Slowly but surely I've been attempting to get better with keeping my various accounts up to date. It's not nearly as easy as I'd like it to be. But! I've been migrating works over slowly.

This fic is not beta read. If you would like to help me make it shiny and beta this, please shoot me a message.

Warning this fic does contain homophobia as well as homophobic slurs. If that bothers you this might not be the fic for you.

Jon walks through the halls with his head down, backpack slung over one hunched shoulder. He does his best to make himself look small, to not draw attention. Jon's well-practiced in the art, pulling his gangly arms tight against his chest and losing at least two inches to his poor posture. He would take any villain Gotham could throw at him over another minute spent in Smallville High School.

Small town America really is its own form of hell.

Jon's been Superboy for five years now, he's seen some truly awful things fighting alongside Damian in the Gotham night and yet, he's struggling now more than he ever did then to suppress his powers.

He wishes he could just take off, run right out the door and keep going until this hick town is nothing more than a speck in the distance. Jon wants to fly over to Gotham, to meet up with Damian, put on his cape and prove to every single person here he's not worthless. He wants to show them that he matters, that all their terrible comments are wrong because he's not weak.

Jon can't though, because this charade had been his parent's idea. Leaving now-leaving now would mean disappointing his dad and devastating his mom. High school is important to her, apparently more important than the work he had already been doing. She wants him to have options, a life outside his cape and to do that Jon needed stability. More stability than either of his parents are capable of. It didn't matter what Jon said, how much he begged, his bags were packed, his cape was shelved, and he was sent to live with his grandma.

Here in Smallville U.S.A

Grand capital of hell itself.

Jon hears snickering as he passes, for some reason the odd looks are lingering longer than usual today. It sets off alarm bells in his brain making his body coil. It's nothing terribly different from the treatment he gets daily so, he forces his body to relax. A deep breath, a long exhale out, Jon clenches and unclenches his hands rhythmically.

One group of students, girls mostly from the year above him stop when he passes. One of them - Kerry from his art class - whispers something to the others who instantly burst into peels of laughter.

Jon's ears feel hot, he just knows they're as red as his cheeks. He's always trying his best to avoid eavesdropping, just this once though he wishes he had. If only so he could find out what exactly is so much more hilarious about himself today as opposed to say yesterday. He knows there isn't anything stuck to his back so he really wants to know why everyone finds it so hilarious when he turns around.
As Jon nears his locker he feels all the color drain from his face, He comes to a dead stop right there in the middle of the hall, cold terror freezing him in place. Jon's breathless, all the air escaping his lungs as the wind is knocked out of him.

Faggot

Homo

Burn in Hell

Painted right there in big blocky letters for the whole world to see. They drip a toxic neon green onto the cold linoleum floor, still wet like melted down kryptonite. Jon's really starting to hate the color green.

Robotically Jon forces his feet to move, one painfully slow step at a time. Jon's never been weighed down before, but he thinks this is what Damian meant when he described strength training. Everyone is staring at him, some with cruel-hearted glee, some with pity.

From the beginning, Jon has known that his school, smack dab in the middle of the Bible Belt, wasn't exactly liberal. Or open-minded. Or even just the faintest bit accepting. Still, this is a new low, even for the conservative xenophobic assholes who would rather fuck their second cousin then reevaluate their world views.

Outing him in front of the entire school, probably the entire town if the phones trained on him are any indication...villains have more standards than this. His tongue feels thick in his mouth the same way it does around Kryptonite. Jon swallows the bile rising in his throat, the last thing he needs is to embarrass himself more by vomiting.

"Here." A pamphlet is dropped into his hand, across the front in big black letters the words gay sex is a sin stand out starkly from the flames. "Never too late to save your soul and repent you know."

Jon's hands shake as he scrunches the paper up into a ball. "How'd you-"

"Find out?" Ashley asks, sarcastic curiosity dripping from her voice. Ashley is the stuff cliche high school movies were made from. She's the bitchy cheerleader stereotype, fake dyed blonde hair and all. Jon's not sure why she hates him, frankly, he's never cared enough to find out. "Oh honey, you really should be more careful about who you kiss behind the bleachers."

