Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

‘Homophobic’ was not a word Damian had ever thought to ascribe to himself. Sure, he thought Drake was a waste of space, but that had nothing to do with the fact that he dated boys sometimes (it was everything else about him). But here he was sat, feeling his stomach turn while Jon chatted endlessly about the prospect of meeting and/or dating ‘actual college boys’ while he floated around their apartment, unpacking boxes into the previously unoccupied second bedroom.  

“—and the parties! I’ve never been to an actual party before. Not that I haven’t been allowed, but when your dad’s, you know, the idea of disappointing him hits hard.”  

“Parties are overrated. Don’t bother,” Damian put in flatly.

Jon rolled his eyes, but otherwise didn’t bother responding. “Do you think I’ll have a meet-cute freshman year fling?” 

“No.” Damian caught a pair of socks that fell from the heaping pile of clothes Jon was carrying to his room and tossed it back on. “College boys are shit, don’t talk to them.” 

“Hey, I’m a college boy,” Jon protested. 

Damian cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, and?” 

Jon made a wounded noise. “You’re mean and I don’t know why I love you.”

“Gross,” Damian said, and found he meant it. His stomach turned at the words. Why did Jon feel the need to say things like that?

Jon’s mouth quirked downwards and he continued unpacking in silence.  

Journal Entry: 

J has moved in. He seems excited for the prospect of college. I warned him that he would soon be disillusioned and to keep his expectations low, but naturally, as has been our relationship since its conception, he refused to heed my advice. In fact, J has elected to attend a party (truly inadvisable, especially considering J’s heightened senses). I can only hope he is not too worn out for a patrol after the fact. I suspect he will overcome this lapse in judgement (he is far too prone to excitement) and we will soon be able to take full advantage of this living arrangement. Now is a time we can truly hone our skills and our partnership. I look forward to future progress—

Damian had taken to keeping a journal. He found it cleared his mind after a long day and kept him from getting wound up about banal issues; seeing anything in writing made it easier to distance himself from it. In addition, it was just good record keeping. This evening, he was interrupted by Jon knocking uselessly against the doorframe of the open door. 

“Hey, D,” he greeted. 

“Hello.” Damian didn’t look up from his journal, hoping to be left in peace, at least until he finished. 

No such luck. 

“How do I look?” Jon asked, giving a twirl as a joke. “I’m going to my very first party tonight, and I wanna make a good impression.” 

He was certainly going to make an impression, though Damian wasn’t sure he’d call it ‘good.’ Jon was clad in a pair of dark wash skinny jeans so tight, they put half the Justice League’s spandex to shame. They served to emphasize the length and shape of his legs, which should have made him look gangly or disproportionate, but oddly didn’t. The jeans, and subsequently his legs, were definitely the star of the look, but he’d clearly put effort into choosing the soft-looking blue muscle tank that showed off his toned shoulders and arms. Thankfully, he’d switched his red trainers for a smart pair of brown Doc Martens which saved the outfit from looking like he couldn’t decide if he was going to the gym or the catwalk. 

Damian looked away dismissively. “You look like you’re going to get your ass grabbed.”

“Hey!” Jon sputtered, blushing. “I mean… that wouldn’t be so bad…”

Damian’s eyes snapped up. “Jon, no. Yes it would.”

Jon shrugged noncommittally, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“Don’t let anyone grab your butt. If they do, break their hand,” Damian ordered, standing up. 

“I’m not going to do that!” Jon laughed. 

Damian reached up to hold Jon’s face between his hands, keeping him still. “If anyone touches you, you tell me and I’ll break their hands.” 

Jon’s expression softened into a genuine smile (made awkward by Damian’s hands squishing his cheeks). “I believe you,” he said. 

Damian kept his gaze boring into Jon’s for a moment longer before releasing him. He sighed. “Alright. Be safe.” 

“You could come with me,” Jon offered. He stuck his tongue out. “Be my little guard dog!”

“Shut up!” Damian bristled. “You’re not helpless, you’re just dumb, and I cannot protect you from that.” 

“Fair enough!” Jon agreed easily, floating towards the door. “I’m gonna go.”

“Hey!” Damian called after him. “You look good.” 

Jon’s face bloomed into a delighted grin. “It’s the party pants, isn’t it? I bought these junior year, but I haven’t had anywhere to wear them until now. I started doing my own laundry to hide them from my mom—”

“Leave!” Damian mimed throwing something at him. 

Jon dodged dramatically and blew a kiss in Damian’s direction (which he dodged in kind). 

“Bye, D! Don’t wait for me! I might find true love tonight and run off—”

“Good riddance,” Damian quipped. The sound of Jon’s laughter disappeared behind the sound of the door closing. 

Damian heaved an exasperated sigh. As much as he’d said it to bother Jon, he genuinely was worried guys were going to take advantage of him. With his big, round, blue eyes, charming grin, and mess of loosely curly hair, he was practically wearing a sign that said ‘I am naïve!’ It made Damian angry to think about how many guys were probably going to look at him like a piece of meat tonight. It was disgusting. It was nearly enough to make him chase Jon down and accept his invitation to accompany him. But no, that was preposterous. Jon was half-Kyrptonian, surely if he truly got himself into trouble, he would get himself out. And in any case, somebody had to keep the city safe, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Jon tonight. 

Damian situated himself in front of his monitor and cracked his knuckles. Nothing like some good old fashioned crime fighting to get his mind off his roommate’s backside, and the grabbing thereof. 

Damian awoke to the sound of Jon’s tuneless humming. Groaning and rubbing his eyes, he was surprised to find a blanket falling off his shoulders. He was still in front of his computer, but the screen had long gone black. Squinting at the clock, he saw that it was past three o’clock in the morning. He craned his neck around to see Jon floating in the kitchen. He was pulling frozen waffles out of the box, thawing them with a quick zap of heat vision, and stuffing them into his mouth plain. Damian rolled his eyes. His best friend sure was embracing the ‘college kid’ lifestyle. 

“Dinner of champions,” Damian commented, surprised at how groggy his voice sounded. 

“Damian!” Jon presumably exclaimed (it was difficult to tell through his mouthful of waffle). He hastily shoved the box back into the freezer and zipped to his side. “The party was awesome!”

Damian grimaced, pushing Jon away from him. “You reek of weed.” 

Jon lifted the front of his shirt to his nose. “Really? Is that what that smell is? Huh! Now I know what weed smells like!” 

“Congratulations,” Damian said dryly. “Please take a shower.” 

“Sure, but first I gotta tell you about the party!” Jon began.

“Truly, you don’t.”

Jon ignored him, continuing, “People loved me. They talked to me and danced with me—don’t worry, nobody touched my butt, the goods are safe—and look!” He held out his arms which were covered in scribbled numbers. “The coolest thing happens when you ask guys for their numbers: they give you their numbers.”  

Damian felt a twinge of annoyance. He didn’t have a modicum of trust for any of these guys. He could just picture them, dancing on Jon, getting their marijuana-smell in his hair and clothes, grabbing his arms to claim some skin to write their numbers… As soon as Jon texted any of them, he was sure he’d be flooded with unsolicited pictures of their disease-ridden penises. 

“Wash those off while you’re at it,” Damian said. 

“Aw, come on, Dami,” Jon whined. “I swear most of the guys weren’t creeps. In fact, this one guy, Sky, he—”

“Jon, I really do not care,” Damian cut him off. The twinge had built into a simmering rage. 

Jon’s shoulders slumped and he pouted. “Is this about us not going on any patrols or missions this week? Because I’m really sorry, I’ll try to do better, it’s just I’m still getting used to my classes, and then I got invited to the party and I really didn’t want to say no—” 

“No,” Damian sighed. “That’s not it.”

“Oh,” said Jon. “Then what is it?”

Damian didn’t answer, largely because he was uncertain himself.

Journal Entry:

Three. That is the number of missions, including patrols, that J and I have taken since J’s arrival. I would be inclined to be more sympathetic towards J  were he missing missions to do homework or study (I am a huge proponent of anything that increases J’s intelligence), but as he is consistently choosing parties over his work, I cannot garner anything but irritation for him. In fact, I do suspect the three missions we went on coincided with the due dates of International Affairs essays. He did make me promise not to tell his parents of his proclivities, and I did unfortunately agree. I regret this now, since I realize I could have used this as leverage to ensure more missions. Alas, I am a man of my word, so I have no choice but to find another avenue to force J into more missions. I do not mind solo work, as I have had to do recently, but it does rather defeat the purpose of having a partner. 

Jon’s familiar laughter became audible, as the door swung open and Jon barreled into the apartment, followed by a lanky bleach-blond guy. 

“—And it was clearly not tapioca!” Jon was finishing. He caught sight of Damian and froze. “Oh! Dami, hey, I thought you were on a— I thought you were out tonight.”

Damian deliberately ignored Jon’s ‘guest.’ “Evidently not.” 

“Well I got that now,” Jon huffed. He gestured to the guy next to him. “This is, um.”

