***

Jon is thirteen when he understands what it means to have a crush on someone.

Damian is sixteen and Jon watches him.

He doesn't mean to. His eyes are drawn in by themselves. They follow Damian, glued to his back whenever Damian’s not looking.

He realizes that Damian’s feature is very well-proportioned, nearly symmetrical. He has high cheekbones and soft looking lips. His nose looks like it has been broken and set before. His green eyes are framed by thick lashes that have been cousin Kara’s subject of envy.

And it’s those eyes that haunt Jon's dreams. Some mornings he wakes up from those dreams having to rush to the bathroom and runs the shower, eaten up by guilt and still unable to stop touching himself.

Those mornings are particularly hard when they coincide with their weekend patrol schedule. He tries hard to be his usual self. But, it’s difficult when each time he accidentally bumps Damian, it’s as if an electric charge is running down Jon's spine.

“What is wrong with you?” Damian scowls at him. “Are you even taking this seriously?”

“I am!” Jon says. He scoots an inch to the left, away from Damian. “You startled me!” He had flinched unwittingly when Damian touched his arm to gain his attention earlier.

Damian clucks his tongue. “Pay attention, Corncob.”

“Jeez, I am, Grumpface.”

They would have argued some more, but the group of thugs they have been watching choose that moment to begin moving. It’s their cue and Damian doesn’t even say anything to Jon as he shoots his grapple gun and swings down.

Jon rolls his eyes. “It's okay! You don't have to wait for me or anything!” he says and even as he flies to meet Damian, he can't help noticing the graceful arc of Damian's form in the air.

***

When he is fourteen, Jon punches Damian’s face. It’s not that hard of a hit. He doesn’t use his full power. He never does, when it comes to Damian. But still, the hit sends Damian careening away.

Damian catches himself, hands out to break his fall. And then, he launches at Jon. Damian is fast and he has worked with Jon long enough to know when Jon usually lets his guard down.

They never fight seriously. Not anymore, since Jon was ten.

Damian is better than him when it comes to raw skill. Damian has been trained within an inch of his life and he is faster, better from that first time they fought after Damian kidnapped him. However, it takes Jon not all that long to contain Damian.

He grips Damian's wrists, holding Damian down with his body. Damian is seventeen, and he finally hit his growth spurt that one summer two years ago. He’s much taller than the grumpy pipsqueak Jon remembers from when Damian was thirteen. But, Jon hits his own growth spurt this year. He is as tall as Damian now and as broad, and Jon's still growing.

Damian bares his teeth. “Move, or I'll make you!”

“I’d like to see you try, D,” Jon says.

Damian growls. He makes serious effort to budge Jon. Jon knows if Damian genuinely wants to take Jon out, he can. He has other means and ingenuity that are available to the Bats, and often more effective than having super power. Also, Batman has Kryptonite shards somewhere in his vault.

Jon grins down at him.

“I will end you!” Damian says.

“Promises, promises.”

Damian sends him a look that speaks of vehemence. He resumes his struggle with fervor.

Sometimes, holding Damian down is not unlike holding a stubborn eel. He writhes and bucks, moving his lower body, tangling his legs with Jon's.

Jon bites his lip. Okay, maybe this isn't such a good idea. He can feel Damian's legs sliding against his, Damian's knee grazing the inside of his thigh. Recently, almost everything makes Jon's libido goes off. And, having Damian’s warm body under him, moving against him … is just ….

Jon lifts his hips, getting to his knees and using them to bracket Damian's leg. There are stirrings in his lower body parts. Something is waking up and, wow, he doesn't want to explain to Damian what it is he feels there.

He yelps when Damian flips them over, the slightest lapse in concentration and then, there is Damian sitting right there over Jon's hips.

Jon instinctively rises to his feet. With little effort, he jostles Damian from his lap, hands going out to hold Damian's sides to prevent Damian from falling.

“I …, ah! I forgot it's my turn to prepare dinner today!” Jon says, hoping he doesn’t look as mortified as he feels. “Mom will have my head!”

Damian glowers. Jon, in his panic, forgets that Damian hates it when Jon handles Damian like he weighs nothing. But, um yeah, Damian really isn’t that heavy.

“Then go,” Damian says. He glares at Jon and Jon is glad for the exit provided for him.

