Archive of Our Own

The wind blew the roof of the Daily Planet, carrying with it the dry leaves and the distant murmur of the city. In the midst of that eerie stillness, a figure descended from the sky gently. Jonathan landed gracefully, his boots touching the concrete with a dull sound. On the edge of the roof, Damian, aka Robin, was already there, his arms crossed and his gaze fixed, as if he'd been waiting for him the whole time

—Long time no see, D— Jon said, with a nostalgic smile, as he straightened up after landing

The answer did not come immediately. Damian remained motionless, his expression serious, his eyes scrutinizing every detail of Jon with intensity. The red cloak fluttered behind him, though the fragility of the eleven-year-old was no longer visible in his posture. His suit, tighter, adapted perfectly to his more muscular body. The change was evident

To the others, Jonathan had only been away for a few weeks, but he knew the truth. For Jon, it had been years. Years lost in a distant world, where he had no idea if he would ever see his family, his friends again

Jon felt the weight of silence, that space that was not filled with words, but with years not shared

—I know,— he murmured finally, his voice ripped by contained pain.

Damian didn't look away, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a bit

—And too quickly,— he replied in a tone that didn't need softness

Jon looked down at the ground, his tone changing slightly, as if words cost him more than he would like to admit

—For you it was only weeks,— he said with a sigh, —but for me it was years. Years trapped in a volcano, prisoner of Ultraman. Not knowing if I'd ever come back

Damian didn't move, but his face showed a slight shadow of understanding, a slight nod that showed he understood the burden in those words. However, the truth remained the same

—I know,— he replied, his tone was colder, more distant, for those who did not know him, but it was a wounded tone.

Jon frowned, confused by the harshness of his friend's words, —What do you mean by that?—

Damian looked at him again, his gaze intense as always, but for Damian, he saw a reflection of his friend, with whom he was his friend

—That you left when you were a child and...— you came back like a stranger — The phrase hung in the air between them, like a wound that didn't quite heal

Silence filled the space. Jon clenched his fists, looking at the horizon with a mixture of frustration and pain. He knew what he meant. He knew that, although time had not passed for him in the same way, something had changed between them. The gap between his world and Damian's now seemed unbridgeable

—It's not like I wanted it that way,— Jon finally said, in a whisper full of contained emotion. —It's not like I chose to disappear

Damian, his face hardened by the internal battle he was waging. I knew Jon hadn't chosen any of that, but that didn't eliminate the distance I now felt. The boy she had met was no longer there, and although Jon was still her friend, something had been lost. Something they might never be able to recover

There was a long pause, a heavy silence that seemed to weigh on both of them. Finally, Damian lowered his gaze, his words coming out low but sincere

—I'm glad you're back

Jon looked up, surprised by the sincerity in those words. Damian had never been one to show emotions easily, and even less so... Honest

—Thank you,— Jon replied, his voice soft but genuine

Damian nodded, saying no more. Without an additional word, he turned and jumped to the edge of the rooftop, quickly disappearing into the next building.

Jon watched him walk away, the emptiness between them more palpable than ever. Although somewhere in his heart he knew that their friendship was still strong, something had changed. He was no longer the boy Damian used to fight with, laugh with, and save the world, not anymore, and that, even if Jon understood it, didn't make it any less painful

The wind was blowing hard, and he stood there, alone, watching his city run its course

<1

When Robin returned to the Batcave that night, the sound of his boots echoed, but something about his attitude was different. He was not in a hurry, nor worried. It just seemed... distant. Alfred greeted him as always, with a calmness that seemed unshakable

—I'll be back early, Master Damian,— Alfred said, his eyes shining with a slight curiosity as he watched the youngest member of the family

Damian barely looked up, already in his civilian clothes, nodded briefly and continued walking towards his room without saying a word. Alfred, always so perceptive, noticed that something was not right, but decided not to push. Not that time. Instead, he picked up the communicator and, in a calm voice, informed the other family members

—Robin has returned to the cave,— he said, with the same serenity as always

A few moments of silence passed. Alfred watched as Damian vanished into the darkness of the hallway. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he decided to ask

—Do you want to work on the computer, Master Damian?—

The answer was a simple cutting —No,— as if the question didn't make sense

<2

Damian entered his room without turning on the light. Darkness enveloped him, and he stood there, motionless, breathing slowly as his gaze swept over the shadows of the place, but that night, the silence weighed on him in a special way

After a few seconds of quietness, he walked over to the closet, opening it carefully. Without making a sound, he pushed aside some boxes, and with calculated movements, lifted one of the floorboards. There, hidden under the wood, was the black briefcase. He slowly took it out, placed it on the bed and opened it

Inside, with all the care in the world, rested a small red blanket, folded with precision. But it wasn't the blanket that interested him. With a sigh, he pushed the cloth aside and saw it. The red cape, with the symbol of the El

Superboy's cape

Jonathan Kent's cloak, when he was just eleven

>>>The cloak I gave him just three weeks ago...