"I don't-I never," Jon stutters feeling the growing urge to kick himself take root. "You saw?"

"Hmm, don't be disgusting," Ashley says, her expression twisting into a grimace. "Just because you would give an arm and a leg for a peep show doesn't mean I would be caught dead watching two fags eat each other's face."

"Ya' know, just cuz you don't kiss and tell doesn't mean your Boo doesn't. Maybe you should have told him you were still looking for Narnia before you let him post about it on Snapchat." Ashley holds up her phone, a picture of Jon with his eyes closed, lips pressed tightly to Kevin's stares back at him. Jon swipes it out of Ashley's hand ignoring her cries of, "Give it back you fucking homo!"

Jon shouldn't have kissed him, he knew that, had known that the entire time. It was wrong, it was an experiment - a way to test the waters and finally figure out...exactly what Jon isn't sure. What he is sure about is that no one was ever supposed to find out. Especially not when he hasn't even gotten the chance to talk to his parents about it yet.

Tears burn at the corners of Jon's eyes, hot and blinding because he had trusted his friend. Kevin promised not to tell anyone, he knew that Jon wasn't ready to be out. That Jon was, what had Kevin called it 'still questioning'. Apparently, that only applied until Jon's lips were on his.

A low hum fills Jon's veins, power in its rawest form fighting to escape through his eyes and out of his breath and Jon - Jon needs to leave. His grip tightens, the phone crumpling like a wet piece of paper.

He ignores Ashley's as she cries -"What the fucking hell."- pushing past her. Dropping the broken pieces of the phone like it burns. He runs like the devil himself is on his heels, fast but still maddeningly slow.

Kevin catches his arm in the doorway, just as he's coming in and Jon's going out. "Hey Jon, I was wondering-"

"Don't," Jon bites yanking his arm out of Kevin's grip. "Don't fucking touch me."

Jon rubs the sleep from his swollen eyes. He'll make sure to get some cold rags later, once he's uncurled his legs from their place held tight to his chest and made his way out from the nest of blankets piled high on top him. His Gram would take one look at his puffy face and just know something was wrong.

Jon carefully unwraps his arms, wincing as the circulation returns to them. He had run straight to his room, pausing just long enough to write a note asking his Gram to please, please don't interrupt because he needed to study. He's grateful today just so happened to be her knitting circle day, during the one week a month it's hosted in the next town over. He wouldn't have been able to handle her seeing him earlier, when he had cried until his sobs had turned into trembling hiccups.

Her sympathy would have hurt worse than her disappointment.

Looking out the window, Jon doubts she's heard about anything that's happened. She would have gotten back hours ago judging by the stars hanging in the inky black sky. If she had heard about the incident today, anything about it even just Jon skipping school, no note left on the fridge would stop her from opening his door and demanding answers.

Jon had been skeptical when Damian told him to put his number down as his school contact. It was a dirty move, a practical move Damian insisted. Now Jon's thankful that he listened. He'd broken his phone shortly after walking through the door. Jon had only wanted to shut it off so that he wouldn't see the messages from his classmates but a notification telling him he's been tagged on Instagram had made his hands shake so badly the phone had bent into little more than scrap metal.

Damian will handle whatever the school has an issue with, Jon's sure of it. He won't even say anything either. It'll be their secret until Jon brings it up and Jon, he's not even going to think about this mess until Monday when he has to go walk back through the gates of hell.

Three weeks later, Jon steels himself and brings it up to his Gram, she's doing the dishes, distractedly humming a tune when Jon decides now is as good a time as any. She freezes, wiping her hands off on a dishtowel with a look on her face that screams all the ways she doesn't get it. Jon deeply regrets ever thinking that his Gram, his good old bible-thumping-Kansas-bred-Gram, would be the one to talk to about this.

