Personal Warfare

No rest for the guilty

Jon's POV

The last time I saw the deep green of Damian's eyes, he was slipping right through my fingers, falling down into the depths of this disturbed darkness and yet, he had seemed relieved.

He had smiled and looked oddly calm in Jason's arms, despite the absolute fear and panic written on everyone's faces. That itself created a whole new level of panic.

At least for me.

I knew a small amount of what Talia had done to him, but he didn't generally like talking about it and I didn't like asking, but even after her death the fact that she had such a strong grip on him was far more disturbing than anything else he'd shared with me.

It didn't make any sense, but I've seen some of the things the bat family has dealt with before, so in some ways, it didn't surprise me. It did however sicken me to my core and made me so angry.

Angry at Talia for everything she ever did to Damian. Angry at Bruce for not helping Damian sooner. Angry at myself for not noticing or asking Damian if he was okay more often. Angry at everyone and everything.

In some ways, I was even angry at Damian for not saying something sooner. Which made me feel even worse, especially as I watched him just lay there, still and pale, completely unconscious.

My brain hadn't had much time to process any of this and my heart, well that was even worse. Needless to say, I was a mess. Worse than that, I was a mess with super powers.

I left the manor about four hours ago. I just couldn't stay there any longer. Everything inside me was so pent up and I felt so trapped.

Much like Damian had.

I just needed some relief. Not just for my nerves, but for all the anger too. I needed to get it all out. Project it somehow that wouldn't stress everyone else out any more than they already were.

My anger was something I was usually good at keeping under control. Most people saw me on the more bubbly spectrum. The happy go lucky kid that smiles all the time.

What only a few knew though, was that I will do anything, beyond my own fathers moral code, to protect the people I love. Even if that means hurting myself in the process.

Which I definitely did.

We all knew Talia was dead way before any of this and knowing I couldn't even avenge Damian in the way of handling her personally, made my anger that much worse.

My body was shaking, trembling with the last bit of adrenaline that was pulsing through my nerves and veins as I sat on the cool concrete, covered by a layer of dust and the quiet darkness of the night.

When I heard the rush of wind beside me and a large, gentle hand on my shoulder, I knew who it was immediately and felt my shoulders slump, my head falling into my hands as I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Jon, son, look at me." My father, Clark Kent, Superman, looked down at me with glossy eyes. I figured he'd either heard me during my fit of frustration or that after ignoring everyone's calls and texts the past few hours, someone decided to call him.

Either way, I wasn't surprised he'd found me.

Hurt and sympathy was evident on every feature of his face as I slowly looked up, feeling the weight of my exhaustion finally catching up to me and pulling at my senses.

When my eyes met his, I sniffled, trying to hold back tears as I lifted up my bruised and bloodied hands. "I know. I messed up. I went too far. Go ahead. Lecture me. I'm too numb to care anyway."