#and damian is stopped from revealing and he leaves and grieving sad when he returned and batfam notices but he wont talk wont tell what | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fishfingersandjellybabies · 6 years

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Fate Diverted - fic

Characters: Jon Kent, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Damian Wayne, bits of Dick and Bruce Summary: Robin died, but Jon didn’t know him anyway. A/N: A kind of what-if-ish au, on if Jon was in the continuity when Damian died, or something like. Whether Damian still has his powers upon resurrection is up to the reader. Jon is probably 8ish in this fic? (Also, small self-promo: I wrote an original short story and published it on Amazon, and if you like my fics, it’d mean the world if you checked it out too!)

He came home, and found his mom crying.

“Mom?!” He asked, dropping his bag by the door. Lois jumped and looked up at him, and her tears seemed to fall faster. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay? Is…is Dad okay?”

As Jon neared her, she sniffed and held his face between both of her hands.

“Your father’s fine.” She whispered, trying to smile. “Just…ah, something’s happened. Something…something incredibly terrible, and he’s trying to help deal with it.”

“What happened?” Jon asked, holding her wrists. “Can I help him…?”

“Nothing…nothing you need to worry yourself with. Just. Something with an old family friend.” Lois still tried. She dropped her hands, and Jon reluctantly let her go. “Now, don’t worry about me. It was just some hard news to hear. Go on upstairs and get your homework started, okay?”

Jon watched his mother for a moment. Watched as Lois dabbed at her eyes and tried to regain some composure. Eventually he sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get anything else out of her. He turned back to his bag, picked it up, and slowly made his way upstairs.

And he stayed there, even when he heard his father return. Silently crept to the top of the steps, and listened to his mother’s still-watery voice.

“How’s he doing?” She whispered.

“He’s…a wreck.” Clark returned. “I haven’t seen him this…bad since Jason. And even then, his grief made him shut down. This time, he’s…he’s angry and guilty and…’a mess’ doesn’t even seem to be the right word for it.”

“What about the others?”

“God, Lois…” Jon heard a sigh, and now his father sounded upset too. “Dick won’t leave the body. He won’t eat, he won’t sleep. He’s just standing there holding his hand. Any time Bruce or Alfred try to get him to do anything, he screams and fights them. If they can’t get him to do anything on his own soon, they’ll have to forcibly sedate him.”

“Oh, Jesus…”

“Tim…honestly, I had to keep checking to see if he was breathing. He just sat there, staring into space. Wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t look at me. I had Conner send him a text, and he wouldn’t even look at it. I don’t think he still has.” A pause. “And Bruce is going to burst. He won’t let himself grieve right now. He’s barely taking care of his other children, the ones who are there or the ones who aren’t. Cassandra and Jason didn’t return afterwards. Alfred and I couldn’t get a location on them, or anyone else in Bruce’s circle. And Bruce is just…running on rage. Going after the one who killed his son as opposed to mourning him.”

“Does he know who did it?” Lois asked. “I mean, this wasn’t Joker or anything like that, so…”

“It was Talia.” Clark breathed. Lois audibly gasped. “Damian’s mother.”

“I…no way.” Lois tried. “I know she’s a bad person, I’ve heard the stories, but. To kill her own son?!”

“I think that’s what makes this whole thing even worse.” Jon heard movement, and the plop of someone sitting down on their old sofa. “…The kid was almost cut in half, Lois. That’s how big the stab wound was.”

Jon heard his mother sit down next to his father.

“And…for a few seconds, I even questioned if the sword was the cause of death.” Clark’s voice was muffled, like his face was in his hands. “He had so many injuries. Arrows sticking out of his back. Bruises, cuts. The sword made it an instant death, but even without that, he could have died from the attacks he’d already suffered alone, if they didn’t get him to a hospital in time.”

Silence.

“Eleven. Bruce told me he was eleven years old, Lois.” Suddenly Clark sounded wrecked, and Jon wanted to run down the stairs and hold him. When his father let out a sob, Jon physically jumped at the sound. “Damian was only eleven years old.”