She starts talking before he has the chance to run with his tail between his legs.

"Oh don't be silly," She says, too bright and too sunny. "You're just a late bloomer is all and it's no wonder, you haven't had much time to act your age what with all that superheroing you were doing with that goth friend of yours."

"You mean Robin," Jon says a little dumbly. He doesn't quite know how he feels about his Gram calling Damian a goth, he's much more of an emo.

"Is that his name." Gram sits down in the seat across from him effectively killing off all hope that he could escape this conversation. Gram only busted out the shortbread cookies for talks and she already had the tin open in front of them."I thought Robin was older."

"Yeah, there's been a couple Robins now, but my friend, the goth one," Jon says a bit hesitantly. "He's the current Robin."

"That's nice. It's good you have a friend to help. Lord knows I worry," Gram says reaching a hand out to offer Jon a cookie. He takes it, nibbling along the side. "But you know, what you need is to hang out with kids your own age."

"Robin is my own age," Jon snaps, shoving his cookie into his mouth and taking another at his Gram's pointed look.

"Normal kids your own age." Gram pauses, chewing on the shortbread. "You know your parents sent you here so you could have a normal high school experience. We just want you to be happy Jon."

"I am happy." He's not, he's actually more miserable here than he's ever been in his life but his Gram hardly needs to know that. He does want his Gram to know this though, so he repeats himself a bit more hesitantly, "I just don't like girls"

"I don't blame you," Gram says with a laugh. "Girls can be catty little things sometimes, high school girls especially. You just need to get out a bit more, hang out with some friends. You'll find a pretty one you like eventually and then you'll see that not every girl has cooties ."

Part of Jon wonders how old his Gram thinks he is.

"What if I don't find a pretty girl though?"

"You will, you know, I have a couple of friends from church I could introduce you to, I'm sure their daughters would love to meet you. They're all sweethearts, I promise."

Jon's pretty sure they wouldn't actually, especially not after the locker incident. Being the school weirdo had been one thing, being the resident queer that's another. He's certain that he's been excommunicated, his nonexistent friend group had gone into the negatives. Even the handful of other LGBT kids won't talk to him anymore. Not that Jon can realistically blame them with the threat of retaliation hanging over their heads.

"What if I don't want to find a girl though?" Jon asks slowly, tasting each word. This is the first time he's ever said it.

"You sound just like your father. He used to swear up and down, six ways to Sunday that he never would want to get a girl. Used to drive me mad. All through high school, that boy would insist that he'd stay single forever. Too much to do, yada yada yada, but you know what?"

She pauses long enough for Jon to realize she wants a response, he hakes his head.

"He met your Momma."

"Oh." Jon's mouth tastes like chalk.

"Yup, here was my boy, the one who would always tell me he was never gonna marry and fall in love, then suddenly one day he's calling me up on the phone to tell me about this girl he met at work and oh, isn't she just the bee's knees." She laughs, getting up to ruffle his hair. "Don't worry it'll happen when you're not even looking."

She leaves the tin open on the table as she goes into the living room, carefully instructing Jon not to fill up on them before lunch. He couldn't even if he had wanted to, the cookies taste like bones in his mouth. Maybe he should have been a bit more clear. Maybe he should have just said he's gay.

The next month is spent enduring his Gram's painful attempts at matchmaking. He's suffered through no less than six different girls in the four weeks his Gram has been at work. He's played nice with each of them, keeping his mouth firmly shut over his lack of attraction to them.

By the time Halloween arrives Jon is completely certain that he's not even slightly attracted to the opposite sex. Nope, not even a little, it's a fact that his date to the All Saints Day dance takes offense to.

And yeah, he can kind of get it. Sue might not go to his school but she's still painfully aware of his abysmal social status. She's already made no less than five hints about not wanting to be seen with him. Going as far as picking a table at the very back of the basement. Jon would have been offended if it wasn't for the fact that he wanted to be here even less than she did.

