Work Text:
"When I saw it, it already came
Took part of me
It took away my sorrow
Your sight enchants me, at last
Sing close to me
Your voice softens your gaze"
For as long as Damian can remember, he has been alone. In complete unchanging, steady silence in the solitude of the League's corridors. He grew up lonely, as an assassin should be. No ties, no attachment. No silly compliments and small talk. Completely oblivious and attentive at the same time to everything and everyone.
The inner emptiness in his chest was good; recognizable. Something he was used to, the control of every beat, every breath. And even in the adrenaline rush of crossing swords and dodging arrows, his breathing was always under his control. His body and mind were his — and Grandfather's, of course — and he controlled them.
Even when he killed his first person at the age of four. Every beat of adrenaline was his, belonged to him. The situation was his, it was under his control, he wanted to feel it.
His heart was in complete silence. Every beat rhythmic. No uncontrolled, no mistake.
No risk of pain.
~×~
The first misstep was at the mansion. To be more exact, when everyone thought his father was dead, he was living with Dick and Alfred in Wayne tower.
It was raining heavily and it was still 3:30 in the afternoon. Dick was sitting in the kitchen counter chair and Damian was in the living room drawing. It was quiet as he liked it, Grayson amazingly enough that day, was quiet.
And it was good, the peace, the silence. But Damian reflected on how different it was. In the League, silence was dangerous and necessary. Paying attention could save your life, inattention resulted in punishment.
Meanwhile here, on the rooftop, where the rain pounded outside and the corruption of Gotham peeked over the streets like a mist, Damian contemplated the comfortable silence. Dick and Alfred's company was good, pleasant, and filled the atmosphere. Not that he was going to admit it, not back then at least.
The silence was good, almost singed in his ears. His heart warmed and he couldn't handle the feeling. It was strange and good.
Grandpa wasn't around and neither was Mom, the league complex was thousands and thousands of miles away and the thought made him so... happy. Far, far away he was from the bad silence.
That silence was good. It was one where he could control without fear, without demand, just... ask, talk, or just exchange a silly look with Dick and watch him laugh at absolutely nothing. Just because he remembered a silly scene from some movie. Where he could sit in the kitchen and watch Alfred make food always ideal for any occasion, where his culinary magic happened.
Where he could lie in his room and stare at the ceiling for hours and hours, or close his eyes and imagine a huge ocean. The cool breeze, the sand on his feet. Without fear of getting hit for it, for resting and relaxing.
Yes, it was a good silence.
~×~
Jonathan Kent broke his silence. The gentle breeze was becoming a hurricane, and the calm sea was raging. Brustling .
Damian met him when he was thirteen, Jon was eleven - close to twelve - with a demeanor of five. Immature, childish, and idiotic, he would define him thus. An asshole who was too cheerful and too oblivious.
Jon was like a goddamn rainbow, so bright it dazzled his eyes. Damian was a nocturnal creature, born in the shadows and raised in the twilight.
A bat.
He liked silence, always had. The silence of the League, though threatening, was under his control. The silence on the Wayne deck was enjoyable, appreciative, and good. And Dick could be loud sometimes, but he knew Damian's limits and respected that.
Jon didn't.
He came with everything! He invaded his mind with his unfunny jokes, his bubbly, over-the-top laughter, his barely censored swear words, and that ever-present silly grin. Vibrant and fearless... Jon just came and... stayed.
And it was all so fast, or so slow. Damian doesn't know and doesn't dare try to find out. But at some point the noise became good . Inviting.
Recognizable .
It was like his own, a sound he liked to hear. His heart palpitated and he didn't want it, he wasn't expecting it. It was not under his control.
That post-mission day, Damian at sixteen and Jon at fifteen. Their rain-wet hair stuck to their foreheads, their bright blue eyes, and their silly grin.
Jon was much taller than him now. Sometimes the jerk rested his chin on his head. And Damian hated him so much that he cursed him, only to receive a bubbling laugh in return.
His heart beat fast. The unexpected tum tum tum always made him flinch. It was strange, not unexpected, but strange. Why did he do this? From so many situations, so many things he had been through.
How could Jonathan Kent make his heart make so much noise?
— You're my most comfortable headstand in the world, Dami! — Jon said, laughing so hard that Damian followed, much quieter than the Kryptonian.
And his heart pounded so hard. Geez, why was this happening?
And my goodness, it took Damian another two whole years to notice the way his heart, always rhythmic to him, palpitated uncompensated around Jon. Or how his mind wandered to her smile when he was away, or how his eyes sometimes stared too much at his lips on quieter days.
How the noise in her chest only grew louder and louder. Of longing, of longing, of desire .
How the patrols with him were fun and exciting. They knew each other so well, completed each other so well. One knew how to read the other, it became automatic.
Jon knew when Damian was insecure, just as he knew when Jon was upset.
Like another me.
And my God, Damian. How could you let yourself get carried away like that? Let your guard down on that level. Let him get that close to you? Your mother would say. How could you be so weak? Useless, weak and childish. Despicable and disgusting, your grandfather would say.
But really? As Jason would say: Fuck you !
Because when Damian was eighteen and patrolling with Jon in Metropolis they were attacked by League agents. What did they want? Maybe to give them a scare on Ra's orders, or to take Damian back. It doesn't matter and never really mattered. Because Jon was wounded by a kryptonite dagger and Damian was so worried.
That's when the whole picture came crashing down. The likelihood of living without Jon, without his bubbly laugh, without his bright smile. His eyes, his voice, his jokes, without him.
Without the absurdly good noise he made in her chest.
— I think I like the sound of it... — Damian spoke softly as he finished bandaging the deep cut.
Already in the coziness of their secret base, Jon looked at him puzzled.
— What?
Damian didn't repeat himself, though. No, he just let the noise in his heart crack.
Tum tum tum.
And he didn't stop when he joined his lips to Jon's soothingly. And not even when Jon reciprocated. When he put his hands on his face and felt him buckle his hips.
Tum tum tum.
Again and again and again. All night long. Every touch, every kiss exchanged that first wonderful night. Longed for by both of them for so long. Kept for so long by Damian, the sound finally came out. The good music that tuned in between the two of them. Of passionate smiles and warm, loving touches. At every moment his heart palpitated, without his control, without his approval. Jon did this. Boy, had he done it: broken his own damn silence.
In the league, the silence was threatening.
At home, silence was pleasant.
With Jon, silence is unbearable . Noise is indispensable. His music and brilliance bring that, that rhythmic beat that it is not Damian who controls, but Jon.
Not least because, Damian had never seen anyone make so much noise in one heart.
"I've never seen anyone
Make so much noise in my heart
Your care is without a grid
It's a zone, lady
The hindrance that I pass that I kiss
And how much it takes me down
That's why I sing outroria
Outroria - Anavitoria"