Jon didn’t want to hear anymore. He’d gotten the facts. Some kid his parents knew named Damian had died. Horribly, apparently, and at the hands of his own mother. And there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing Superman could do about it. Nothing he could do for Superman either.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and stood, quickly going back to his room and closing the door.

They were on their way out of town, on a father-son trip, when, as they passed the Gotham limits, Clark suddenly turned the car, mumbling about making a quick stop.

Jon didn’t mind. He hadn’t been to Gotham many times, let alone such a huge, sprawling house. So he just hung on to his dad’s hand as they walked up the front stoop, and were led through the house, and past a secret clock door, by an elderly butler.

Batman was there, at a computer. His cowl was back, and it revealed a tired-looking older man. There were bags under his eyes and scars across his face. He barely turned when Clark, after telling Jon to stay back, approached him.

But Jon didn’t much care about his dad’s ‘work friends.’ Really, he was more interested in the cave around him. All the technology, and even the rocks themselves.

He was just looking around – but something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned towards a series of cases, some holding costumes, some empty.

There was a man sitting on the ground in front of one, leaning against it, his cheek smushed against the glass as he stared blankly inside. He was in a black and blue uniform – Nightwing, he recalled his father telling him.

Nightwing’s uniform was a wreck, exposing bruises and gashes all across his body. He didn’t seem to mind them, though. Seemed more focused on the bloody costume inside the case.

The uniform was small, and it took Jon longer than he’d have liked to admit to realize it was Robin’s. The kid who died a few weeks ago.

“He wouldn’t want you to be like this.” He heard his father gently telling Batman. “He wouldn’t want any of you to be like this.”

There were tears on Nightwing’s face. And by how puffy his eyes were, it looked like there’d been tears on his face for a while.

Jon took a step forward, but stopped immediately. Should he go comfort him? Would he be accepted? Nightwing didn’t know him, and he didn’t know this man. Didn’t know what he’d been through. A child had died, Jon knew that objectively, sure, but he wasn’t necessarily sad about it. He didn’t know the child either. So could he truly comfort a man who was still in mourning after losing his eleven-year-old brother?

It turned out – he didn’t have to. Clark was there instantly himself, crouching in front of the younger man, Batman basically abandoned, though probably by the Dark Knight’s order, not his father’s choice.

Silently he put a hand on Nightwing’s shoulder. Nightwing didn’t react at first, kept staring at that bloody uniform. After a few seconds, he only moved his eyes, to look up at Superman.

Clark smiled, and said something short. It’s okay, probably. Nightwing’s tears seemed to just fall faster, and he began to shake his head, keeping his cheek painfully tight against that glass.

But his father just kept that smile, even when it turned sad. Gently reached out and gathered Nightwing into his arms. Nightwing fell into his chest, clinging to his shirt, as sobs wracked his shoulders. Clark just held him, rubbing carefully at his injured back.

Jon glanced at Batman. He hadn’t turned away from his computer, but he did stop typing. Listening to his partner’s cries.

Jon just tilted his head and curiosity, and waited.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Jonno?”

Jon stared out the window at the receding manor. “I’m…confused.”

“About what?”

“Nightwing seemed more upset about losing Robin than Batman did.”

Clark paused for a moment. Remained silent until they got on the highway a few miles away.

“…Things aren’t always as they appear, son.” Clark said quietly. “Batman and Nightwing loved Robin equally. They just show their grief…differently.”

“…Oh.” Jon hummed, staring at the trees passing outside. “Robin was Batman’s son, right?”

“Yes.” Clark said. “However, there was a time when Robin lived with, and was raised by, Nightwing. And the two of them became incredibly close.”

“So…they were almost like father and son too?”

“You could look at it that way, I suppose.” Clark sighed. He went quiet again for a moment, like he was debating himself in his own mind. “…Robin died for Nightwing.”

“What?”

“Robin died protecting Nightwing.” Clark explained quietly. “Nightwing blames himself for their loss. So, even if they weren’t as close as they were, Nightwing would still have that extra guilt on his shoulders.”

