture. “Food?”
“You’re right,” Damian said with a smirk. “This aquarium is boring enough that looking at a tumble-weed would be more interesting.”
“I didn’t say that,” Jonathan shoved his shoulder and Damian caught himself before he could wobble backwards and chuckled softly. “You’re vegetarian, right? I think the diner has some salads that aren’t too bad.”
“How did you know I was vegetarian?”
“You only ate veggies last night.” Jonathan shrugged as though his observation was no big deal. Damian wasn’t sure if anyone else in his family had noticed, truthfully Damian hadn’t even noticed. Avoiding meat was simply such a second nature that he had piled his plate with whatever the Kents had served that wasn’t without much of a thought.
Jonathan Kent was the protector, Damian noted as they walked through the door, the wind brushing through the styled locks of Damian’s hair as they exited. He was the one that had grown up with protection as a second nature. He probably noticed all sorts of things that no one imagined he would. “I have a feeling you want to go to the diner.”
Jonathan shrugged. “I don’t really know what I want to do.” He said with a small, self deprecating laugh. “Jordan and Sarah are cool, but I don’t know. I don’t… I don’t want you to have to do something you don’t want to just to make me happy.”
“Why would you care what I want to do?”
“Because that’s what friends do ?”
They were friends? Damian raised a brow at him. They had only had two conversations, he wasn’t sure that constituted friendship . Still, Damian supposed it wasn’t all that bad to have someone like Jonathan Kent as a friend. He was much more complex than Damian had originally thought him to be, anyway. “Let’s get something from the diner then,” Damian decided. “To go.”
Jonathan smiled blindingly and Damian found his heart speeding up at the sight of it. He shook his head and slowed his breathing until it went away. “There’s a horse ranch on the way back home if you want to stop and ask for a ride.”
Damian grunted but followed along after him, head ducked and thoughts racing.
He didn’t understand what was going on with him.
--
Unfortunately, Damian came from a rather emotionally stunted family. His father barely spoke of his feelings beyond that hurt and his mother was much the same. Richard, however, had told Damian long ago that speaking about the things that he felt was a good thing and Damian was more than willing to use him as a soundboard for his thoughts, whether Richard wanted to be used as one or not. “I need to talk to you.” He said, standing outside of Richard’s guest room door with a frown.
Richard smiled at him and ushered him quickly into the bedroom. “Door open or door shut?” He asked kindly.
“Shut.”
Damian settled with his back against the headboard of the bed, legs crossed underneath him and knees resting on the sheets that Richard had terribly made back up that morning. Richard nodded and the door clicked, silence stretching between them. “What’s up, Dami?” He asked softly, sitting down across from him and carefully watching his face.
Damian was well aware that he wasn’t the only one of his siblings to go to Richard for support or help. They all did it, probably much more often than they should. But he wouldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it, not when Richard constantly assured him that it was more than okay. “Jonathan Kent is confusing.” He stated, rather than allowing himself to think on it more.
Richard ducked his head and smiled. “Care to elaborate?”
“He is pointless.” Damian shook his head.
“That’s not very nice.”
“Yet I want to spend more time with him.”
Richard hummed. “I see.”
“Well, I do not.” Damian muttered. “I don’t understand.”
Richard smiled, a soft one accompanied with a tiny huff of a laugh. It was the sort of noise Richard made frequently around Damian, whenever he did something that his eldest brother found particularly adorable . Damian pretended he hated it but it had grown on him, much like the other man had too. “Can I speak candidly?” He asked softly, nudging Damian’s shoulder with the tips of his fingers.
Damian furrowed his brow and nodded. “Of course.”
Under certain lighting, Damian could see why so many people had fallen for Richard. He had a look about him whenever he spoke to someone - as though they were the only person in the entire world that mattered. It was intoxicating, to be the brunt of so much attention. Especially when so few people had ever received anything like it. That and his eldest brother was incredibly handsome. That didn’t harm anything either. “It sounds to me like you have a crush.”
Damian wrinkled his nose and snorted an affronted noise. “I do not .”
Richard laughed, bright as sunlight and clamped a hand over his lips, his blue eyes bright with mirth. “It’s not a bad thing, Dami.”
“It’s terrible .” Damian argued.
