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heyitsani · 4 years

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I Keep My Eyes Wide Open All the Time Chapter 6

Word Count: 9995

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major character death, Mentions of past rape/non-con (eventually)

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne/Jon Kent

Summary: Everything Damian has ever known is about to change.

Notes: This is a heavy chapter. Pre-character death warning. As well as a serious injury.

This chapter is also completely new material. None of this has been previously mentioned or hinted at. The next couple of chapters will be that way since after Catalina's trial and death, we ended the last story. It's also going to hurt more before it gets better. Sorry!

If you have not read When You Move I Move, this one won’t really make much sense. So you can read that here: WYMIM

You can also read this chapter on AO3 here

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“Your Highness, please,” the tutor begged for probably the tenth time of the session. But no matter how much he tried, Damian could not find the focus he needed. The seventeen-year-old had been struggling far more than he was willing to admit, even though his poor tutor was at his wits end with the lack of focus.

“I am sorry,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair and setting his quill down. His hand immediately came up and rubbed at his forehead. “I’m trying, honestly. I just…” He looked away from the man and toward the chair where his mother had always sat during his lessons. It was the same chair that had always been there, and it hadn’t been moved, but for some reason the last few days it had been the center of his attention during each lesson.

His tutor sighed and stood, drawing green eyes from the chair back to the man. “I am going to go get a bite of food from the kitchens for you. Perhaps that will help you finish. We are almost done, Your Highness.” The man looked down at the parchment pointedly and Damian had the sense to look chastised.

“Yes, sir,” he picked his quill back up and dipped it into the ink so he could get back to working the figures on the page. It wasn’t like the work was boring, it wasn’t. Since his father had hired the man to take over his studies, he had finally felt challenged in his work. But it just wasn’t enough to get him to focus.

“My Son,” his father’s voice drew him out of his attempt to complete his work, and Damian knew his tutor would have probably quit right then and there if he had been in the room. “I just came across Lucius.” Damian cringed and looked at his father as the man took the seat his tutor had abandoned just a few minutes ago. “What is on your mind? He said you have been having a hard time the past couple of days. Is there something going on?”

Setting his quill down again, Damian looked down at the numbers on the parchment and tried to think of the best way to put how he had been feeling into words. He knew when the issue had started and he had a good idea as to what the problem was, but it didn’t make him feel any better about it.

“Damian?”

Lifting his gaze to look at his father, he let his eyes flicker over to the chair briefly before looking back to the king. It wasn’t much of a movement, but it had been enough to have the man twist in his chair and look toward the chair by the window. Whether or not he knew what it was Damian had been looking at, he couldn’t tell when the sapphire eyes turned back to him.

“I overheard something in the streets the other day and I guess…” He looked back to the chair and pressed his lips together. “I cannot stop thinking about what was implied.”

“And what is it you overheard?”

“Just a comment someone made when they saw me with Ser Kyle. I don’t think they meant anything by it, least of all for me to obsess about it, but I cannot get a thought out of my head. And every time I look at that chair, I remember.” He wanted to burn that chair. He had wanted to burn it since the first moment he had returned to his lessons after his mother’s death.

A hand reached forward and rested on his arm, drawing Damian’s attention back to his father. “Damian, I just want to help. However that may be.”

The prince wilted a bit in his chair. “Are the people going to trust me when I take the throne despite who my mother was? Will they be able to trust the son of a traitor?” He couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting the surprise on his father’s face, but he hadn’t expected the anger that burned right after it.

“Who said this?”

“No one, Father, honestly. That wasn’t what they said. They said something about how hard it must have been to grow up under her influence and how it must have been such a battle between your influence and hers.” That seemed to calm his father down a bit, but there was still fire burning under it all. “It just set me down a path that I couldn’t stop and then the chair brought up a few unpleasant memories. I hate that chair,” he muttered, looking down at the table in shame. He should be stronger than this. But then he wondered if that was still his mother’s conditioning speaking.

Scrubbing both hands over his face, Damian shot out of his chair and paced away from the table. He could still hear her voice, still knew all the things she drilled into him for years, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t help but always second guess his actions and whether or not she would have approved.

“I need you to listen to me, Damian,” his father’s voice was calm but authoritative and it caused Damian to pause in his pacing and look at the man. He stood still, back straight as he always did when his father did a formal address. “You are not your mother. You are not what she taught you. You make your own decisions and chose your own path. You are good. Do you hear me?” He paused and Damian nodded, knowing it was expected. “No, you do not believe me. Not yet. You are good. You. Are. Good.” It was almost painful to hear his father so adamant about it. “The people of this kingdom love you. They will rejoice when you take the throne just as they did when I took it. They do not look at you and see your mother.”

His father stood and made his way over to where he stood, stopping right in front of him and placing his hands on his shoulders before sliding them up to rest on either side of his neck. At the age of seventeen, he was shoulder to shoulder with the man and everyone had been saying that he would tower over him in no time. His uncle had laughed and said Damian stole the height genes from his grandfather, who had failed to pass them onto his own sons. It had made Damian’s chest puff slightly. His grandfather was formidable.

“You will be a great king. You are a good man. Nothing you do will ever convince me otherwise,” his father spoke softly, and it made Damian’s chest seize tightly. “I am so proud of you. And I know that she caused you a lot of pain and I tried so hard to shield you from as much of that as possible, but I know I could not always protect you. And for that I am sorry.”

