Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Damian wakes up Jon is staring at him.

Which isn't entirely unexpected. Jon has an embarrassing habit of looking at Damian like he's the sun itself, but this morning is different. Jon obviously has something to say. Damian can tell by the way he's staring, his perfect face in deep thought.

Bright orange light dapples both of their faces. It's moments like these that make everything worth it for Damian. And Jon looks so angelic in the light, he can't be mad even though he knows Jon is scheming something.

"What are you staring at?" Damian says, his voice still hoarse. He shimmy himself closer, warm body slotting into Jon's like they were made for each other.

He cups Damian's face. "My grandparents want you to come to dinner."

"Dinner,"

"Dinner," Jon repeats. "They're tired of me talking about you, they want to see the real thing."

He can think of a million reasons that's a horrible idea. A million and one even. Which is why Jon had ambushed him this way, if he got up he has no doubt Jon would've waited until later, cornering him somewhere else. Damian's mouth turns into a thin line.

"Grandparents?"

Jon closes his eyes, eyelashes resting against his freckled cheeks. He's beautiful is what Damian thinks when he leans in to kiss Jon's eyelid.

"And my parents, with the twins."

Damian can't say no. Jon is asking him, he can't possibly say no. So instead he says. "Do you really think that's a good idea?"

Jon smiles and leans in to kiss him. Which Damian takes as the answer it is.

Whenever Jon doesn't want to tell him truth, he just says nothing at all. It's like clockwork. He'll smile and then lean in to kiss Damian, much like hes doing now, as if he expects Damian to suddenly forget. Or maybe, to soothe his worries away. Which one Damian consider it right now?

Bullshit.

Damian tugs at Jon. "What's the play?"

Jon shrugs, his hand gliding down Damian's arm. "Its dinner. I love you, they'll love you."

Tell that to your father, Damian thinks doubtfully. Ma and Pa Kent he can handle, and so he can Lois and Othu and Osul. But Clark? Clark is another beast entirely.

"My mom already loves you," Jon says. "And my grandparents think you're a very polite boy."

"And the rest?"

"I don't really care what they think."

Damian laughs at bluntness, committing the date Jon tells him to memory. And after that, he thinks. He thinks and he thinks and he decides that he won't be tricked!

This dinner, he knows what it is. It's the perfect opportunity for the Kent's to put him through the gauntlet. They want him to prove he's good enough for Jon? Well, he will! And he is not nervous. Because nervous is not a word you would use to describe Damian Wayne.

For good reason too, because he doesn't get nervous. And he isn't nervous, especially not when he's reading article after article on Midwest living.

Kansas is the sunflower state, fitting he thinks, especially for Jon. It's capital is Topeka and its also known for its agricultural production of wheat. Makes sense, the Kent's a farmer family.

All of this information is vital of course, and no, he totally doesn't get distracted watching cow videos. They are a farmer family…but it's not really the state that he cares about, its…Clark. This is his home state, his childhood home, Damian would be a fool to go in blind.

It drives him insane that he cares so much but he can't not care. He always cares. And here, at this moment, he has to care.

It's his boyfriends father. It's Superman. It's Clark fucking Kent. Notoriously, his biggest fan. A man who definitely didn't consider him a bad influence for years. But Clark is hardly the only problem.

Etiquette? Manners? Damian already knows all that! What he doesn't know, is what in the ever-loving hell he is supposed to wear!?

He briefly considers a thobe, but quickly decides against it. T-shirt and jeans? Full suit? …Cowboy boots?

Damian groans, his fingers thrumming against the desk. He has to strike the perfect balance! He has to be well dressed but he can't be conceited and he can't be too under dressed or it'll be disrespectful.

"Son, you're thinking to hard."

Damian turns around to face his father. "Easy for you to say. You throw on any old suit and call it a day."

Bruce smiles goodheartedly. "None of my suits are old. Besides it's what I always where when I see them for dinner and they haven't had a problem yet. It's what Clark wears most of the time too."

His face must say it all because Bruce stops his typing to face Damian directly. "They're nice people, Jon loves you and that's already enough, trust me. It'll be nothing like our family dinners, so lighten up."

"Yes, tell Robin to lighten up, that's really funny."

Maybe it would be nothing any other time, if Damian was just there after a long hard fought battle. Then maybe he could wave everything away, tell Ma and Pa kent: Thank you. And never think of it again. But it isn't.

