Chapter Text
Every hero has an origin story that illustrates what type of paragon they’re destined to be. A boy kneels in a desolate alley with his parents’ blood on his hands as the lone survivor of a meaningless crime. An infant is sent into the unknown with the hopes of it's dying planet on its shoulders before reaching its first year of age. A princess who is thousands of years into her ageless eternity finally encounters the world of man on her kingdom’s borders.
Though these days, the art of the heroic origin story is long lost in favor of justifying the legacy that is yet to come. The embellishment of the fantastical is a greater point of contention in hindsight when everyone starts mundane. The concept of The Hero’s Journey is the same, but, being a hero in this modern age of supers is almost a lost art. An ordinary world is turned on its head by a call to action, yet where have the days gone when that was meant to be a simple choice rather than a fate-defying one? What has changed in the world where that choice stopped being a quiet promise to be a decision of life or death?
Is there even a place in the universe for the next great hero who will change the way the world works? There are so many before who stood like titans in the shape of mere mortals, whose tales can be retold by hundreds, yet their integrity never falters. The thought of trying to live up to the pinnacle of excellence made precedent inconceivable, however, not unattainable.
Maybe it’s time to go back to basics.
“DAMI!” A 10-year-old boy in a Superman-themed T-shirt screams as powerful beams of red light are expelled senselessly from his eyes. The deathly lasers slice through solid steel pillars and glass in arbitrary directions while men in black ski masks dive out of the way.
A shorter boy in a green mask and Robin shirt no older than twelve tackles the younger and forces the younger boy’s pale hands to cover his eyes to end the demolition. “WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT NAMES YOU LITTLE SH-!”
“No bad words!” The superpowered juvenile retaliates as he feels his friend getting off him. “Plus I’m taller than you!”
The older boy unhooks a coil of metal wire from his belt loop before pouncing to tie one of the men. He proceeds to do the same to the rest of the fleeing adversaries while his partner remains preoccupied controlling his eyes. After he finishes tying the goons' hands and feet together he pulls them all into a neat pile for easy organization. He counts the number of villains to discover he’s one short.
A faint grunt alerts the would-be hero to the imminent danger and the boy hits the ground as a desk is flung in his direction. The office furniture smashes through the already damaged window, shattering it. Robust howling winds billow through the opening created by the height of the skyscraper. The sudden shift in air pressure moving from high to low sucks the child out of the broken window as his friend finally blinks his eyes, the red light turning into celeste irises.
“DAMI!” The younger boy shouts as the scarlet cape made from a loosely tied red blanket hits the back of his head as it follows the draft.
“I hate you so much! What did I say about names?!” The other scolds him as he falls off the ledge.
The boy in the cape doesn’t hesitate to sprint with the wind to dive after his friend to the concern of everybody, even some of the goons yell in worry. The two kids reach for each other as they plummet to the ground, their eyes only focused on each other. One boy is facing the sky with unbridled determination, while the other is fixated on the earth beneath them with fear of the inescapable. They’re both headed towards the same destination, yet their hands fail to connect. Perhaps this isn’t the origin story of future legends.
Oh well, some people are simply fated for mediocrity.
Their descent is halted by the appearance of a man above men, whose powers are as unmatched as his character. His cape spans across his back like the wings of an angel, a god on earth, as he catches them far before the children smash into the busy street below. His curly black locks reflect a midnight blue hue under the moonlight and flutter with the wind from so on high. Azure eyes stare down at the boys in his arms with the palpable disappointment only a parent could possess.
The man’s lips were taunted in a thin line as the faint sounds of fighting emanated from the room the kids left behind. He floats upward and the golden glow of the red S on the man’s blue uniform reflects on the glass skyscraper as they make it back to the top floor. There, the goon who threw the desk at the masked boy is beaten on the ground next to his compatriots. The tied-up men are gawking horrified at the dark corner of the room.
It was difficult to see through the thick shadows of the unlit room, but the older boy instantly clicked his tongue at the sight. “-TT- Father.”
A man, although more of a vaguely human shape, emerges in all black from the darkness. “We’re going home.” He tells them and through the whites of his mask, he glares a promise of sleepless nights to the captured gang.
“Holy shit that’s Batman’s kid?!”
“And Superman! How are we not dead?!”
“Look man, we’re just low-level! We’re not worth your time, just let us go!”
“Aren’t those kids a bit too young for this-”
“Shut up, you don’t question Batman!”
