Chapter Text
Termites, one of the oldest, largest, most secure homes in all of Gotham, and it was overrun with termites of all things. Jason suggested blowing the place up with TNT. Then again, he also had an apartment to sleep at. So did Dick and Barbara, though all three refused to let anyone stay with them. So, everyone else had no choice but to temporarily relocate. The hotels were fully booked, and there was only one place they could go on such short notice.
"I'm really sorry about this, Lois," Bruce apologized for the fourth time as they dropped their bags by the door, the old wood creaking under their feet as they entered the house.
Of all the places they could have gone, the Kent's farm in Kansas was at the very bottom of most of their lists. It wasn't that the Kent's weren't nice; it was just that their house was rather small to house the five of them, even if it was just until they found something better.
She waved him off, closing the door behind them. "It's not a problem," she reassured him.
"You're sure you've got enough room?" He asked once again, making sure that they weren't just allowing them into their home to be nice. They were Midwesterners, after all, almost sickeningly friendly people. His kids had all instantly spread out around the house, going towards the television or the barn, paying almost no mind to the fact that this wasn't their home.
Lois nodded. "The guest room is all made up for you, there are blankets on the couch for Cass, Duke can take the futon in Connor's room, and Damian and Tim can room with Jon."
They had recently redecorated the boys' room, getting him a new bed and everything. But they had yet to remove the old bunk beds from his room yet, and as a result, it would be just the right number of beds and couches for everyone to sleep on.
"Thank you, again," Bruce told her, looking towards her two boys who were sitting at the table doing homework. He couldn't recall the last time he had ever seen any of his kids act so calm about math, or history, or whatever it was that they were both studying so seriously.
"Clark will be home soon," Lois added. "How do you feel about pot roast for dinner?"
"That sounds fine," he responded.
●・○・●・○・●
Later that evening, Tim shuffled into the bedroom, still freezing, even under his sweatshirt and with his fuzzy socks. "Is your house always this cold?"
Jon nodded as he got ready for bed, piling another blanket onto his bed like he always did. "Heat's too expensive out here," he replied casually. It was second nature for him to sleep in layers, under heaps of sheets.
Tim grumbled something under his breath, reaching to climb up the ladder, but Damian stopped him, mid-step as he entered the room. "I want the top bunk," he declared.
He was dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants, which wasn't out of the ordinary for him, but struck Tim as slightly odd since he could feel like goosebumps crawling up his arms even though he was dressed warmly. He could already envision Damian getting cold and stealing his blankets in the middle of the night. He couldn't wait until they could go to a hotel.
Tim scowled slightly, not angry, simply curious about why seemed to feel so strongly about it. "What difference does it make?" he asked. Damian didn't give him an answer, just climbed up the ladder, claiming the top bed as he fluffed a pillow, eliciting a small snort of amusement from Jon. "Fine," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Take the top bunk. Doesn't matter to me."
Tim pulled the cover back, settling into the bed as best he could given how uncomfortable he was. He hated sleeping in a bed that didn't belong to him. He was almost never able to fall asleep, let alone stay asleep.
"Goodnight," Jon chirped, turning the light on.
Unsurprisingly, Damian said nothing in response. "Night," Tim told him on behalf of them both.
How the two of them had ever become friends, let alone managed to stay as such for so many years, he would never know. Tim and Damian were technically brothers, legally speaking, at least, and he still struggled to put up with him. He couldn't believe that someone, especially anyone as bright and positive as Jon would ever befriend someone like his brother.
Messing with the blankets, Tim tossed and turned for a while, the silence of an unknown room proving difficult to get used to. He had eventually found a comfortable spot and tried to stay there for as long as he could, trying everything he could think of to fall asleep. Counting sheep never worked, he always lost count. Box breathing made him light-headed, and imagining himself drifting to sleep only made him feel like he was falling.