“No, Father,” Damian tried to argue. He couldn’t remember a time when his father wasn’t fighting for or protecting him.

“It is okay, My Son. I am no stranger to admitting my faults.” The words reminded Damian of a conversation long ago with Ser Jason about his father and being able to admit when he was wrong, but it still hurt to think of the man and their time together, so he pushed the thoughts aside quickly. “I love you so very much and I will never stop loving you. But you should know that when I look at you, I see far more of your father than your mother.” And Damian knew he wasn’t referring to himself right then.

And that thought broke something inside his chest, forcing him to surge forward and wrap his arms around his father’s chest. And, of course, his father effortlessly accepted the embrace. Because that was what he always did. Even when Damian had done something wrong, when he had broken the king’s trust somehow, he was always welcomed into his arms.

He hoped it never changed.

“This wasn’t the only reason I came in here today,” his father spoke softly without releasing him. “But perhaps it was just good timing on your Uncle Timothy’s end.” That caused Damian to pull back and look at his father. His uncle being brought up probably meant something regarding Jon. “You received a letter from Jon today and I have a feeling I know what it says.” He was handed a letter that had apparently been in his father’s inner breast pocket of his robe.

Damian took the letter and quickly broke the seal, taking in the familiar scrawl of his best friend. A quick scan revealed what his father was hinting toward and Damian looked over at the older man. “He wants me to come visit and to leave pretty much immediately. There’s some ceremony happening soon.” He watched his father nod, guarding his thoughts carefully. “You know what is happening?”

“I do,” he confirmed. “But your uncle asked me not to say if Jon didn’t tell you in his letter. I am not certain why, but perhaps he wants to tell you in person.” Damian looked back down to his letter and read it a bit more carefully. He saw his father move back to the table out of the corner of his eye, but kept his focus on the paper in hand, trying to figure out what Jon wasn’t telling him. But whatever it was, wasn’t hinted at anywhere in the letter itself.

So Damian would just have to wait until he saw the other man.

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“Oh good, you’re just about ready,” Jon’s voice sounded from his slightly open door and Damian looked over at him from his spot in front of a mirror where the local tailor was adjusting his formal wear. “We will be summoned soon, and I wanted to speak with you before,” the twenty year old said. The tailor gave his prince a nod before looking over Damian’s garments one more time. Damian took the moment to look over Jon.

He had been rushed into this room the moment he had stepped out of his carriage by Jon with the promise of an explanation as soon as they were both ready. Because there was some sort of ceremony and he had limited time to be sure he was dressed in the right kind of formal attire from Metropolis. And despite asking the tailor and the staff member who had fed him, no one would tell him exactly what it was that was happening. He was getting dressed for something he knew nothing about.

But now that he had the chance to look over his best friend, he could see subtle hints and he had a feeling what exactly was going to be said.

“You are without your crown,” Damian said, as though that would tell Jon exactly what he was thinking. The smile on the other man’s face told him he understood.

Thanking the tailor as he left the room, Jon moved closer as Damian stepped down from the stool he had been on for the last two hours. “You figured it out then?”

“Not until I saw you just now. I did not even notice it when you rushed me here earlier,” he admitted. “So you have made your decision then?” Jon nodded. “And today is for what?”

“My abdication and the crowning of Kon.” That was surprising. He hadn’t heard whisper of King Clark stepping down any time soon. “Father is tired, and he says he would like to rest his remaining days. Perhaps travel a bit. When he brought it up to me two weeks ago, I told him I did not want to be king.” Despite Jon having told him about this desire years ago, Damian hadn’t thought it would actually happen. He hadn’t thought Jon would walk away from his family legacy like that.

“You are happy?” Jon’s smile was more telling than any words could ever be and that was enough for Damian. “I do have one question though,” he started as he moved over to where his own crown was waiting for him. “Why am I here and not my father?” Since he was not the king yet, it was somewhat irregular for him to be the one representing the kingdom at such a formal affair.

Jon moved silently and appeared in front of Damian as he turned to put it on his head, taking the crown from his hands. “I wanted you here,” Jon admitted softly, lifting the crown and placing it on Damian’s head. There was a moment of silence while Damian took in the meaning of his words and Jon adjusted the crown a bit. “You are my dearest friend, Damian. And this might be what I want, but I am still nervous how the people will react. I wanted your strength to support me.”

Damian gazed into Jon’s blue eyes, filled with earnest honesty, and considered the words. They filled him with a warmth he didn’t completely understand, but enjoyed all the same. Something similar to when his father told him he was proud of him, but not quite the same. Something special. Something he was glad his mother had failed at taking away from him.

“You have it,” he confirmed quietly, not wanting to disturb the moment. But he did lift his hands to grip both of Jon’s wrists lightly, stopping him from adjusting the crown again. Now that Damian knew what to look for, he could definitely see Jon’s nerves shinning through.

The pair just looked at each other for a moment before breaking apart at the sound of a knock on the door.

“Your Highness, His Majesty sent me to tell you it is time.” A servant stood in the doorway, giving a low bow. The woman looked them both over curiously but Jon just laughed and waved a hand.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “We are coming.” He gave Damian one last glance before leading him out of the room and down the hallway where the others were waiting. Just before they turned the last corner, Damian went against all of his instincts and grabbed Jon’s hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze before releasing it as if he had never grabbed it to begin with.

