Work Text:
Jon stared at his arm, a smile tracing its way across his lips as he watched the picture appear. They were smooth black lines, one after another, until there was a giant dragon curling around his forearm, its mouth roaring into his palm.
“You’re such a sap,” Kathy said from next to him, rolling her eyes even as she smiled.
He made a face at her. “Shut up.”
“God, you can’t even say that without smiling,” she said, shaking her head.
“Hey,” Jon said, poking her with his pencil. “If your soulmate was as good of an artist as I mine is, you’d be just as much of a sap.”
“No talking,” Ms. Walters called from the front of the classroom.
Jon winced, glancing up at her. Only she hadn’t looked up from her computer. She was still sitting there, staring at the screen like it would fulfill her life or something.
“No, I wouldn’t,” Kathy said. Jon looked at her, glancing between her and the teacher. She ignored him. “You’re the only one with heart-eyes around here.”
He scoffed. “Please. I see the way you look at your arm when you write notes back and forth. You’re just as much of a sap as I am.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am no–”
“Do I need to separate you two?” Ms. Walters asked, actually looking up and glaring at them.
“No,” they chorused.
“Then do your work,” she said, gesturing towards the papers on their desks before looking back at her computer.
Kathy rolled her head towards him and smiled. Then proceeded to sit up straight and do a mock impression of Ms. Walters that was somehow stunningly accurate. She had that perfect I-don’t-give-a-fuck mixed with I’m-going-to-kill-all-of-you look.
Jon pressed his hand against his mouth to keep from laughing, his shoulders shaking.
She grinned in triumph before turning back to the pointless math worksheet that’d been handed out at the beginning of class.
Jon pinched his nose to keep from laughing. Letting out a long breath Jon looked down at his work. Only he looked at the dragon again instead.
It really was impressive. It was one of those Chinese-style dragons, with the long curving body and no wings that somehow just floated magically through the air. Not that a giant lizard with wings was any less magical or unrealistic, but still. It was at least a little less unrealistic.
He’d always liked that kind of dragon better, but looking at this… he might just have to change his mind.
Grabbing a pen, he wrote to the side of the dragon it’s beautiful.
He stared at his arm for a minute. Then another. And another.
Sighing, he grabbed his pencil and went back to the worksheet.
It wasn’t like they ever answered, after all.
--------------------------------
Damian stared at his arm as the two little words appeared. It’s beautiful. His heart did that funny thing it always did when they would respond. That half-skip. The one that made his stomach flutter even as a small smile spread across his lips.
He let his pen hover over his arm, an inch away from a blank part of his skin. He twirled his pen, back and forth, before setting it down on the table and standing up.
It wasn’t like he had to respond. Or that he should. For a variety of different reasons. One of which was his nightly activities. Another of which was the assassins that had raised him.
Besides, he didn’t draw on his arm for them. He did it because he liked to draw, and using a canvas other than paper was a good way to improve his skill. It wasn’t because he liked the little comments they left. The way the words were always messy and barely legible. Or that stupid smiley face they’d sometimes draw.
Clenching his hand, Damian walked into the kitchen and found Pennyworth setting a plate at the counter. “Good timing, Master Damian,” he said, handing him a fork. “I just finished lunch.”
“Thank you, Pennyworth,” Damian said, sitting down in front of the plate of rice and sautéed vegetables.
A glass of water was set in front of him. “You’re quite welcome, Master Damian. If you need me, I’ll be in the library tidying up.”
He nodded, barely looking up from the dragon on his arm.
“And Master Damian?”
He looked up to find Pennyworth in the door, looking at him with a smile.
“I suggest that you write something back,” he said, pointedly looking at his arm. “But that’s just the advice of an old man.”
Before he could answer, Pennyworth had walked out of the room.
Damian glared at his arm. No, he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t even draw on his arm. He should make sure his soulmate stayed as far away from him as possible.