Bleach-blond stepped forward. “I’m Samuel,” he greeted. Then he chuckled, “Which we thought was funny because that’s Jon’s—”

“It’s his middle name, yes.” Damian wrinkled his nose when he caught whiff of ‘Samuel’s pungent cheap cologne. He gave him a calm, deliberate once-over. “If you were hoping to fuck my roommate tonight, I must inform you that you’re out of luck.” 

‘Samuel’s eyes went wide and Jon’s face flooded red. 

“Damian!” Jon gasped, scandalized. 

“That’s not— I didn’t— well, I mean—” ‘Samuel’ sputtered. 

Jon grabbed Samuel’s sleeve. “Just ignore him, he’s a jerk.” 

“Okay.” Samuel nodded uncertainly, though his gaze kept flicking back towards Damian. “Uh… my place then?” 

“Sounds wonderful,” Jon replied pointedly. 

“Sounds like something someone who doesn’t have unfinished calculus homework would do,” Domain said with a nonchalant yawn. 

Jon’s face screwed up in frustration. “Hey! I—I can finish it in the morning before class!” 

‘Samuel’ held his hands up in surrender and began to back towards the door. “Hey man, if you need to focus on school, don’t let me get in your way.” 

Jon groaned. “Yeah, I probably should do my work. But I’ll see you later?”

‘Samuel’ smiled gently (disgustingly). “Sure.” He began to lean in, presumably to kiss Jon, but froze when he glimpsed Damian’s glare. He cleared his throat, straightening. With an awkward wave, he slipped out of their apartment. 

When the sound of retreating footsteps faded, Jon wheeled around to face Damian. “Damian, what the hell?”

He tsked. “That’s a bad word, Jon.”

“Why did you do that?”

Damian shrugged. “You have calc homework.” 

“No! I mean, why did you say the bit about the… the—” 

“The fucking?” Damian primly raised an eyebrow. 

Jon covered his face with his hands and nodded. 

“Because that’s what he wanted, you know,” said Damian. 

“No he didn’t!” Jon protested, face reddening again. “You don’t know that!” 

“Don’t I? He had his cologne applied quite liberally,” Damian pointed out. 

Jon scowled. “But that doesn’t mean he wanted to— do it!”

“And he had condoms in his back pocket.” Damian shrugged. 

“Oh.” Jon blinked. “Did he?”

Damian nodded. 

“Well, then,” Jon said. “At least he intended on using protection, then?” 

“Protection wouldn’t stop you from getting hurt,” Damian muttered. 

Jon’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? Physically or emotionally?” 

“Well, both,” Damian said. “But my point is, protection or not doesn’t matter if it wasn’t what you wanted to do in the first place.” 

“How would you know I didn’t, uh, want to?” Jon challenged. 

Damian rolled his eyes. “First off, you can’t even say ‘fuck.’”

“I can say ‘have sex,’” Jon put in.

“Granted,” Damian agreed and went on, “Second, you didn’t think that’s what he intended, so clearly, you weren’t thinking about it.” 

Jon considered this. “What if I did want to have sex with him?”

“Then I would say ‘raise your standards,’” Damian said. 

Jon stifled a grin. “That’s so mean.” 

“And yet, you laugh.”

“I’m not laughing!” Jon giggled. 

A smirk played at Damian’s own mouth. “Do your homework, Jon.” 

Jon groaned. “Will you help me on it?” 

“It’s calc 1, Jon, what could you possibly need help with?” Damian teased. 

“Everything! I don’t even know what all this ‘tangent line’ and ‘limit’ business is,” Jon whined. 

Damian gave his best long-suffering sigh. “What are professors teaching these days? Get your textbook, I’ll help.” 

“Yay! Thanks Damian! I’ll consider this reparation for your behavior.” Jon sped off to his room. 

“Lucky me.” Despite himself, Damian shook his head fondly.   

“Hey, uh,” Superboy started over the comm. “Robin, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for the other night.”

Robin rolled his eyes, aiming his grappling hook towards the next building. “You want to apologize? I’m the asshole here.” 

“At least you’re self-aware,” Superboy muttered into the still-live comm. “I’m being the bigger person.”

“If that’s a comment on you out-growing me again—”

Superboy laughed. “No. I mean, yeah you were a jerk, but I also shouldn’t have brought anyone over without asking.”

Robin felt the now-familiar irritation light in his gut. “It’s your life, I’m not your dad, you don’t need my permission.” 

“But you live there too. And I know you don’t like people— excluding me, of course— so I should ask to make sure you’re okay with guests before I bring them over. The only reason I brought Samuel over in the first place was because I thought you were on patrol,” Superboy explained. 

The irritation spiked, sharply. How many people had Jon brought over before Samuel?

“So that’s why you’ve been conspicuously absent from so many missions?” Robin growled. 

The comms were silent. 

“... I’m sorry,” Superboy apologized softly. “I should have just told you, or just rescheduled with the guys. You work so hard, you don’t deserve to be stood-up like that.” 

Robin’s burning anger faded. That was among the more annoying things about his friendship with Jon: it was hard to stay angry at him. He just apologized so damn sincerely. 

“It’s fine,” Robin said gruffly. “I forgive you. Or whatever.” 

“I’m glad,” Superboy said, and Robin could hear the stupid smile in his voice. “And anyway, it won’t be a problem anymore.”
“No?” Robin queried, grimacing when he misjudged a landing. The urban college was an overall quiet area. Even downtown was like a nursery compared to the crime-ridden streets Damian was used to. Strictly speaking, constant patrols weren’t necessary for this city, but he used the area to practice riskier moves so that one day he could protect a city of his own. He wasn’t about to attempt anything as flashy as Grayson was apt to do, but there was no harm in adding some extra agility to his grappling skills. 

“No,” Superboy confirmed, flying closer. “I’m not gonna be just bringing guys over whenever.” 

“Good,” Robin said, pleased. He’d finally been disillusioned. 

“Yeah, I thought about it and decided that I’m just gonna pursue one guy,” Superboy went on. 

Robin’s stomach dropped. What ‘one guy’ was worth all of Jon’s attention? And in what way was this better? Jon could bail on any random guy he was hanging out with, but ‘one guy’ implied commitment. 

“I actually met him at that first party I went to, and I’ve run into him a couple of times since. I wasn’t sure if he was interested or not at first, but now I really think he is! And, ugh, Robin, he’s so gorgeous—”

“Superboy, the comms aren’t for chatting,” Robin reminded. “If it’s not about the mission, it can wait.”

“But Robin, there’s nothing going on,” Superboy protested in confusion. “And we’ve been chatting no problem so far.” 

“It could distract us into missing important details. And I thought I saw something suspicious,” Robin added, lying through his teeth. There was nothing suspicious in this city. But there hadn’t been any real reason to cut Superboy off like that and he was beginning to feel embarrassed by his outburst. The idea of hearing about Jon’s love life made him want to hurl, but he wasn’t sure how to say that in a way that wouldn’t make Jon do that pout he does. 

Superboy was immediately attentive. “What did you see, Robin?”

Robin’s head swiveled frantically, searching for anything he could conceivably label ‘suspicious’ without Jon suggesting he see a doctor (or a therapist). 

There! He saw a figure holding a large sack creeping away from a door. Huh, that really was suspicious. 

“By those apartments, nine o’clock,” Robin directed. 

“Got it,” Superboy confirmed, stealthily flying close to run recon. Robin launched himself to perch on an adjacent building and pulled out his binoculars.

The figure turned out to be a young man dressed in a hoodie. He glanced furtively around as he approached the door of the apartment unit. He reached into his large sack. Robin gripped a birdarang, prepared to knock whatever he pulled out from his hand. 

Over the comms, Superboy gasped. “That’s him! That’s him! Robin that’s Sky, that’s the guy I was talking about!” 

Robin’s heart pounded as adrenaline rushed through him. Was Jon’s ‘one guy’ a delinquent?

“Oh… my god…” Superboy whispered. 

“What? What is it?” Robin searched for Superboy in the sky. “Superboy?”

“Robin, look!” he squealed. Squealed!

Robin snapped his binoculars back up so fast, he nearly poked his eyes. On the street below, ‘Sky’ had placed a parcel on the apartment’s door knob. The label on the parcel read ‘Charity Meals.’ 

Slowly lowering his binoculars, Robin cleared his throat. “He’s… leaving charity meals.” 

“And now he’s petting a stray dog!” Superboy cooed. 

Indeed he was. He was crouched down to the dog’s level, grinning when it planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. 

Superboy sighed dreamily. “I think I’m in love.”

Robin turned off his comm to gag. 