He turns away and zips out quickly to the higher level of the Batcave. From there, he flies to the exit that is usually reserved for Batplanes, trying to think of something that is not the feel of Damian's weight on his crotch.

***

Damian is a little weird about receiving gifts. For as long as Jon has known him, he has been that way. But, when it comes to giving gifts, he’s the opposite. Jon has several game systems and rolling door of latest Wayne tech gadgets to attest to that.

And it’s not like Jon doesn’t know what Damian likes. Jon knows he likes playing video games as much as Jon does and that Damian likes taking care of his pets. He also knows Damian’s bookshelf stores a few sketch books, all filled to the brim. Sometimes, he even shows his drawings to Jon.

Yeah, so he knows what to buy Damian. That isn’t the problem. The problem is getting Damian to receive it, without having to get into an argument.

“What. Is. This?” Damian asks. He sounds testy and Jon has seen this coming, really.

“Watercolor paint set?” Jon says. “I said I’d get you something for your birthday.”

To be fair, Damian's eighteenth birthday was last week. Jon missed it because he and Dad went to another planet, working with Green Lanterns to save the occupants from genocide by alien invasion.

Watercolor paints may sound paltry, especially knowing Jason gave Damian a real katana from feudal Japanese era last year, but they are the really nice ones. They are artists’ grade and Jon had to walk his neighbors’ dogs all summer to afford those.

“I don't need these,” Damian says.

Jon rolls his eyes. He should be hurt by that, but at this point he has been exposed to Damian too long to take what he says too seriously. He doesn’t know what makes Damian that way, not exactly, but yeah, Damian says that to everyone who gives him things, unless they’re Nightwing or his father.

“I know you probably can buy yourself something better,” Jon says, “but they’re gifts. I give them to you! You have to receive them, even if you don't need them!”

Damian makes a face, but he does not push the watercolor paints back to Jon or argue with him. So, Jon counts that as progress. Maybe, Damian even likes his gifts. Who knows?

Jon doesn't know. He goes back to Metropolis and the small mountain of homework from classes he missed, and does not think about Damian for a while.

A few days later, a rustle in front of his window wakes Jon up in the middle of a school night. It's Damian. Jon recognizes the sound of his heartbeat and he rushes to open the window, but by the time he looks out, Damian has gone away, heartbeat receding fast that he must have taken one of the Batplanes to Metropolis.

“What?” Jon scratches his head and he’s about to close the window again, when he sees it. On his window sill, there is a note clipped on to an letter sized drawing. The note says, I don't know why you feel obliged to give these to me, but thank you, in Damian's neat penmanship. Underneath the note is watercolor painting of Krypto flying under blue sky.

Jon grins.

***

Jon kisses Amelia Shepherd behind the World History shelf. She smells like strawberry, with soft hair and soft lips, soft skin that feels warm when Jon touches her arm. They are supposed to be doing their group projects. But Amelia has been watching and smiling at Jon ever since day one of Geography, and it turns out, she is fun to talk to. It feels right.

It feels right up until Jon kisses her. After that, it just feels awful.

Jon steps back and breaks the kiss. Amelia smiles up at him, tucking stray strands of her long hair behind one ear. Her hands are small. She is tiny. The top of her head reaches only to Jon’s collarbone. And he can break her in half easily if he isn't careful.

Jon swallows and tries to smile. “Amelia … I, uh ….”

Amelia laughs. She pushes Jon to make more room, and then adjusting the books she’s holding against her chest, she says, “That’s a nice kiss. See you around, Jon.”

Jon nods. “See you around,” he says and watches her go.

He doesn't see her again all day.

When he comes home from school, near dinner time because he has lacrosse practice, Damian is sitting with his mom at the dinner table.

“Hi, Mom.” Jon kisses his mom’s cheek. “You’re early, D.”

“Yes, I am,” Damian says. He shoves chunks of pancakes and eggs into his mouth. Today is breakfast for dinner day, something staple in Lane-Kent household. Damian scowls as he chews, but he doesn’t say anything about the food.

“Well, now that you’re here,” Mom says. “I will go to my interview.” She’s already dressed for work. Damian must have caught her just before she’s trying to leave. “Eat before you go, Jon. And be careful out there, you hear me!” She throws that last one just before she crosses the front door, bag slung on her shoulder.