And it was terrible. Damian didn’t have time for something so frivolous as a crush and especially not on a crush on someone related to Superman . Even if Superman wasn’t the most pathetic member of the Justice League, father and Timothy would never let him hear the end of it. Neither would Todd if Damian were to be honest about it. And how would it even work? Jonathan lived in Smallville and Damian in Gotham . That was hundreds of miles between the two of them, especially since the twin Damian had apparently developed a crush on was the one without the power of flight -. “Bruce isn’t going to care.” Richard said softly, his eyes much kinder than they had been moments before, and his gaze comforting. He had that look about him that communicated that he wanted to toss his arms around Damian’s shoulders and pull him into an embrace (which Damian tolerated from Richard and rarely anyone else) but Damian couldn’t place why. “No one in the family will.”
“Don’t speak lies , Richard.” Damian scoffed. “You’re not good at it.”
“I’m not lying.” He argued, passionate. “You know Tim has a new boyfriend. It’s not going to be any different for you.”
“Except Dowd lives twenty minutes away.”
Say what you will about Richard Grayson - he was a showman, he wasn’t as brutal as Batman, he believed cereal could be breakfast, lunch, dinner and everything in between, he liked puns a little too much - but he wasn’t an idiot. He was much quicker on the uptake than most people gave him credit for. He blinked and whatever soft, comforting look that had been on his face disappeared with the creases of his laugh. “I was worried you thought we would be homophobic or something.” He said between gusts of mirth. He nudged Damian’s shoulder again. “And it’s a crush , Dami. It doesn’t mean you have to do anything about it.”
“Why wouldn’t I do anything about it?”
“Well, you two did just meet.” Richard pointed out. “Maybe you should get to know each other a bit more before you do anything.”
Damian hummed. He supposed Richard had a point. After all, father had known Selina Kyle for over twenty years and they had only just gotten engaged. Timothy had known Bernard Dowd since high school and they had just started dating. Richard and Barbara had known each other since childhood and they were… whatever they were currently. Perhaps Damian should also wait. Allow the feeling to either progress or grow as needed.
He nodded and stretched out his toes to nudge against Richard’s thigh before nodding. “Do you want to play Smash Bros?”
Richard beamed. “You brought your Switch?”
Damian scoffed and unfurled himself elegantly from Richard’s guest bed to stretch his arms high above his head. “Who do you take me for?”
“I’ll set up the TV.” He nodded towards the one sitting on the wardrobe and Damian left him to it, disappearing to his own guest room to find his Nintendo Switch stashed in the bottom of his bag.
He could handle a crush .
After all, as Richard said, it didn’t mean that he had to do anything about it.
--
The Kent’s brought them to a holiday bazaar the night after, two days before Christmas, and all the more busy for it. There was local music, local bakeries, local everything . Damian could even say it was charming . It would have been disgusting if it wasn’t for the way the light bounced off of Jonathon’s brown hair and made the locks look more golden than anything else.
Wasn’t that a pathetic thought?
He made a face down at the hot apple cider Lois Lane had pushed into his hands and shoved it, instead, at his brother’s chest in protest. Clearly, there was something in the atmosphere that was making him much more soft than he wanted to be.
Or perhaps this was a part of growing up. Damian wasn’t all that afraid to admit that he had feelings. He even spent a considerable amount of time telling others exactly how he felt about things, good and bad. His therapist back in Gotham told him that that was a good thing. That communication about good and bad things was important for a relationship to grow and continue to be healthy - familial or otherwise. Even father had been trying harder to communicate lately, but that may have had more to do with Todd showing back up at family dinner now that Duke had moved into the manor than anything else. Oh well , Damian thought with his hands pushed deep in the pockets of his sweater, it wasn’t that good of an apple cider anyway.
“All right, boys,” Lois said in her sweet, authoritative voice. “You have your phones?”
“Yeah, mom.” Jordan agreed, already looking over her shoulder for Sarah Cushing, a neatly wrapped gift box cradled in his hands.
“Go, go,” Clark interrupted before Lois could give them a stern lecture about safety. He winked at the twins. “Have fun.”
They smiled, but they weren’t identical, not like everyone seemed to think they were. Jonathan’s lips, for an example, twisted upwards at a more crooked angle than Jordan’s. But Damian hadn’t spent much time studying their microexpressions. Richard tapped his elbow and Damian leaned closer to hear him better. “You’re staring a little too much, Dami.” Richard teased and Damian rolled his eyes, even as his cheeks grew hotter. “Don’t start any fights.” He counseled a ruffle of Damian’s hair.
“I don’t start fights.” And it was true. Damian hadn’t started a fight in a long time unless it was in the training room.
Richard rolled his eyes fondly. “Don’t put anyone in the ER, then.”
“If you insist.”
He winked and Damian found himself winking back with a small smirk. “Hey,” Jonathan said at his shoulder. His red sweater brought out the red of his cheeks and he jerked his chin over at where his twin stood shoulder and shoulder with his pretty girlfriend. “Want to get some hot chocolate?”