And though Jon made no move to act as though it happened, Damian could see the tense line of his shoulders relax a bit.

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The ride back to Gotham had been uneventful outside of the few stops they had made for lodging and the towns he had been able to wander around without anyone bothering him. He had managed to buy a few things for his father and aunt as well as some new toys for Titus and had had some good conversations with some of the citizens who hadn’t recognized him as their future king.

It had been nice. To be almost ordinary.

Damian had assumed the final leg of their journey would be the same, hearing the call that they would be back to Bristol within the hour, he relaxed further into his seat and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure what would be waiting him when he returned but enjoying the last bit of time without someone hovering or expecting something of him was what he wanted right then.

And he got that until about twenty minutes outside of the city limits when the carriage came to an abrupt halt and a few shouts sounded. Frowning, Damian sat up and glanced out the window at an angle, trying to see what was happening. When he couldn’t get a good view but could hear some muffled sounds, he pushed the door opened and started to get out.

“Your Highness! I need you to stay inside!” Ser Kyle came up beside the carriage on his horse and Damian frowned. “Please, you need to stay here.” Instead of speaking, he nodded and sat back down as his guard rode up ahead. And though he had planned to follow the instruction, the sound of arrows hitting the ground near him and the yelling of the men pulled him back out. If they were under attack, he would not be a sitting duck.

The scene he emerged to was utter chaos.

The soldier that had accompanied him to Metropolis were engaged in hand-to-hand combat with men dressed in all black. Men who spoke a familiar language and made Damian’s blood chill. Al Ghul soldiers in disguise.

“I told you to stay inside!” Ser Kyle appeared at his side, broadsword in hand, and no longer on his horse.

“Give me a weapon,” Damian demanded. “I am not going to hide when our men are fighting with their lives to keep me safe. I am no coward.” Ser Kyle looked at him for a moment and Damian would have sworn the man was about to shove him back into the carriage, but instead he pulled a second sword out of his scabbard and gave it to him. With a nod, Damian turned to help the soldiers who seemed to be struggling the most.

He was immediately thankful for all the training Ser Jason had given him when he was younger. He had kept the training up after the Slayer’s death, but it would be his training that Damian would thank at the end of this.

And so would the men as he struck down Al Ghul soldier after Al Ghul soldier.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, kneeling down to inspect one of the men who had been about to take a dying blow before Damian had intervened. The man nodded, leaning forward to examine a long cut to his leg. “Stay down.” Damian dropped the sword and removed his outer cloak, tearing a strip from it so he could wrap it around the man’s leg.

“Your Highness!” The soldier called in panic. Damian reached for the sword he had dropped and turned to meet whoever it was he was being warned about but was a split second too late.

He barely felt the sword sliding into his abdomen. But he saw the look of victory in the soldier’s eyes and knew that this was their endgame. Whatever it was they were ordered, Damian knew he wasn’t meant to be taken alive.

“Damian, no!”

He couldn’t tell who had called him by name as he dropped the sword in his hand a second time, crumpling to the dirt as the Al Ghul soldier pulled the sword back out and tried to defend himself from whoever it was that had come to aide him. He groaned softly as a fire began burning in his stomach, placing a hand where the flame should have been but found nothing but a sticky substance that had not been there before. His mind told him it was blood, but there was some sort of disconnect.

He didn’t see the head of the enemy roll on the ground near his feet or the body crumple much like he did. All he saw was shadows around the edge of his vision as a familiar, panicked face entered his eyeline.

“Ser-” He choked on the word, coughing and gasping as the fire in his stomach grew.

“I’ve got you…just hold on…” The words sounded muffled, as if he were underwater but he tried to grasp their meaning. Tried to figure out what was happening beyond the all-consuming pain. He tried to focus on the fact that he was being picked up and soon slung over the back of one of the horses. Fragments of shouts broke through his haze, but not enough to make sense of. All he knew was in a matter of moments the horse was running full speed the direction that had been initially heading.

He saw the walls of home just as the blackness took him.

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Consciousness returned to him slowly, duly. At first it was sounds. Muffled and thick. Then lights flickered beyond his eyes in sync with the sounds. And eventually, he blinked heavy eyelids open to stare up at a familiar ceiling. The room was quiet when he opened his eyes and though it felt like he could fall back asleep from the effort of his opening his eyes, he turned his head slowly to grasp what was wrong with him.

The sight of his father asleep in a chair pulled up beside his bed was not the sight he expected.

The man looked exhausted, even in sleep. The dark smudges under his eyes told of many sleepless nights. And the rumpled clothing spoke of days without changing or bathing. But why? Why did his father look like this while sleeping in a chair beside his son’s bed?

Turning his head to look around the room in an attempt to figure out what had happened, he shifted in an attempt to sit up. Then he remembered. The familiar fire that lit his entire stomach up in pain brought back the memory of a sword piercing him clean through.

His gasp of pain must have woken his father because a pair of familiar blue eyes came swimming into his vision. “Damian! Oh gods,” the man’s voice sounded wobbly and strained. “You’re awake. Thank the gods you’re awake. The doctors…” His father trailed off and Damian didn’t need to ask to know what the doctors had probably said. They had probably told him exactly what Damian had assumed would happen as Ser Kyle hefted him up onto the horse and rode them as fast as he could the last few miles.