Eventually, he started to get tired, feeling himself drift in and out of consciousness. He truly thought he was going to fall asleep, and then, there was a squeak. It was faint, but it was enough to untangle all of the progress Tim had made and render him wide awake once more. There was another squeak and the rustling of bed sheets and before he could try to figure out what it was, he saw a dark figure climbing down the ladder. Damian couldn't sleep either, it seemed.
Tim assumed he was going to steal his blankets, get a drink of water, or maybe even take a walk, the way he sometimes did when he was restless, but he didn't. No, instead, Damian quite rudely jabbed at the mound of blankets Jon was under, earning a small groan from him.
Damian hushed him quickly. "Scoot over," he whispered, reaching to move the blankets so he could get in the bed.
Jon, still lightly dazed, squinted, looking towards Tim's bed. "What about your brother?" he mumbled, nearly incoherently.
Tim squeezed his eyes shut when Damian looked his way, he knew there was no way he could see if he was awake or not in this darkness, but he still felt like it was necessary to close his eyes, just until his brother looked away.
"He's always out like a light after half an hour," he responded. "It's been thirty-five minutes."
Tim frowned as he realized Damian was right, he really did fall asleep within half an hour, at least when he was in his own bed. Here, laying in a bed he'd never slept in, he could only try. Then, another thought crossed his mind. If Damian knew it took him half an hour to fall asleep, then he had purposely waited a few minutes longer than that, just to make sure he wouldn't see or hear whatever it was that was worth waking Jon up for.
Trusting him, Jon moved over and Tim watched as the two shadows moved the blankets around, making more room. Damian crawled into the bed, laying shoulder to shoulder with Jon. His skin was warm, despite the cold temperature and his poor choice of clothing.
What is happening right now? Normally, if anyone ever so much as fell asleep on Damian's shoulder, he would threaten to cut their hand off.
Jon let his hand slip around Damian's waist, resting it underneath his shirt. "How are you always so warm?" he asked, his cold fingertips grazing his hot skin. "It's like you're immune to the cold."
Damian wasn't sure why he always ran so warm, he'd always tended to sleep with the barest amount of sheets possible, overheating if he had too many layers on him. It felt suffocating to him, and even now the piles of blankets that were weighing him down were nearly unbearable. He wouldn't have been able to stand it at all, had it not been for Jon's grip on him, dragging him away from feeling the heavy blankets and instead allowing him to focus on his touch.
"I guess I just have a sufficient reason for being feverish," Damian quipped quietly, moving closer to Jon. He hated how many layers he was wearing.
Tim's eyes widened at the comment. Was Damian really flirting with Jon right now?
"I'll say," he mumbled back.
And Jon was flirting back? Tim was partially convinced he was dreaming. After all, that was the only logical explanation for any of this.
Jon pressed a soft kiss to Damian's jaw, causing him to hum slightly, pulling him even closer until their chests were pressed together. "I missed you," Damian admitted, a rare vulnerability lacing his voice.
Jon smiled against the front of his neck. "It only took your house being eaten by termites for you to come see me," he joked, pressing another kiss to his skin.
It had been weeks since they'd last seen one another; when they weren't training or fighting, finals and college applications had taken up the majority of their free time.
He sharply inhaled. "No marks," Damian said gently, like it was a reminder that he'd given countless times before. "Not on my neck."
Tim wanted to shove his head under his pillow, or better yet, leave the room altogether. But he was worried that the slightest movement would alert them to his awareness, and he didn't want to have that happen. He was afraid of the awkwardness that would ensure. Though he wasn't sure if anything could be worse than this.
"Then where can I leave them?" Jon asked, a slight desperation in his voice as he pulled Damian into a deep kiss, holding his cheek with one hand as his other held Damian's waist.
"Not anywhere anyone can see," he responded suggestively as Jon tugged at the bottom of his shirt.
Tim had been very wrong.
Not only could it get worse, it just had. He watched in horror as Damian's shirt fell to the ground and Jon nestled his head in the crook of Damian's neck, slowly leaving a trail of kissing down his chest.