The panicked voices are only second to the internal screaming the youngest boy is hearing in his head. “Oh no, we’re in so much trouble!”
Indeed, this unfortunate pair of juveniles are in trouble. This fact is further solidified as four adults glower at the boys who are seated on a plush country green couch adorned with uncomfortable lace. The younger boy is slouched deep into the cushions with his face hidden behind his pale hands. The older boy is defiantly glaring back at the adults, his posture perfect and his head held high, ready for the verbal battle.
“I can’t believe you two! Not only did you two sneak out on a school night, but you did it to fight crime!” A brunette woman with lavender eyes takes the initiative to start the lecture, her arms crossed over her chest. “Damian I can understand-”
“Hey!” A young man in his mid-twenties with black hair and sapphire eyes hollers, deeply offended on Damian’s behalf.
“But you, Jonathan Samuel Kent?” She continues unperturbed. “We raised you better than this! You’re too young to be going off fighting crime unsupervised.”
“-TT- A normal parent would be concerned that their children were going out fighting crime at all,” Damian snidely remarks, rolling his emerald green eyes.
“Damian, don’t you start that with us.” A man in his early forties scolds, his glare as terrifying in person as it was behind the bat-themed cowl. “You are well aware that we aren’t a normal family. You are also aware we have strict rules in place to protect you.”
“You let Richard fight crime by himself when he was twelve!” The 12-year-old argues, pointing an accusatory finger at the younger man who was offended earlier.
“Dami, I was most certainly not allowed to fight crime alone when I was your age!” Richard hastily clarifies. “And Jon is ten-”
“I’ll be eleven in June!” Jon protests.
“Which is still too young!” A man in casual clothes and comically thick glasses, a far cry from his heroic blue and red regalia, informs his son.
“Even if I was allowed to do that, which I wasn’t, times have changed. There were no Superhero teams when I was your age to set boundaries. All of this was still new and rules haven’t been written.” Richard explains, shaking his head. “If you want to be a kid hero, then you can, but only if you join a team. You two are barely old enough to be part of Young Justice or the New Teen Titans. If you two wanted to join us then you have to join one of those teams so the Titans or Justice League can make sure you’ll be safe.”
“But I don’t want to join those foolish teams!” Damian huffs, turning up his nose at his older brother. “If I join Young Justice then I’ll be forced to work with Drake, and if I join the New Teen Titans then-...” He stops himself and looks to Jonathan for a quick escape.
Instantly catching on to his friend’s dilemma, Jon voices his protests to join the current child-centric teams. “The New Teen Titans is a stupid name. Why do they have to be new? What was wrong with just Teen Titans? Also, if I joined Young Justice then Conner will be there, and I love Conner, but I don’t think I can stand being on a team with him. It’s like that one time he helped me with my school project and we didn’t get any work done because he didn’t want to help me make a paper pig. He wanted to make a cow, but Kathy called dibs on the cow project, so I had to do the pig one so he went to her house to ask for a trade, but Kathy got that new Monk-E Monster’s video game that you won’t get me because it’s rated T for Teens and he played that while I just sat in my room like an idiot!”
“Jonathan, that doesn’t mean you can’t be on a team with your brother. Plus, we already punished him for that, so you can’t keep holding that over his head.” Jonathan’s mother sighs, holding her head.
“That was last week!” Jon fires back, visibly distraught about the incident.
“Your feelings don’t give you permission to act out on your own,” Damian’s father grumbles, massaging the stout bridge of his nose. “That goes for both of you. Just because you don’t want to join, doesn’t mean you can go solo. Neither of you boys has the training, teamwork skills, or resources to make it on your own. If you joined a team you can have all of those things and support from us to make sure you can properly balance heroing and your regular lives.”
“Father, you make this lifestyle sound like a silly after-school club.”
“It essentially is until you two become adults,” Jon’s father explains while kneeling at the pair’s eye level. “Just because you two can be heroes, doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to rush head-first into battle. We’re not raising soldiers; we’re raising children who happen to have different options available to them for their future.”
“Even the military has an afterschool club in this godforsaken country so you could raise soldiers if you wanted to.” Damian retorts, his sneer worsening.
If it wasn’t considered rude, the glasses-wearing man would facepalm. “The Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC) isn’t actually indoctrinating soldiers. It’s just extra education that children can take if they want to join the military.”