This is Jon. It's for Jon. So he'll endure it. Even if he ends up on the front end of the Kent family shotgun, he doesn't care. Jon comes first. Even if by the end of the night he's nothing but a huge embarrassment.

Damian sighs. The idea of this dinner running him so ragged infuriates him. It's just dinner, but he can't help but feel like something is laughing at him.

He thinks back to when he was a kid, how much everything hurt. That's the problem with a childhood like his, he never had to meet the parents. But Jon has always been a special case, his from the beginning, even though he didn't know that. And when Jon had yelled at his mother that he wasn't a weapon but his friend, that has sealed Damian's fate forever.

He's going to love Jon until the day he died and after that. Damian grumbles.

"He's made me soft."

"Love makes fools of us all."

"You would know." Damian says humorlessly.

His father has had a decidedly bad time in his romantic endeavors. He has to wonder how much of it was self-sabotage. Damian refuses to be like that.

"I'm more surprised you haven't started waxing poetic about Cat Woman, old man."

With how much they have in common and all the attitude with those dark leather outfits they might as well be a match in— match!

Him and Jon have to match!

"Thank you for the advice father." He says hurriedly making his way back to his room. Bruce just watches him go up the stairs with one eyebrow raised. 

As soon as he hears the door close behind him, his phone is in his hands pressing Jon's contact. It rings once.

“Hey—“

Damian wastes no time. "What are you wearing?” 

The line goes quiet for a second, he can vividly imagine Jon looking at him phone in confusion. “Right now? I mean it’s just a hoodie—“

“No, dummy, for the dinner.” 

“Oooohhh. That makes more sense, I thought no way he wants to try phone sex again right now.” 

“That's the worst possible way to have intercourse. It's not even sex.” 

Jon laughs rings out clear as day. “I remember, but I’m just gonna wear my flannel, why?”

“You could call it curiosity.” 

Or paranoia. Damian likes the latter.

He starts pulling clothes out of his closet. Too bright! Not bright enough. Why the hell does he have tie-dye in his closet anyway? Band t-shirt, absolutely not.

“You’re sweet.” Jon says, he might the first person to ever call him that. He'll keep Jon blissfully unaware of that fact, lest his ego get any bigger.

“Don’t stress about it, just be yourself.” 

Damian snorts. Yes, be himself, he thinks. That's hysterical. Just completely novel. Ha…hahaha….HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—

“Jeez, what’s with the evil laugh?” 

“Irrelevant.” Damian clears his throat. “I’ll see you then.” 

“Of course, angel.”

Damian hates that nickname and totally does not feel like a gooey mess when Jon utters it in that deep voice of his.  “Goodbye."

"See you soon! Love ya.”

Damian glances over at his closet and the mess of clothes all over his bed. “And I love you.” And he promptly hangs up. 

It takes another ten minutes rummaging through all his clothes again before his sensibilities and eyes agree on something.

He starts with a high neck long sleeve undershirt and over that he puts on a green button up, it's bigger by design. The buttons starting at his sternum and the sleeves reaching half way down his forearm. He tucks that into some smart looking beige trousers and finally throws on some bracelets, plus a necklace with a jewel so blue it matches Jon's eyes.

It’s fashionable yet still casual, he’ll match Jon’s Midwest boy look perfectly. 

He starts combing through his hair, thinking of every way this dinner could possible go wrong. But he'd be an idiot if he didn't run through every possible scenario.

Being himself has never gotten him anywhere good, at least, not in the beginning. For a long time, he could count the amount of people that liked him on one hand. Even now he's not sure how many people have a good first impression of him. He's changed a lot, a lot of things have.

But has it been enough?

He can't help but think he's a lamb to the slaughter as he climbs on to Goliath for his trip to Kansas. It's a three hour flight, but with his friendly dragon bat, and a few bribes of salmon, it'll only be an hour and half. Which is still too long for Damian's unsettled mind.

How are the Kent's going to react when Damian doesn't act they way they expect him to? What happens if Clark decides that actually, he doesn't want Damian in his home?

Flying through the open sky has always been a sort of reprieve. A way to forget whatever was bothering him. But even now, hundreds of miles in the sky, he can't shake the nerves away.