Did he? Damian was quickly realizing that he didn’t do things by halves. He was hopelessly prepared to do whatever it was that Jonathan Kent wanted to do even if it physically caused him harm. He was pathetic. He was becoming pathetic . Todd would never let him hear the end of it. “Do you think they have tea?” He asked instead of acknowledging the swirling thoughts in his head.
Richard directed a question at Clark to give them more privacy. “Hey, Clark!” He said brightly. “Want to help me find the absolutely most flannel thing they have for sale here to bring Bruce back for Christmas?” His eyes glittered with mischief - he very clearly knew just how much father’s lips would twitch at receiving anything flannel.
“I think Mathers has just the thing.” Clark agreed with a matching look of his own.
Huh , Damian thought, that was where Richard got it from.
“Uh,” Jonathan glanced at the menu written on a chalkboard. “I think they have peppermint?”
“Lead the way.” Damian nodded and gestured in front of himself with his hand. Jonathan rolled his eyes but it was with that small smile he always seemed to wear around Damian, and when they ordered he insisted on paying with the crumpled up twenty that Lois had gifted him before walking away with Richard and Clark. “Do you have friends here?”
Damian didn’t know why he asked it. Of course Jonathan had friends - there were a group of boys standing near Jordan and Sarah waving him over. He had even shared a fist bump with a few of them while they waited for their drinks. “Oh, um…” Jonathan shrugged. “Not really.” He admitted quietly, as though worried people would hear them. “I thought I did back in Metropolis but… I mean, none of them really stuck around once we moved.” He shrugged again, as though convinced it was no big deal.
Damian frowned. He didn’t exactly have the world’s most luxurious social life, but even he had a few people he could say were friends. Colin, for the biggest example. “What about your teammates?”
“They’re teammates.” Jonathan smiled a tiny little self deprecating smile. “I trust them to have my back and I think they like me but…” He scoffed. “It’s only because of who I know, right? Like grandad’s the head of Homeland Security and mom’s Lois Lane and Jordan’s this… football prodigy.”
“I get it.” Damian admitted. He found that he did get it. Most people looked at him and saw Wayne . They imagined the dollar signs at the end of his name and thought that getting close to him meant getting a step closer to the family fortune. Which wasn’t that far off. “I find siblings are a sort of… built in friendship.” He toyed with the plastic cover of his drink as he said it. “But don’t go saying I said that to Timothy or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Or to any of his siblings, really. The only one that would probably give him a respite on it would be Cassandra but even she could be quite devious when she wanted to be and Damian was the youngest of the family. Jonathan laughed, a bright sound that Damian thought he could pick out even from miles away without super hearing. “Come on, let’s look around.” He followed, just as Damian knew he would always do, and sipped at the much too expensive peppermint tea as they walked.
He found his companion was intoxicating, in the best and worst sort of way. Damian was acutely aware of all of him - the brush of his arm against his own, the warmth of his red sweater, the timbre of his voice, the way the fairy lights above danced in his eyes and set his hair aglow. He wanted to brush a wayward curl off his forehead, he wanted to twist it between his fingers, he wanted to spar with him and let Jonathan feel he had finally bested him once he got him on his back only to pull him down and claim his mouth with his own -.
Damian swallowed hard and shook his head.
This was not the time, nor was it the place, nor was it the person .
Father would be either amused or disappointed.
“Do you guys do anything for Christmas vacation?” Jonathan asked lightly, fingers toying with a piece of hay. They had found themselves in a corner of the room, tucked back against a speaker that was pumping familiar sounds of the holiday - Bing Crosby, Damian thought - and draped in what Damian thought was much too much of a farm aesthetic. “Sorry, uhm… I already asked that.” He seemed to remember with a sheepish rub at the back of his neck.
“Patrol.” Damian admitted even though he wished it were untrue. While the majority of their big villains seemed to take the holiday off there were plenty of petty crimes that decided to start up come the holiday season. There was no rest for the wicked, or so they said. “Alfred bakes scones every morning. I think Todd helps but father doesn’t know that.” Or father did know it and decided that it was best to keep it quiet. “We had a gingerbread house decorating competition last year. Cassandra and I won.”
“That sounds fun.” Jonathan smiled and this crush was going to be the worst thing to ever happen to Damian. “Mom and dad make us set out cookies and milk for Santa even though we’ve known he’s not real since we were, like, ten.” He laughed as though remembering something and ducked his head, another curl falling loose over his forehead. “I think if he could, Dad would actually play Santa, what with the… Superman thing.”