“And not what we’re talking about right now,” Richard rounds the conversation back to the main topic; that being they’re in trouble. “Damian, we want you to be safe. If you go behind our backs to go on missions we don’t authorize, you’re not only putting yourself in unnecessary danger but also Jonathan.”
Damian clicks his tongue and turns his head away again as Jonathan’s mother takes her chance to scold her son. “And Jonathan, we love you and want the best for you, but you’re still our little boy. That means we want you to come to us when you want something, not go behind our backs.”
Large sincere puppy dog eyes glance up through Jon’s eyelashes as he murmurs a dejected, “Yes, ma'am.”
“Good.” Completely unfazed by her son’s adorableness, she nods and stoically announces, “You’re grounded. No video games, no internet for anything other than school, no playing with your friends, and no using your powers for a whole month!”
The older boy releases a bark of laughter while his friend covers his face with a heartbreaking groan. Before Damian can playfully revel in Jonathan’s misfortune, his father chimes in with Damian’s very own punishment. “And Damian, you’re not allowed to train, and you can’t pet any of your animals for two weeks. You still have to take care of them, but no petting, cuddling, or sleeping in the same room.”
“What?! That is cruel and unusual punishment!” The 12-year-old screeches to the high heavens at the audacity of it all.
Feeling Damian’s distress, a tuxedo cat adorning innocent yellow eyes and the softest black coat with little white paws nuzzles up to the child. The pine green collar with a golden “A” embroidered on it chimes as the feline moves across the boy’s bare ankles.
The kid instinctively reaches down to pet his cat when his eldest brother motions at him warningly. “Nuh-uh mister! Hands where I can see ‘em! If you put even a finger on that fluffy head you’ll get that punishment extended to two months!”
“Why must you punish my blameless companions for your foolish misgivings? You call yourselves heroes, but this is pure evil!” Damian wails forlornly as he puts his hands up like a meager criminal caught by the police.
Jonathan’s dad raises a brow at the creative punishment and turns to his fellow father. “Bruce, is that a practical punishment?”
Damian’s father, Bruce, releases another sigh as he releases his nose to acknowledge his friend. “Clark, I know how odd this seems to you, but Damian can’t be grounded like Jon. He doesn’t care for television, he doesn’t hang out with his friends after school unless he’s forced to, he doesn’t have social media or cares for the internet, and he thinks video games are an insult to the human experience. If you can think of a way to ground a child that likes to do homework, then by all means tell me.”
“Wait,” Jonathan’s mother says with a confused expression. “Damian likes to do homework? I’m always hearing about him complaining about it when he comes over.”
Richard shakes his head with a fond, yet tired exhale. “He complains because it’s not hard enough. He made his teacher cry because he submitted an 87-page paper about how Gothic literature influenced the Art-Deco aesthetic.” He shudders at the memory as he adds, “It was supposed to be a single-page book report for summer reading. The poor man hadn't even given out the assignment yet.”
“I wouldn’t complain as much if you’d let me skip this poor excuse for an education system! At least let me skip a few grades! Mother has already familiarized me with the equivalent of several doctorates! I would have the diplomas as proof if she didn’t kill my professors!” Damian whines as he reaches down to pet his cat again before being put in his place by his father’s intense glare. “Alfred is innocent! You’re depriving him of my affection!”
An elderly man in a pressed tuxedo and perfect posture enters the living room of the comfortable farmhouse to pick up the cat. “Alfred the cat will receive plenty of love and affection from the rest of the family to make up for the absences, Young Master Damian.” He turns to the brunette woman, gesturing to the purple rollers in her chocolate lock and wrinkled nightgown. “I’m sure we understand the punishment put in place. Mistress Kent has work tomorrow morning and this fiasco has held her up long enough. I suggest we take our leave.”
Lavender eyes roll at the British butler and she laughs at the name she’s referred to. “Mistress this, mistress that. Alfred, please, how many times do I have to tell you to just call me Lois?”
“Forgive me for desiring to maintain a semblance of professionalism in a world where it seems to be a lost cause.” He glances keenly at Damian’s father as he pets the cat with his name. “Master Bruce, speaking of a lack of professionalism-”
“I didn’t do anything!” The man defends, throwing his hands up.
“On the contrary. You are still on strict bed rest as ordered by Dr. Thompkins, yet you were already up working long before being informed about Young Master Damian. Once we leave the Kent residence I don’t want you leaving your room until you get a good night’s rest.”
“Alfred, I’m a grown man; I know my limits.”