After an hour of watching Sue glance between the dance floor before and her phone before sighing dramatically, Jon takes the hint for what it is. "You should go dance."

"What?" Sue asks. Her thumbs stop moving for the first time in the last half hour.

"I don't need a babysitter. You should go have some fun, there's no reason for both of us to have a miserable night."

Sue bites her lip, her eyes once again darting between the crowd and her phone. "Are you sure?"

Jon knows Sue's mom only let her go to the dance as a favor to his Gram. She had agreed under the condition that they stay together the whole night, claiming that she would know if Sue didn't. Sue had been less than impressed with her chaperone, especially when she walked in, tucked the neckline of her dress down to just short of her bra line, and realized that she was stuck with the only guy in the room whose eyes weren't permanently fixed to her cleavage line.

"Yeah," Jon says, awkwardly pushing in his chair as he stands up. "I'm gonna cut out early"

"Oh….well you don't have to leave."

Yeah, he does. He really does.

Jon can't stand being here for another minute, let alone another few hours. Jon's tired. Too tired to feign interest in his Gram's latest girl of the week. Too tired to deal with her disappointment when her meddling doesn't produce the results she wants. Because it's not right for him to keep going along with this. Jon is tired, so achingly tired of pretending to be something he's not.

"Honestly," Jon says rubbing the back of his neck. "This isn't really my thing. I only came because my Gram wanted me to."

"Do you need a ride?"

"Nah, I want to walk. It's a nice night, I figure by the time I get back home Gram will be asleep and I can avoid any awkward questions about how this night went."

Sue grimaces. "You're not going to tell her-"

"That I ditched you?" Jon asks. "I'm cool with keeping it a secret if you are."

Sue takes one last look at her phone. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Jon sticks around just long enough to see Sue disappear into the crowd. The church isn't remotely close to the farm. It's an hour walk easy, two if he takes his time. That's okay, it's warm for late autumn with only a slight breeze. Besides, it's nice - the peace that comes from walking down the abandoned dirt roads - it's not something Jon would trade for anything.

Jon's not walking especially slow, but he definitely is taking his time. He doesn't want to wake up tomorrow and pretend that tonight was perfect, that Sue was a sweetheart who was amazing but just not right for him. He doesn't want his Gram to shake her head and try again. He wants to tell her that if she really wanted to set him up with someone a boy would work better. Jon wants to tell someone all the words that have been eating him up inside since he kissed Kevin underneath the bleachers more than a month back.

Jon wants to come out and admit his dark little secret.

He makes it halfway home before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Something rustles in the cornfield to his right, he has to stop himself from checking what it is, if only so he won't lose his nerve.

His thumb hovers over the only person who Jon knows without a fraction of a doubt will understand. He hits call.

The phone rings.

A minute goes by, Jon can feel his resolve wavering. He's just about to end the call when finally he hears the line pick-up.

"Hey Damian, how have you been…..Listen I was wondering ...I have something I want to tell you and it would be better to do this in person. Do you think you could come over this week?"

It takes Damian exactly three days, three maddening, anxiety-inducing days during which Gram tries to talk with him about Sue and Jon doesn't speak, to show up. Gram has been getting increasingly concerned. Finally, though, Jon spots Damian waiting for him just as he's walking out of school Tuesday. Jon can't help himself, it's only been a few months but already it feels like an eternity since he's seen his best friend.

Jon's feet are moving before he knows what's happening and he has his arms wrapped tightly around Damian's waist. It's a bit awkward, Jon's gangly with enough access height to let him rest his chin comfortably on the crown of Damian's head. Damian stiffens against him for a moment before tentatively patting Jon's back. Slow and robotically. Damian is still the worst at hugs.

All the same, something warm settles in Jon's chest when Damian doesn't pull away. Jon remembers when Damian would have thrown him off the moment he went to wrap an arm around him. The Damian he met five years ago also wouldn't have bothered to come at all. And okay, he might be a little in love with his best friend but one identity crisis at a time, thank you.