Closing his eyes as his father ran a hand through his hair, Damian breathed through the pain before he tried to say anything. It took a few moments of him just breathing slowly and his father continuing to run his fingers through his hair before he felt like he could push through.

“How long?” He asked, voice stale from lack of use. That alone told a story.

“Four days. The healers worked tirelessly for the first day,” his father said as Damian felt the bed shift. He blinked his eyes back open and saw his father now sitting on the edge of the bed, holing his hand. “If Ser Kyle hadn’t acted so quickly…” He watched the older man shudder, eyes glazing over a bit with unshed tears. “He has been here frequently to check on you. Said that if you hadn’t stopped to help bandage a soldier’s leg to keep him from bleeding out that you never would have been struck.” There was pride in his voice and it made Damian smile.

“It’s what Father would have done.” That made the tears that his father had been holding back so far fall down his cheeks.

The older man let out a wet laugh and nodded. “Yes, it is exactly what he would have done,” he agreed, pressing his forehead against Damian’s briefly. “He would have been so proud to hear what you did. Ser Kyle said the men might not have stood a chance without your skill.” His father pulled back and Damian blinked up at him. “I should retrieve a healer to come examine you, but I am just so glad to see you awake.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Father,” he spoke softly, reaching up to grip the man’s forearm of the hand that was still pressed to his cheek. “I am a bit hungry. Do you think I would be allowed some food?”

“I am certain you’re famished!” His father laughed, less emotional now, and straightened. “I shall send word to the kitchens and to the healer to come at once. “You shall have to wait until the healer has a look at you before you can eat, just to be sure.” Damian nodded and watched the man head toward the door and step out to find a servant to retrieve the proper people.

When he returned, his father took the chair he had been previously sleeping in and looked at Damian seriously. He had a feeling he knew what was coming, but wondered if he could give his father the information he wanted.

“Now,” the man started, folding his hands in his lap. “Ser Kyle told me he thought the men who attacked you to be of Al Ghul. He said the language they spoke sound similar to what you both heard the day you followed Catalina into the Narrows.”

“It was the language of Nanda Parbat, yes,” Damian confirmed. His father nodded and remained quiet. “I did not catch what they were saying though, I am sorry. My Arabic is good but I was too focused on helping the men.”

“I had thought that would be the case.” His father sighed and slouched a little in his chair. “I do not know to what end they were heading, but I also do not know if we can prove it was them to the point that would warrant action.” And Damian had figured that much. Unless one of them had been caught, their garb and weapons were not of their usual soldiers and therefore would not be able to be traced back.

“What of our men?”

His father regarded him for a moment before sighing again. “Three fell at the sword.” And Damian’s eyes fell closed at that. He said a silent prayer before he opened his eyes. “Their pyres?” His father shook his head.

“We wanted to wait to see if you would awaken so you could be there.” He felt relief and thankfulness at that. He would like to honor the ones who fell protecting him. “None of the men who attacked survived and they have already been put to rest. Ser Kyle and the others are adamant that none were able to get away.” But Damian knew that Ra’s would just send more if he felt so inclined.

“I would like to thank the surviving soldiers somehow.” His father raised a brow but did not look surprised. “I would also like to do something for the families of the fallen.”

“I have already thanked them personally in their homes and have made sure they are cared for.” Damian shook his head. “No?”

“I would like to do it. Perhaps a letter for now, but when I am able, I would like to visit them personally.”

His father leaned forward and took up his hand in both of his own. “We shall do that then.”

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“Go away,” Damian called, grumpy at the sound of the knock on his door. He was bored and annoyed. Each attempt at leaving his bed the past couple of days had been met with loud denials. He was never alone, and they never allowed him to do anything without someone there to support him. Damian was sure he was moments away from insanity.

And the last thing he wanted was another visitor to coddle him.

But when a familiar head poked through the opening of the door, Damian felt that annoyance fade away. “Jon,” he said, surprised to see his friend. “I was not aware you were coming?” He hadn’t sent any word to his friend about the incident and no one had said they had either.

“Damian,” his name came out relieved, reverent. Damian watched the man come into the room, shutting the door behind him before making his way over to the bed. He looked tired, as if he had come straight here upon arrival. Damian wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. “Your father sent word about what happened once you had woken up. I would have come sooner if we had known. I’m so glad you are all right.” Jon paused at the bedside, looking the younger man over with a critical eye.

“I am still sore, but the healers said I should recover completely. They said I was lucky, it could have been my spine.” The words were meant to calm Jon, but they seemed to deepen his frown. With a gentle pat of the bed, Damian gestured for Jon to join him up on the bed. There was some hesitation and Damian could see the debate happening in his friend’s head before Jon carefully climbed up to sit next to him.

Laying his hand palm up on the bed between them, Damian gave the silent invitation. And Jon, though hesitant to get on the bed, didn’t hesitate to take it in both of his. “I was so worried when I received the letter. Your father has never written me before and your uncle was so confused when he handed it over. He wanted to come but Kon still has so much to do and Timothy knew his consort couldn’t just leave him alone so soon.”

“I’ll write him a letter.” Jon nodded, gripping Damian’s hand tightly. “I’m okay, Jon. I promise. The pain is much more manageable now and though they won’t let me up without someone to hold onto, I am allowed to move around some. I will be back to full strength in no time.”

“Do they know who it was?”