“And yet you are adamant on pressing mine and setting a poor example to your children.” The butler inclines his head to Damian and Richard before turning back to the matriarch of the Kent residence. “It was lovely being welcomed in your home once more, even under these… Unfortunate circumstances.”
“Anytime, Alfie,” Lois agrees and leads the older men up the stairs. “I’ll walk you guys to the teleporter.”
Clark sits next to his son and his son’s friend on the couch, patting both boys on the back. “I’m sorry we have to be so hard on you ‘bout this, Jonno, but we don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I thought you said heroes have to act for themselves. How am I ever going to learn to be a hero if you’re going to be telling me what to do when I join a superhero team?” Jon asks, looking up at his father.
“-TT- And how are you going to let him grow up if you apologize for your pathetic excuse of a punishment?” Damian complains, his words dripping with arrogant judgment. He’s swiftly picked up like a rabid animal by his brother who gives the man a rushed apology as he walks up the rickety wooden stairs. Jonathan waves his friend goodbye while the other is still thrashing in the hold.
Once all their guests have left, Clark Kent takes off his lenses and wraps his right arm around his little boy to hold him close. He takes one of Jon’s smaller hands into his other palm tightly, securely. “Jonathan, your mother and I love you so much that the thought of anything happening to you is unbearable. We can’t begin to imagine our lives without you. When I saw you and Damian fall out of that window my world stopped.”
“But Dad, you taught me how to fly,” Jonathan rebuttals, his rosy cheeks huffing into a pout. “I have to learn how to fly without you watching me in case I fall.”
The man chuckles as he holds the 10-year-old closer. “That’s a beautiful metaphor, but not when taken literally. Jon, you can only use one of your powers at a time right now, and you’re still training them. Even if you caught Damian, you wouldn’t be strong enough to hold onto him and fly to safety. Plus, don’t think I ignored your out-of-control laser vision. You just got that and shouldn’t be trying to use it around people. It wouldn’t only hurt you, but you could’ve hurt Damian.”
A pale fist balls up the faded denim on Jon’s lap as the boy briskly looks down in shame, his wavy black hair hanging down to obscure his face. “I just want to be like you. You didn’t need a superhero team to be Superman.”
The child feels the broad chest of his father expand as he takes a deep breath. Jonathan can’t see his father’s face, but he doesn’t want to know the expression he's wearing. Then he speaks, his voice firm, yet soft and filled with love.
“Jon, I was able to be Superman because I can live my life as Clark Kent. Ma and Pa gave me a wonderful childhood that shaped the kind of hero I wanted to be. Just because I didn’t have a Superhero team fighting next to me, it doesn’t mean I didn’t have a team of heroes supporting me. They might not be what you think of when you think of Superheroes, but your grandparents were the team that guided me through my challenges. Your mother and I want you to be Jonathan Samuel Kent before you get to wear that scarlet S on your chest.” Clark releases his son’s hand and presses his index finger on the symbol on Jon’s shirt. “These symbols carry a weight to them, and there will be a time you can hold it up as your own. That time isn’t now, and it won’t be before we say you’re ready.”
“Conner didn’t need permission to be Superboy.” Jonathan grits through his teeth, refusing to look up from his lap. “And he just had to be a super and everyone accepted him. You were super and everyone accepted you. And there’s Kara who is super too! Why can’t I be super?”
“Honey,” Jonathan’s mother assures as she walks downstairs and moves to sit on Jonathan’s left. “You are super. You’re our Super Son, and nothing will ever change that. One day, you’ll get to show the world how wonderful you are if or when you become a hero, but that day isn’t today.”
“And that’s okay.” Jon’s father tacks on. “There’s no need to rush, we work hard to ensure you can grow up in a world where you can be anything you want. A superhero is only one of the options you can explore. Just give it some time, alright?”
Jonathan takes a shaky breath and relents albeit dejectedly. “Yeah, I get it. I just wish it would happen faster because y’all are so amazing.”
Lois gives her son a smile that radiates warmth as she guides her son off the couch with gentle hands. “You’re amazing too in your own special way. Now, let’s get you to bed; we’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma'am,” The child grumbles followed by an enormous yawn.
The 10-year-old diligently completes his nightly routine with his parents as the family of three wash up at the sink, brush their teeth with rigorous vigor at the mirror, and get changed into their pajamas. His mother tucks him into his Superman-themed bed sheets and his father kisses him on the forehead before turning off the lights. The pair takes one last glance at their son who is peeking at them from under his blanket with a single open eye before wishing him goodnight then closes his poster-plastered door.