Journal Entry:

J has miraculously recovered from his party-craze. I must admit, however, that I’m not certain his new vice is much of an improvement: J has acquired a boyfriend. For anonymity, I shall refer to the boyfriend as ‘S’ (and I would like to be clear that this stands for ‘Shitface’ and any letters it may or may not share with his name are coincidental). S is pre-med (planning to be a pediatrician) and spends his time outside of school working for a non-profit fighting food insecurity and homelessness. At first glance, it may seem that S is an outstandingly decent person, but I have a bad feeling about him. You know what type of person takes so many pains to seem like a good person? A bad person. My theory is that he is using this as a sort of camouflage. No matter how much J likes him, I do not trust S.

In positive developments, J has regularly joined me on patrols. 

“I know you don’t like Sky, but please hear me out on this,” said Jon. “You’ll like this.”

  “What?” Damian responded, as flatly as possible to convey his displeasure at the topic of Sky. 

“He found a kitten. It was orphaned and dumped in a garbage can. He said it’s only like three days old and needs to be taken care of full time,” he said. 

“I’m supposed to ‘like’ this?” Damian asked. 

Jon shook his head in exasperation. “I think you’ll like that part where Sky has asked if you would like to take care of it.”

Damian sat up, interested. “Why did he ask that?”

“I told him how much you love animals,” Jon explained. “And Sky is busy with classes and work and volunteering… and me… but he doesn’t want to let just anyone take the kitten. So, uh, what do you say?”

Damian was already pulling on his boots. “Let’s go get it now.” 

Jon smiled, following Damian out the door. “Knew I could trust you.” 

The trip to Sky’s apartment was a short one with Jon leading. Sky answered the door and his face lit up when he saw Jon. 

“Hi Sky!” Jon greeted, wrapping his arms around him. Jon was tall, but Sky was taller still, so much so that he could rest his chin in Jon’s hair. 

“Hey, Jonny,” he greeted softly. Damian, in a monumental effort to be polite, resisted the urge to retch. “And hello, Damian. It’s nice to see you.”

Damian’s manners only extended so far, and he only grunted in reply. 

Jon pulled away. “We’re here to pick up the kitten.”

“Already?” Sky laughed. “That was quick.”

“Yeah, well, I told you he wouldn’t be able to resist,” Jon snickered. Sky laughed in response like they were sharing some inside joke. It made Damian’s skin crawl. 

Sky opened his door wider. “Come on in!” 

Jon wasted no time flouncing in. Damian paused a second to give Sky his customary threatening once-over. It hadn’t worked on him once yet, but Damian was not a quitter. He suspected that Sky was probably just stupidly secure in his looks or something. Sure, he was tall and built with a strong jaw shadowed by the slightest bit of stubble and friendly-looking dark eyes, and sure, the gray sweatpants he had on might be described as ‘flattering,’ but Damian wasn’t impressed. Or intimidated. 

“After you,” Sky said in a rumbly voice that grated on Damian’s ears. 

Damian stalked in after Jon. “Where’s the kitten?” he demanded. 

“She’s right over here.” Sky guided him to the corner of his room where there was a mass of blankets. Resting against a plush giraffe was a tiny white kitten. “Thank you so much for agreeing to take her. There was no way I was leaving her, but I can’t take care of her, and I’m allergic to cats.”

He might have said more, but Damian stopped paying attention, rapt on the kitten. 

Journal Entry:

I have some amendments to make to previous entries. And perhaps some ‘crow to eat,’ as J says. From this point on, ‘S’ no longer stands for ‘shitface’ and now stands for a letter that may or may not be in S’s name. 

Patrols postponed until further notice for kitten care (for anonymity, the kitten will be called ‘A’). 

Damian looked up from feeding Audrey when he heard a camera go off. Jon stood in the doorway, holding up his phone. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he interrogated. 

Jon was fighting a smile. “I’m taking a picture.”

“Yes, but why?” 

Jon snorted. “You’re shirtless and feeding a kitten on your belly. This is a precious event that has to be recorded for posterity.” 

“Delete it,” Damian ordered. Audrey pulled away from the bottle, spilling formula onto his skin, which he quickly cleaned with a paper towel. 

“Well, you see…” Jon trailed off. 

Damian glared at him. “What.”

“I already sent it to Dick,” Jon admitted. 

Damian would have bolted up except that would disturb Audrey who was yawning and falling into her post-food sleep. “Since when are you in contact with Grayson?”

Jon shrugged. “When he found out I was moving in with you, he asked me to send him updates and photos and gossip and whatnot. He keeps asking if you’re seeing anybody.” 

“Tt,” Damian tsked. 

Jon laughed. “Classic Dami.” 

“Shut up,” Damian said, though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

“Did you know you have an awful tan line?” Jon commented, coming up beside him to brush a finger against Audrey’s tiny head. 

Damian looked down. Indeed, there was a stark demarcation where his workout tank normally sat against his skin. Damian shrugged. “You see, skin that isn’t exposed to the sun doesn’t need as much melanin to protect it,” he explained in his most patronizing tone.  

“Well I for sure wouldn’t know. My two options are ‘pale,’ or ‘pale with freckles,’” Jon pouted. 

Damian knew this. He laughed at Jon’s freckles when he returned from trips to space, but he had to admit that Jon wore them well. He just had a face that freckles belonged on. 

Damian returned Audrey to her incubator (the best money could buy). “Is this all a round-about way of requesting I work out shirtless more?” 

Jon held up his hands. “Hey, I am always in favor of that, but I was just noticing. You usually wear a shirt.”

“Hm, and I should stop doing that?” Damian smirked. 

“Here, here!” Jon mimed raising a glass. Rolling his eyes, Damian joined him, clinking their imaginary glasses together. Jon began to chug his ‘drink’ while Damian looked on. Jon’s hair was getting long enough for full curls to form. He was smiling far too widely to conceivably be drinking anything, but Damian didn’t mention it. These were good moments. It was moments like these where he felt like a normal guy with a normal best friend like a normal person, opposed to a born-assassin-turned-hero living with his half-alien hero partner. That was a weird thing to be, but Jon was good at out-weirding even all that and Damian could forget about it in these moments.

Jon finished his imaginary drink and caught Damian’s stare. His goofy grin softened into a gentle smile. They stood in silence for several beats.

Damian started to feel itchy. Was this awkward? This was awkward, right? He looked away, clearing his throat. “Do you still want help on your International Affairs project? I have some readings that might help—”

“Oh, no, that’s okay.” Jon waved him off. “I’m gonna go over to Sky’s tonight to watch a movie he said would be great to do the project on.” 

Damian fought down the irritation he was still feeling whenever Jon talked about Sky. “You’re going over to his place a whole lot,” he said. 

Jon had set to gathering some of his notebooks into a backpack. “Huh? Yeah, I know he’s not your favorite person, so I don’t mind going to his apartment.” 

“You— I—” Damian started. “You can bring him here sometimes. If you want. Sometimes. Just ask first.” 

Jon’s face lit up. “Really? Are you sure?”

Damian grit his teeth. “Yeah. Like if he wants to see Audrey sometime or whatever.”

“Thanks D, you’re the best!” Jon wrapped him in a quick hug. Before he stepped out the door he called back. “Oh yeah, Dick says ‘i can’t believe i’m a grandmother,’ and also he wants you to text him.” 

“I don’t care what Grayson says! Don’t tell me!” Damian shoved his hands over his ears petulantly. Jon saluted and left. 

He stood staring at the closed door for longer than he cared to admit. Without Jon, the apartment suddenly felt far too empty and he felt confused. 

 ‘Grayson wants me to text him,’ Damian thought. He glanced at his phone laying face down. Was he really that desperate? 

He sighed, reaching for it. It was Grayson’s lucky day.

“Little D!” Dick greeted the moment Damian opened the door. He bowled him over in a rib crushing hug which Damian graciously tolerated. “Show me my grandchild.” 

“She’s sleeping,” Damian said, but led the way to the incubator. “And wouldn’t she be your niece?” 

Dick ignored him, peering into the glass. “She’s so small!” he gasped. “And so cute.”

Damian felt his chest swell with pride. “Yes she is.” 

“What’s her name?” Dick asked without taking his eyes off the sleeping kitten. 

“Audrey,” Damian answered. 

“Audrey?” Dick repeated, surprised. “That’s… a good name. Who’s it after?”

Damian tsked. “Why would it be after anybody?”

Dick chuckled. “Look, Little D. Every time you’ve ever named something, it’s either after someone or Bat-blank.” 

“Like you’re any better!” Damian flushed. “You started the bat-blank thing!”

“B did, actually,” Dick snorted. 

“But you thought it was cool!” Damian accused. 

Dick crossed his arms. “It is cool.”

“It is cool,” Damian agreed. 

Dick stood there nodding for a moment. Then, “So who’s Audrey?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “I have no clue, Jon came up with it.” 

“Ah, that explains it,” said Dick. “Speaking of, how is Jon?”

“You guys texting buddies or whatever now, are you not?” 

“Yeah, but he’s a Kent and says stuff like ‘peachy’ when I ask, and I’ve never heard that phrase used unironically, so I’m never sure if he means ‘I’m rootin’ tootin’’ or ‘I’m on the verge of death,’” Dick explained. “So I wanna hear from you: how is Jon?”