“Al Ghul men.” Jon gasped. “They were in disguise though, so there is no way to really prove it. I recognized the language and the fighting style.” He thought about the look on the soldier’s face who stabbed him and frowned. He hadn’t told his father about that. According to the other soldiers, none of the attackers had survived and only three of their own had fallen, so it was much less tragic than it could have been. But Damian didn’t know how to take his Great Grandfather’s kingdom trying to assassinate him personally.

“Dames?” Jon’s voice cut through his thoughts, pulling green eyes away from the spot they had been staring at. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Damian considered the man before glancing at the door quickly to make sure it was closed completely.

“Can you keep a secret?” Jon hesitated, but nodded after a moment. “I do not believe the attack was random. The man who,” he gestured to his stomach so he didn’t have to say the words, “the look on his face…he looked like he had won.” He watched Jon frown, consider his words, and then clench his jaw.

“You have not told this to anyone?” Damian shook his head. “You cannot keep this a secret, Damian! Nanda Parbat tried to assassinate the Crown Prince! They are not a kingdom to give up after one failed attempt. You need to be protected!” Jon moved to get off the bed but Damian held tight to his hand and refused to let him go. “Damian, please! I refuse to keep a secret that could result in your death. I refuse to do nothing and have it result in your death.”

“Jon, please,” he begged. “We cannot go to war with Nanda Parbat. I cannot have our citizens dying because that country wants me to. I will not be the cause of that.”

“But what if they succeed next time? What happens then? Are we just supposed to go forward without you? Your father has already lost enough.” That stung and Damian knew he was right, but it didn’t mean he liked it. It didn’t mean Damian didn’t think he was making the right decision at keeping this quiet.

“And the families who would lose husbands, sons, brothers, wives, daughters, and sisters? What of them?”

“That’s not fair, Damian. War always has casualties.”

“But there doesn’t have to be a war, Jon. That is what I’m saying.” Jon looked at him with that familiar frustrated face and Damian couldn’t help but wonder if he had gotten through to the other man.

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “Ask anything else of me, but do not ask me to keep a secret that will get the man I love killed.”

Damian jerked in surprise, releasing his grip on Jon’s hand without meaning to. “What?”

He watched Jon’s face go from confusion to understanding to something painful in the span of a few heartbeats and Damian wondered what exactly was going through his head. “I-” He started but cut himself off to back up a few steps. Damian sat up a bit more and watched him carefully. “I did not mean to say that. I shouldn’t have.”

“Why?”

“Because while I do not have the obligation of a crown any longer, your own crown has limitations.” Damian thought of his father and Ser Jason, how they had loved each other so much but were not allowed to be together because of the laws. And not just the Law of Old that did not allow a Slayer and a Ruler to marry. But the laws of the people that required a ruler to marry someone who could possibly provide an heir. “But more than that, you have never given any indication of feeling so inclined and I did not want my own feelings to pressure you.”

Looking away from Jon, Damian leaned back in his spot against the headboard of his bed and considered what his closest friend was saying. How did Damian feel? He had never considered Jon as anything more than a friend because he was right, Jon wasn’t an option for him to marry.

But he also wasn’t sure that would change if the laws didn’t prevent him from choosing Jon over all others.

Did he love Jon? Yes, he was his closest friend and Damian valued their friendship over all others. Did he love Jon in the way Jon loved him? He couldn’t say. He couldn’t pinpoint what love actually felt like outside of family. He had seen love between his father and Ser Jason, but it had been so hidden from the world that Damian wondered if even he was seeing the real thing. He saw his grandfather and his wife, Selina, and though it differed from his fathers, the love was still obvious.

“Damian,” Jon’s voice drew his attention. Looking over at his best friend, Damian frowned. “Do not tell me anything you do not mean. I can see your wheels turning, but do not prematurely tell me how you feel.”

Nodding his head, Damian looked away for a moment before looking back to Jon. “I do not know how to respond to you. You are my dearest friend, but I do not know more than that. Even if I did…” Jon nodded, but Damian could see the tears brimming in his eyes. It made Damian’s chest ache.

“I am going to return home.” When Damian opened his mouth to protest, Jon held up a hand and sent him a pleading look. “I am glad you are on the mend. And no matter what conclusion you come to, I will always be your friend. I was prepared for that years ago.”

“Are you sure you won’t stay?”

“I think my presence would just serve to be more confusing than anything.” And yes, Damian could see how that would be true. “Please forgive me for saying this, but now that it’s out I would like to say it with meaning just once more.” Damian held his breath. “I love you Damian Wayne, Crown Prince of Gotham. I have for many years and I will for many more to come. I will respect whatever decision you come to, but my heart will always belong to you.”

Clenching his jaw to keep himself from begging Jon to stay, Damian gave a bow of his head. He kept it lowered until he heard his door click shut. The silence that followed felt heavier than Damian had ever known it to.

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Waving off the offered arm of Ser Kyle, Damian slowly made his way to the main dining room where he knew his family had gathered for breakfast. They weren’t expecting him, and while he usually took his breakfast in his rooms, the conversation with Jon the night before had left him lonely. He was hoping some time with his grandparents, aunt, and father would eliminate that feeling.

“Oh brother, surely you can do better than that,” his aunt’s laughter spilled out into the hallway as he reached the open doors of the room. His father’s followed closely with a deeper chuckle Damian knew to be his grandfathers.

The ache in his chest abated slightly at the sound.