Damian shivered as Jon softly traced his scars with his cold fingertips. "Sorry," Jon mumbled, as he kissed him while dragging his hands down his sides, holding him gently.
"No, you're not," Damian whispered, knowing exactly how much liked to see him react to his touch. Either his hands or his lips, even the feeling of his breath on his skin.
"No," he confirmed, a slight arrogance in his voice. "I'm not."
Tim's thoughts raced a mile a minute as he tried to put the pieces together in his mind. Damian and Jon had known each other for a long time, they had been friends for five years, give or take, at least that's what everyone had thought. They could still be friends, he thought feebly. Friends kissed, right? He knew it was no use. A part of him had always assumed Damian had no romantic desires towards anyone at all. Clearly he was wrong because whatever was going on between them was clearly serious enough for them to have a kind of intimacy that Tim didn't even know Damian was capable of.
Damian sighed heavily in content, chuckling softly as Jon whispered something unintelligible in his ear before he went back to kissing his neck. He very gently tugged at Jon's hair, moving his lips to a place he could freely mark his skin without fear of anyone finding them.
Tim wondered how long this had been going on, how serious it was between them, who knew. No one, he guessed. Lois and Clark would never have stuck them in the same room if they had known about this. Bruce probably wouldn't have even let Damian in the house. He would have demanded he sleep in the barn with the animals. Maybe Conner knew and had kept his knowledge of it hidden, but out of their family, Tim was definitely the only one who knew. None of his siblings could ever keep something like this a secret for long.
"We should get some sleep," Damian told him, realizing how late it was getting. He knew from past experience that the Kent's ate at an unusually early hour.
"Not yet," Jon replied almost immediately, only barely removing his lips from his skin for a single moment before pressing another one to one of his fresher scars, feeling for them all in the dark, following them as if they were a map.
Damian chuckled again softly, and it was a sound so unfamiliar to Tim, having rarely heard it throughout the years. It seemed like he'd heard it more in one evening than he had, well, ever. Damian had often faked a laugh for the sake of feeling included in jokes or banter, but no one believed for a second that it was genuine. This laughter, as quiet and brief as it was, sounded like he truly meant it. It was begrudging, like he didn't want his happiness to slip out, yet it did anyway. It was pure gladness.
"Why do you insist on doing this every time?" he asked curiously. He didn't know what Jon's obsession with his scars were, he didn't really care either. He liked the feeling of his soft lips and the way his hands traced them, his fingertips calloused from all the work his father forced him to do on the farm. "They'll keep fading no matter how hard you kiss."
Every time. The word echoed in Tim's head, the pieces still not fitting quite as well as wished they would. This was clearly a frequent occurrence. One that it seemed neither had any intention of putting a stop to long term.
"Then I'll just keep leaving more," Jon responded, coming up to kiss his lips. He said it so easily, like he could imagine doing this every night for the rest of his life, never getting sick of it.
"I'm serious," he muttered after breaking away from him. He looked up at him, his eyes softening with curiosity. "Why?" he whispered.
Jon didn't respond right away, kissing him again deeply, dragging it out for as long as he could. "I love your scars," he admitted, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the small scar Damian had on his neck. "I love you too."
Jon didn't mean to confess his feelings, but the words slipped out so easily. He shouldn't have been nearly as surprised with how natural they felt to say; after all, he'd been in love for some time now, he was just waiting for the right time to say it. That time probably wasn't now, but there was no taking them back now that they had been said.
Tim was so thankful they'd stopped kissing that he barely even heard Jon's quiet confession through the silence, but once it registered in his tired mind, it stuck. He inhaled sharply, listening intently, waiting to see how Damian reacted to his words.
"You do?" Damian asked, his breath hitching at the sudden revelation.
He nodded slowly, worried he might have scared him.