Damian coughed. “That’s… actually why I asked you here today.”

Dick looked horrified. “Oh my god, did he mean ‘I’m on the verge of death?!’”

“What? No! No,” he said. “He’s doing great. He’s super happy.” He paused. “He has a boyfriend.” 

Dick’s expression transformed into something cautious and curious. “I see.” He went to sit on Damian’s bed and steepled his fingers under his chin. “And is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Yes,” Damian answered curtly. The truth was, he wasn’t sure what there was to talk about. Jon had a boyfriend. That was it. “He… has a boyfriend,” he repeated, trying to summon a next sentence. 

Dick nodded sagely. “What’s the boyfriend like?”

He wrinkled his nose. His first instinct was to say ‘terrible’ and ‘hideous’ and ‘creepy,’ but none of those were true. Sky was a great guy, he was attractive, and as far as Damian could tell, his intentions towards Jon were wholesome (save for the time Damian unfortunately had to bear witness to Sky making jokes about Jon helping him ‘study’ for his human A&P class). Ultimately, he just shrugged. “He’s good. Good for Jon.” 

“But you don’t like him,” Dick said knowingly. 

He scowled at him. What did he know? “No, I do not.” 

Dick hummed. “Why’s that?” 

And there was the question. Damian didn’t know why he didn’t like him! He didn’t like the hypothetical ass-grabbing party boys or Samuel because they were creeps and Jon was Damian’s young, naïve best friend and he didn’t want him being preyed upon. He’d felt protective. But with Sky, who was more absurdly, cartoonishly ‘good’ than Superman himself, Damian had no reason to feel protective over Jon. There was no reason for him to hate Sky, but the mere thought of him with Jon made Damian’s skin crawl. 

Maybe… it was because he was homophobic. 

That would make a lot of sense. It explained why he felt so grossed out when Sky did anything flirty towards Jon, it explained why he wanted to vomit when Jon talked about his relationship, it explained his revulsion when he imagined Sky kissing Jon. 

“I think it’s because I’m homophobic.” 

Dick’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “I beg your pardon?” 

The floodgates opened. “I said I think I am homophobic. Not on purpose. I don’t know why this is happening. I am trying to stop it, but I believe I hate Sky because he’s gay for Jon.” 

“Uh huh.” Dick blinked slowly, processing. “That’s quite the theory you’ve got cooking there, Little D.” 

Damian didn’t like his patronizing tone. He was a better detective than him! “It’s the only theory that makes sense,” he defended hotly. “Why else would I hate Sky? He’s not done anything untoward to Jon, he’s a great guy, and Jon likes him. The only thing I actually hate about him is that he’s dating Jon. And the only reason I would have to be bothered by that is if I am homophobic.” 

Dick’s mouth began to twitch. It was clearly costing him a monumental effort not to laugh. A giggle escaped. 

“I’m sorry,” Dick wheezed, more laughter sputtering out. “I know this is a big thing for you,” he laughed. “And you’re doing great being emotionally vulnerable right now, and I shouldn’t la-ah-ha-HA—” he broke off into a veritable guffaw.  

Damian scowled. “Why are you laughing?” he demanded. “It’s a reasonable conclusion!” 

This just made Dick double over in laughter again. He managed to get a hold of himself enough to place a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “You’re not homophobic.”

Damian’s scowl deepened. “Yes I am!” 

Dick shook his head. “Damian, like at least half our family is bi. I’m bi. You’re not homophobic.” 

“Maybe I’m simply not biphobic,” Damian suggested, though it sounded petulant even to his own ears. Grayson did present a good counter-argument. He’d never liked anyone his family had ever dated, regardless of gender. Perhaps it was the same with Jon. “Or maybe I dislike anyone dating people I care about.” 

Dick snapped his fingers. “Now there’s a thought.” 

“But why?” Damian asked, brow furrowed. He felt like a confused child, going to Dick for guidance. “Do I hate romance?” 

Dick snorted. “The sheer number of times I’ve watched The Princess Bride with you says ‘no.’”

“The romance is simply a background element! It’s full of action and adventure—” He broke off then he realized Grayson was laughing at him. “Shut up.” 

“Okay, Little D. To hell with Socratic irony, I’m going to give you a hint. Have you considered that you might be, hm, I don’t know… jealous?” 

“Jealous?” Damian repeated. No, he had not considered that. Why would he be jealous? “Jealous that Jon is in a relationship and I am not?”

Dick pressed his lips together. “Uh, sure, maybe that. Let’s talk about that. Do you feel jealous that Jon is in a relationship and you’re not?”

Damian thought about it. “No. I’ve been in several relationships before and—”

“And they ‘fail to live up to expectations,’ yep. You’ve said,” Dick teased. 

“Precisely. So why would I be jealous?”

Dick raised his eyebrows and remained silent. He was leaving Damian on his own for this one. So be it. 

Why would he be jealous, if that was the case? What was the common link between times he’s felt the irritation and anger? He felt bitter that Jon spent so much time with Sky. His anger flared when Jon talked about Sky when they were hanging out or going on patrol. He could hardly spend any time with his best friend without hearing about ‘Sky this’ and ‘Sky that’ and—

“I’m jealous of Sky!” he exclaimed. 

Dick applauded wildly. “Yes!” he cheered. 

“He is monopolizing Jon!” Damian continued. “I am his best friend. I deserve his time as well.” 

“I. Well. Hm,” Dick considered. “Close enough.”

“Close enough to what?” he asked.

Dick shrugged. “To what I was thinking. But that doesn’t matter, because you figured it out! Yay! What are you going to do about it?” 

Damian clenched his fist. “I’ll put the fear of god and Batman into Sky and demand he stop monopolizing Jon.” 

Dick blinked. “...No.” 

“Oh,” Damian said. “Then what should I do?”

“You should… talk…” Dick trailed off pointedly. “...To…?”

“I should talk,” Damian repeated. “To… Jon.” 

“I fully agree!” 

That did make sense. He should talk to Jon and ask him to hang out with Sky less. “But how do I ask him to stop spending time with Sky without sounding like an asshole?” he wondered aloud. 

“Lucky for you,” Dick chuckled, “Jon knows you’re an asshole and loves you anyway.”

Damian nodded. That did ease his mind. 

“And then maybe make it more about how you want to see him more instead of you wanting him to see Sky less,” Dick continued. “So he feels loved instead of like you hate his boyfriend.” 

Damian offered a small smile. “Thank you, Grayson.”

“Aww, of course, Little D! Anything for you!” Dick beamed, opening his arms for a hug.

Damian turned away. “You already got a hug.” 

Dick pouted. “But I helped you! Don’t I deserve another?” 

“No,” Damian insisted stubbornly. His phone alarm went off. He sighed. “But I suppose you can help me feed Audrey.” 

Dick looked like a child on Christmas day. 

Journal Entry:

I have confronted J about what I discussed with G. Taking G’s advice, I omitted as much mention of my disregard for his relationship with S as possible. J was receptive to, perhaps even pleased by, my concerns, even going as far as to cancel his evening plans with S. I am immensely satisfied with this result. We have come to an agreement that J will go on at least one patrol a week once Audrey is old enough to be left alone. If he cannot make it because of school work, he will prioritize the patrol over plans with S. He has also agreed to start bringing S to our apartment more instead of going to S’s every time. I feel optimistic about this arrangement. 

“I’ve missed flying!” Superboy called into the night.

“That makes one of us,” Robin muttered, suspended hundreds of feet above the ground by Jon’s thankfully sure grip on him. They were headed across the bay to the nearby nature reserve. Apparently, Jon had caught wind of a series of assaults on campus. When he’d told Damian about the rumors, Damian had wondered why the campus or local police weren’t taking care of it. According to the students, the school was lousy at actually dealing with things when they could be covered up instead. It was certainly a small-time sort of mission for the likes of Superboy and Robin, but it wasn’t as if there was anything else to investigate and making up for incompetent police was what heroes did. All they had to do was find and expose some irrefutable evidence to force the school’s hand or find the perpetrators themselves and knock some heads.

“Do you know where in the nature reserve they supposedly go?” Robin asked. 

Superboy shook his head. “Sorry, no. The rumors weren’t that detailed.” He set Robin down on the inside of the chain link fence surrounding the reserve. 

“Then we’re going in blind,” Robin whispered. “Stay alert.”

“I’ll do surveillance from the sky, see if there’s anything going on,” Superboy said, taking off again. 

Robin  nodded. “I’ll search the perimeter.” Since he was already by the fence, he could just follow it. He took to the trees to avoid being seen if anyone was there. Jumping from limb to limb, he kept a sharp eye on the fence and surrounding area. Beyond the fence he could see the bay glittering in the moonlight and from the city lights. Cicadas and crickets chorused, interspersed with the croak of a frog. As scenic as it was, it did make it difficult to hear if anyone was approaching. Distantly, a loon gave a startled tremulo laugh and Robin froze. He was far too stealthy for animals to notice him and Superboy was in the sky. He took off in the direction of the call. The bird may have been started by a fox, but it was a lead and he was taking it.

