Kryptonite and Scooter Ankles ||J. Kent ||

Part 12:

Damian sat, stiff as a board and unable to assist as everyone hovered over Jon. He had been sitting there for what felt like hours, clutching Pennyworth much tighter than he would ever admit, willing the cat to absorb the lost, scared sensation that suctioned inseparably to the small of his back, and the ache in his belly.

He wasn't supposed to be awake.

There was no way Father could have known that he'd woken up from a nightmare that night, and taken refuge in Dick's room when he came in during the early hours, visibly shaken and urgent; a look they knew as serious, and scared them, because something that scared Bruce was something to be feared.

"Richard, come," He'd said. "It's bad,"

Damian wasn't supposed to be there when the Superfam came, still in their pyjamas, because Jon's state had worsened overnight, and they hadn't the mind to change. Damian tried going to him, unable to get a good look at his friend, but Dick pointed him to the benches just outside the infirmary, where he took his seat reluctantly.

He wished he didn't have to watch the progression.

When he'd come, limp in Clark's arms, Jon was half conscious until he was set down on a hard bed in the infirmary.

"What's wrong?" Dick asked. He was trying not to hover. Clark, Kara, and Kon were already there for that.

"I have a theory," Bruce said. "Jonathan, where does it hurt?"

"E-everywhere," Jon moaned, swaying back and forth all tipsy-like. From his distance, Damian couldn't tell if the wet sheen on his face was sweat or tears. "I-I think there's f-fire inside me."

"Let me see," Bruce said. He picked up his arm to check his pulse, and Jon cried out.

"Don't touch him!" Clark said. "We can't touch him without hurting him!"

"And we need to know why," Kara said. "You must have an answer."

"I need to draw blood," Bruce said, already moving into action. "Immediately. If this is what I think it is, then we might not have enough time,"

"What do you mean?" Clark asked. "You know what's going on?"

"I might,"

Damian watched in petrified silence as they drew Jon's blood with but a simple needle, and nothing like kryptonite to soften his skin. He had to plug his ears when Jon screamed again; the needle was worse than being touched. Nothing they did would calm him down after that. Every time Jon reached to hold someone he'd scream louder, crying about how it burnt to touch anything.

With the go ahead from Bruce and Clark, Dick sedated him while they started the blood scans. There was no hiding it from the Super's when Bruce told the computer to scan for any traces of the Wilber Schmoue drug, and nothing to possibly compare to their faces when he did.

Damian remembered it clearly, because their reaction reflected his own. Shocked, confused, and ultimately and finally, so afraid that his heart almost died in his chest. He vaguely remembered Kara and Clark having to hold Kon back from strangled Bruce for not telling them the moment he grew suspicious; because that was his little kinda—brother laying unconscious on that medical table, not anyone else's.

The scans came out positive. Jon was on the Shmackalakin drug. How it came to be in his system was a mystery to all of them.

Bruce ordered Tim and called in Barbara to start analyzing for any possible antidote. Damian wanted to go into the infirmary with them, and sit beside Jon, but he couldn't find it in him to move much more than to pet his cat. They kept close tabs on Jon's vitals, hesitant to give him anything in fear of it reacting badly with the drug.