Wide blue eyes reflective of the sky stare at the rustic bare ceiling planks with false interest as the shadow of the full moon illustrates odd shapes in the pattern. He takes a deep breath of the humid air and contemplates whether he should undo his comfortable position to open his window.
He decides against it and is stuck reeling back into his mind as he tries to fall into slumber. Jonathan turns his head to the Superman poster sloppily taped to his wall at a permanent tilt. He wonders if he could ever be a hero like his father and it’s those thoughts that finally lull Jon to sleep.
The next morning in a city far away, a 12-year-old boy rises with the sun despite the minimal sleep he gets while his father decides to spend an extra hour lecturing him over his reckless behavior. He drags his heavy gold-embroidered curtains open to take in the sight of Gotham on the horizon. It’s not an overly beautiful sight despite what all the movies set there seem to advertise. It was filthy, crude, and dark, yet there was admittedly a stubborn charm that its rampant crime rate failed to smother.
In the front yard, Damian sees a turkey atop the back of a brown cow with a bat pattern over her eyes. He turns around to see black and white paws clawing from under his door as though they could fit through the gap. From the other side of his door a low boisterous bark, and an image of a majestic Great Dane with sleek dark fur invades his mind. He wants to pet them. He wants to pet all of them so badly that it physically hurts. He doesn’t want to extend his punishment for longer, however, it’s been less than twelve hours and Damian is beyond suffering.
It becomes worse as he goes through his morning routine of cleaning and feeding his animal companions. They brush against him and lick his face without Damian responding as he usually does, with head pats and hugs. They were all perfectly obedient and accommodating, yet Damian couldn’t so much as touch a hair on their soft heads with Pennyworth staring at him from the foyer. He tried resorting to giving them extra treats, but that was swiftly stopped when he sacrificed the family’s stock of avocados for his wonderful red dragon bat’s breakfast.
Damian is quickly sent to the bathroom to prepare for the Hell that is Gotham Academy. The adolescent doesn’t understand why his paternal family insists on sending him to such a low-quality establishment when he is above that drivel. Either way, he puts on his dull grey blazer that matches perfectly with his mood as he sits down for family breakfast.
The youngest Wayne sneers at his siblings joining him at the table because not only are they annoying, but they also remind him of his failure. This dinner table is filled with uniformed vigilantes gallivanting as paupers, yet Damian is forced to sit in their shadows. It was an injustice!
First, there was Richard “Dick” Grayson, the acrobatic symbol of hope for their family. He might look like a disheveled man in his mid to late twenties mooching off his rich father’s resources, but he’s actually Nightwing; the most flexible hero both in mind and body. He’s able to mentally, physically, and emotionally adapt to everything this dangerous life has thrown at him with a smile on his face. He was the first child hero to ever grace the world with the title of Robin and changed the lives of millions by simply existing.
“Hey, where did all the avocados go?” The man questions as he lifts his toast like the missing fruit could magically be under it.
Next, there was Cassandra Cain, Batgirl, a human weapon who can discern weakness with her keen eyes. She was trained to be a kinesthetic master as well as a vision to read others’ body language. This young woman was at the peak of physical fitness and power.
The almond-eyed woman is also baffled by the lack of avocado as she tugs politely on Alfred’s tailcoat and maneuvers her hands into a series of gestures to communicate with him. Damian has noticed Cassandra was too exhausted to verbally speak most days, and as a master of the non-verbal has taken to speaking with her hands.
“Ah, Madam Cassandra. I have changed the menu for today. There was a sudden shortage and there won’t be any avocados until we get our next shipment on Sunday.” The elderly butler answers with a poignant glance in Damian’s direction.
Then there was Timothy Drake, investigator extraordinaire and current prodigy to Batman, the third Robin. The boy is a skilled deceptor who can blend into any social situation. He can solve mysteries to rival the world’s greatest detective, he’s a leader that valiantly holds up Young Justice, and a tactician whose skills can be used on the battlefield or the boardroom.
And a teenager that is unseemly asleep face first in a bowl of oatmeal. Cassandra kicks his chair leg under the table, causing the 16-year-old to yelp before falling backward on the floor. “ACK!”