“This is horrible.” Damian puts down his fork and pushes his plate away as soon as Mom is out the door.

“Not all of us have a butler,” Jon says. He sits at Damian's  side and draws the plate to him. “And anyway, how can pancakes and sausages be offensive?”

“Alfred makes better pancakes than this box mix ... thing.”

“Uhm, yeah, heard what I said? No butler in this house.”

Damian scoffs and Jon kind of wants to cuff him in the head. And then, he remembers Damian’s “Father” eats at a fast food burger joint with a fork and a knife, and he snickers.

“What?” Damian looks at him suspiciously.

Jon shakes his head. He devours Damian's left over and digs out the covered plate his mom left for him in the microwave. He eats that, too. Jon is sixteen. He grows another inch last week. He needs all the food he can get.

After dinner and a quick change, they head out to patrol. They start at Metropolis and go out to the city’s outskirt when things get too quiet. They rescue a girl from being run over by a careless driver, beat up a few thugs who try to rob a convenience store, and escort a drunk woman safely back to her apartment.

They get back around three in the morning and Jon hasn’t thought about Amelia all night, but as he showers and changes, he remembers her again and kind of hates himself. It was stupid of him to have kissed her. If he says that it’s a mistake to her, will he get a slap in the face, or simply cold treatment for the rest of the school year? He weighs for both.

He sighs.

Damian comes out of the shower in the middle of his brooding. Jon plasters a smile on his face and says something that gets a thorny response. Jon laughs and they play around with the high-tech laptop Damian gave him last year.

Around five thirty, just before the sun rises, they go to bed. Jon’s bed is narrow, and although Damian has made noises about buying him a bigger bed, Jon put his foot down on account of his tiny room. Damian clucked his tongue at him, but didn't offer anymore.

Besides, Damian fits just right with him. He may not be as petite as Amelia, but Damian is all lean muscle and tan skin these days. Their limbs often get tangled and sweaty in the middle of the night. Jon doesn't mind, safe for a few incidents when he has to creep silently to the bathroom by virtue of something else that has “woken up” because of his best friend.

And right then, as Jon tries to close his eyes, laying on what Damian has dubbed Jon's side of the bed, he listens to the noises of the city. Jon will always miss the quietness of the countryside, but he’s gotten use to Metropolis’ buzz. Damian’s steady heartbeat is among the loudest. He knows that Damian is awake, because he sounds different when he’s asleep. Jon opens his mouth and says, “I kissed a girl yesterday.”

Jon feels Damian stiffen beside him for a moment, before he relaxes again.

“Good for you,” Damian says. He turns his back to Jon and does not move again.

Jon bites his lip. His heart is beating erratically and he does not understand what Damian meant. He stares at Damian's back for a long time before he falls asleep.

***

Jon thinks a lot about how much more fragile Damian is, compared to him. How much easier it is for Damian to get hurt, and he has, on several different occasions when he’s with Jon.

Jon doesn’t even hesitate to fly into the way of a bullet meant for Damian. Nothing much can hurt Jon, but he is not invulnerable. When the bullet hits him, he knows immediately he has made the right decision--as well as … a mistake. The bullet’s not meant for Damian, it’s for him.

The familiar sensation of Kryptonite poisoning is immediate and Jon clutches at Damian, trying to stay upright and failing. His last conscious thought is wanting to punch whoever it is that laughs shrilly behind him.

When he wakes up, the first thing Jon registers is Damian's eyes watching him. Damian is sitting at a chair beside his bed, dressed in civilian clothes and there is a shallow cut just under the peak of his cheekbone. The right corner of his mouth is dark with bruise.

They maintain a few seconds of eye contact, then Damian scrambles up to stand at his bedside, his brows pinched. Jon is distracted for a moment. The ceiling behind Damian's head is high and filled with roosting bats. The Batcave.

“Hey,” Jon says, voice hoarse and throat parched. “What happened?”

“You collapsed. We had to dig a Kryptonite bullet out of your back.” Damian crosses his arms. “Your heart stopped once.”

Damian looks like he’s biting into something sour. His mouth forms a hard line and his nose wrinkles up a little.

“Oh,” Jon says. “What about that guy with the bird mask. The one who ... shot me.”

“In Arkham Prison.”