Who will he be when he steps through that door? Damian Wayne? Damian Al Ghul? Or will he simply be Jon's boyfriend?

Will it matter?

When he feels Goliath's feet land on solid ground, he feels his judgment sealed along with it. This is going to go wrong. It usually does.

He can make it up to Jon later.

The Kent house is basked in a low blue light, not yet shadowed by the setting sun. It's a nice day, Damian thinks. And of course, as soon as Goliath's wings settle to his side, Jon is in front of him, hands out stretched.

Jon pulls him up and off, kissing him on the cheek. "Hey Day,"

"Hello."

He quickly looks down at Damian's hands. "What's that?"

"A gift." He couldn't possibly come empty handed. It's not polite and not what his mother taught him.

Jon must be able to see how nervous he is because he quickly smiles, kissing Damian again but this time slower, his hand rubbing over Damian's beating heart. "that's real sweet of you."

But all of that only distracts him for a moment, his eyes following up the dirt drive way to see everyone congregated on the porch.

They all wave at him, god, Damian thinks. This is strange. Too many people are smiling at him right now. Damian grinds his teeth, their trying to lure him into a false sense of security. Well, he won't fall for it!

He begins to speak. "So—" but before he can utter another word, a black mass shoots out past him, leaving behind leaves and dust in the air.

"Osul!" Jon shouts.

Damian turns to see Osul staring excitedly up at Goliath, his brown eyes full of wonder. Otho isn't far behind him, obviously hesitant about the huge creature in front of her but she still moves himself between Goliath and her brother.

Damian thinks it's commendable the way they protect each other.

"I've had him since he was a baby, his name is Goliath." He says, patting Goliath on the side. The silly beast tilts his head to the side, looking just as curious and eager as Osul. "He won't bite, he loves meeting new people."

Damian nods and Goliath wiggles in place, his wings flapping gently. He's gotten so good with kids thanks to all the time he spends with Damian volunteering, it's a surprise he hasn't knocked Otho over his nose and on to his back for a ride.

It's a nice little reprieve from the hell that awaits him, wrapped in a farmhouse with screen doors and a swing on the porch.

"Okay, don't crowd him. Goliath isn't here for you to poke at, Damian just likes being a show off."

"Hah," Damian huffs. "You've never had a problem with it before."

The twins backs off a little

"Sorry," Osul says. "Thank you for letting me pet you Goliath!"

The kid is so earnest, this is probably the closet Damian has ever come to wanting to be an older brother. "Don't worry, you can ride him next time." He pulls a ball out of his bag.

"Feel free to play with him," He hands to ball to Otho, who takes it with a critical eye. He tilts his head. "Go ahead, throw it."

In one swift motion, Otho shucks it with all her strength, sending it flying across the grass field. And just as quickly as it left her hand, Goliath leaves nothing but wind behind him as he chases after it.

The twins both laugh, quickly following. Jon watches with vague interest.

"Next time I need to distract them I'll just call you."

Jon nuzzles the side of his face as they walk up the driveway, with each step Damian can feel his thoughts slide out of his head. Even with all his researching, he's still going in virtually blind. He's never met the family before, much less a family like Jon's.

All of it unnerves him.

It's disorienting. He feels the side of his head throb. They're so…nice. No bad intentions in sight. Damian feels like he's floating outside of himself, looking at the Kent family home like it's a stage he's just stepped into.

KENT FAMILY HOUSE - MIDDAY

Martha takes it from him with little fanfare, but she looks eager to have it.

Damian doesn't move. Both Ma and Pa sit there. He has gone insane, it's official. He has lost his mind and he is in hell again. He can't do this. He doesn't belong in— he feels a hand clasp his own. Lurching him out of his stupor.

He turns to see Jon looking at him, his eyebrows pinched in worry. He squeezes Damian's hand three times, a silent way to ask: are you okay? And suddenly Damian feels the lights disappearing, all the strings cut away in an instant. Turning back, Ma and Pa are in the flesh. This is all so ridiculous.

Yes, Damian breathes quietly, he is okay. He has to be. He is simply…a man in a house. He squeezes back, a small smile gracing his face.

"It's from my garden."

They both light up.

"Well, come sit and tell me about that!" Pa taps the table, heading lolling towards the chair next to him.

Jon kisses his cheek. "I'll in the living room if you need me."