He held her in his hands, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed his mask of coldness to break. That cloak was more than just a piece of cloth, it was a symbol, not of the El family, but of Jon and him. A memory, a piece of the time when Jon was still just a child, one with whom he had shared fights, laughter and moments of heroism

She pressed the cloak to her chest, feeling the softness of the fabric, as if holding it she could cling to a moment from the past that she could no longer regain. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the memories envelop him, transporting him to that night

That night before Jon left

It was a night like any other at Wayne Tower. Gotham City shone in the distance, in its tense calm, and Robin stood there in front of the balcony, watching the horizon. In his thoughts, there was no room for chaos. He was quiet, waiting for the unexpected

Suddenly, a soft sound cut through the stillness of the night. Without turning around, Damian already knew what was about to happen

—Stop fooling around, Superboy,— he said, calmly, without even turning to look

Jon landed on the balcony with a playful smile, as always. His red cloak fluttered for a second, and his face, full of enthusiasm, showed the familiar spark of someone who was always looking for something more

—Someday, Dami, someday I'll be able to surprise you,— Jon said, crossing his arms and casting a defiant look

Damian snorted, without turning

—I doubt it,— he replied, knowing full well that Jon was waiting for him to give a reaction, —and you remember using the nicknames

Jon, undeterred, let out an exaggerated sigh and dropped to the ground with a funny movement. He stood there for a moment, staring at Damian

—How did you know I was here?— he asked, in a tone of feigned surprise.

—I heard you,— Damian replied, without giving it any further importance. Like it's the simplest thing in the world

Jon frowned, —Do you have powers now?— he asked, looking at his friend with a raised eyebrow

Damian sighed deeply, finally turning to look at him, and leaned against the balcony railing with his arms crossed

—What are you doing here?— He asked just as calmly, though there was a gleam of curiosity in his eyes

Jon looked down, fiddling with his fingers, as if nervous. Damian's posture barely hardened, noticing something about Jon's behavior that was unusual.

—Is it because of the Titans?— Damian asked, as if he already knew

Jon shook his head quickly, and his expression changed to something more serious, more vulnerable

—No, that doesn't matter anymore. After all, you and I are better than all of them combined,— Jon said, with a confident smile

Damian couldn't help but smile slightly at that statement. Jon always trusted him so much. Even if he denied it himself, that connection was still something important, something that could not be broken so easily

—So what's going on?— He asked, still in an inquisitive tone

Jon took a long breath and, with a sigh, looked his friend in the eye, as if he were searching for the right words

—I came to say goodbye,— he said, his voice soft

Damian turned around completely, now looking at Jon with a mixture of confusion and surprise

—What are you talking about?— He asked, unable to understand what he meant

Jon swallowed hard and looked down, his eyes slightly glazed over. —My grandfather came...— and offered me a trip through space,— he explained, as if the idea still seemed surreal to him.

Damian narrowed his eyes, trying to process what he had just heard. — he asked, unable to avoid doubt

Jon shrugged, —I don't know the details, but he's alive and wants to take me with him,— he replied, with an air of uncertainty

Damian watched him silently, analyzing every word, before nodding slowly, as if the idea of Jon traveling so far was the only logical thing at that moment

—I hope it goes well for you and that you come back in one piece,— he said finally, with no trace of mockery or contempt in his voice. Alone... A strange calm

Jon smiled with relief, as if those words reassured him. But then, he remembered something, and impulsively, he removed the cloak from his suit and offered it to Damian

—I want you to have it while I'm gone,— he said, in a more serious tone

Damian raised an eyebrow, taking the cloak with his fingers, as if it were a foreign object. —Why would I want your baby blanket?— He asked, a little amused but also bewildered

Jon puffed out his cheeks, offended, —It's not a baby blanket!— It's my cape! he exclaimed, folding his arms

Damian cocked his head, looking at it as if it were a museum piece. —It feels like a blanket,— he said mockingly

Jon looked away, his brow furrowed

—It's not,— he replied, though his voice trembled a little. Then he added, in a softer tone, —Just... I want you to have it, just in case. In case it breaks or something

Damian stared at her, why him? Why did he give her something so personal?

Jon smiled with unwavering confidence — Because I trust you

Damian looked down at the cloak, looked at it for a moment, and then took it more firmly. A faint —Hmph— escaped from his mouth, but something in his expression changed

Jon laughed — Thank you, Dami

Damian clicked his tongue with an almost imperceptible smile. —Remember the names,— he said, as if it were a reprimand, although his tone said it all

Jon laughed, covering his mouth — Always so dramatic

Suddenly, he rose gently from the ground, preparing to leave. He looked at the clock and then turned to the starry sky

—Well, I must go now. It will only be a couple of weeks, you won't notice my absence

Damian snorted, raising an eyebrow — Sure

Jon gave her one last smile, sincere and full of promises to leave as soon as I return —See you soon

He rose into the air, getting lost in the darkness of Gotham's night sky. Damian stood there, watching his friend move farther and farther away, until he could no longer see him

The wind blew, and all was silent

Damian looked at the cloak in his hands, and whispered, so quietly only he could hear it.

But Jon was already too far away to hear it

And he did not return

Not that Jon

Su Jon didn't come back

He even forgot his cloak

And when he looked at the cloak in his hands, he knew that he might not go back to get it. He squeezed the cloth of the cloak between his hands with an almost painful force. It didn't matter how many times Jon had told her that it was a cape, that it was part of his uniform, that he wore it with pride. For Damian, that fabric had always been something more. It was a piece of history, of memories that now only tormented him

He remembered that mission as if it were yesterday, even though years had passed. He and Jon, still children, trying to fill their parents' shoes. The Justice League had fallen victim to a mind-controlling alien invasion and the two of them, the only ones who managed to avoid the aliens, were the only ones who could do anything. Jon, still not fully understanding the magnitude of his powers, and Damian, who although trained, was still just a child surrounded by fallen gods

—What are we going to do?— Jon asked, looking around the Fortress of Solitude with a mixture of nervousness and determination. The ship they were in was ridiculously cramped for two children on a desperate mission

—I don't know,— Damian replied dryly, trying to concentrate on the ship's controls. The sound of the keys and buttons was the only thing keeping him centered