“Damian!” His father’s surprised call rang out and the room went quiet. Carefully, Damian shuffled to the seat to the right of his father that was always empty for him in particular and waited for Ser Kyle to pull it out so he could sit. “How are you feeling this morning? Jon rushed out of here last night, stating he had only the time to check on you briefly and needed to get back to Metropolis.”

“Yes, he said he there was still much King Kon was adjusting to since the crowning,” he said, inwardly cringing at the partial lie. Jon had told him that, but he had said nothing about needing to be involved in any of it himself.

“And you, Grandson?”

Looking over at his grandfather, who was seated across from him with Selina by his side, Damian nodded. “I am well. The pain is hardly noticeable today.” His eyes flickered to Selina who was watching him curiously before looking at his aunt who was seated next to him. “Aunt Cass,” he greeted when she sent him a knowing smile. He hated that smile. The one that said she knew more than everyone else.

But thankfully he was saved from having to dissect it when a servant placed a plate in front of him, filled with the same items that would have been brought to his rooms for him. A tea cup with his favorite blend followed immediately and Damian reached for it without second thought.

If only for something to do with his hands.

“Well, if I had known you would be joining us, I would have waited to eat,” his father commented, glancing down at his empty plate. “But I do not have any responsibilities for a bit, I will remain with you.” He gestured to one of the servants to bring him more tea and Damian sighed quietly in relief. He knew he had been late, but he hadn’t expected to see the empty plates in front of each person.

“I, however, do,” his aunt commented as she stood. Damian said nothing as she leaned over and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head before stepping away from the table.

“Do wait for me, Daughter,” his grandfather stood before turning to help Selina out of her chair. “I wished to speak with Ser Harper about a few things.” Damian took a bite of his bread as his grandfather spoke quietly to his wife, who nodded and gave him a quick kiss before saying her farewells for the morning and hurrying out of the room. “Grandson, Son, I should like to take afternoon tea with you both today.”

“Of course, Father,” his father responded easily and Damian gave a smile when his grandfather looked at him to confirm. “I shall have everything sent to Damian’s sitting room so he does not have to travel far.”

“A fair plan.” His grandfather gave a bow of his head before heading toward the door where his aunt stood waiting for him.

“Now,” his father started, drawing Damian’s eye, “why did Jon really leave?”

“What makes you believe he was not telling the truth?” Damian asked, trying to desperately hold onto the lie. But he knew his father better than that. And the look on the older man’s face told him that his father knew he knew that. “We…had a disagreement. And he said something that he did not mean to say. He left to give me time to come to terms with it.”

He looked down at his plate, shifting the fruits and cheeses around with his hands so he would not have to look at his father. He knew the older man was far more observant than anyone ever gave him credit for and he wouldn’t put it past him to know exactly what Jon had revealed to him.

“Can you say what he told you?”

Damian shook his head. He didn’t want to say it. He had pondered it all night and still he found himself without any kind of truth of his own.

“And I assume you do not know how you feel in return?”

“I do not,” he admitted quietly, finally returning his eyes back to his father. “But even if I did, what could come of it? When I am bound to the same laws as you and all those before us.” He watched his father’s eyes turn sad and it struck something deep in his chest. Down where the ache had settled when Jon had left the night before.

His father reached over and placed a hand on his forearm, gently pausing the motions of moving his food around. “I cannot tell you what it is you feel, but I can tell you the denying yourself that emotion because of something as trivial as a law about marrying someone of the same gender, is not the wise thing to do.”

“You did,” he pointed out.

“I did, but Jason and I had more than just one law working against us,” his father said. “And I am not my father. We are very different in our core values and where he had his expectations, I do not have those. Not when it comes to you.”

“But your expectations do not change the law. How can I expect the kingdom to follow my rule if I do not abide by the law?” His father’s laugh surprised him, turning the corners of his mouth down as he tried to figure out exactly what his father found amusing.

The older man laughed for a moment longer, releasing Damian’s forearm to wipe at his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. “I am sorry, My Son,” he gasped around his laughter. “I am not laughing at you. I said something very similar to Jason when we faced the prospect of me having to marry someone to carry on the Wayne line for me. And though it is not funny, you just reminded me of times so much simpler.”

He didn’t see why the comment had amused his father so much, but he could admit he was glad to see his father smiling in such a way. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard the man laugh so freely, so openly.

A few beats of silence passed between them before his father took a sip of his tea and Damian went back to picking at his food.

“How do I know? How can I be sure of what it is I feel?” He gathered the courage to ask before shoving a piece of cheese into his mouth to keep from saying more.

“Well, I am no expert on the subject, but I suppose the best way to know is figure out how you might feel should you never see him again,” his father offered, his eyes gazing off into the distance in a way all too familiar. The look that told Damian he was thinking of his own lost love. “How might you feel if you were to see him with another? Would you be happy for him?”

Damian watched him for a moment before looking down at his plate and considering the questioned as he took a few more bites. He pictured Jon with some faceless woman, smiling and warm. He pictured him doting over her, tending to her every need and whim. He could see the smile his best friend would give away so freely, the loving look in his eye, and the warmth on his cheeks. He could picture it so perfectly that his hand involuntarily clenched one of the berries in his fist, squirting the juice from between his fingers.