As much as he hadn’t missed flying, he had missed the feeling of propelling himself through the air, on the hunt. He grinned to himself, satisfied that city life hadn’t ruined his sylvan skills. Even if this case didn’t lead anywhere, he was glad for the opportunity to do something. 

An irregularity in the fence caught his attention. There, at the base of the fence was an approximately three foot hole, underneath which the ground was grassless and muddy. Footprints overlapped in the soft soil on either side of the hole. 

Activating his comm, he alerted Superboy. “I found where they’re getting in. There’s a hole in the fence.”

“Roger that,” Superboy said. Then, “Robin, be careful, there’s someone near your location.”

Robin snapped to the alert. He couldn’t hear or see anyone immediately nearby. 

“Regroup with me and we can follow them,” he whispered into the comm. A few moments later, Superboy appeared at his side, pointing into the forest and nodding. Superboy led the way, maintaining a safe distance from their target. Odds were good that it was just someone sneaking here to do drugs uninterrupted, but Robin didn’t mind the chase anyway. 

Superboy stopped short, indicating for Robin to do the same. 

“What is it?” Robin whispered, glad for his partner’s super hearing. 

“He’s going into… a building,” he replied. “I didn’t know there was a building on the nature reserve.”

“Let’s check it out.” Robin started off again. Indeed, several hundred feet deeper into the woods, sunken and derelict, was a building. What remained of its roof was domed like an observatory. 

“Huh,” Superboy muttered. 

Robin bumped him with his shoulder. “What’s in there?”

Superboy focused on the abandoned building. “There’s two people. They’re talking.”

“Rendez-vous? Tryst? Drug deal?” Robin asked. 

“Out of those, I’d say drug deal; they’re not getting friendly,” said Superboy. “They’re talking about a meeting though.”

“A meeting?” Robin repeated. “What kind of meeting?”

Superboy held up a hand for quiet. He waited. 

“Definitely a drug deal,” he said finally. 

Robin shrugged. He’d figured as much. He wasn’t particularly interested in busting some dudes’ weed trade, either. “What kind of drugs?” he asked anyway. “How much is he paying for them?”

Superboy flushed. “Look, uh, I actually don’t know my drugs all that well.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “What does it look like?”

“I dunno, a white powder?” Superboy squinted. 

“That could be a lot of things,” Robin said. So a little more hardcore than weed. Still, his job was stopping people from hurting others, and this wasn’t sounding like his jurisdiction. “What’s it in?” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Superboy said. He focused intently. His face screwed up in confusion. “What’s GHB?” 

Robin’s head snapped up. “We’re going in. Now!” 

“What?” Superboy asked, already following as Robin closed in. 

Shooting his grappling hook into a tree, Robin kicked through the collapsing roof into the dark interior. 

“What the—!” one of the men cried. Locking on to his location in the dark, Robin aimed a kick. He felt his boot brush something, but apparently the guy had dodged. “Take it! Take it and get out of here!” he called. 

“Oh no you don’t!” Superboy shouted. Robin couldn’t see him in the dark, but he could hear a scuffle nearby. 

Something knocked hard into the back of his head and Robin stumbled forward with a hiss. 

“Robin, are you okay?” Superboy asked. 

“Fine,” Robin confirmed. His pride was hurt worse than his head. He spun around, catching his assailant with a sharp jab. The resulting grunt of pain clued Robin in to his location and he returned the favor to his head. Gripping the man’s arm, he flung him into the wall. Robin’s grin of triumph only lasted a moment because the building gave an ominous groan. 

“Robin?” Superboy called, concerned. “We need to get out of here!” 

Several chunks of the ceiling began to fall and Robin braced for their impact… only to find himself and Superboy in a tree above the building, watching as a large section of the roof caved in. A plume of dust rose into the sky. 

Superboy grimaced. “Maybe they’re okay?” But as he suggested it, the other half of the roof caved in. “...Or not. We should rescue them.”

Robin nodded. “We should rescue them.”

Superboy set to surveying the rubble. “They’re gone!” he gasped. 

“They’re dead?” Robin blinked. 

Superboy shook his head. “No they’re… not there.” He did a quick fly through the unstable building to confirm that neither the people, nor the drugs were there. When he returned he was shaking his head. “They got away.”

Robin swore in frustration. “This is bad.”

“What was the drug?” Superboy asked. 

“GHB. It is a prescription tranquilizer,” Robin growled. “Or, since I doubt our two houdinis are suffering from narcolepsy, more likely intended to be used as a date-rape drug.” 

“Oh.” Superboy’s eyes went wide. “And they got away.”

“Indeed.”

Superboy chewed his lip in frustration. “We gotta fix this. What’s the plan? Find leads? Track them? We don’t have a lot of time to waste.”

“No, we do not,” Robin agreed. Assaults on campus connected to the nature reserve, and now drugs were getting involved. This was escalating. 

“Should we warn girls on campus? I don’t think there’s any way we’ll get to all of them in time—”

Robin snorted, cutting him off. “And not much point. It’s not gonna be news to them.”

Superboy looked away. “Right. You’re right. But we can’t just sit around doing nothing while we wait for another lead.”

“We’re not going to do nothing,” Robin said. Superboy looked up expectantly. “We’re going to a party.”

“Thanks for getting us in, Sky.” Jon grinned at his boyfriend. Damian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

Sky wrapped an arm around Jon’s shoulders. “Of course, anything for you.”

Damian knew that without Sky, it was unlikely Jon would have gotten into the club. Apparently it was some big to-do party here before some big to-do college event (a homecoming or something or the other) and getting in was a status symbol or something. Damian did not really understand, nor did he particularly care to. All that was important was that if people were interested in slipping something into drinks, this party was prime hunting ground. And while, as the son of Bruce Wayne, he would like to see a bouncer try to turn him away, he would rather to not deal with the headache and fuss that would entail. So instead, he’d waited patiently while Sky performed an elaborate handshake with the delighted-looking bouncer (“I tutored him freshman year,” Sky had explained. “Well. My freshman year. His senior year. Second one.”) and then followed him in.

The inside of the club was just as oppressively college student as the rest of this whole ordeal. Music thrummed so loud, it was almost more felt than heard. Strobe lights danced across a writhing crowd of dancers and B.O. assaulted Damian’s nose. It was near torture this his finely tuned senses, but he swallowed his discomfort for the mission. 

Jon was tugging on Sky’s arm. “Should we dance?” he shouted over the din. Damian wanted nothing more than to remind him that they were here for a mission but for the sake of appearances, it did make sense for them to partake in normal party activities. That did not mean he wanted to watch Sky grinding on his best friend though. 

“Sure!” Sky agreed. 

Damian glowered at their backs as they made their way to the dance floor. “Don’t get too distracted,” he murmured, hoping Jon was listening. To get away from Jon and Sky, he shoved his way through the crowd to the bar. 

He ordered a beer (not his favorite, but he didn’t want to get tipsy on a mission, nor did he want to raise suspicion by seeming like a narc). He grabbed the bottle as soon as the bar keeper set it down and popped it open with his thumb. As he took a swig, he became aware of the people next him staring.

“What?” he challenged. 

“‘What’ yourself, Biceps,” one of the girls replied, fluttering her eyelashes. 

Oh. They were flirting. That was fine, they could knock themselves out with that. But he was focused on his mission. He glanced over to where Jon was making a fool of himself on the dance floor. “Not interested.” 

“Oh?” she said. She followed his gaze. “OH!”

Next to her, her friend scoffed. “It’s like they always say, ‘why are the hot ones always gay?’”

“Shut up,” the original girl hissed. “Don’t say shit like that.” 

Damian gave them a sideways glance, raising an eyebrow. ‘Gay?’ He wasn’t gay, he was just… looking at Jon. Ah. 

He shook his head. “He has a boyfriend,” he explained, gesturing at Jon. He wasn’t interested in him, he was keeping an eye on the idiot. 

Both girls looked stricken.

“That sucks, I’m so sorry,” the first girl said, eyebrows pinched in an excessively sympathetic expression. 

Damian stared at her blankly. This conversation was not going in the anticipated direction. 

“You know what?” the second girl announced. She ordered three shots from the bar, sliding one towards Damian. “We’re gonna need these. Tell us about it.” 

Damian looked from the proffered shot, to the earnest expressions the girls wore, to where Jon and Sky were dancing decidedly closer than the last time he’d checked. 

He took the shot. “Where do I begin?” 

“—and so even though he’s spending more time with me now, I can’t help but feel…” Damian trailed off shaking his head. 

Janelle nodded fervently. “I think we’ve all been there, baby.”