Suddenly, Jon found something as he tried to move between the cramped seats

—Did you know that my dad was involved in this?— Jon said, lifting a red blanket with a strange expression. The fabric, despite being clearly worn, was impeccable in its shape, as if it still retained the essence of baby Kal-El

Damian gave her a quick look, without straying from the controls. —And you still want to go using scraps of that as a cape?— — he replied with a mixture of disbelief and disdain

Jon puffed out his cheeks, indignant. —It's not a blanket,— he muttered, but his words weren't convincing. For a second, in his eyes, he seemed to see something else

Damian rolled his eyes, refocusing on the mission, not giving much importance to the object. To him, that was just a blanket

But Jon kept calling her cape and somehow, in doing that, he was holding on to something that would never go away. A piece of his childhood that would stay with him

<3

Years for Jon but only weeks for Damian, Jon took up his father's mantle. He became Superman and Damian watched from a distance as everything changed. Not only on Earth, but also among themselves

I didn't have time to see Damian, I didn't have time for anything except to be Superman

And it was fine, Jon understood he

had responsibilities now, but that didn't stop the pain from settling in his chest every time he saw his friend walk away

They had talked so many times about following the same path. Jon as Superman Damian as Batman The two of them, together, fighting alongside the Justice League. That had been the plan, they had always said it, Jon had always said it

But now, that idea no longer existed, it had vanished like the wind

<4

The last time they spoke, it was for a different reason

Jon wanted to introduce him to someone

—This is Jay, my...— he hesitated for a second, searching for the words.

Damian smiled politely, though something twisted inside him, not surprised, not really. Jon was a man now, with his life, his decisions. But still, he couldn't help but feel out of place

Jay, however, seemed to notice something. When their eyes met for a moment, Damian could see that he understood. He didn't say anything, of course. It was not his place. But he realized that this boy, with just a glance, had captured what Jon didn't see

After a while of small talk, Damian got up

—I must go back to the mansion,— he said, without preamble. I was tired of forced smiles and empty words

Jon blinked, surprised by the suddenness. He asked, scratching the back of his neck with an awkward smile

Damian looked at him silently, saying nothing more. Jon, understanding that there was nothing to add, waved his hand

—Well, it's all right. It was good to see you, D,— he said, though he wasn't sure if he meant it out of politeness or habit

Damian nodded barely noticeably, and without taking a step back, he turned towards the exit. Jay offered him a slight smile, but he didn't return it

With a firm step, Damian left the room and walked down the hallway until he was far enough away. Then, when no one could see him anymore, he allowed his expression to change. He looked at the ground, clenched his fists tightly and despite everything that had happened, the words reached his heart with an unbearable weight

—You lost it,— he muttered to himself

He forced himself to keep walking, not to look back. I knew there was more to it than just losing a friendship. He had lost a part of himself. Something I could never get back

<5

The years passed

Damian was 19. Jon, 22 and although they still greeted each other cordially, although the echo of their former closeness sometimes manifested itself in an occasional conversation or in an automatic gesture, the truth was different, they were no longer the same. Neither as individuals, nor as a duo

Now they saw each other only out of obligation. Shared missions, League affairs, high-level crises that required collaboration, but not intimacy. The meaningless talks, the inside jokes, the camaraderie that once brought them together... All that was behind us

When Jon visited Wayne Manor, it wasn't to see him. I was going for Dick, the eternal connector, the one who always knew what to say to relieve tensions, the one who always smiled at the right time. They had become close, too close, perhaps, to the point where Jon preferred to train with him, talk to him, even laugh with him

And so, the distance between them grew even more. The memories faded, and Damian was left with Jon's cape, still saved, still with the promise of a time that would never return

There was only emptiness and sometimes the foolish hope that things might have been different

Damian clenched his fists as he stared at the red cloak, now barely a forgotten object in the shadows, hidden in the corner of his closet. It was a stupid act. The last time Jon had been in the mansion, he had tried to walk away, avoiding seeing him, avoiding what that presence made him feel. But she couldn't shake the pull she felt knowing Jon was nearby

Dick had done his best to integrate him, to make sure he understood that Jon still saw him as his best friend. Despite everything, that Jon was now closer to Dick than to him, that their relationship had changed so much, he insisted on being the bridge

. —Don't worry, you'll always be the most important to Jon,— he had told her on several occasions

But those words only fueled his inner anger. Damian didn't need anyone to comfort him. He didn't need that forced compassion, those lies that everyone told to calm him down

And then, as if fate had a cruel sense of humor, Tim arrived. With his sardonic smile and sharp tongue

—The Scout boy came to see you!— he announced, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe

Damian couldn't stop his heart from skipping a little bit, though he forced himself to keep his face impassive

—I don't mind,— he replied immediately, but Tim knew how to get on his nerves

—Of course you do!— Tim let out a mischievous laugh. —Come on, go see him!—

Damian gritted his teeth, hesitating only for a second. For the first time in a long time, he went up to the room, hoping to have a moment of friendship. The door was ajar and there was Jon, sitting, smiling as he talked to Dick

He stood in the doorway, watching, without making a sound. They didn't notice it. When they finished the conversation, Jon got up, still laughing, and followed Dick into another room, not looking back, not even sensing his presence... something in Damian broke

He didn't say anything, he just turned and went down the way he had come, his shoulders stiff and his teeth clenched

In his mind, Tim's words resonated, but he couldn't process them, his mind flooded with confusion and anger

He went back into the hallway and without warning, he went straight to Tim, who was looking at him blankly. He punched him in the face, with all the strength he had

—But what the hell is wrong with you?!— Tim exclaimed, putting his hand to his cheek, a little surprised

Damian was furious, but he didn't know how to externalize it, how to express what he felt.

