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Jon isn't sure what time it is when he opens his eyes again, but a glance around gives him a rough idea that it's late at night.
Not that there's much to see in this base, really. They've gotten so used to having their windows tinted that it shouldn't bother him any more; but a small hope blossoms in his heart at the thought that after so many years of fighting for survival against a worldwide population of anti-lives, it's finally over. No more looking over their shoulders, no more racing against time to find a cure, no more terror in the eyes of the survivors - and they owe it all to Damian. And Jon's heart clenches for a moment at the memory of what his best friend was willing to do to succeed.
For a moment, Jon stops breathing. He risked losing Damian. He risked losing Damian and stayed by his side until the last moment - but he saved him. He doesn't know exactly what happened, how he got them both out of that thing and stopped Damian from sacrificing himself to eliminate Erebos, but... he succeeded. He was ready to see Damian die, had even said goodbye to him and cried with him, his gaze fixed on the shining suit that had enveloped him in a golden light; instead, somehow the presence of the Spectre - Alfred, his sleep-deprived mind reminds him - brought not only him to safety... but Damian as well.
Jon runs the back of his hand over his eyes and smile through the tears. Despite all the power of the sun in his cells, despite his Kryptonian nature and innate resilience, he had come to terms with the fact that there was nothing he could do for Damian. Instead... his best friend, however wounded and in need of rest, sleeps in the room next to his own. Jon has never believed in miracles, but this was one. And he doesn't want to, but he bursts into a liberating scream, a scream he's been holding in until this moment, and he clutches his legs to his chest, hugging them so tight they hurt.
Only a handful of minutes pass before he decides to leave his room, but to Jon it seems like hours. He needs to get some air and stop thinking, he wants to enjoy for a moment the new life that awaits them, to calm the furious beating of his heart, to convince his brain that Damian is okay and that he hasn't really lost him, as he believed for a long moment up there in the galaxy above them. But when he turns the corner, Jon sees Damian's figure, his right arm in a cast, the crutch under his left armpit, and the bandage covering half his face, hiding the scars on his cheeks and the scar that marked his right eye.
"D?" Jon's eyes widen and he runs up to him, putting a hand around his waist to support him in light of his friend's limp gait. "What are you doing up? You need to rest!" Jon's tone is urgent, maybe even angry, but Damian doesn't seem to mind, just slapping a hand on his forearm.
"I'm fine. It's not like I'm dying," Damian retorts, and Jon tightens his lips and thins his eyelids, resisting the urge to headbutt him.
"I wouldn't joke if I were you, 'cause that's exactly what you were going to do."
Damian opens his mouth to retort, but as he stares into Jon's big blue eyes, he ends up not doing so. True, he was willing to sacrifice himself to win and give the survivors a real life and hope for the future. He told no one of his intentions, least of all Jon, who was sure he would try to stop him; he still caught up with him as the suit overloaded with energy and sat by his side, sharing that moment between tears and smiles...and when he felt his body burning, when the light enveloped him in that beautiful and terrible warmth of a moment, the only thing he could do was thank Jon. How he managed to survive is still a mistery.
His memories are fuzzy, voices and words and whispers crept into his head for a moment, when he was about to die he even felt the embrace of his father and his siblings, a sense of belonging and family that drove him to give everything to give people the hope they had lacked for years; then he heard screams, the smell of blood, the stench of ash and burning and something holding him tight until he woke up in that bed with his body on fire and Jon's cloak as a blanket. And the first thing he asked was if he made it. Maybe-maybe, after the scare he gave them all, it's normal for Jon to react that way.
"You're right. I should rest a bit more," he says finally, and Jon's shoulders relax, as if the tension has melted away. "But I had... I can't stay in bed, there's still so much to do, so many things to check, I..."
Jon's shoulders stiffen again. "D..."
Jon adds nothing more, but it's his dejected, disillusioned, worried tone that makes Damian bite his lip. He has never... he has never heard Jon talk like that. Even during those dark years, years when they never gave up and tried to move forward, he never let despondency get the better of him, burdened by the weight of the symbol on his chest and the hope it has always represented to the world. Now, however, Damian sees Jon for what he is: a worried friend who, for a moment, thought he might lose him. And it is that look that completely breaks Damian.
"Only for you," he murmurs in a half voice. "I'm going back to bed for you. But don't sing victory too soon, take a few hours and--"
The rest of the sentence dies in his throat as Jon hugs him tightly and pulls him against him, sinking his face into his shoulder. Damian's eyes widen and he stands motionless, held in the embrace of his friend who seems unwilling to let him go; Jon's body shakes, Damian can feel his muscles tense to the point of exhaustion, and if he concentrates hard enough, he can even feel the frantic beating of Jon's heart against his own chest, like a drum beating against his skin. The "thank you" that Jon puffs out of his lips is only a whisper, but it is loud enough to make his heart ache. And in the silence, with Jon's cry echoing his own, Damian lets go with his head against hers.
He was ready to sacrifice himself for all, contemptuous of death and not at all afraid of it... but now, in the arms of his best friend, he's happy to be alive.