“Oh.” It seems like the only thing Jon can say. Damian frowns even deeper and now that Jon looks more closely, he notices the dark shadows under Damian's eyes. “Can I get something to drink?”

“Wait.”

Damian goes away. The space around Jon's bed is cordoned off by white curtain and he can't see where Damian goes. Jon tries to trace his memory. He feels a little disoriented and he doesn’t know how long he’s lain unconscious in the Batcave. Batman should have notified his Dad already. His parents can be just beyond the curtain. He has no means of knowing, because the power well deep inside him is empty. From experience, it will be a few days, up to a few weeks before he can use his abilities again.

Damian comes back with a glass of water, a straw jutting out from the rim. He helps Jon sit up to drink, holding the glass for him. There’s a faint tremor in Damian's steady hand. Jon takes the straw between his lips and doesn't comment. Damian smells like soap and his usual coconut shampoo when he leans close. Jon focuses on that.

After, Jon takes Damian's hand before Damian can move away. Damian startles. A few stray droplets of water splash Jon's forearm.

“What are you doing?” Damian asks.

“Stay with me, please.”

Damian’s eyebrows draw closer together. He studies Jon and it feels like a long time has passed, before Damian says, “I … I’m putting this away. I will be back.”

“Okay,” Jon says.

Damian keeps his words. He comes back to sit with Jon. When Jon opens his hand, palm up on the bed, Damian gets the memo and put his own hand on Jon’s.

Jon doesn't ask where his Dad or Mom is. He doesn't ask where Batman is. His heart is racing and warmth spreads into his chest.

He holds Damian's hand until he hears the roar of Batmobile entering the cave and the sound of conversation between his Dad and Batman carry.

***

+1

Damian kisses Jon carefully. A soft press of mouth. A hello and “is this okay?”, all in one. His face is so close that Jon can feel the sweep of Damian's long eyelashes as Damian opens his eyes.

They part for just a second. Jon puts his hand on Damian's nape and pulls Damian in. They kiss properly this time. Jon doesn't have much experience, and it seems like Damian is as rookie as Jon in this department. They learn and it feels good. So good, that Jon has to force himself to break the kiss and sucks in some air.

Damian is a wreck. His tanned skin is flushed, his hair a mess, and his pupils are dilated. And Jon can feel that he’s not the only one affected by the kiss. Damian is as hard as he is.

They are on Damian's bed. Jon’s on his back and Damian somehow ends up sprawled above Jon. Jon slides a proprietary hand onto Damian's back, smoothing his shirt up. He pays attention to the raises and bumps on Damian's back, learning Damian's scars, one by one.

Before long, they kiss again.

“I love you,” Jon says as they part. “I’ve been in love with you for so long.”

Damian’s cheeks flushes impossibly darker. He caresses Jon's neck, up to his cheeks, and kisses Jon once, lightly. “Happy birthday, Beloved,” Damian whispers. “I’ve been waiting for your eighteenth birthday.”

It shakes his head again, the stops, hesitating. Lips turning down, it holds up a hand and makes a so-so gesture.

“You can?”

It grimaces, but nods.

“Does it hurt? Would you get into trouble?”

It holds up one finger, then shakes its head no. A second finger and it shakes its head yes.

Damian sighs, leaning back. “I just,” he starts, frustrated, and it smiles at him apologetically. “It’s not your fault.”

It shrugs.

“Is there anything you can do?”

It looks up then taps its thin wrist. “There’s going to be a certain time,” he guesses and it laughs delightedly, silently. He smiles. “So I just have to have patience?”

A firm nod.

Damian stretches his arms above his head, back cracking. “I can wait,” he says easily. “For you, I’ll wait.”

It smiles, the sword hanging from its waist, blade catching the light, and Damian’s breath catches.

Angels are supposed to be beautiful, he knows. The true appearance isn’t considered beautiful by normal standards, but Damian’s been raised by his mother. The al Ghul’s revel in the odd, in the strange. They find beauty in the things considered horrifying, terrifying, and cling to them with strength beyond a human soul should possess, laughing in the face of caution. Mother fell in love with Father when he was Batman, not Bruce Wayne. Batman was a myth, a creature of legend. He was said to be hideous, to be so frightening the light shied away. Mother had fallen in love with him when she only knew the Batman.