He stabbed a piece of broccoli and shoved it in his mouth.
------------------------------------
“Want some help?”
Superboy hovered a few feet above the fight, watching as Robin fought off five armed thugs at once. He knew better by now then to just jump into the fight without asking first. The bruises on his back from when Robin had flipped him over his shoulder last week for doing just that still hurt.
“No,” Robin said, roundhouse kicking on in the face and throwing a batarang at another.
He pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “You know, I’m already here–”
“A questionable decision,” he said, slamming one of the men's faces into the wall.
Superboy winced. “Not really, since we’re supposed to be partners–”
The third guy fell to the floor, clutching at his now-broken arm. “Is that what you’re calling us now?”
“It’s what our parents call us.” He crossed his arms.
“Are you pouting?” Robin asked turning to face him fully. And got what looked like a metal pipe to the back.
Snarling, Robin spun around and actually leaped at the guy, tackling him to the ground before knocking him unconscious.
“I am not pouting,” he said, puffing out his chest.
“You are,” he said, taking out a grappling hook. “This is unbelievable.”
Superboy opened his mouth to protest, but Robin turned away from him and shot his grapple at the last thug, wrapping him in the nearly unbreakable cord from head to foot. He fell to the ground, wiggling like a worm.
“Do you have no shame, Superboy?” Robin asked, crossing his arms. “We’re in the field. You’re supposed to intimidate these people.”
“I’m intimidating!” His voice cracked.
Robin raised an eyebrow.
Okay fine, that wasn’t very intimidating, but it wasn’t his fault his voice cracked. Blame puberty. God knows he does.
Floating to the ground, he asked, “Do you want me to fly these guys to a police station?”
Robin just scoffed and turned his back on him, grabbing the men and leaning them against the light pole closest to them.
“I can help,” he said, inching closer to one of the unconscious thugs.
Robin grunted as he dragged the third thug to the street. “I don’t need your help.”
Superboy stopped, eyebrows bunching together. “You sure?”
He dropped the thug next to the others, turning to face him. “I’m sure.”
Ouch. He tried not to let the hurt show on his face. From the way Robin rolled his eyes, he didn’t do a very good job.
His stomach went hot, his hands balling into fists. You know, he could get why he was rude and closed off sometimes. The whole raised-by-assassins bullshit he’d had to go through explained that. But mean? Dismissive? That wasn’t something he could explain away.
It wasn’t even like Robin was like that with everyone. He’d seen him be nice. Not often, and it was always a little awkward, but he could do it. It was just never directed at him.
“Do you hate me?” he asked to his back. “Because if you do, just tell me. At least then I’ll know where we stand.”
Robin looked over his shoulder. “Are we really going to do this here?”
“Yeah,” he said, crossing his arms. “We are.”
“Fine,” Robin said, dropping the last body by the light pole. “I don’t hate you. I just don’t trust you.”
That was… he didn’t even know how to react to that. He didn’t trust him? After everything? All the missions? All the times he’d had his back? All the times he’d saved him? And he still didn’t trust him?
“You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t trust you.”
“Why?”
Robin huffed, unspooling a grapple and tying the thugs to the light pole. “Would you like the list chronologically or alphabetically?”
Superboy stared at him. “Why do you do that?”
Robin looked at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That,” he said, gesturing at him. “Any time things get even a little bit personal you insult me. Do you even realize you’re doing it? Is it just me? Or are you just that closed off?”
“I’m not closed off,” he said, standing up straight and jutting his chin up.
“Name one friend that isn’t part of your family.”
Damian opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Jon raised an eyebrow, tilting his head.
“I don’t need this from you, Kent,” he said, turning and aiming his grapple at the nearest building.
“Well you need it from someone,” Jon said, grabbing his arm. And froze.
Because there was what looked like the start of a maw on his arm. One that looked familiar.
“Let go, Kent,” Damian growled. “Or I’ll make you.”