Damian spends the next hour and half talking about all sorts of things. Like how caterpillars almost made his gift impossible and Pa talks about the time Clark broke every piece of wheat he had.

"You should've seen him, I said son, no powers. And what does he do?"

"Use his powers?"

"Of course! Broke every grain, but you should've seen his face. It was the sorriest thing I'd ever seen, I couldn't be mad at him then." Pa laughs. "I had to think, what would I be doing with such crazy powers? probably disobeying my old man."

Damian laughs. "You know, one time I asked Jon to get me some dumpling across from my apartment building, he comes back covered in soup and you know what he says?"

"What does he say?"

"I tried getting some from china, but the wind got to them first, sorry."

Pa leans back to laugh. "That reminds me of the one time Clark—" But before he can finish, the screen door pops open. It's Clark, loosening his tie.

"Well, speak of the devil,"

"Hey Pa," Clark smiles, glancing towards Damian. "Damian,"

After that is a bit of a blur, Damian excuses him and curses at the fact he's running away. It's Clark. Who cares? But he can't shake the worry. He's already lost focus once, he won't make the same mistake. Pa was a good distraction, he'll give them that. But he won't forget.

The house, it's, cozy.

It's definitely the house of a nice old couple. Little ceramic Knickknacks line the shelves, carefully positioned between family photos. It's all so, sweet. It's horrible.

A family loving each other in a normal way. Damian thinks about the first time he met his father, his blade to Bruce's throat. He thinks about the time Jason shot him. When Tim made that video telling him that Slade Wilson was his father, trying to trick him.

It all feels like one big joke. Look at the little boy who's never been welcomed anywhere! Look and laugh!

He bets Clark is in the other room right now, telling Martha and Pa all about his sordid past. He's killed people, you know. A murderer, cold blooded. Even though he hasn't gone a single night with out dreaming of them. But no one knows that. No one has cared enough to ask.

And then he will go back into the kitchen and see how they look at him and understand that, like always, he is not welcome.

"Damian?"

He doesn't flinch when Lois puts a kind hand on his shoulder. "You alright Hun?"

"Yes," Damian grits. "Of course."

Lois makes face that tells Damian it's the worst bullshit she's ever heard. "Don't worry, when I first came here for dinner I thought I was gonna pass out, but don't worry this time it's different."

Damian blinks, watching Lois makes her way towards the bookcase in the corner of the room. "You've got me, and…" She runs her hands along the books. "This!"

She pulls out an old binder. And just as quickly as she moved away, she's sitting next to Damian, thigh to thigh.

"You're gonna love this."

"Mom—"

Damian turns to Jon looming over the couch. A shadow obscures his eyes.

"Please don't tell me that's what I think it is!"

"Of course it is!" She cackles. "What? You think I wouldn't show Damian? You're bats!"

Despite himself, Damian smiles. That one was a little funny, he'll give her that. Jon sighs deeply, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Fine," he groans, slinking back into the kitchen.

Lois opens the binder, and suddenly, Damian can see baby. But not just any baby, it's baby Jon!

"No way." Damian grins.

"Yep." Lois says, tapping one where baby Jon is dressed in a Superman costume. "My baby boy as a baby boy."

She steadily flips through the pages, stopping to show Damian all the photos she has a story for.

"And this one he was Scruff McGruff for Halloween, this is when he won his first baseball game, oh! And this one is his first day of school!"

The further she flips the more everyone else starts popping up. Kon and Kenan at a concert, Kara and Clark at the beach, Otho at her first fair. Soon the pages gets sparse, only a few pictures here and finally when Lois reaches an empty sheet, she pulls something out of his jacket pocket.

It's a picture of…him!

"Where did you get that?"

Lois smile. "Bruce Wayne,"

Of course, they're already conspiring against him. It's a picture of him and Jon, from their training ski trip a few months ago. As soon as Bruce learned he and Jon were going steady, he had told Jon to clear his calendar.

Jon still won't admit he had a good time with his family. Looks like they both have problems with family and admitting things.

She slips the picture into the plastic sheet. "And now you're in it too."

Damian's mouth twitches. He feels, heavy. Out of control. This is sweet. It's a sweet gesture. But all he can think about currently is the fact he doesn't have any baby pictures. None that he know of. One upon a time maybe, but someway or another they were destroyed or forgotten or never taken at all. Him and Jon are so different. What's the point if he ruins all of this?