Lastly, there was Duke Thomas, a meta of unspeakable potential and the only member willing to patrol in broad daylight. Damian has no idea how he got here, but his father was willing to revoke his no-metas in Gotham policy for him. That probably has more to do with Bruce Wayne’s adoption problem rather than anything poor Duke accomplished.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I always thought avocado was overrated. Do we still have peanut butter?” The African-American teen only a year younger than Tim asks as he uses his yellow hoodie as a napkin. Alfred exasperatedly points to the cloth napkins in front of him causing the boy to blush and anxiously use that instead. “Sorry, I’m not used to using those. They look so fancy that I didn’t want to ruin them.”
“I assure you, Master Duke, napkins were made for sullying.”
Suddenly the French doors to the dining room burst open as a blonde teenager with a purple headband kicks them in. She struts to the head of the table where Damian’s father is drinking his coffee and reading the news on his tablet. She shoves the chair over and pulls over an empty one so that she’s at the head of the table instead. The father doesn’t even bat an eye as the frizzy-haired girl’s antics have unfortunately become normal.
“You guys better have a plate for me, cause my dad drained my bank account and I’m not about to steal from Walmart again!” The teenage girl begins to eat Bruce Wayne’s untouched breakfast of pancakes and eggs Benedict. “At least not before they restock on the good stuff next Wednesday!”
Oh yeah. There was Stephanie Brown, the freeloader extraordinaire who occasionally breaks into their manor to steal their food. Damian has no idea how she managed her way into being a teen hero other than audacity. Her hero name wasn’t even remotely related to the Batman mythos. It was Spoiler! She didn’t even dress like them!
“According to his sentence, your father should still be in Blackgate,” Bruce says as he puts his Wayne industry tablet down for the first time this entire meal. Alfred hands him a to-go box for this occasion as he also hands Duke a jar of peanut butter.
“He should be, but that doesn’t mean he is,” Stephanie grumbles as she reaches over the table to take Tim’s coffee mug. “So guess what I’m doing tonight.”
“Stephanie, it’s a school night. I’ll take care of it.” The man declares as he stands from his seat with his breakfast in hand. “I have to leave for work right now, but I’m still going to check on all of you throughout the day. Tim, remember to do your driving hours with Jason before your test.”
“ Fiiiiiiiiine,” Tim groans, still on the floor.
“And Dick, Barbra called and is busy after work-”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take Cass to her ballet lessons.” The man finishes as he takes a bite of his toast.
“Alright, and Duke, if you go anywhere after soccer practice text me so I’ll know.”
“I got it, Mr. Wayne.” Duke nods as he spreads the butter on his bread.
“Also, Stephanie, Damian, I better not hear about either of you doing something you shouldn’t.”
“Oooooooooh! What did Damian do to get in trouble!?” The teenager jumps to her feet and leans forward with an energetic bounce to look across at Damian at the other end of the table. “Come on, spill!”
“The same thing you’re planning on doing,” Bruce tells her as he leaves the room. “Don’t test me, Stephanie. I’ll ground you too. Bye, have a good day at school.”
Most of his children give him an unenthusiastic goodbye except for Dick who yells back, “I don’t go to school! I have a job! I’m an adult!”
“You’re still my child.”
Once that billionaire left, most of the siblings descends upon their youngest with too many questions. They practically interrogate him with their relentlessness as he begin to feel suffocated by his lack of personal space. He did his best to appear unfazed, but Damian couldn’t single out a question to answer because their voices blurred as much as their faces.
“What did you do? Are you finally going to join Young Justice?”
“He better not, I don’t want to look after the Demon Brat.”
“Did you choose a hero name yet? You better not have passed me for Robin, Tim said I was next.”
“Why does Tim get to say who can be Robin next?”
“Who did you fight? Were you solo? Did you follow Batman?”
“Do you have a costume yet?”
“Back away! It’s too early for this, so give him some space.” Dick politely nudges his pestering siblings away and orders everyone back to their places.
The group protests but goes back to their seats without issue. Richard pats Damian on the head before sitting back down to eat breakfast. The group finish their breakfast with relative ease and minimal chaos.
Soon the hoard of children are off to school or their day jobs; they're cursed to maintain their incognito status in society. Alfred drives the younger children to school in the family limo and the teens take this opportunity to hound Damian once more. At least they are more patient this time around.
“Seriously Damian, what did you do?” Duke pries, tucking his black uniform tie into his hoodie. “None of us are gonna judge you. I mean-- just look at us.”