“What’s on your arm,” he said, trying to push up his sleeve.
His back slammed into the ground, Damian’s arm pressing into his neck, cutting off his air. “Don’t. You. Dare.”
“What is it?” he choked out, because it looked like…
“It’s none of your business,” Damian growled.
Jon grabbed his arm and pushed up his sleeve, revealing the dragon on his arm. “I think it is.”
Damian stared at his arm, jaw working. He watched him swallow hard. Then push off him, standing up in the alley and starting to pace, back and forth again and again.
Slowly Jon pushed up onto his elbows, looking at him. At his soulmate. Because Damian was his soulmate. Damian was the one who had been drawing those beautiful pictures on his arm for years. He hadn’t even known he could draw.
Damian. Damian Wayne. He was his soulmate. He’d known his soulmate for almost three years. Three years, and he hadn’t noticed. They’d somehow gone three years without realizing it. Him, who had freaking super-hearing, and Damian, the son of the world’s greatest detective. Between the two of them someone should have figured it out.
Carefully Jon stood up. “Damian.”
He whirled towards him, pushing up his sleeve and fully showing the dragon he’d drawn this afternoon. “Why.”
Jon frowned, his eyebrows pulling together. “What?”
Damian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just… surprised.”
“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” Jon said, taking a step closer to him. “What did you mean?”
Damian looked at him. Took a deep breath. Balled his hands into fists.
Jon watched, listening as his heartbeat started to pound faster and faster. In the entire time he’d known him, he’d never heard his heartbeat become erratic. Not when they were in trouble, or in a fight, or one of them was hurt. Never. It just didn’t happen. Yet his heart was pounding right now.
Sighing through his nose, Damian pushed off his hood. “I meant why are you of all people, my soulmate?”
Jon flinched, taking a half step back. “Do you not want me to be?”
Because that’s what it sounded like. It sounded like Damian was mad that it was him. That he didn’t want him. That he was some sort of… disappointment or something.
“No,” Damian said.
Jon flinched.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Damian growled, hands balling into fists. “I do not… mind having you as my soulmate, I just do not understand why.”
“What?”
He was lost. Or missing something. Or both. Probably both. When it came to Damian, it was usually both.
“Why is someone like you my soulmate?” Damian asked, taking a step closer and looking him up and down.
Jon frowned, crossing his arms. “You know, Robin, if you’re trying not to insult me, you’re doing a terrible job.”
Damian tsked, the sound echoing through the alley. “I am not trying to insult you, I simply mean that it makes no sense why someone like you who is so…”
“So what?”
“Good,” he said, eyebrows pulling together. “Someone so good.”
Jon’s mouth popped open. Oh. Oh.
“Damian, you’re good too,” he said softly, taking another step forward.
He scoffed. “The blood on my hands would say otherwise.”
“You are good,” he said. “What you did when you were with the League, that’s not on you. You did what you had to to survive. It’s not your fault.”
Damian frowned, looking at his face.
“It’s not,” Jon said, taking another step closer. “And if you need me to, I’ll remind you of that every day.”
Damian shook his head. “You need to stay away from me.”
“Not gonna happen,” Jon said, taking another step closer.
They were an inch apart, so close that Jon could feel his breath on his face.
“Why are you stubborn?” Damian growled, leaning closer.
Jon just grinned. “Does that mean you’re accepting this?”
“No.”
“I think you are.”
“I’m not.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you still so close?”
Damian blinked.
Before he could step away, Jon leaned forward and pressed his lips against Damian’s.
It was sloppy, and messy, and last maybe five seconds, but Jon felt like he was on top of the world.
Because he’d finally found him. After years of trying, he’d finally figured it out. And it was Damian. Damian, who was smart and amazing and confident. Who was everything.
He pulled away, grinning at the half-startled, half-happy look on Damian’s face. One that turned into a mock-glare as he said, “Don’t you dare do that again.”
Jon grinned. “No promises.”