Fiona (who, Damian had learned, was fond of pre-gaming and was much drunker than her friend) was close to tears. She clumsily placed her hands on his shoulders and stared him in the eyes. “Damian, you are a beautiful, beautiful man with really nice— and I mean really nice— shoulders,” she gave his upper arms an appreciative squeeze, “like seriously, your arms are bigger than my thighs. What do you do? Benchpress trucks?” 

He shrugged. “Something like that.” 

She continued. “You are gorgeous. You are sexy. You are rocking that sleeveless turtleneck. And Jim? Jack? Whats-his-name. He doesn’t deserve you.” She stood and pulled him into an awkward hug, cradling his head against her chest. 

From behind her friend, Janelle mouthed an apology. Damian just sighed. 

“Damian! Da— Oh, uh, hey… Damian?” 

Damian wrenched himself from Fiona’s grip when he heard Jon’s voice. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jon said and Damian rolled his eyes. “But I need to talk to you real quick.”
“Alright,” Damian agreed. He turned to find Fiona and Janelle wearing matching glares at Jon. When they realized they were caught, they turned likewise matching supportive smiles at him. “Alright,” he said again, excusing himself. 

As Jon led them to a more secluded location, he leaned over to mutter, “They looked like they wanted to kill me. What did you tell them about me?”

Damian smirked, despite himself. “Only the bad things.” 

“Rude,” Jon whined. He glanced around them and leaned in close. “I saw the guy. He’s here.”

Damian’s eyes widened, his mind racing. “I will tip off the bartenders, you will keep an eye on the drinks, and we do not let the target get out of our sight.”

“What’s the goal?” Jon asked. 

“Catch him in the act. The moment he slips anything into a drink, one of us will call attention to it and make a scene. That should be sufficient to force the university to take some action, at least against this perpetrator,” Damian delineated. 

Jon nodded. “Be careful.”

“Never,” Damian responded, just to be contrary. 

Jon rolled his eyes, but grinned as he walked back towards the crowd. “You’ll owe me one if I have to save you,” he called over his shoulder.

Damian wasn’t worried since Jon owed him several dozen favors. He also wasn’t planning on getting into trouble. Well, not trouble he couldn’t get himself out of. 

Fiona was cocking a pierced eyebrow at him as he returned to the bar. “What was all that about?”

“Nothing,” Damian answered coolly. 

“‘Nothing?’” Fiona repeated. “‘Nothing,’ tra-la-la?” 

“That’s a reference to Labyrinth,” Janelle explained quickly. “But, yeah, Damian, what did Mr. Dreamy Blue Eyes and Tousled Hair want?”

Ugh, these women were nosy and persistent, a bad combination for keeping secrets. “I told you, he is my best friend, he simply—” Damian broke off as an idea came to him. He glanced around as if checking for eavesdroppers. “Look, he saw his ex here. He’s the bad type. The kind to slip things into drinks.”

“Ugh, that’s the worst,” Janelle said. “Let us know if you wanna beat him up, Fi and I’ll join you.”

Fiona nodded drunkenly. “I have Mace.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Damian said. “But in the meantime, just be mindful. There’s a rumor someone at this party is spiking drinks.”

“And water is wet.” Janelle shook her head. “Damian, honey, that’s every party.” 

“Let me rephrase,” he said. He leaned forward, gaze intense. “I have it on good authority that someone here has roofies and intends to use them.”

Janelle blinked. “Well, alright. We’ll be extra careful.”

“Aw, Damian, you’re so sweet for caring,” Fiona simpered, leaning heavily against him. “You’re like a superhero. You’re like Superman.”  

Damian bristled. “Or Batman.” 

“Meh, Superman’s better,” Fiona laughed. Damian quickly shrugged her off.

“In what way?” he demanded. 

“Wow, someone’s a Batman fan. I think Fi meant it’s more of a compliment to be compared to Superman.” Janelle was barely holding in laughter. “Flashier. More visible.” 

Damian hmphed. “Batman is cooler.” 

Janelle and Fiona broke off into giggles, teasing him, but Damian tuned them out when he noticed Jon’s stare. 

He raised his eyebrows questioningly. Jon nodded his head to the right, trying to point something out to him. Damian glanced over and couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Unlike Jon he hadn’t gotten a good look at their perp and did not know quite what he was looking for. He turned back to Jon for more direction. Jon looked frustrated. He made a circle from his upper lip to his chin like he was stroking a beard. Glancing over again, Damian saw who Jon was gesturing to. A guy with messy brown hair and a sparse beard was ordering a drink, one hand tucked into the pocket of his leather jacket. When Damian tried to nod at Jon to confirm he had visual on the target, Jon was being tugged back onto the dance floor by an insistent Sky. Sky shot Damian a glare. Damian was too surprised to glare back. What was his problem? 

Whatever. He had a mission. 

“Excuse me,” he said, interrupting whatever bad impression Fiona was doing. He moved away from the girls towards the target. 

“Bye, then,” Fiona said, annoyed. “I guess.”

“Don’t worry about him, Fi,” Janelle was comforting her. 

The target was waiting for his drink, looking bored. Damian didn’t want to make him aware of his presence by staring or loitering for no reason, so he went over and ordered a drink for himself. Now he could wait nearby without arousing suspicion. Even so, the target eyed him warily. After glancing at his arms, the target took an unsubtle step away from him. Damian resisted the urge to scoff. Perhaps though, he should have worn something less threatening, like Jon in his oversized white sweater and reappearance of his so-called ‘party pants.’ Where he was goofing around on the dance floor, he looked soft and harmless and not at all like he could lift a semi-truck with his left pinkie finger. 

Damian’s drink was ready, as was the target’s. The target took a seat at the bar, but Damian elected to stay standing a distance away for a better vantage. Without Janelle and Fiona, he had nothing to do to occupy him or to help him look not suspicious. Jon, of course, was engrossed with his boyfriend on the dance floor. Damian made a face. Weren’t they tired? Were they not disgusted by the proximity to everyone else’s sweat? Did they not care that some of their ‘dancing’ was a little much for a public space? 

“Hey!” An offended cry caught his attention. 

Damian whipped around. 

The target was sitting next to a girl who was frantically blotting her shirtfront, her glass tipped over. 

“I’m so sorry,” the target apologized. “I’ll get you some more napkins. Here, you can have my drink, I haven’t had any. I’ll get myself a new one.”

Damian stiffened, ready to spring into action. 

“No thanks,” the girl said. “I think this is just a sign that it’s time for me to leave. Thank you though.” She stood and left. 

Smart girl, Damian thought. The target was on the move and he could use some backup. He searched the dance floor for Jon’s familiar figure. He and Sky must have moved father to the back because he couldn’t see them. Damian groaned. With frequent glances at the target, he made his way onto the biohazard that was the dance floor. 

People jostled him left and right. Several people tried to catch his eye, inviting him into a dance but he simply let his gaze slip over theirs dismissively. He peeked around writhing bodies, but no sign of Jon. Most of the time, Damian did not mind his stature; he was a little shorter than average, sure, but there were many situations where that was to his advantage. Searching for people in crowds was not one such situation. He couldn’t keep a steady visual on the target like this either. 

“Jon, where are you?” he muttered quietly, hoping his friend was listening. 

There. He caught sight of Jon’s white jumper, just as Sky was pulling Jon into a deep kiss. 

Damian’s vision went red. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. His stomach turned. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to punch something. It felt bad; it felt wrong. He hated the way Jon’s hands held onto Sky. He hated how they pressed together. He was completely filled with disgust. 

The mission. He had to focus on the mission. With a deep breath that smelled of sweat, he marched over to the lovers. 

He cleared his throat. “Jon.” 

“Mmf—D!” Jon pulled away from the kiss. “What—?”

Damian jerked his head towards the bar in lieu of words. 

“Ah, right, um,” he turned apologetically to Sky. “I’ll be right back.” He extracted himself from his boyfriend’s grasp. Damian ignored the glare leveled at him this time. When they were a safe distance away, Jon asked, “What’s up?”

“Target attempted a strike. Girl walked away though. His strategy was to spill her drink and then offer her his,” Damian briefed. 

Jon nodded. “Where is he now.”

Damian stiffened. “I’ve… lost visual on the target.” 

Jon glanced around too. “I can’t see him either. You don’t think he left, do you?”

“Not without his ‘prey,’” Damian growled. He glanced up and down the bar. No douchey beard or leather jacket. “Damnit.” 

“Damian!” 

Damian turned to see Janelle waving him over.

“Did Fi find you?” she asked. 

“I was not aware she was looking for me,” Damian said. “What did she want?”

“To dance.” Janelle shrugged. 

Damian grimaced. “She was in for a disappointment then.”

“We saw you go onto the dance floor, though,” Janelle said. 

“Not to dance.”

Janelle rolled her eyes. “Well gee, we should have known someone would go onto the dance floor to not dance.” 

Damian turned away. “Let her down easy from me when you find her.” 

“Looks like I don’t have to,” Janelle snickered. “She found someone else.”

“Good for her,” Damian said dryly, scanning the walls for his target. 