“…Oh.” Jon repeated, but sadder this time. “Does Batman blame him?”

“Oh no, never. Batman blames himself too.” A bitter chuckle. “The Bats are all good at that particular skill. Blaming themselves.”

“…Would Robin blame either of them?”

“I didn’t know the boy well, but I don’t think so. He loved them too much to blame or accuse them much of anything.” Clark explained. Another long sigh. “You were supposed to meet him, you know.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. When your mother and I thought you were ready to meet folks in the hero community.” Clark mumbled. “I’d…hoped you two would have become friends.”

Jon didn’t know what to say to that. Me too? That’s cool? Sucks he died first?

So in the end, he said nothing. Just kept staring out the window.

Jon had always been bullied. He was used to that. Goody two-shoes, dweeb, loser, brown-noser. He’d heard it all, it never much bothered him.

It did make him lonely, though.

Because, yeah he had friends. But his friends didn’t – and couldn’t, he didn’t blame them – always come to his aide. Normally, he had to deal with these on his own, and afterwards, his friends would hide in shame.

Not to mention, no one else knew what it was like, having Superman as their dad.

This wouldn’t happen if I was friends with Robin the Boy Wonder, he found himself thinking after a while, bitterly. Robin wouldn’t take any of this sitting down. Robin would know what it’s like, having a superhero as a dad.

That bitterness turned to downright anger after a while. Because it wasn’t fair. Jon didn’t have many friends. And one of his potential future ones got killed before they could meet. What’d Jon do to the universe to make it do that to him?

One day, after a particularly bad bout with the bullies, he returned home and glanced at the fridge. There were family pictures there, of various life events. One in particular, though, showed his parents with Bruce Wayne. All in fancy suits and smiling for a pose. Around them were Bruce’s children. His older sons on the edges, his daughter and youngest son in the front, cocooned by the three adults. He was smirking, hands in his pockets.

Damian, his name was.

“I hate you.” Jon decided, poking harshly at Damian’s face. He thought of Nightwing, sobbing at the uniform case, and poked Damian’s face again. “This is all your fault.”

Damian just kept smirking, even as Jon stomped out of the room.

His powers started to develop. Lois went back to working full time at the Planet. Superman was needed more and more every day.

Jon felt more alone than ever.

It was a call in the middle of the night. And with his super-hearing coming in at random times, the phone’s ringer was a surprise fire alarm inside his head, even though – he realized after near jumping out of his skin – it was in his parents’ room.

His hearing dropped out, but he could still hear his father’s voice. The creaking of his bed. His mother’s questioning voice, his father answering.

Suddenly, the whoosh of Superman flying from the house, just as Jon got to the hallway.

“Mom?” He could see her still lying in her bed, looking after where he husband had just disappeared from. She glanced at him. “What’s going on?”

“Call from Batman.” She said gently, then smiled a little bit. “There’s been an…update.”

“Update?” Jon asked. “On what?”

“Robin.” Her smile grew, like it did when she was proud of Jon. A ‘mom thing,’ Clark called it. “…He’s…he’s back.”

Jon didn’t say anything. Just slowly turned back into his room, ignoring the excitement swirling in his gut.

When they got to the Batcave, Jon almost went in search himself, like he was Krypto on the hunt. Clark must have known that, because as soon as they settled on the platform, he put a strong hand on Jon’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Bruce?”

Batman was where he always seemed to be, at that computer. He perked at Clark’s voice, but didn’t turn.

And that was all the attention Jon gave him. Instantly let his gaze wander around the Batcave, bypassing the tools and technology. Looking for another sign of life.

There.

He was on what appeared to be practice mats, in training gear. Lanky, but bright-eyed, and clearly breathing. Clearly alive. He wasn’t practicing or training, though. Rather, he was playing with a cat. Dancing around with a ribbon toy, laughing as the cat jumped and twisted between his legs.

A dog and a cow were relaxing in a corner nearby.

He let the cat catch the toy, and plopped down on the mat beside it. The cat curled into his side, kicking at the string. Damian kept smiling, but closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh.