Damian is an al Ghul, and he is certainly not any different. His angel is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and he wants to hold it forever, kiss it’s lips and burn.

Angels are supposed to be gentle.

Damian is glad his isn’t.

–

It starts when his angel disappears.

Damian blinks open his eyes, expecting the small chuff next to his ear and an explosion of heat that counts as his angels good morning.

What he gets is an ache in his soul and no one beside him.

Damian shoots up, heart in his throat. His angel had never, never left him. It’s always been by his side, always a companion. He’s never - been alone. His angel has always been with him. Even in hell during his year of blood, with it sitting sadly behind him, he was never alone.

He is now. He’s so terribly alone and the loneliness is horrible. It’s painful and he thinks that he understands, now, why Dick seeks out physical comfort so often.

The loneliness is crushing. It takes him ten minutes to even think about getting out of bed, let alone doing it. In the end, Dick drags him out of his room and even still - among his family, he misses the fiery presence at his side.

He misses his angel.

Five more months of this suffocating loneliness, this sense of being alone even among a crowd and Damian is ready to just fucking end it, damn the consequences, damn the fact that his angel might show up again.

There’s a hole in his chest, in his heart, and he doesn’t think it will go away.

Until -

Until a boy three years younger than him shows up at his door, his teeth white as fire, his eyes blue as flame, and collapses in his arms.

For the first time in almost half a year, Damian is - complete.

Then he realizes that his angel, his beautiful angel with long limbs and dagger teeth, is trembling, gasping in pain, and Damian drags him inside, nearly in a panic.

“Pennyworth,” he bellows, cradling his angel close to his chest. Their hearts beat as one, he notices, and rests a hand on the back of his angels head, taking in a shuddering breath and fighting tears.

His angel is back. He’s back and Damian can touch him, can kiss him, and it’s something he never dreamed of being able to do, but now he can. He can and he clings to his angel with everything he has even as Alfred appears before him, faintly alarmed.

“Master Damian -”

“No time,” Damian interrupts desperately, running past him and into the cave. “He needs medical attention.”

Alfred hurries after him, blinking a hit in surprise when Damian rests his forehead on his angels, eyes closed and pleading with him to stay with me, please, you left for so long, you can’t leave me again, please.

He can’t go through that again.

“Master Damian,” Alfred says mildly, pulling on some latex gloves, “I can’t help him if you don’t move.

Damian scrambles back, eyes locked on his angels face as Alfred carefully does analysis. He needs to be alright. He needs to be able to heal because -

He can’t go through that again. He’ll slit his throat before he has to suffer that loneliness again.

His angel coughs and Alfred tilts him on his side, rubbing his back as he coughs up what looks like half a lung. His brilliant blue eyes open, nearly glowing, and he looks Damian in the eyes.

“Damian,” he breathes, and it sounds like he’s never spoken but it’s the most gorgeous thing Damian’s heard.

“Angel,” he returns, drifting closer and resting a hand on his cheek. It’s hot, like he’s always been, but it has the smoothness of a boy. “Is this what you’ve been doing?”

“Yes,” his angel says, the word stilted. “Jon. Name Jon.”

Damian’s heart lifts and he smiles softly, giddily, because his angel gave him his name. Names have power, Damian knows. There’s a reason he wants to be known as Wayne, not al Ghul. And his angel gave him his name willingly.

“Jon is it is,” he says gently, watching as Jon’s face lights up with simple joy. He leans down, simply breathing in time with his angel, his one companion.

Jon reaches up to grab his wrist weakly. “Miss-ed you,” he says, and Damian laughs, feeling ready to cry.

“I missed you too,” he says helplessly, and nothing he has ever said has been more true. “I missed you too. These days have been horrible without you.”

Jon laughs, then, hoarse and unused to it but so very happy, and Damian couldn’t stop himself from kissing him if he tried.

Jon’s lips are soft and pliant and they’re both unused to kissing, but they don’t care. How can they?

It’s messy and so very inexperienced and so perfect.

When Damian pulls back, his angel looks - content. “Love you,” Jon tells him, as serious as he’s always been, and Damian giggles.

“I love you too,” he replies, and he’s been saying so many truths today, but - “I always have.”

Jon smiles at that, his eyes glowing, and Damian -