“I do believe you have your answer.” His father’s voice was gentle, but when Damian looked away from his hand still dripping in the red liquid, he saw the amusement dancing in his eyes. “I am happy for you, Damian. I truly am. Please do not worry yourself about the laws and just try to enjoy the feeling for a while. There is nothing that can compare. And though it may be fleeting, it will always be worth it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Will you stand still, please,” Aunt Cass’s voice called to Damian as he turned and began making his way back down the hallway. They had been outside of his father’s room for the past hour, waiting for the doctors to examine him after he had collapsed in the Council meeting earlier and Damian knew he was anything but calm at the moment. “Your pacing will not make their diagnosis come any quicker.”

Scowling, he moved to lean against the wall opposite of the double doors.

It had been two weeks since the conversation he and his father had had regarding his feelings for Jon and Damian had struggled with knowing exactly what to do. He had received news of his father just as he was finishing a letter, asking Jon to come back so they could speak. Then the guard had appeared at his door. The letter now lay forgotten on his desk as he rushed to where he now stood waiting.

Just when he was about to start pacing again, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hall and pull both sets of eyes toward them. Damian immediately straightened when he noticed who it was, but Cass just sighed in what he assumed was relief.

“Grandfather,” Damian greeted. The older man, grayed and weathered with age, stopped in front of Damian and placed a hand on the shoulder that was almost equal height to his own.

“What have we heard?”

“Nothing as of yet,” Aunt Cass answered, and his grandfather frowned. “I told Damian he could go in, that Richard would not mind, but…”

Damian sent a glare toward her before looking back to his grandfather. “I didn’t want to intrude on his privacy.” His grandfather grunted before giving his shoulder a squeeze and moving toward the heavy doors. He gave the door two solid knocks before he pushed it open and stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind him.

“That could have been you.”

“It doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t like me to see those moments.”

“He doesn’t want you to worry. But in this instance, you are worrying all the same.” He knew his father didn’t like people to fuss over him, that he always thought there were more important matters to attend to. But Damian had always been one of the only people the King allowed to see him at his weakest. He could still remember the moments in the sept with just his father as they mourned the man the King had loved. The man Damian had thought of as a second father. The moments they got before his grandfather had come rushing in and tried to comfort his son.

He remembered the pain in his chest when they had watched the pyre burn and when they laid the Dragon Slayer to rest in his crypt. The one with an empty space right next to it for the man who had been looking more and more tired over the last few months.

“Damian,” the gruff voice of his grandfather broke through his musings. “The doctors are finishing up and Richard is asking for you. Cassandra, please send word to your brother that Richard has fallen ill, and he should come.”

If his grandfather was sending for his uncle, then that meant it was serious. That meant that Damian was looking at losing is last parent.

“Grandfather?” He questioned weakly. The older man looked down at him sadly but said nothing as he ushered him into the room. Damian’s eyes scanned the room quickly, taking in the various doctors moving about. Two were in the corner, speaking in hushed tones. One was at a table looking over various bottles and herbs, frowning and mumbling to himself. And one stood near the head of his father’s bed. The same bed where his father currently lay, pale, with a damp cloth laid out over his forehead. “Father?” Damian spoke softly, hoping the man was not sleeping and him waking him.

“Son,” his father responded, his voice sounding off but not as weak as Damian had assumed it would. He raised a hand and beckoned Damian closer. It took a nudge from his grandfather before he closed the remaining space to the bed. With a welcoming gesture from the older man, Damian climbed up onto it, sitting next to his father who was in the act of being propped up. “Tell us, Healer Thompkins.”

The woman healer that had already been at his bedside, sighed and looked the two newcomers over before looking back at the king. “Your Majesty, we do not know what is wrong. I have all the notes from your previous visits with me and I have conferred with the others, but we do not know why you are fading.”

“Fading?” Damian questioned without thinking. It didn’t sound like a particularly medical term.

“Yes, fading,” the healer nodded. “Your father has been coming to see me for a few years now and has been in decline for the past year more than the previous ones. There is nothing to account for it, but it is happening. I will tell you just as I have been telling him, it could change for the better any day now. Since we do not know what is happening, we cannot say whether it is permanent or not.”

Damian frowned and looked over at his father, who was watching the healer as she spoke more. He could see how tired the man was and he knew that the past few years he had begun to feel the loneliness without Ser Jason, but other than that he had never heard his father complain. Not about how he was feeling, at least. But he could see it. He could see how…dull the man looked. Even engaged in a conversation that now included his grandfather and another healer, he looked a shade of the man he had always known his father to be.

The conversation between the four other people swirled around him, but Damian ignored it. He ignored it because he knew no matter what hope the healers tried to give them, he was going to be saying his final goodbyes to his last parent sooner rather than later. He knew his grandfather knew it as well, otherwise he would not have sent his aunt to send for his uncle.

And the thought of his uncle brought the thought of Jon to the forefront of his mind, making him wish for the other man’s presence right then. What a comfort he would be. He wondered if he could rush to catch the letter before his aunt sent it, asking that Jon accompany his uncle to Gotham. But it was selfish to ask when he hadn’t made any decisions in regards to his newly understood affections for the former Crowned Prince. It wasn’t fair to ask Jon to comfort him when Damian could not tell him with certainty what it is he wanted.

“Damian,” his grandfather’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling his gaze to look into the crystal blue eyes of the older man. “We should allow your father to rest.” Looking down at his father, Damian furrowed his brow and clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to lose more time with the man that he was uncertain of how much longer he would have with him.