Distantly Jon hears someone ask a bit too loudly, "Who the fuck is that."

Jon has been going through high school doing his best to avoid attention, the comment makes him tense. Damian notices, usually, Jon tries his best to stop Damian from pulling a Batman. Today, however, he's too tired to do anything but keep his arms locked firmly around him. Besides the glare Damian shoots - the one that's entirely Dick whenever someone threatens family - it's enough to make anyone back off.

"I missed you so much." Jon pulls back, nodding toward the motorcycle Damian had been leaning against. "Dick's?"

"Todd's," Damian says. "He's better with discretion than Grayson."

Okay, Jon has to laugh a little at the truth of that. Dick, despite being Nightwing and keeping a lid on the super-secret for over a decade is awful at keeping his mouth shut.

"You're so right." A thought crosses Jon's mind, he can't help but to ask incredulously, "You...didn't ride all the way here, did you?"

Damian huffs crossing his arms over his chest. "It's not overly far."

"Dude," Jon says exasperated. "It's two days from here to Gotham and that's if you don't sleep."

"Nineteen hours actually," Damian corrects. "You said you had something important to tell me."

"I did-I do," Jon stutters. Part of Jon is selfishly thrilled that Damian came all this way, another much larger part feels a headache coming on. "But you could have waited till like Friday or caught the train. Don't you have school today?"

"You sounded urgent over the phone," Damian mumbles the next part so low Jon has to dip into his super-hearing to catch the words. "And no trains were running at the time."

"No way man, did you head out the moment we hung up?"

"You said you had something important to tell me. Something that had to be said face to face. Forgive me for wanting to find out exactly what was so important it necessitated a call at ten-thirty on a Sunday night."

"Oh God, Damian." Jon laughs pulling him into another hug. This time, Damian does fight him, demanding that Jon let him go and spitting insults every other breath. It's just like hugging a feral cat. Jon loves every second. "Wait, does anyone know you're here?"

Damian extracts himself from Jon's reach, taking a step back, just out of hugging range. "In my haste, I may have neglected to inform the necessary parties."

"Jason didn't ask why you were borrowing a bike?"

"I borrowed it from Todd because I knew he wouldn't ask," Damian says as he fishes out a second helmet. "Come on. We'll go somewhere less populated."

"When Dick calls me panicking because no one can find you, you're answering the phone."

"As if I'm scared of Grayson," Damian says, pulling on his own helmet and swinging a leg over the bike. "Now are you coming. This school is giving me the hives."

"You already picked out a place, didn't you?" Jon asks, taking the helmet from Damian's outstretched hand, it's for appearances more than any actual need on his part. He trusts Damian enough to keep them both from becoming stains on the pavement.

"Of course."

Jon climbs onto the bike, wrapping his arms around the other boy's waist. He's never actually ridden with Damian before, there hadn't been a need to. It's nice though and Jon wishes he had found some excuse to do this sooner. It's surreal in a way that's unfairly amazing, even if Jon has no clue where they're going.

He's in a better mood by the time Damian cuts the engine in front of the local hiking trail. Jon gets off the bike first, placing his helmet back inside the pouch it came from. "This is where I die isn't it?"

"Hardly," Damian says, walking past him down the mouth of the trail. "We're not there yet."

"Okay," Jon says, running to catch up. "You let me know when we're in position and I'll spill my guts."

They head further down, veering off the trail and coming to a stop in a clearing. Water seeps into his jeans the moment Jon plops onto the ground. Damian looks reluctant to follow his lead, so Jon clears a spot next to himself and pats the grass.

Damian places his jacket on the ground, the leather one Jason gave him last summer, and sits down before saying, "I thought this place would be ideal. There's no one around for miles so we can breathe. Perfect for talking."

Jon doesn't actually know where to start. He hadn't planned this far ahead.

"I don't like girls," Jon blurts out before he can think of anything better.