Then Jon grabbed his arm. “Dami, look.”

Damian looked up to see Fiona leaning heavily against some dude like she had against him earlier. Then the guy turned and Damian froze. It was the target. And he was guiding the stumbling Fiona towards the back exit. He and Jon glanced at each other and took off. 

“Hey! What—!” Janelle protested as they left. 

They pushed their way through the crowd as quickly as they could, trying to reach the target before he made it to the door. 

“Stop!” Jon cried, tripping out of the crowd to plant himself between the target in the door. The target faltered, glancing behind him, where Damian appeared, cutting off his escape. 

“H-hi,” he greeted in a cracking voice. “Can I help you?”

“Where are you taking my friend?” Damian asked. 

“You friend?” the target challenged. 

Damian ignored him. “Fi, are you okay?”

“Damian?” Fiona asked groggily. She fumbled to stand on her own, shaking badly. “Damian, heyyyy…d’ya wanna dance?” 

Damian leveled an unamused glare at the target. 

He held his hands up in defense. “She’s really drunk, I was getting her a taxi.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” Jon said diplomatically, still blocking the exit. “But we’ve got her from here.” 

“Ah, well, if you dudes got this, I wash my hands of this,” the target chuckled nervously, trying to make his way back into the club. Damian held a hand against his chest, stopping him. 

“I don’t believe you for a second,” he spat. 

“Whoa, whoa, I don’t want any trouble,” the target said. 

“No?” Damian said in a low voice. “Then I suggest you happen to not have any illicit substances on you.” 

The target narrowed his eyes. “Hey, you’re not a cop are you? You have to tell me if you are, right?” 

Damian smiled dangerously. “Not a cop.” 

The target blinked. Then he said, “Good.” And punched Damian square in the face and made a run for it. 

“Hey!” Jon cried, but he was busy steadying Fiona. 

The punch was more surprising than it was painful and it didn’t stall Damian for long. He was on the chase. The target was pushing through the crowd and Damian was hot on his tail, heart pumping. 

And the hunter becomes the prey, he thought, only somewhat maniacally. 

“Move!” he bellowed, and the throng parted. With people out of the way, he had a clear shot. With a flying leap, he tackled the target to the ground, putting his weight into restraining his limbs. Security showed up a minute later. 

“He drugged my friend and punched me in the face,” Damian explained quickly before he could be yanked from the man. “He’s trying to escape.”

“We’ve got it from here, son,” one of the security guards said.

Damian only relaxed once the man was in handcuffs and he was certain he was going to be questioned and searched. 

“We’ll also need an ambulance for the girl,” Jon said, carrying Fiona over. “She passed out.”

“Oh my god, Fi!” Janelle ran frantically to Jon’s side to check on her friend. To Damian she said, “You saved her!” She threw her arms around him. 

Damian patted her back and Jon looked away. 

Later, once Fi was in an ambulance and the target was in police custody, Damian, Jon, and Sky were walking back to their apartments. 

“Well,” Sky said, clearing his throat. “I think that takes the cake for the worst date I’ve ever been on.” 

Jon laughed and Sky joined him. 

And Damian couldn’t help feeling satisfied about being instrumental in the worst date Sky had had in his life.  

Journal Entry

The mission was successful. Target was apprehended with minimal damage. Victim was relatively unharmed and recovered quickly. Subsequently, both Victim and Victim’s Friend insisted on giving me their contact information. Friends acquired(?). Target implicated two of his friends and gave some identifying details about the dealer from which he acquired the GHB. Several previous victims have confirmed Target and friends as their assaulters. University has released a safety statement warning people to watch their drinks and has made drink testing kits available for students. However, they have declined to take responsibility for inaction or make clear the consequences for perpetrators. Disappointing, but not surprising. Though this particular threat has been eliminated, I will continue to be vigilant. This city is under my protection now and I will not take kindly to those who take advantage of others.

Update on J: Idiot. Needs to raise his International Affairs grade.

Update on S: I am constantly forced to reckon with the fact that S is a good match for J. I am distressingly unsure how to feel about this. 

Update on A: Perfect. Completely weaned. Apt to climb up pant legs. 

The more Damian thought about it, the less Dick’s theory that he was ‘jealous’ made sense. He was spending a lot of time with Jon. True to his word, Jon diligently patrolled with him at least once a week, often times more. Damian helped Jon study and do his homework. Sometimes Jon and Sky would hang out in their apartment instead of Sky’s. Sometimes he and Jon would just hang out together. So why would he still be jealous? Because, indeed, every time he saw Jon and Sky together, no matter how much time he’d just spent with his best friend, he was filled with bitterness. Even when he was intending to spend the afternoon alone, the knowledge that Jon would be spending it with Sky needled him. Plus ‘jealousy’ could not explain the disgust he felt watching them kiss. Or hearing them flirt. Or even thinking about them being romantic. 

As ridiculous and unlikely as it seemed, he kept returning to the one explanation that made sense: he was homophobic. 

He must be somehow homophobic but only to Jon. That would explain why he hated when he spent time with Sky, it was because he hated their gay relationship. It explained the nausea he felt when they kissed, when they hugged. It explained his anger, his revulsion, his distraction. It must be something about Jon that made him hate that he was gay. 

Right now, Jon and Sky were on the couch, watching some poorly made war movie. Jon didn’t like it. Damian could tell because he could hear his constant chattering and jokes about what was happening on screen. Sky would laugh and Damian’s insides did admirable impressions of the Flying Graysons. He tried to ignore them, holing up in his room and playing with Audrey. 

He held feathers on a string above her head for her to bat at. She jumped clumsily at the toy, tiny paws flailing and tail flicking. He let her catch it and smiled when she flipped herself over to hold it with her front paws and batter it with her hind. Her attention span was short though and she quickly stood up, shaking her head. Damian let her crawl onto his lap and didn’t even mind when she stretched, digging her kitten claws into his legs. He rubbed under her chin with a finger. 

“Good girl, Audrey,” he told her. “We could train you and hone your hunting instincts. Would you like to be a super cat?” 

Audrey only purred in response. 

In the living room, Jon was loudly commenting about how a character was being stupid but stopped mid-sentence. Damian lifted his head. He could only hear the movie score now. His blood went cold as he realized what that probably meant. They were kissing like teenagers in the back of a movie theatre. And Damian hated it. He felt so angry. Angry at Sky for kissing Jon and angry at Jon for kissing a guy. 

What was wrong with him? Jon was his best friend, he put up with Damian’s standoffishness and harsh criticism and general assholery. He didn’t deserve disgust. He deserved to be happy. He certainly didn’t deserve to deal with this. 

Damian needed to leave. He needed to figure himself out. Only when he figured out how to not be a homophobic wreck could he return. 

“We’re leaving,” he told Audrey, scooping her up. He quickly put together a bag, placed Audrey in her carrier, and threw open his door. He deliberately did not look at the couch.

“D?” he heard Jon call. “Everything okay?”
“I’m going home,” he said without turning around. 

“Home?” Jon repeated, sounding concerned. “To Gotham?”

Damian pulled on his shoes. “Yes.”

“Is everything okay?” Jon asked again. The crouch creaked as Jon moved to get off it.

“Yes,” he said again. He shut the door behind him before Jon could ask any more questions.   

Pennyworth greeted him at the door, taking Audrey’s carrier and eyeing the white kitten fondly. 

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” Pennyworth asked. 

“I found I needed a break from having a roommate,” Damian answered. It wasn’t entirely true, and by Pennyworth’s knowing look, he could tell. But it was true enough that he thankfully did not press the issue. 

“Of course. You are in luck then; almost everyone is on a mission. You have the house nearly to yourself,” Pennyworth said. He was frighteningly skilled at reading Damian’s expressions and must have noticed his disappointment because he quickly added, “Master Timothy is in the cave, however.”

Damian nodded, “Thank you.” 

Resentment aside, Drake probably was the best person to talk to about this. Grayson had already heard and dismissed his homophobia theory, Todd would likely offer to off Sky or something of the like, Cain wasn’t a talker, Brown was too much of a talker, he and Thomas weren’t close, talking to Father would be awkward, and Pennyworth would only offer encouragement and perhaps silent judgement. Drake was the perfect combination of someone whose opinion Damian did not care about, but did value. He would care enough to talk, but not enough to get involved.  

“Drake,” Damian greeted, entering the cave. 

Tim was sat in front of a series of screens, feet propped on the desk, and a nearly empty carton of goldfish crackers open on the floor next to him. He looked up, blinking. 

“Oh. Hey, Damian. Dick’s not here,” he called. 

Damian rolled his eyes. “I am not here to see Grayson.”

Tim looked confused. “B isn’t here either.” 

“And I am not here to see Father,” Damian snarked. “I need to talk to you.”

Tim sat up at that, finger pointed at his own chest. “Me? You’re here to see little ol’ me?”  

“Don’t act like an idiot, Drake,” Damian said dryly. 