He does not belong in a house with cute knickknacks and a binder full of family photos, so well kept that you can see every major part of Jon's life in it. He can't stop thinking. What are they talking about in there? Since when has he ever cared?

"I," His mouth feels like cotton. "I'm going to the restroom."

He doesn't know why he's running. It's a cowards way out. But he can't stop thinking. The future. Is this one step towards the end? Is every step he takes just another mistake?

The Bathroom is simple, one toilet and one sink, no bathtub. Just small enough for Damian to feel comfortable.

He looks at himself in the mirror, feeling otherworldly. It's not so often he's thrown like this, especially for something as simple as a dinner. He thinks for a moment, of the things he's tell his patients and victims of Gotham alike, and slowly breathes out.

He turns the faucet up and splashes water on his face, and as he's coming back up he speaks. "I know you're there Jon."

Jon's reflection shows clearly in the mirror. He looks worried, his eyebrows furrowed in worry and that's when Damian feels the sorriest. It's not just his dinner.

Jon shrugs. "I wanted to be caught that doesn't count."

"That makes absolutely no sense."

He doesn't rise to the bait, crowding Damian against the sink. The ceramic digging into his lower back. For a moment he has to wonder if this is the breaking point. Jon has been nothing but supportive and caring and here he is, spitting in Jon's face. But he forgets who he's talking with. It's Jon, and when he looks up, he sees nothing but genuine concern on Jon's face.

"What's wrong?" He asks, his hand intertwining with Damian's. His thumb rubbing gentle circles into his skin.

Right, Jon is sweet and amazing. Jon is so amazing, Damian never wants to hurt him. And he certainly doesn't want to dump all of this on him right now. At least not all of it, but he can't lie. Lying to Jon never works. So he settles for something simple.

"I'm just thinking about the future."

Jon tilts his head. "The future—" He blinks suddenly, realization spilling across his face. "Oh, Damian, is it really about—" He frowns. My dad, he mouths.

Damian sighs. "What else? It's not like…you know. You remember."

What Clark said all those years ago. When Tim Drake from another time had been hellbent on killing Jon. Damian is very thankful none of that came true. Yet, at least.

Whatever Jon did, he did to stop you.

It's not something Damian takes lightly. But Jon has seem to taken it in stride.

"Yeah, remember you promising to protect and love me forever!" Jon says.

Damian raises an eyebrow, his shoulders relaxing. "Oh? I don't seem to recall that last part."

"Yep, that's how it happened. You went—" Jon clasps his hands together, smooching the air. "I'll protect Jon with my life, he's so handsome and I love him—"

"Oh shut up," Damian grabs his shirt. "I never said you were handsome."

"I'm hurt!"

They both laugh but when Damian meets Jon's eyes again he looks eerily serious. He wraps his arms around Damian, pulling them close together. The warmth is welcome. Especially as Damian realizes how tense he feels.

"I didn't know you were so worried about it, I swear Damian, whatever…I've never cared what people thought of you. They don't know anything about you."

"You know this is different."

It's your dad, Damian says silently. Jon deflates, nodding. He touches their foreheads together.

"Still, I think you're too hard on yourself." He says. "You've changed a lot…but if you hadn't, I'd still be with you. I loved you even back when you were getting me in trouble and throwing me off tall building."

"Yes, but—"

"Damian, if I listened to everything everyone told me, I'd be stupid."

He can read between the lines. It doesn't matter what Clark wants for Jon, it's Jon's life. And he's decided that Damian is going to apart of that life.

Damian has to wonder if this is part of order. A stepping stone to the future Drake had told them. But he can't get caught up in that.

Jon wants him. As long as that's the case, Damian's won't be going anywhere.

"Well," Damian swallows, straightening Jon's collar. "It's a good thing I don't plan on going anywhere."

Jon kisses him deeply. It's all encompassing but it doesn't stop him from thinking. Damian, he's grateful. Jon hasn't lorded his father over him and he hasn't made any excuses for him the entire night. He's lucky, he thinks. To have such an amazing boyfriend…an amazing boyfriend with a nice family.

Damian pulls away, cupping Jon's face with his palm. "I'll be down in a moment,"

Jon pecks him on the lips. "Okay, but don't take too long, or my grandma will come up here herself and check on you."