Damian was quiet for a while, but after a moment he just smiled, wrapping his arms around Jon's neck, pulling him down until he collapsed on top of him, smothering him with entire weight. "I love you too," he whispered.
The two of them rolled over, still holding onto one another, and Tim sighed a breath of relief, staring at their bed for a while. The occasional whisper or laughter came from them, but eventually it subsided, and they fell asleep. Tim still couldn't sleep, but for new reasons.
●・○・●・○・●
The next morning at breakfast, nearly the entire Bat-family was exhausted, with the exception of Damian who was well-rested and bright-eyed. Tim looked even more exhausted than usual.
"Would you pass the syrup, please?" Damian asked respectfully to Clark, who gladly obliged, handing him the bottle. "Thank you." The Kents were always up early; none of them ever seemed to drag their feet to the table either. They always had cheerful expressions and wide awake attitudes. Although, Jon was yawning a little more than normal.
Tim squinted, staring at him. There wasn't a single mark on his neck. If it wasn't for what he'd unfortunately witnessed the previous night, he would have said that his brother was acting like a total suck-up, but maybe he truly just wanted to make a good impression on Jon's parents. There would be a first time for everything, he supposed.
Bruce huffed. "A please and a thank you?" he questioned in confusion. "The country air seems to be affecting you."
Tim hummed skeptically, resting his chin on his hand. "Something is affecting him," he mumbled. "That's for sure." Some of them looked at him curiously, but didn't question the comment. He looked rather tired, and they were used to his thoughts sometimes not making complete sense.
"So, how did everyone sleep?" Lois asked, bringing over a pitcher of orange juice and filling a few people's glasses.
"Pretty good," Duke said, still tired but slowly becoming more awake.
Cassandra gave her a thumbs up as she stabbed her pancakes. Conner did the same. Jon muttered something about falling asleep quickly. Tim ignored the question entirely, staring at Jon intensely.
"Very well, ma'am," Damian told her sincerely.
Bruce choked on his coffee. "Damian!" he exclaimed, as though his son had said something wrong or insulting in some way. He'd never heard him be so polite in all his life, not even in front of diplomats or politicians. "What is going on with you?"
Lois frowned in confusion, ruffling Damian's hair. "This is how he always is," she told them. "He's turning into a very respectful young man."
He somehow managed to choke a second time. "Respectful?" he repeated. "My son?"
Clark seemed equally confused, nodding in response. Conner just smirked to himself as he sipped the coffee from his mug. Tim decided that he definitely knew.
Bruce tried to compartmentalize the idea of them thinking his son was polite. Apparently, when he was at the Kents' he said please and thank you, used words like ma'am or sir, even allowed Lois to ruffle his hair without threatening her for it. It was like he was an entirely different person. "Must be the cold air," he muttered, his skin going pale as he tried to keep eating.
Tim shook his head. "Couldn't be that," he stated, staring at his brother. "It's like he's immune to the cold."
Damian's eyes shot up, widening. "What did you just say?" he asked, trying to keep his voice sound calm and rational as he convinced himself it was just coincidence.
He picked up his coffee, slowly taking another sip. "I said, 'It's like you're immune to the cold,'" Tim repeated, glancing towards Jon's embarrassed, slightly frightened eyes for just a split second, long enough that Damian could tell but not so long that anyone else caught on. He smiled coyly. "Must be something else that's affecting you. Maybe the beds are softer here, and you got a better night's sleep because of it."
Damian opened his mouth, pausing for a moment. It seemed no one else aside from Jon and Conner had any reaction to the comment. "Maybe," he mumbled feebly, swallowing the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat.
"Well, whatever it is, I'm glad to see you're up on the right side of the bed for once," Tim joked, giving him a small smile. "I could get used to this version of you."
"Really?" he asked, the weight on his chest dispersing slightly as his brother nodded, as if giving him his approval.
Bruce looked between them. "We really need to go to a hotel," he said. "The country does strange things to this family."