"I can't fault you for that," Damian says without missing a beat. "They're overly complicated."

In spite of himself, Jon smiles.

"I meant romantically." Jon corrects. "I just-I don't know. I'm not attracted to them. Like I guess they're great if that's what you're into, but I'm not. Dating, sex, I'm not interested in doing any of that stuff with them. I just...don't feel anything. Even when I know objectively they're attractive I can't find them attractive...at least, in the same way, I find...guys attractive…" Jon trails off, looking away from Damian.

It feels so good to have finally said something.

"I fail to see how this matters," Damian says.

Okay, Damian has never been good at tact, but come on. Jon had expected something at least a little better than that.

"What the fuck Damian," Jon bites out. "Of course this matters. Like what the fucking hell? It matters because everyone fucking knows and hates me for it."

His eyes fill with tears so fast it's embarrassing. Jon hasn't cried since he ran out of school a month ago, but this time he can't stop it. Somehow Damian's rejection hurts worse than anything that's happened lately.

"Well, I don't. There are millions of people who aren't attracted to the opposite sex and billions before now." Damian's voice is careful as he continues. "The League of shadows doesn't discriminate. They don't care who you're attracted to as long as you do your job and do it well. It doesn't matter, your sexual preferences are hardly your defining feature."

"You...don't care that I'm not normal?" Jon sniffs, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Damian grimaces at the action.

"As if you were ever normal before. Yes it's not the alien genetics that make you unique, it's your preferences," Damian says dryly. "Besides I'd be a hypocrite if I did. I've never had a preference toward male or female."

"So your bi?"

"Demisexual, actually," Damian says matter of factly. "While I've yet to feel that way toward anyone...I would like to, one day."

"That's great." Jon smiles. "Have you told anyone."

"I haven't felt a need to before." Damian scowls. He scrubs his handkerchief over Jon's face, wiping away the drying tears. Jon thinks it's ridiculously cute that he carries one in his pocket and the action warms his heart almost as much as the confession. "Father won't care"

"What about your brothers?" Jon asks carefully.

Damian snorts. "If they cared they would be even bigger hypocrites than me. Grayson's been in a relationship with West for the better part of a decade. Todd hasn't said anything yet but we're all fairly sure he's having some kind of relations with the redneck and the alien."

Jon can't believe he missed all that. Then again when it comes to the Bat-Family it's hard to tell out who actually hated each other and who is just putting on an act. "What about Tim?"

Damian groans. "We're all trying really hard not to think about it. He's either in a relationship with Impulse or the clone. We're holding out the slim hope it's not both of them."

"Why's that?" Conner definitely hadn't mentioned anything to him, though to be fair they aren't exactly close.

"Because the three of them share a single brain cell and the world is not ready for the chaos they would create."

Jon winces, yeah that seems about right.

They meet each other's eyes, Jon can't help but laugh. He might be a little hysterical but damn, it's so nice to talk with someone who knows him, every part of him, and still treats him like he's normal.

"The people at school, everyone...they call me a fag. They keep telling me I'm going to burn in hell and I don't...and everyone says it's wrong, kissing guys you know." Jon's breath hitches. "I'm Superboy and I've been called way worse but…"

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the call I got in September would it?" Damian asks.

"It was stupid," Jon groans, he would have left it at that but Damian's sharp look makes him continue, "I kissed a guy at school. No one was supposed to know about it, I just wanted to figure this out. I told him that. I told him, I wasn't ready but, I guess that didn't matter. He posted a picture online."

"That wasn't what the call was about," Damian says, not mocking. "Your principal said your locker had been vandalized."

"Ashley- she's literally every mean girl stereotype, I have no clue why she hates me so much- decided that my locker needed some decorations and painted slurs all over it. I ran out after she gave me one of those church-sponsored hate the gays pamphlets." Jon rubs the back of his neck. Part of him really hoped Damian wouldn't bring this up. "I'm pretty sure the video is still somewhere online."