But as Jon is pulling away, Damian grabs him, feeling an incredible desire to tell him he's the great boyfriend in the world. The greatest man in the world. "And…"

"Yeah?"

He couldn't possibly say that right now. He'll have time later, he thinks. So instead he settles for something more simple.

"I love you."

Jons smile lights up the room. "I love you too!"

Damian turns back towards the mirror. He smooths out his shirt, fixes one of his bracelets, and thinks about the people downstairs. They're good people, kind people. And it in essence, not too dissimilar from his own family. Maybe that's the problem.

He likes his family just fine.

They're his. And he doesn't know anything else. Maybe there's something in finding people who are just as fucked up as you. Jon has his family and Damian has his. But that doesn't mean it hasn't hurt.

They've always stabbed him in the front. So ruthless, perhaps careless, in the way it was so easy to do without another thought. It was his life. Jon has never had to go through such things.

Damian doesn't know how to exist in a family like that. He doesn't know if he'd ever want to. But the truth of the matter is that he's here and there are nice people waiting for him downstairs.

He had been so focused on who was holding the knife he hadn't realized it was in his own hands. He refuses to fuck this up. So, he takes one more deep breath before opening the bathroom door and accepting the light.

—

When he reaches the bottom of the stairs he can see everyone sitting and talking. Not the gauntlet he quiet envisioned but still just as intimidating.

Martha waves him in eagerly. "Well come and take a seat!"

He notices the cooked ground beef on everyone plate, except his, of course. His is plain, nothing but noodles and sauce. He's sure Martha did her due diligence. Even then he wouldn't complain about something like that.

He pulls his chair out, glancing towards Jon. "I’m–” 

“Vegan, yes I know.” Martha smiles, pointing a finger in the air. 

He wasn’t going to say that. Sorry. I didn't mean to take so long dies on his tongue. Martha barrels on.

“It’s completely vegan! I made sure nothing touched, even bought a new pan that’s never been touched by meat or diary or anything else.” 

Damian, he feels…ashamed. This woman— family, has been nothing but kind to him from the start and somehow he had it in his head this was one huge joke on him. It's so genuine, he has to stop himself from apologizing right then and there.

Damian feels overcome. “Thank you."

"Of course," She says. "Now, tell us about yourself! Jon can never stop talking about you."

Jon shrugs.

For a moment Damian doesn't know what to say. The first thing that he used to say to people was I'm a trained assassin. I know seven languages. My mother has killed me. I went to—

"He volunteers," Jon's perfect voice interrupts his thoughts. His unceremonious spiral. Like an angel on his shoulder, his knight in shining armor, whatever corny simile you can think of.

Everyone looks at him, honestly eager. These people are freaks. He wants them to know he'd bury an army for them, probably. He could.

"Well, I do volunteer at a gym, with my brother."

"And, the other place in Gotham,"

"Yes, the clinic,"

"And he's in med school," Jon continues. "And he works for a non-profit, and—"

Damian kicks him under the table. Jon just innocently smiles at him, shrugging off Damian's narrowed eyes.

"Well you sound busy! Thanks for making it out tonight," Martha says, here eyes flitting between the two of them. Yes, yes. they are such a cute couple.

"Of course."

"I know right," Jon agrees. "He does all that and he's still an amazing boyfriend,"

Damian's finger twitches around his fork. He thinks about kicking Jon again. For a moment his spinning head stills, the room reorienting itself. Everything reaches a fever pitch, and as he opens mouth somewhere something pops.

"I love Jon a lot."

And then everything explodes. Suddenly brighter, Damian resists the urge to squint. Maybe it's because everyone is smiling.

The rest of the dinner continues with little fanfare. And just as it began, everything starts to end. Jon starts to take the plates, dutifully following along the twins with cups hugged into their arms.

Martha gives him a quick hug and Damian writes his number down on a notepad. Call me for anything. I always answer. He writes below it. And as he's turning around Clark blocks his way.

"Mind if I say hi to Goliath?"

Damian can read between the lines. Jon meets his eyes from across the room, Damian nods slightly and Jon just shrugs, turning back towards the kitchen.

Now, Damian knows what this is. This is the real gauntlet.

The only problem being he has no idea what Clark is about to say to him. He was quite all dinner, barely spoke a word to Damian all night. Was he saving it for now? But as they walk towards the barn, he still doesn't say anything.