—Don't do that again,— he growled, and Tim, though confused, followed him as he left the room

—What did I do?!— —Tim didn't understand. For him, he had done nothing wrong

Damian did not respond, walking at a steady pace, without braking

—Hey, at least tell me why you hit me!— — he insisted, quickening his pace, looking for answers

Damian let out a snort and turned suddenly, casting a cold glance at Tim. —You deserved it,— he said, emotionlessly, as if the matter wasn't worth discussing

Tim frowned and then something clicked at him. He saw Jon leave Dick's room, and the connection was immediate

That's when it all made sense—Dick...? He muttered to himself, almost in a whisper

Dick, from across the hall, folded his arms with an inquisitive look, —Is someone going to tell me what's going on?— — he asked in a serious, if slightly amused tone

Tim sighed and lowered his head, acknowledging that the situation was not what he expected. —It was my fault,— he replied, no longer wanting to defend himself

Dick raised an eyebrow, surprised by the action. —Wow, that's weird,— he said, with a half-smile

Damian, not paying attention to the two of them, snorted and began to walk towards the hallway. I didn't want to hear any more. I didn't want to hear the discomfort in his voice, nor the weight of truth

Tim looked at him for a moment, but didn't say anything. I was beginning to understand what was going through Damian's mind

Jon, for his part, looked at Dick, with a confused expression, —Are they always like this?— — he asked, not knowing what to do

Dick smiled calmly, knowing well that this question was asked with affection, but also with a touch of uneasiness.

—Always,— he replied, with a laugh, while patting him on the back. —Don't worry, it will go away

Jon nodded slowly at Dick's words, though something in his eyes still denoted doubt. He smiled politely, but not entirely convinced. The discomfort was still present

—Believe me,— Dick said with that calmness he always seemed to have, —things between Damian and Tim have gotten a lot better over the years

Jon let out a brief, sincere laugh, but no joy. He nodded again, and although on the outside he seemed to accept what he said, inside he still felt that something did not add up. As if I saw things from the wrong end

Meanwhile, Tim was chasing Damian, his walk faster than usual, his voice more serious than usual

—Hey, Damian,— she called him, —I'm sorry, I really thought Jon had come to see you

Damian did not answer. He didn't even turn his head, he didn't want explanations, he didn't want apologies. He just wanted to escape the weight that had settled back on his chest

He quickened his pace, his shoulders tense, until he reached his room. He slammed the door shut, as if he could isolate himself from everything he didn't want to face

From the other side, Tim sighed

—I know you don't want to talk, but if you did—— everything would be easier,— he said, leaning against the door, his voice no longer having the usual irony

Inside, Damian stood still for a moment, his eyes fixed on the closet. There, as for the last six years, the red cape was kept. He had touched it so many times, without even realizing it, that it was almost part of him

Another knock, this time softer, rang out at the door. —Am I going to have to stay here all night?—

Damian closed his eyes, annoyed, but before he could say anything, he heard the click of the doorknob

The door opened, and Tim walked in

—Who told you you could come in?— Damian snapped, glaring at him. His voice was low, but cutting

—Nobody,— Tim replied calmly, raising his hands. —But if you really don't want to talk, I'm leaving.— Alone... I don't want to leave things like this

His brother pursed his lips, trying to control what he felt. —It doesn't matter,— he replied in a low, almost choked tone

However, Tim didn't seem willing to give up. —Of course it matters, you care,— he insisted calmly

Damian did not answer. He just folded his arms, as if he could keep everything else locked up. Tim, without waiting any longer, sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the space next to him

—Don't worry, the mansion is covered with lead,— he said, with a tired smile.

Damian snorted through his nose, almost a dry laugh, but he didn't move somehow, he had managed to make him stay

Tim, giving him space, continued, —You know... I think we should have talked about this when it happened the first time. When Jon came back

Silence

—There was nothing to say,— Damian murmured, barely audible

Tim looked at him calmly, unhurriedly. I knew that behind that façade of indifference, there was something else—how did you feel when you saw it? He asked at last, softly. —When he stood in front of you and he was no longer the same

Damian turned his face slightly, his jaw tense

—How did you feel,— Tim continued, —when you realized that he went on with his life, and you—— Weren't you in it?

The words fell like a stone in the center of the room. There was no response. But Damian clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms, as if that could contain him

Tim lowered his voice even more

—It doesn't matter how much you deny it, Damian. You are still their friend, even if you are angry. Even if you don't recognize it

Damian swallowed, without saying anything. His face was still expressionless, but his eyes were fixed on an invisible point, lost in thoughts he did not want to name.

—No,— he said at last, dryly, —I'm not anymore

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. Not at all

Tim looked at him with a faint smile, sad, understanding, and although he didn't say it out loud, the truth was clear. Damian was still the same boy who had shared laughs and secrets with Jon, the same boy who couldn't let go of what no longer existed

—You know what you're saying,— he replied, —but you don't seem to have let it go

Silence settled again between them. Damian did not reply, nor did he turn, nor did he make the slightest gesture to close the conversation. He just stood there, his arms crossed, his eyes in the closet

Tim understood that he wasn't going to get any more, at least not now. He got up without making a sound and went to the door. He had done what he could

But then, just before leaving, she heard her brother's voice, low, contained, as if she were talking to someone who was no longer there

—It's different,— he murmured, as if those words had to come out with difficulty

Tim stopped in his tracks, and looked back at him. Damian kept looking straight ahead, not making eye contact, as if he was talking to himself

—It wasn't that he just walked away,— he said, almost in a whisper. —It was as if... He would have left, but stayed. Like someone else is occupying it

Tim frowned. What do you mean?