The words slip out of Jon's mouth. He thinks it sounds kind of lame. A fifteen-year-old girl made Superboy run for the hills. Next to him, Damian freezes, going completely still.

"Did you tell anyone?" Damian asks finally.

"Are you crazy?" Jon says a little too fast, he looks at Damian like he's grown a second head. "Of course I didn't. I tried telling Gram about the whole gay thing, but she didn't get it."

"You mean she-"

Jon cuts Damian off before he can finish his sentence. He knows where his friend is going. His Gram is a lot of things, but she's not homophobic. "No I mean I didn't explain it right because I was nervous. She thought I was trying to tell her I wanted to be a spinster, not that I'm gay."

It's Damian's turn to make a face. "How Jon, do you possibly mess that up?"

"I don't know," Jon whines burying his face into his hands. "But I really wish I hadn't because she took it as an invitation to try and set me up. I've gone on so many dates in the last month."

"You never corrected her," Damian states like it's some kind of foregone conclusion.

"I didn't know what to do okay!" Jon says sinking further into his hands. "It felt like she was rejecting me and I didn't know how to handle that so I didn't say anything. I called you the second I was ready to deal with this."

"So Sunday…" Damian trails off.

"I went to a dance and hated every second of it," Jon says a bit too quickly. "My date wasn't too happy with my lack of interest in her, so I cut out early and called when I was walking home."

"As always you're a complete mess." Damian's words lack any bite as he gets to his feet. He holds out a hand for Jon to take. Jon lets Damian pull up, keeping his left hand firmly locked around Damian's right as they start walking.

"At least I'm a hot mess." Jon winks.

"Ripped jeans are shameful. They're utterly unbefitting of a proper hero," Damian sniffs.

"Are you telling me all that time I spent in the closet was wasted," Jon says, mock offense dripping from his every word. Jon's a little nervous but it feels outrageously good to joke around like this.

"I'm saying your fashion sense revolves around ripped jeans, graphic T-shirts, and plaid. The only one who dresses worse than you is the clone. And," Damian says pausing for dramatic effect. "He dresses like the nineties didn't end twenty years ago."

They don't go right back to the bike. They go down the trail instead, competing against each other to see who can climb the highest tree and who can skip the farthest rock. By the time they make it back to where Damian had parked, the sun's down and Jon's completely soaked from the pond Damian pushed him into when he won. He even forgets that he turned his phone off, his Gram is definitely worried about him but, he hasn't been able to have this much fun in months.

Damian has a unique ability. While Jon will never stop being surprised at how fast they can get under each other's skin, he's come to realize that Damian is the only person who makes him feel comfortable enough to be himself. He thinks, as he watches Damian clean off the handles that he has a similar effect on him too.

"So," Damian says, leaning forward against the handlebars. "You wouldn't happen to know where this Ashley lives would you?"

"That depends, why do you want to know?"

Damian gives him a grin, the one filled with reckless abandonment that just screams Jason. "I passed by a Walmart on the way here."

"You have to be eighteen to buy spray paint in Kansas."

Damian holds up his ID. "I am eighteen."

"No you would be eighteen," Jon says, snatching the ID out of his hands. It's a good one, Jon would be convinced it was legitimate if it didn't have Grayson printed as the last name. "You know, if you hadn't been dead and caught in a chaos dimension for the equivalent of three years. You're fifteen man."

"Are you going to lecture me about my age or are you going to tell me where we're going," Damian grumbles.

Superheroes might be above vandalism but Jon's heroics career is on a four-year hiatus. His parents wanted him to act his age so he will, he'll act his age by getting petty revenge. Batman won't even be able to complain, Damian is just following his Dad's M.M.O.

"Fine," Jon says wrapping his arms around Damian's waist again. "Who am I to deny a Bat the chance at vengeance? You remember the church you passed on the way here?"

"The one by the playground or the one with the really obnoxious bell?"

"Bell. Her place is three houses down. You'll know it when you see the confederate flag."