Damian is looking at them. He’s been looking at them ever since he was indoctrinated into this family. He’s been forced to watch his older siblings lord their superiority over him and create identities for themselves. This family was supposed to be his, so why does he have to keep looking up to them when he wants to stand beside them? The current line of succession and supervision will make it so that Damian will always be following the heels of the one before him.
Damian sighs, crossing his arms and turning away from everyone. “I am under no obligation to explain something your puny minds couldn’t uncover on your own.”
Tim raises an eyebrow at his reply and asks, “Does this have to do with B telling me not to let you pet your animals?”
Without another word, Damian angrily unbuckles his seat belt, pulls the back seat down, and rolls into the trunk. He closes the backrest behind him then takes out his smartphone and calls his best friend. The phone only rings twice before Jon answers with his usual chipper greeting.
“Hiya Dami! What’s up?”
“Are you doing anything of importance right now?”
There’s a pause before Jonathan sighs and replies, “I’m not skipping school with you right after I got grounded.”
“I just want to talk, and it’s not my fault you’re grounded. Why does everyone assume this was my idea when you were the one who pressured me into it?”
“Because I’m not the trained assassin who shouts about how he’ll be a better vigilante than his family,” Jonathan explains with boredom. “Besides, you didn’t tell on me and I didn’t force you to do anything. You could’ve said no.”
“And have you murdered by your inability to control yourself? No. You can only use one power at a time with questionable proficiency at best.”
“I knew you loved me!”
“I hate you with every fiber of my entire being, and if I had one wish it would be to have never met you. That is how much I hate you!” Damian hisses into his phone that he’s holding with a white knuckle grip.
“No, you don’t,” Jon says easily, and Damian can hear his irritating smile. “And that’s a waste of a good wish.”
“I hate you even more now.”
The younger boy scoffs, “Yeah, sure you do. Anyways, did you miss me or do you need something?”
Emerald eyes roll in the darkness of the limousine trunk. “-TT- Of course I need something from you. Unless this recent failure has shaken your resolve for your goal.”
“Our goal.” Jonathan corrects curtly causing the older boy to smirk.
“Ah, there he is; my confident confidant.” Damian sings as the other groans at the cocky tone.
“Urgh, now I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” He replies, copying Jonathan’s earlier cadence. “We need to revise our plan.”
“We had a plan?” Jon questions. “I thought our plan was taking Superboy and Robin from our older brothers and be cool heroes like our dads.”
“That was your plan because you are impatient and already halfway to Metropolis in a cheap Superman shirt before I could grab a proper weapon!” Damian takes a deep, calming, breath as he struggles to maintain a quiet volume. His siblings are still in the car and he doesn’t want to alert them to anything. Knowing them, they’d probably have their ears pressed to the leather seat trying to listen. Privacy is dead in their family. “We need to have a stronger goal so we have no repeats of our failures.”
“Wouldn’t the smart thing to do be wait until we’re not grounded?” Jonathan points out as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re the one telling me to be patient, and it hasn’t even been a full day since we got in trouble.”
“The element of surprise is a powerful weapon. We either hit the ground running or we’re dead in the water.”
“Geez Dami, you’re always so dramatic.”
“And you’re not dramatic enough.” Damian criticizes harshly. “I need you to turn those rusty gears in your head and think about how we can become heroes without our fathers treating us like delicate flowers. I’ll come over to your home later to tell you why you’re wrong. Understood?”
“You’re lucky I’ve known you long enough to understand Dami-speak, or else I’d be offended.” Jon exhales, exasperated by this conversation.
“I’ll take that as an affirmative. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Yeah, I’ll leave my window open. Bye.” Jonathan closes his bulky flip phone and turns to his friend Kathy, who was watching him quietly the entire time. “That was Damian.”
“I noticed.” A girl with a long blonde braid and red overalls says. She leans away from Jon making their significant height difference more prominent as she barely reaches his shoulder. “He’s a jerk. Why is he your best guy friend; you know so many nicer boys?”
Jonathan kicks his worn-out sneakers on the dirt path as he returns his eyes forward. “Our dads are best friends so we had to spend a lot of time together while they met up. It just kinda happened, ya know… You can’t- like-- not be friends after spending every break from school together for almost four years. I mean, would we be best friends if you weren’t my neighbor for five years?”
“I guess not, but Damian still sounds like a jerk. He could at least be a little nicer to you.” Kathy tells him with a concerned look. “He’s not bullying you to be his friend, is he? I heard Batman was scary so his kids have to be scary too.”