And Jon couldn’t contain himself.

He slipped out from underneath Clark’s hand, and went slowly walking towards the practice area. Damian didn’t stir, but Jon had a feeling he heard him anyway. After all, the cat and dog sure did. Their ears perked and they looked straight at him.

Still, he stopped when he reached the edge of the mat. Watched for a moment, then softly called: “Hello.”

Damian slowly opened his eyes and glanced over, face blank. The cat rolled onto its back, rubbing its nose at Damian’s chin.

“Hello.” Damian said coolly. “And you are?”

“Jon.” He offered. “Jon Ke-”

“Superman’s son.” Damian cut off, eyes glittering in interest. “Superboy.”

“Ha, not quite.” Jon laughed. “But you’re Robin.”

“When my father will allow me to be again.” Damian huffed, rolling to his side and sitting up. The cat meowed in loss. “Or perhaps a little sooner, if I so choose to.”

“Well.” Jon hummed, watching Damian stand, stretch, and then start towards him. Hesitantly, though, like he didn’t trust his visitor. But still trying to keep that cool façade. “I could ask my dad if you could patrol with him. I’ve been begging for him to take me out for ages.”

“Me, with the Supers?” Damian raised an eyebrow at him, eyes glancing down his body before frowning. Jon was taller than him, and he could see it bothered the older Bat. “My mother would be appalled.”

The mother who killed him, was the only thing Jon could think. And that made him angry, and selfishly so. Not so much because a mother killed her son, or that someone killed a child. But the woman killed his friend, before he could even be so.

Damian’s eyes suddenly shot past him. “…You’re not supposed to be over here talking to me.”

Jon glanced back. Both their fathers were watching them. Clark looking disappointed, and Bruce straight up glaring at him. Protective, Jon figured. He didn’t want anyone near his newly resurrected and returned son. No threats, no unknowns. Jon got that. He could respect that.

…To a point.

“I know.” Jon sighed, looking back. “I just…needed to.”

Damian looked back at him, eyebrow still quirked. “Needed to?”

“…Yeah.” Jon murmured embarrassingly. “…My dad said we were supposed to be meet. You know, before you died. He hoped we’d have been friends. I guess I kind of did too.”

“Did he?” Damian asked quietly. Thoughtful, more than surprised. “Interesting. I was…unaware of that.”

“Me too, until it was too late.” Jon pursed his lips. “I hate when they do that. Keep secrets and stuff?”

“I do as well.” Damian nodded with a smirk. The same smirk as that photo on Jon’s fridge. “Never pegged Superman to be that kind of man, though. I thought that was more of a thing my father did.”

“Well, they do hang out all the time. Maybe they rubbed off on each other.” Jon shrugged. “…Think we could hang out, like they do?”

“I don’t hang out.” Damian sniffed haughtily. “…But I wouldn’t be against patrolling with you and your father some time, if your offer was genuine.”

“Sure.” Jon grinned. “I’ll ask my mom.”

“Your mom.” Damian snorted, glancing back to where his cat was still on the mat. “…You own a farm, correct?”

“Yup.” Jon nodded. “My dad does most of the work, though.”

Damian hummed. “…Would you like to meet my cow, then? I rescued her from a slaughterhouse. Her name is Batcow, and she’s a better crime fighter than two of my brothers combined.” He glanced away awkwardly, looking almost sheepish for the first time since Jon’s ever known of his existence. “I mean, if you are supposed to meet me, then it’d only be correct for you to meet all of my associates as well.”

He turned away before Jon could answer, walking royally across the cave, but Jon didn’t care. Failed in hiding his sudden smile as he trailed after Damian.

“Unless you’d like to remain here by yourself and be bored to tears by our fathers, of course.”

After his friend.

“Nah, I’ll.” Jon jumped up even to him, and he caught another one of Damian’s smirks out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll stick with you, if that’s okay.”

(Even if Damian refused to admit that title for a few more years.)

#jon kent #Damian Wayne #clark kent #Lois Lane

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