Damian shook his head, barely

—It doesn't matter,— he said, but his voice trembled, for the first time in a long time

Tim was still there. Standing, in silence. He didn't try to fill the space with words. I just waited. He left time to Damian

The younger looked down, he was fighting an internal battle, one of those that you don't see from the outside. One that is not won with training, or with strategies

—The dreams of the young Jon... they're still in my head,— he murmured, almost in a sigh. His voice was blunt this time. Just the weight of something I'd been holding for too long— And I can't get them off

Tim didn't say anything. He just listened to it, with the respect of someone who knows that pain needs space

—I can't forget how he talked about the future,— Damian continued, his eyes fixed on the floor, —about how we were going to be Superman and Batman together. As if destiny were written... and belonged to us

He paused for a moment. He clenched his fists tighter, as if he could crush the memories that hurt him as easily as he would break a board

—And now—— I'm not even a part of his life

The confession fell with a brutal weight

—He was my first friend,— he added in a low voice, —the only one I had

The silence became thick, it was not uncomfortable. Tim didn't try to soften it, or rush what Damian was saying, he just was present sometimes that was the only thing you could do

After a few seconds, she slowly crossed the room and hugged him. It was not impulsive or theatrical. It was necessary

Damian tensed up instantly. By reflex, by pride, by habit. But then, little by little, that rigidity unraveled. Not easily, but sincerely. He responded to the embrace, not with force, but with a fragile humanity that he rarely showed

For an instant, he was not the heir to a dynasty of shadows, nor the soldier trained from the cradle. He was just a boy who missed his best friend

When they separated, they didn't say anything, it wasn't necessary, Tim offered her a slight smile, one of those that don't ask for anything in return. Damian returned a look that, although not entirely warm, was no longer as cold as before

It seemed like a moment of truce. But as it often did in their lives, the calm never lasted

Then, a slight buzz broke the moment

They both looked down at their wrists. Their communicators vibrated in unison, projecting a beam of blue light that turned red almost immediately

The Justice League symbol unfolded over the holographic projection, flashing with urgency

Damian frowned. It was a high-level call, not a routine meeting

—That's not common,— Tim murmured, watching the sign

Damian was already analyzing the details. It recognized the passcode. They weren't calling them out as individuals. They were calling Robin and Superman

—I'm going with you,— Tim said, breaking the moment of analysis

—I don't need you to follow me,— Damian snapped immediately, automatically, as always

—I'm not following you. I'm going because I want to. Point

Damian gave him a quick look, but he didn't answer. They already knew each other well enough not to waste time arguing

They left the room at a steady pace, descending the halls of the Wayne mansion. Upon reaching the hidden access to the Batcave, Damian placed his fingerprint and eye scan. The gate opened without delay

The cave was illuminated. The main screens were already activated, and in front of them, Dick was checking the registers with his arms crossed. Beside him, Jon was already wearing his Superman suit, his expression serious, but somewhat restless

—They're late,— Dick said without looking at them, in a light tone, though he knew they weren't

—We weren't far away,— Damian replied coldly

Jon didn't say a word.

He stood, silent, his jaw clenched, his gaze searching for something in Damian. Maybe a sign, a gesture, a word.

But he did not find it.

Damian just walked past him without even looking at him. His black cloak swayed slightly with each firm step until he disappeared down a side corridor. Not a word. Not a single expression. Only distance.

Tim, who had stayed behind, folded his arms and looked at Dick decisively

—I'm going with you,— he announced with a firmness that would not accept a reply

Dick let out a sigh, already anticipating the argument

—Tim...

—Don't argue,— Tim stared at him. —I'm not going to stay

From the back of the room, Damian's voice was heard with the edge of sarcasm

—If he dies, it'll be your fault, Richard

Dick closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. There was no point in arguing with either of them

Within minutes, all four were ready, three bats and a Superman. The glow of the protractor enveloped them in a white beam, distorting the shapes, and in the blink of an eye, they disappeared from the Wayne mansion

<6

When they arrived at the Justice League's orbital headquarters, the atmosphere was a punch straight to the stomach

There were no greetings

There were no explanations

Just looks

All the assembled members, Green Lantern, Hawkwoman, Flash, Martian Manhunter, watched them with an almost palpable tension, but not with a welcome... but with an uncomfortable expectation

But the most disturbing thing was who those glances were directed at.

Not Tim, not Dick

To Damian

And Jon

Damian frowned, instantly suspicious

Jon, for his part, stopped just a step behind, looking around with growing bewilderment

A few feet away, standing by the center table, were Batman with his arms crossed, and as a civilian Clark, with a grim face, but they were not alone

Lois Lane

Damian cocked his head, confused. She had participated in League missions before, and I had never seen her there

—What is Mrs. Lane doing here?— He asked in the dry, suspicious tone he used when he sensed that something was being hidden from him

No one answered

Then, finally, Batman spoke, his voice echoing with unwavering authority.

—Robin, Superman.— Sit down

The automatic gesture that this order provoked made Damian grit his teeth. He hated the way he sounded, he hated that tone that pushed him to be a symbol, not a human being

Jon swallowed. He took a step forward

—Dad... what's going on?— He asked, his voice more fragile than usual, looking at Clark with contained anxiety

Clark didn't respond right away, he looked at Bruce, looking for some kind of silent approval. Lois stood by his side, restless, trying to stay calm, but her fingers nervously clutched a notebook she hadn't opened yet

Finally, Bruce took the floor

—A few hours ago, we received an unregistered entry signal into the atmosphere

Damian narrowed his eyes, trying to read beyond the words, —And what does that have to do with us?—

Bruce ignored him. —A ship crashed, not a hostile ship, it wasn't a threat. Inside, there was only one person

Jon cocked his head, more confused than ever. Do you need us for that? He asked, doubt growing in his voice

Clark took a deep breath. His chest expanded, as if what he was about to say weighed down on him physically

He looked at his son

And he let it go

—Because the person who was inside that ship...