Jon balks at the accusation before laughing at the statement. “Pfft-! Hahaha, Kathy, don’t worry. He’s not scary, no matter what he says. Sure he’ll try to scratch your face off, hiss a lot, and sometimes bite people’s fingers, but he’s actually really sweet once you get to know him.”
Eyes the color of grass blink at the description as Kathy’s freckled face scrunches up in bewilderment. “Jon, he sounds either crazy or he’s a cat. How much do you even know about the guy?”
“I know enough to know he can be nice!” Jonathan valiantly defends with animated hand gestures, although Kathy visibly remains unconvinced. “He just thinks differently, but he’s like a Disney princess. He’s kind to animals, he’s charming, he’ll insult me but his actions show that he’s super caring-”
“Holy cow, Jon. If you want to marry the guy so badly, just say so.” Kathy teases, however, she’s only partially joking.
“Can’t a guy just appreciate his friend?” The taller boy pouts, readjusting his Superman backpack as they make it to their school.
“Yeah, but not like that.” The girl explains with a sly grin. “You never compliment me like that, and I’ve known you longer.”
“Do you want me to start complimenting you like that? I can if you want me to.” Jon offers, causing Kathy’s face to turn red.
“Don’t-”
“You’re sooooooooooooo thoughtful, Kathy. Plus you’re such a hard worker who will do anything for the people you love!” Jonathan compliments with an overly sugary tone that sounds fake as a decorative fruit bowl.
“Stop!” The girl screams, covering her ears with both of her hands.
“You stand up for what you believe in. Like, wow, your sense of justice is strong and I’m jealous of it. You’re always the first to defend others-”
“I’m going to punch you if you don’t stop.”
“And man, you can control your powers much better than I can. I bet you could make it as a hero if you tried. That’s not even mentioning how pretty you are! And no one can milk a cow like you can- Oof!” Jonathan falls to the dirt road, holding his gut as Kathy retracts her fist. She then kicks him with her rubber work boot while he’s down. “Ow! I take it back! You’re very mean and nasty! The worst girl I know! You hurt innocent little boys!”
“Little boy my butt. You’re the tallest kid I know.” She scoffs as she kicks him again. “And you have invincibility, you big baby.”
“I didn’t turn it on!”
“Not my problem.” She smiles and helps him to his feet. “I didn’t even put my all into it. How are you going to be like Superman if this has you crying on the ground?”
“I dunno! That’s what I’m trying to figure out!” Jon cries as he slumps his shoulders. “Yesterday was so bad, Kathy. I almost killed Dami!”
“Oh, the humanity.” Kathy drones out with a blank expression. “Maybe you and Dami can think of a better plan tonight.”
“Kathy, you’re the smartest girl I know who’s not my mom. Do you have any ideas?”
“Well, for starters, you should get more girl friends,” Kathy suggests. “Other than that, I dunno. This hero business is your obsession, not mine. I’m not interested in heroes outside of all the cool stuff I see on the internet, and what you tell me.” To prove her point, she pulls out her pink smartphone and pulls up her kid-safe social media app to reveal a post about the New Teen Titans. “See?”
“New Teen Titans and their predecessors, the Titans, collaborate on a recent villain takedown.” Jonathan reads with a scowl. “Urgh! That should be Dami and I! Not the stupid New Titans!”
“I don’t get why it can’t be you. If you joined a superhero team like your dad told you to then you’d be doing all these super cool missions too.”
“Be-because I just don’t want to join those teams. It’s… It’s dumb.”
Kathy stares at him intensely, examining his tense posture and tight expression. Stealthily, she turns on her powers and allows herself to sense his feelings. The empath couldn’t pinpoint an exact emotion aside from frustration in the emotional mess, so she let the topic go. “If that’s what you think, but if you want to talk about it later, we can. Let’s talk about something else before the other students start coming in and you blow your cover talking about this hero stuff in public.”
Jonathan cooperates and the two fifth-graders discuss more normal topics as they make their way into their public elementary school. This would be the last week they’d be able to step into this building which was both exciting and terrifying. They are growing up and will soon enter middle school, grades six through eight grades. They aren't little kids anymore, they are going to officially be preteens; the most mature age group.
Well… At least that’s what Jon tells himself, but the big kids always seem like jerks. Jon doesn’t want to be a jerk, so he’s going to convince himself he’ll be mature instead.
“Aw man, my dad forgot to pack a juice box!” Jonathan laments as he rifles through his brown paper lunch bag.
Truly, the epitome of maturity.