“You can stay, Dami,” his father smiled, clearly reading his thoughts as he always did. “I am going to sleep, but you are always welcome to remain with me.” Nodding his head, Damian looked back to his grandfather, who sighed and gave a bow of his head. There was some sort of emotion on the elder man’s face when he regarded the two of them, but Damian wasn’t sure what it meant so he disregarded it.

The pair of them watched the room slowly clear out. One of the servants set a tray down with some tea for the two of them should they want it before offering to take Titus on a walk. Damian thanked her, but remained in his spot as the rest of the healers made their way out of the room with their things. When the last of the staff had left, the room fell silent as the door shut and Damian stared at it as his mind began to race with all the things he wanted to say.

“You left your charcoals and pages over by the balcony the other day.” Jerking in slight surprise, he looked down at his father as the man shuffled further down the bed in a more reclined position. “I hope you do not mind, but I looked through some of them. They are beautiful. You have a rare talent. I hope when your duties become…more substantial that you will not let your art be forgotten.”

Damian frowned down at the man who looked far too relaxed given the news they just received. “Father…” He tried to say, his eyes filling with tears as he tried to get the right words out.

“I know, My Son,” the man nodded, taking hold of Damian’s hand. “I know. But I am not gone yet and I do not plan to before I complete a few tasks. You still have me yet.”

“But it is not long enough.”

“It never is, sadly.” And his father did sound sad. Just as sad as he had sounded the day Damian found him in the Sept mourning the man he had loved most of his life. “But it will have to do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Council, I move we abolish the letter of the law that demands a ruler marry someone who has the possibility of providing an heir,” his father’s voice called out from his spot at the head of the table. The room went silent at the request and when Damian glanced around, he could see the surprise on each Councilmember’s face.

“My King?” One of the Councilwomen from the lower regions of the kingdom questioned. “You have an heir and Prince Damian is too young to be worrying about potential marriages, is he not?” A few of the members looked over at him but Damian’s eyes were on his father.

“You all know what the former queen did to Ser Jason Todd. Most of you are privy to the fact that I married her simply because the Laws of Old and the Law of the People did not allow me to marry Ser Todd instead.” There were some murmurs, but no one spoke up. “I am not asking to abolish the Law of Old as the slayer line has ended and it is not an issue any longer. I am simply asking to allow any future ruler the luxury of marrying someone they truly love. Or someone they feel they could come to love.” The man paused and pushed to his feet, looking over at Damian and giving him a smile that actually reached his eyes for once. “I am asking that you allow my son to marry whoever his heart desires and not someone for the simple fact that they can produce him an heir.”

The room remained silent for a few beats before hushed conversations broke out across the table as the members discussed it with one another. But Damian could only focus on his father because he knew exactly why his father had made this request. Jon. There was no solution that ended with them together unless Damian stepped down from the line of succession and his aunt stepped up. But his father had done whatever he could to be sure his siblings would never had to make a sacrifice they did not want to make.

And for his aunt, that had been the choice not to marry.

Though their father had arranged a marriage of the people for her, when his father had taken the crown he had given the choice to his aunt. And she had requested the right to refuse to marry. Though the former king objected loudly, his father had granted her the right and it had been done. If Damian stepped down, his aunt would have to marry. So Damian would not take that gift away from her.

But it meant he could not be with Jon because he did not want what his father had gone through with Ser Jason and his mother. He did not want a marriage of convenience and a lover on the side. He did not want that for Jon.

So he had made the decision to tell Jon that he cared for him but could not be with him. He had made the decision to choose duty over heart.

“Councilmembers,” his father called them all to attention again, waiting for the conversations to pause before he continued. “I am asking this as an urgent request as I have had news from my healers that I am not long for this world.” The shouts of surprise did not surprise Damian but the ache in his chest increased at them. He watched his father hold up a hand to halt anyone wanted to question him. “A few of you are already aware of it, but it is a fact. I do not know how much longer I have and I would very much like to spend what time I do have left knowing I was able to make this possible for my son and the future rulers.”

“I second the motion to abolish the Law of the People requiring a ruler to marry a person who could physically provide them with an heir,” one of the oldest councilmembers stood shakily. Damian looked at the older man and smiled when the man gave him a significant look and a nod.

“I third the motion,” one of the councilwomen called out, standing.

“All those in favor say aye,” the older man called out. He was followed with a chorus of ‘ayes’ before Damian turned to look back to his father. The man had taken his seat again and was looking a bit paler than he had before, but he also looked happy. “The motion has been approved. I will alert the clerks of the law to make the amendments.” His father gave a nod of thanks.

There was the sound of a chair being pushed back before another voice called out. “Given what we have learned today,” Damian looked over to see the newest member of the council standing. She was a brilliant woman from the city that was a representative for the people themselves. Barbara. Her fiery hair matched her personality. His father had liked her immediately and so had Damian. “I believe we should discuss having Prince Damian crowned before the usual age of 25.”

“Yes,” his father agreed. Damian looked at the man with wide eyes, not having really made the connection of what his father’s passing would mean for him outside of the loss of a parent. “You are ready, Damian. There is little more I can do to prepare you for your role,” his father said softly to him, easily spotting his worry.

“Sooner rather than later, My King?” His father looked back to the woman and nodded. “I shall gather the necessary staff and prepare for the ceremony. A week’s time?”

#jaydick #DamiJon #damian wayne #dick grayson #past lives au #bruce wayne #jon kent #anikah writes

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