“This is genuine shock,” Tim said. “What can I do for you?’

Damian took a breath. “I am homophobic.”

Tim didn’t react much besides nodding. “...Alright?” 

“And I do not want to be homophobic,” Damian explained.

Tim considered this. “Alright. I can get behind that. What prompted all of this?”  

“I keep thinking homophobic thoughts about Jon and feeling gross whenever he is with his boyfriend. Jon doesn’t deserve that so I need to make it stop.” Damian felt a wave of shame wash over him for feeling this way. 

“What kind of ‘homophobic thoughts’ do you think?” Tim asked, tone vaguely curious and non-judgemental. 

Damian shrugged. “The thought of him having a boyfriend makes me feel sick.” 

Tim frowned contemplatively. “Hm. How about me? I have a boyfriend. Does that make you feel sick?” 

“The thought of anybody dating you makes me feel sick,” Damian quipped. “For their sake.” 

“Ouch,” Tim grinned. “But touché. How about… hmm… Bart Allen is dating a boy. Or was. I’m not sure if they’re still together...But how does that make you feel? ”

Damian conjured a mental image of the speedster. He tried to imagine him with a boy. He felt no disgust, just the casual disinterest he held for most people’s love lives. “It doesn’t make me feel anything.” 

“Good, good,” Tim muttered. “But what if Bart started dating Jon?”

When Damian replaced his mental image of Bart’s imaginary boyfriend with Jon, a familiar sense of wrongness filled him. “I would dislike it. But I already know I’m only homophobic for Jon.” 

“Ah, but you’re not,” Tim announced. “Congratulations, Dami, you are not homophobic.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Grayson said the same thing, but you’re not listening. I am.”

 “It is my professional gay opinion that you are not homophobic. You are, however, crushing on Jon,” Tim diagnosed. 

What.

“What?”

“And really, who could blame you? Puberty was good to him, he’s an excellent hero, as far as I can tell he’s your closest friend, and best of all, he puts up with you! That’s the full package.” Tim gave Damian a friendly punch to the shoulder that Damian was too preoccupied to dodge (though he definitely could have. He just knew Tim wasn’t strong enough to hurt him. Yeah). 

“I am not ‘crushing’ on him,” Damian hissed. 

“No?” Tim raised one eyebrow. “We’re detectives. Let’s look at the evidence.” 

“I am a detective. You are a disgrace,” Damian muttered. Drake was a detective, and a good one at that, but it would be a cold day in hell before Damian admitted it.  

“On account of your impending sexuality crisis, I will graciously ignore that,” Tim said, the sanctimonious bastard. He mimed looking through a file. “Ahem. Evidence that you are not homophobic, case 1: you are not bothered by anyone in a gay relationship except for Jon. I’d argue that rules out homophobia by itself, but let’s continue. Case 2: the feelings you’re concerned about are consistent with jealousy. Case 3: these feelings only started occurring recently, meaning the underlying issue is also recent which is not consistent with homophobia. Case 4: this is actually a conjecture, but I suspect you would feel the same if Jon were to date anyone regardless of gender.”

Damian considered that case and could not argue.

“In conclusion,” Tim continued, “your feelings are caused by jealousy because you want to date Jon.”

“No,” Damian said. He did not want to date Jon. He would know if he did. Surely he would have noticed attraction towards boys by this point if he had any. 

Tim shrugged, looking a little sympathetic. “That’s the conclusion I’d draw. But hey, there’s a way you can rule it out for sure if you think it’s not true: test the hypothesis.” 

And goddamnit, Drake was correct. That was the logical next step. But the prospect of dissecting his emotions towards his best friend left him weary and somewhat intimidated. There was no way he had fallen for his best friend without noticing… but if somehow he had…  

Tim must have noticed his distress because he wordlessly held the Goldfish carton out to him. After a moment’s hesitation, Damian accepted it. 

“Jon, I’m back,” Damian called, shutting the door with his hip. The apartment was dark and quiet enough that he could hear the rain outside. Jon was probably out with Sky. Whatever. 

He let Audrey out of her carrier and set about preparing himself some dinner. Really, he shouldn’t be surprised that Jon wasn’t here. He’d stayed in Gotham for a few days, playing video games with Drake and avoiding the inevitable. Jon was an extrovert and didn’t much like being alone so he was unlikely to hang around the empty apartment. It was shameful that he felt relieved over that. Drake had not entirely convinced him that it was not homophobia that he was feeling, but something about his matter-of-fact way of addressing the situation comforted Damian. When it came to logic, Drake was actually useful. And he was right; whatever this was, Damian would not be able to solve it by running away like a coward. He had hypotheses to test and one Timothy Drake-Wayne to prove wrong. 

He was not ‘crushing’ on Jon. 

The door flung open and a very damp Jon moped in. He sniffed audibly. When he looked up and noticed Damian, he jumped. 

“Oh, you’re back!” he said, the cheer in his voice failing to mask its rawness. He turned  his face away, subtly wiping at his eyes. “It’s raining pretty hard out there.”

Damian approached his friend. “Jon, why are you crying?”

“It’s fine,” Jon dismissed. “When’d you get back?”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “Recently. Why are you crying?”

“I’m not, I just—” Jon denied. 

“You are!” Damian said. He looped his fingers around Jon’s wrists to pull him to face him. “What happened?” 

Jon sighed. “It’s not a big deal, so you don’t need to worry about it or anything, but… Sky and I had a fight. And it’s been our first real fight as a couple— and really my first real relationship fight and I just— I hate feeling like I’ve messed up. Or that someone is mad at me.”

Damian listened. Jon fought with Sky. “Did you mess up?” Damian asked, curious. Internally, he cringed at himself. That was a tactless thing to say. He hoped he hadn’t made things worse for Jon. 

Jon shrugged sadly. “I don’t think so. But I didn’t not mess up, I just— I am the way I am. It’s nothing new.” 

“You shouldn’t have to change yourself for Sky,” Damian said, an angry undercurrent to his voice. Sky had fought with Jon. 

Jon smiled weakly. “I know that. I’m just upset.” 

Jon was upset. Damian searched his best friend’s familiar blue eyes and frowned at the tears that were still dripping from them. He hated seeing people cry. He used to hate it because he thought it made people look weak. Then he hated it because he was jealous of it, wished he could release emotions through tears. Now he hated it because he did not want people to be hurt. He did not want Jon to be upset. 

Jon and Sky had a fight. 

“Would you like to watch Legally Blonde ?” Damian offered. He knew for a fact Jon loved that movie.

Jon gave a wet laugh and nodded. 

Damian steered his best friend to the couch, sitting him down. Jon let him. Damian handed him the blue blanket (Damian preferred the blue blanket because it was soft, but he figured Jon needed it more right now). He grabbed the remote before Jon could and set up the movie. He went to the kitchen and returned with a mug of disgustingly sweet hot cocoa and some tissues, which Jon accepted gratefully. 

Damian situated himself on the couch and Jon immediately installed himself next to him, pressed against his side. Damian let Jon rest his head against his shoulder and let his arm drape against Jon’s back. 

As the opening montage began with upbeat music, Damian found himself unable to focus on it. His mind was buzzing with the knowledge that Jon and Sky had fought. It was filling him with something unfamiliar. It was like static and anxiety and excitement. He was… he was happy that they’d fought. He felt buoyant and exhilarated and hopeful. He shouldn’t be pleased that his best friend fought with his boyfriend, but he was. 

This didn’t feel like homophobia. This felt like he was getting away with something he shouldn’t. He glanced at Jon’s profile, at his long eyelashes, at his stupid button nose, at his dark hair curling damply at his temples. He felt like maybe he shouldn’t be allowed to. Jon was his best friend, he should be able to look at him if he wanted to. So why did he feel guilty and thrilled? 

Damian wasn’t stupid. He understood what this was. 

He felt envious of Sky.

He wanted to look at Jon with affection and to have Jon catch his gaze and grin and lean in. He wanted to be the one Jon talked about constantly. He wanted to be the one to wrap his arms around Jon. He... he wanted to be the one to kiss Jon. To date him. To do sappy things like hold his hands and take him on dates and dance with him embarrassingly in smelly clubs. It took so long to realize that, but now it was clear. It was obvious that Damian wanted to be Jon’s favorite and he wanted everything he had to offer. Seeing someone else be with Jon like that felt wrong and now he knew why. 

And this wasn’t ‘attraction’ exactly. Nothing had changed, but he now understood the ways he could spend his time with Jon were much more numerous than he’d ever presumed. 

Or they had been. 

He wrapped his other arm around Jon and squeezed him close in a hug of sorts. Jon made a pleased noise and relaxed further. Damian wanted to bury his face in his hair or to wipe the remaining dampness from his cheeks. 

But he could not. 

He could not because Jon was with Sky and would not appreciate that sort of attention. 

He could not because he had been too caught up in his own mind to realize his feelings. 

He could not because… 

Because he realized too late that he was in love with Jon.