Damian already sensed it. The tone, the looks, the presence of Lois. Everything fell into place in an eerie way

Clark finished the sentence —... It was you

The silence that followed was overwhelming

Damian slowly turned his head, looking at him for the first time since they had left the mansion. There was something cold in his eyes. Not hostility. I don't despise. Something more complex. Something contained.

And then, the automatic door behind them opened with a mechanical whisper.

Everyone turned around at the same time

And there it was

He.

A seventeen-year-old boy, disheveled, but whole. Simple civilian clothes, worn jeans, a faded blue T-shirt, a red jacket over his shoulders. Dark curls slightly longer, falling over the forehead

It was him

But no

It was Jonathan Kent... but not the one who was next to them

He was younger, thinner, without the upright bearing of the adult Superman. Without the maturity imposed by force

It was the Jon who had been lost six years ago

The real Jon

Damian took a step back without realizing it

Tim let out a slight —it can't be— under his breath

Jon, the twenty-two-year-old, turned slowly, as if the ground was beginning to crack beneath his feet. He looked at that boy standing in the doorway with an expression of complete bewilderment.

—What...?— She whispered, her lips parted

(From this moment, to differentiate them, the one who is twenty-two years old will be Jonathan and the seventeenth will be Jon)

Jonathan watched silently at the boy in front of him

He could barely move

The same disheveled hair, the same height then, the same light freckles on the nose. But his eyes...

His eyes were not the same

Jon looked at him coldly that he didn't belong to someone his age. There was something withered about his face, about his posture, about how he kept his shoulders tense, as if just being there was punishment

Damian, next to him, noticed the slight tremor in Jon's hands, perhaps also in Jonathan's, he did not know for sure. What he did know was that there was an electrical strain in the room, as if something was about to break

And then Jon spoke

His voice was soft, but loaded with venom. A dry laugh followed, humorlessly— So they didn't even look for me

The impact was immediate

Jonathan blinked, bewildered. Something contracted inside him, an old, nameless guilt. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to say it

—What...?— he murmured, as if it were difficult for him to form a sentence

But Jon had already let his guard down, or rather, had transformed it into something sharp

—You had your life, didn't you?— He went on, his tone colder now, —Or should I say. My life

Damian closed his eyes for a second. Jon's voice, that tone, that contained rage... it was painfully familiar to him. Not because he knew him from Jon, but because he himself had spoken like that before, almost all the time, during his missions and something went wrong

Clark stepped forward, his face tense, —Jon, this is complicated...

Jon glared at him and at that moment, for the first time since he had arrived, the true weight of abandonment peeked out from behind his eyes

—Complicated?— He spat the word, as if burning, —I was missing for six years, six years. And now you come to me with that it's complicated?

Lois took a timid step toward him. No matter the multiverse, the timeline or the age, her instinct was a mother's

—Jon,— he whispered, tenderly, holding out his hand

But he turned away. As if his touch burns him

—Don't touch me!— He roared, and his eyes glowed a deep red for a second. A flash. Brief, but enough for Clark to take a step back, he warns

Silence fell like a stone

Damian watched him in silence. That was not a scene he wanted to be in, it overcame him, it suffocated him

He turned his eyes to his father

—Why am I here?— She asked in a low, exhausted voice, as if she were dragging a stone in her chest

Bruce looked at him with the same intensity as always

—This is a Super problem,— he said, with apparent calmness

—No, it's not,— Bruce replied, with a calmness that left no room for doubt

Jonathan still did not speak. He didn't know if he had the right to do so. What did this mean to him? Was he in the wrong universe? The wrong timeline?

Jon looked directly at him, as if those years of separation didn't exist. As if all the time he spent being someone different hadn't made a dent in him. It had changed, but in his eyes there was still the same spark that Damian remembered.

—Is that you...?— Damian asked Jon, his voice filled with broken disbelief. —Is that really you?—

Jon didn't answer, but his look said it all. It was there, but it wasn't. It was him, but there was something else in his eyes. Something that was strange to him, something that did not suit him

—Is what I'm seeing real?— Damian continued, one step closer, —Or is it some kind of illusion?

Jon didn't answer. The silence, dense and heavy, was his only confession

Damian scanned it with his eyes. As if he were looking for details, clues, any trace of the child he remembered. The boy who talked about building a fortress on the Moon. The one who told him that they would be Batman and Superman together. The one that kept tormenting him in his dreams

But he didn't find it

—You see... —Your eyes are tired, you're thinner, and—— your smile is gone...

Jon looked down. The memories of the Jon he knew mixed with the present. The Jon in front of him wasn't the same, but... Who was, after all?

It was Jonathan who stepped forward, as if he finally dared to intervene, but Clark stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and a simple shake of his head. No, not yet

The League understood

Without saying a word, one by one they began to leave the room. Flash was the last to leave, closing the door gently behind him

Only two remained

Face to face, in a silence that weighed more than any scream

And then, Damian spoke

—Is it really you...?— His voice trembled, broke for a second. —My Jon?