Probably, Damian wanted to agree. He knew they all did the same sort of thing. There was nothing like dressing as Robin and dropping presents on fire escapes for children that didn’t have anything under a tree. He had done it with Todd every year since being given the suit to wear.
He said none of that, though, instead reaching out to tuck the wayward curl back into Jonathan’s hairline. It was just as soft as Damian had suspected it would be and Damian told himself not to be surprised - curls were usually softer than people expected them to be. Jonathan’s eyes shot to his, questioning but not pushing him away, his hot chocolate cradled between his hands and cheeks growing pinker by the second.
He looked around them quickly, noted that Richard, Clark and Lois were several feet away, bent over flannel shirts searching for father’s size, and Jordan and Sarah were still occupied by their friends. Alone, tucked in a corner where no one could see.
Good.
Damian did best when he wasn’t the center of attention. Especially when it was something he had never done before.
All of his life Damian had never understood the allure behind kissing. It had never been anything he had wanted. He had looked upon it as a child with curiosity and disgust. Relationships were necessary, he thought, because they added importance to one’s life. But they only led to more drama than was needed. He had watched Richard kiss Barbara in greeting, had watched his father kiss Selina Kyle goodnight, and he had even seen Timothy and Stephanie in an embrace in his bed (and he had promptly walked out , that wasn’t anything Damian had ever wanted to see). But he had never really expected to feel the compulsion to do such a thing himself.
Except Jonathan’s lips were soft under his own, his jaw curved under the callouses on Damian’s palms, his head tilting just enough to the side to avoid a clumsy gnash of their noses.
It happened only once, under the fairy lights in the overly done farm aesthetic, Bing Crosby crooning through a speaker, but once was enough for Damian to decide he understood what the fuss was about.
“ Oh ,” Jonathan breathed against his lips, his breath smelling of chocolate before pressing his lips back against Damian’s, a thrill shooting up Damian’s spine even at the gentle touch.
--
Dick and Damian left on a Sunday - the day after Christmas - their car packed full of gifts Clark had bestowed upon them for the entire family and gifts Dick had picked up himself as a way to tease Bruce into admitting he missed having Clark around. Clark slung his arm around Jonathan’s shoulder as they drove away, waving pleasantly, a warmth settling into his stomach at the thought that not only did his boy have a little bit more skill under his belt than he had before, but that Dick had promised to continue training sessions over the summer. It would require Clark and Lois to drive Jonathan up to Bludhaven, but at least it would be worth it.
Plus, Clark thought with a small smile, Jonathan and Damian had seemed to get along much better than Clark had expected them to.
Damian Wayne, Clark had realized, was as much like Bruce as he was like Dick. He had inherited his father’s expressions, Bruce’s mannerisms slipping into the way he carried himself, but he was surprisingly passionate about the things he cared about. Lois had gotten him speaking about animal rights, Jordan about art, and Jonathan about… well about everything . It was good, Clark decided, that they were friends. After all, Bruce was one his own best friends and Jonathan could use someone as fiercely loyal as a member of the Wayne family on his side. And Clark wasn’t dumb. He knew how much trouble Jonathan was having fitting into Smallville. Sure, Metropolis and Gotham were closer together, but at least Jonathan had a friend now that was only his and not just his and Jordan’s.
“You two exchanged numbers right?” Clark asked, rubbing Jonathan’s shoulder under his hand.
Curiously, Jonathan’s cheeks colored as he nodded. He didn’t say anything in response but Clark chalked that up to the early hour.
He ruffled his hair fondly. “Did you get all of your homework done?”
Jonathan groaned. “Can you look over my English essay?”
“Of course,” Clark rubbed his palms together vigorously and pushed him ahead. “I’m going to start some coffee for your mother and I’ll be right in.”
Lois was sitting at the table when he entered the kitchen, flicking through the newspaper with a particular keen expression on her face. “Good morning, honey.” She greeted absently but gave all of her attention to the kiss she gave him in hello.
Clark beamed. “Dick and Damian left this morning.” He said, hip leaning against the counter.
“How’s Jon handling it?” She asked with her brows raised.
Clark shrugged. “Normally? I think he and Damian got along really well.”
Lois pursed her lips around a laugh. Clark wasn’t particularly sure what she was laughing about. “You could say that.” She said wisely, as though Clark was missing something that was directly in front of his face.
“What?” He asked.
Lois pressed a kiss to his cheek. “He’ll tell us when he’s ready.”
Tell them what ?
“Tell us what ?”
Lois’ laugh twinkled after her, the kitchen door swinging shut behind her.