Damian thought he was crazy before, now this entire thing really is driving him up the wall. Is this the other shoe? The curtain call? He glances towards Clark, the dark sky makes both of them different hues of blue. And as simply as he can, Clark asks.

"Do you love my son?

And of course, the answer to that is simple. Never-ending. Always the same. "Of course, I love him more then anything."

Clark smiles. "We have that in common."

the hay crunches under his feet as they finally make it into the barn, into the light, and Clark looks…fine. Damian has to guess this isn't the shotgun wielding dad hes seen in movies.

Goliath noses at Damian, making a loud snorfff as he does. Clark pats Goliath on the head, turning to face Damian.

"Damian, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot."

Now that's an admission Damian doesn't hear everyday. He steady's himself against Goliath, legs stiffer than wood, and waits for the inevitable. The, I am sorry but you could've been nicer. Damian waits but Clark just continues to look at him. He should probably say thank you. I appreciate this. But something about becoming one of Clark's wayward young hero's prickles at him.

"I know you're worried about the future." Damian has never been one to dance around the issue. He knows exactly what Clark is worried about, he's worried about it too. "But rest assured, Jon is my top priority, whatever was the future— that's gone."

Clark takes a moment going over Goliath reigns, his hands running over the rough leather. His voice quiet when he speaks again.

"You ever ride a horse?"

"…A few times." Damian has no idea where he's going with this. Some sort of Midwest horse metaphor?

"One day, a few years ago, I had the bright idea to teach the twins how to ride horses." Clark looks wistful as he remembers, looking past Damian off into the dark sky.

"It was horrible, they had never even seen a horse before. It took weeks, I thought's be a good lesson you know? Teach them to get back in the saddle. I thought, how hard could it be? Pa taught me just fine and I can't tell you how wrong I was. Osul picked it up fine, but Otho on the other hand, she couldn't get it no matter how hard she tried."

Damian looks towards the field where Otho and Jon are playing catch. She's always been the rougher of the twins, even Damian can tell that. But he can tell she's gentle, or at least, wants to be. They're probably kindred spirits. He can vividly imagine the picture Clark is painting him.

"She was fed up, and so was I, I said Otho you just have to do it! And she yelled at me. You know what she said?"

"What?"

"I would've slaughtered this thing back on War World!" Clark huffs out a laugh. Damian can find the humor in it. He gets it now, what this story is about.

"And I sat on that, thinking back to War World." Clark looks distant, and Damian understand where Jon gets it from.

"All she was ever brought up to do was kill. I thought how horrible is that for a child? And how strong she was for fighting back…and then, I thought of you."

This isn't surprising, he's heard the tale of War World second hand from Jon. And he hasn't given the similarities between him and the children of War World another thought since then. He wants to tell Clark to stop. He gets the sentiment, he doesn't need it anymore. But they've gotten this far, he might as well see it through. Maybe Clark will surprise him.

"Is that right?"

Clark hands him the reigns. And Damian is right back where he was before, he has no clue what Clark is about to say to him. An apology? He doesn't know what he'd do with that. Another metaphor? Some sort of half-apology half-lesson? He doesn't need superman. He's got one of those at home and he's pretentious enough.

"I know you're a good kid Damian," Clark says, like he's trying to let Damian in on a secret. Damian doesn't know how much of a secret it is anyway, he's taken a definite blow to his assassin cred over the years. "and I know you don't need a lecture, just know that if you ever need me, I'm here."

Damian's mouth twitches, proof of a valiant effort to keep himself from mouthing off. But he guesses he can agree with the sentiment, what's more important is the obvious olive branch Clark is shoving into his face. Damian isn't fool enough to ignore it.

"I'll keep it in mind." He says hopping on Goliath. "Who knows, one day you might be needing me."

Clark just snorts. "You and my son are a real pair."

Damian feels hands caress his side. "Talking about me?" Jon says, looking up from where he's leaning against Goliath.

"No," Damian says. "And you need a bell around your neck."

"Says the assassin."

Whatever, he'll always be salty that Jon can sneak up on him now. The only man to ever do it. Jon hoists himself up, pasting himself to Damian's back. Damian grabs hold of the reigns and left with something warm and soft, he thanks Clark for having him over. And takes the light with him.