Jon closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, there was no longer any doubt about them

—No

Damian felt the ground loosen under his feet

Jon stepped up. His eyes were no longer hard, but they were filled with something deeper

—I'm no longer the partner you blindly trusted

Another step

—I'm not your friend anymore. The one you used to take care of... or protect

And another one

—I'm no longer the nice, clumsy kid you left behind

Every word was a blow, but not said with contempt. Jon's voice wasn't cruel, it was honest

—And I'm not the memory you kept with me all this time,— he added, in a whisper

Damian could barely breathe

Jon looked at him, with that desperate intensity of someone who needed to know something. Something that could break it or save it

—Tell me...— Jon's voice trembled, and he looked away at his hands. —Could you still accept me...— If you knew everything I've done? The things I can't change anymore...

He raised his head. His eyes were shining, but not out of anger this time. Not because of pain, it was something more intimate

—Could you see me as before...?—

A heavy silence fell between them. Damian didn't answer, he couldn't. His body wouldn't let him

But Jon kept talking, almost as if the words slipped from his chest before he could stop them

—I know you've been waiting

His voice was barely audible, loaded with everything he didn't say in those six years

—Waiting... for me

He raised his hand, reaching out to him. An invitation, a plea, a surrender

But Damian took a step back

Jon slowly lowered his hand. It was as if his whole being was empty, waiting for an answer that might never come

Damian watched him. He studied it. He had changed too. He was no longer the same child who defended him with sarcasm or empty threats. I no longer expected everything to be as before.

Jon had accepted him as he was, once. Despite its history, its darkness, its temperament. And now... Damian understood that, if there was a time to give him that back, it was this one.

But first, I needed to know the truth.

—Jon,— he whispered, his voice strained, restrained. —What sort of things did you do?—

The atmosphere became thick, charged with a different gravity. The question was more than a curiosity, it was a dividing line

Jon looked down. His fingers clenched into trembling fists. When he spoke, his voice sounded hollow, distant

—Red Sea Trails on Every Planet

A pause

—I used allies as pieces. I traded friendships for convenience, hurt more lives than I can count

Damian held his breath, but he didn't look away

Jon looked up. There was sincerity in them. Repentance too. But, above all, decision

—And yet...— It was all for one reason only, to return

The words fell like a heavy stone on Damian's chest. Everything Jon had done, everything he had suffered, had been to come back, to be back here

Jon smiled, but it wasn't a real smile

—So tell me,— he said, stepping forward, —Could you accept me...?—

He held out his hand. This time, Damian didn't move

—After all I was... And everything I can't undo anymore.

Damian felt his own chest tighten when he heard those words

—I'm not the kid you knew,— Jon added, quietly

The words echoed in the air. Like a mutual confession that neither dared to formulate completely.

—And I know you've been waiting,— he repeated, with more pain this time. Waiting for something from me.

Damian pursed his lips. One more second, and I couldn't resist it. But then, he took a deep breath and forced himself to move

Without a word, he sent a signal from his watch

A few seconds later, a soft hum filled the room. On the League's table appeared a simple box, with the bat logo in one corner

Jon cocked his head, confused

Damian didn't respond right away. He walked to the box, opened it, and touched something he held in his hands for a few seconds before putting it away

—If it's true... Can I ask you something?— Damian whispered

Jon nodded, still confused, not quite understanding what Damian was trying to do with this sudden request. His gaze went from his serious face to the box on the table. The air between them was still thick. Still, he stepped forward, willing to listen

—It's just a small job. That it would bring me some peace,— Damian said, not taking his eyes off him. Then, he pointed to the cardboard box

—Do you see that box...?— Could you open it? Use your strength, destroy what is inside

Jon frowned, surprised. There was something strange about Damian's tone, something deeper than a simple challenge. But he said nothing. He walked to the table with cautious steps, and rested his hands on the box

His fingers closed on the edges of the cardboard, and with a single movement, he opened it. The sound of cardboard tearing seemed to fill the room like thunder in the midst of absolute silence

And then, he saw it

His body immediately tensed up. His breathing became erratic, cut off, as if he had just received a direct blow to the chest. His hands trembled as he touched the cloth that rested inside

A red cape

Carefully folded, with worn edges, but preserved with dedication. The symbol of an era that no longer existed, or at least, that's what I thought

Jon pressed the cloth to his chest, as if in doing so he could hold on to a piece of his past. His eyes were cloudy, and his throat closed. I couldn't believe what I saw, what I felt

—How can you tell me that...?— He whispered, his voice broken by emotions he didn't know how to control. The pain, the confusion, the rage, it was all there

Damian did not answer. I just watched him, as if that moment was the answer Jon needed

—I took care of this cloak with my blood and sweat,— she continued, not taking her eyes off the garment. His voice trembled with each word, as if his soul escaped as he said them

His eyes rose to Damian, shining with a mixture of fury and sadness

—I found it during our first mission,— he said, his fingers closing tighter around the cloth. —It's a symbol of our eternal friendship... Do you realize what you're asking of me?—

And with a mute scream, full of helplessness, Jon threw the cloak to the ground, his anger overflowing, unable to contain him any longer

—Do you want to forget everything?!— Is that what you want?! He cried, his voice heavy with despair

The cloth fell gently covering his head, as if the past refused to disappear so easily, Jon lifted the cloth and saw that it was Damian who threw it at him

—Only my companion knew that,— he said then, his voice lower, heavy with recognition

Damian smiled

It wasn't an arrogant smile

It was something different. A smile of relief, of certainty. Because I had recognized him, because he was there. It was him, always had been, even if he had gotten lost along the way

Damian approached slowly, unhurriedly and with clenched fists, began to give him small blows to the chest, with no real strength. Just a contact, but full of feeling

—So it's you

Jon caught his hand firmly, not to stop him, not to reject him, but not to let him go

—Damian...— he whispered

Damian looked him straight ahead, with that expression he knew so well

And then he said it

—I would accept you again, with all that you are,— his eyes did not waver, and in his voice there was no room for doubt.

He moved closer, pointing at him with a firm, almost defiant finger

—It doesn't matter how, when or where. It doesn't matter how much time has passed

With suppressed rage, he took the fabric of Jon's shirt with one hand. His gesture was impulsive, driven by something that had been accumulated for too long. But then, he let go

—You're mine!— He shouted, tapping his finger against Jon's chest. —Don't tell me you're not the same person

He took another step, this time without hesitation. —You will always be my companion and I was waiting, waiting...

Jon instinctively backed away, but didn't look away.

—Waiting... Waiting...

—Dami...

—Waiting... waiting... waiting for you...

Damian's voice cracked at the end, and at that moment, Jon couldn't take it anymore.

Everything he had been holding onto, everything he had forced himself to bury in order to survive, overflowed. His body moved before he could think about it. He closed the distance between them suddenly, and hugged Damian with desperate strength, burying his face in his shoulder, as if he could disappear into it

The tears began to fall without resistance, they were not simple tears. It was all he had kept for years. Pain, guilt, nostalgia, fear, everything

He wanted to stay like this, he wanted to melt into that moment, he wanted to forget all the wars, all the decisions, all the losses. Because, for the first time in a long time, someone was watching it. Someone believed in him, Damian believed him

And in the midst of that embrace, with the cape at his feet, Jon felt himself returning. That he was leaving behind the darkness that had enveloped him, even if it was only a little. Because there, in the arms of his partner, he could start again

Damian didn't let go

He held it tightly. She hugged him as if she had no intention of letting him fall, as if with that act she could promise him that this time he would not leave. That this time, I wouldn't lose it

And in his mind, there was only one certainty left

The Jon I had known

The Jon who had lost

And now, the Jon who had returned

Jon, still trembling, muttered between sobs, barely able to articulate the words. His body shook slightly, not only from crying, but from the weight of everything he brought with him. He repeated Damian's name as if he were an anchor to reality

—Dami...— she whispered over and over again, her voice breaking, choked with tears. He asked for nothing with those syllables, and at the same time he asked for everything

Damian held it silently. I didn't understand every word Jon said, many of them melting into sobs and gasps, but I didn't need to understand them. Not now, what mattered was this

His body, still under all that accumulated pain, clung to his as if it feared it would disappear if he let go. Damian raised a hand carefully, with almost childlike awkwardness, and brought it to Jon's tousled hair. She caressed him slowly, feeling the boundary between comfort and respect, between tenderness and fear. It was a simple gesture, but sincere, and full of more affection than either of them would know how to express in words

And then, Jon's voice sounded again

—Horrible things,— he murmured, barely audible, —Things I've done...— things I saw... things that haunt me...

Damian felt a twinge pierce him. Not of fear, but of impotence. I could hear the pent-up despair, the poorly digested trauma, the open wounds Jon carried inside like invisible scars. He wanted to say something, but nothing would have been enough

Jon tightened his grip more, almost desperately. As if he wanted to make sure that Damian didn't disappear, that he didn't run away when he heard his confession

—I'm sorry,— he whispered, and the word fell like a pained prayer. His voice cracked even more. His fingers gripped his shoulder with trembling force. for making you wait so long...

Damian held his breath. For a second, he stood completely still. Then, without saying anything, she hugged him tighter. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, allowing that closeness to pass through him, to soften him, to heal him too

—It doesn't matter,— he finally whispered, his voice firm, though low. It was the only possible answer

Jon sank deeper into her embrace, and his tears continued to fall, but now they were different. They were no longer just guilt and pain, but also relief

Damian, unable to help himself, smiled barely, with that expression of his that barely touched his lips. A slight laugh escaped him, more out of tenderness than mockery

—You're still a crying baby,— he murmured softly, as if trying to bring a little lightness back to the world

Jon snorted through his tears. It wasn't exactly a laugh, but there was a flash of it on his face. She raised her eyes to him and muttered with as little sarcasm as possible

–Foolish...

The word was not an insult. It was a reminder. A connection. A trace of what they once were, and what perhaps was still left

With trembling hands, Jon bent down and picked up the red layer from the ground. He held her with both hands. Although his face was still clouded with excitement, there was a distinct expression in his eyes

Damian watched him silently, his heart beating slower, as if he was recalibrating after everything that had just happened. Then, without a word, he dropped to the ground, carrying Jon with him. The hug was not broken. On the contrary, it became even more solid, more urgent

They stood there, silently, on the cold floor of the living room, as if nothing else existed

Jon curled closer, his cloak against his chest. His face rested on Damian's shoulder, as if he wanted to disappear into it

—Dami...— he murmured again, this time in a slightly firmer voice. She raised her head and looked at him, her eyes still moist, but full of something new, fragility, yes, but hope

—Do you believe me?—

The question was not simple, it was not about words or deeds. It was about him, about whether Damian could look at everything he was now, everything that had happened, and still believe that this boy with whom he once shared his world was still there

Damian looked at him, and for a moment there was only silence

Then he nodded, didn't hesitate, didn't need to think about it

—Yes— he said, with a deep, sure calm —I believe you

And in that instant, Jon closed his eyes and let out all the air he didn't know he was holding. I wasn't alone, not this time

And he wouldn't have to carry all that anymore without someone by his side

Someone who believed it

Someone who waited for him

Someone who was still there