Chapter Text
June 13th, 2019.
Jon’s first week back on Earth-Prime.
Of all the powers that came with being Superboy, superhearing had to be the worst.
The average human teenager needs eight to ten hours of sleep a night. He didn’t, at least not most of the time. Kryptonian physiology meant he didn’t need much sleep unless he severely overexerted himself. But, as he was coming to realize, the same wasn't true for his psyche.
He hadn't slept much since returning home. After years in fight-or-flight, constantly anticipating the worst, his body wasn't accustomed to peace.
Before the grandfather-grandson bonding trip from Hell, his parents even had him on a strict sleep schedule—routinely interrupted by Damian climbing through his window and peer-pressuring him into missions that definitely weren’t Batman-approved.
Back then, he didn’t truly mind the mandated sleep schedule. His parents would take turns sitting at the foot of his bed each night, narrating their way through various books.
National Geographics—astronomy, dinosaurs, lost civilizations. Those were Clark’s favorites, while Lois preferred to educate Jon in the fantasy genre. They started at The Little Prince and worked their way up to the Percy Jackson novels—those were always Jon’s favorite. Maybe they helped him feel a bit more normal.
He was young then—naive, hopeful, unmarred. Jon would give anything to have that back.
But now he was seventeen, with gangly limbs that made his childhood bed feel claustrophobic, and a faded scar on his right cheek. His super-senses were as turbulent as his mind felt, and no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't stay asleep.
And he had nobody to read to him anymore. But he couldn't blame them - that was for children, and he was obviously no longer a child.
His parents were doing a good job of pretending the change didn’t bother them—quickly unenrolling him from sixth grade at West Reeve, which he had long grown out of. They bought him books and online study programs so that he could obtain his GED, and they did their best to show unconditional love and support.
Kon even stopped by on the second day of Jon's return, bringing an old Nintendo Entertainment System and a scratched-up Game Boy as offerings. The elder Superboy was strangely fascinated with the 90s—collecting comics, consoles, action figures, and VHS tapes. He even had a few Superman trading cards in his collection—not that he would boast about them to Clark.
“I thought you might want a distraction,” Kon had said, dropping the items on the living room coffee table—already completely overtaken by printouts, interview transcripts, and messy notes, courtesy of Lois. “Tetris is supposed to be helpful for... difficult mental stuff, y’know.”
He and Kon were nearly at eye level, which should've been off-putting, but the older Superboy didn’t seem too affected.
“Thanks, Kon… It's great to see you.” Jon said, as his older brother—or at least, the closest thing he had to one—pulled him in for a hug. “I really missed you.”
He quickly blinked away the tears that stung his eyes.
They separated after a few moments, and Jon immediately turned to remove old coffee cups and takeout boxes from the coffee table. He didn’t want the other man to see his tears, not because he was afraid of being judged—he just couldn't stomach any more pity.
Jon walked into the kitchen, dropping the old boxes in the trash and the mugs in the sink, and quickly swiping away any evidence of tears. The other man wouldn't have seen them anyway—he had his back turned to him, observing framed Daily Planet articles adorning the living room wall.
As Jon exited the kitchen, he heard the unmistakable chime of an iPhone notification. Kon pulled a phone out of his back pocket, typing hurriedly, before turning and shooting him a small, apologetic smile.
"I hate to leave so soon, but I'm late for a date... thing." As he said it, Kon's eyes darted around like he was feeling self-conscious, but Jon wasn't sure that was possible. He just nodded in response.
Kon raised his arm and gave Jon a firm pat on the shoulder, "But seriously, dude, it's nice to see you—and if you need someone to talk to, I’m always a call or text away. Or a shout, but I don't think your neighbors would like that."
Kon paused, as if reliving a memory. “My teenage years were pretty sketchy too… weird shit happens sometimes—well, all the time for people like us—and that’s okay! It gets better, trust me, it does.”
"I'll remember that." Jon sent him an awkward smile.
“Oh—and let me know if you have any issues getting those to work.” His brother gestured to the pile of cables on the coffee table, “They glitch sometimes, and it’s annoying as hell.”
“I will,” Jon told him as Kon opened the front door, looking uncharacteristically jittery, “Good luck on your date... thing. I'll let you know if the Tetris helps."
The other man shot him a peace sign before disappearing at super-speed. Jon's eyes followed him for a moment before he shut and locked the front door, vague amusement clouded by numbness.
In the days that followed Kon’s visit, Jon couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t heard a word from Damian.
That wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary. Jon knew the Bats were often busy, not to mention incredibly secretive. It came with the whole vigilante thing.
But he also knew they were always informed—especially about something like this.
Which meant Damian knew.
Damian knew and hadn’t reached out.
Jon was trying not to let it get to him. It had only been seven days since his return. Four weeks since Damian had last seen him. He told himself he was overthinking it, but that didn't help. After everything they’d built between them—and with lost years hanging over him—the distance from his best friend really stung.
An emptiness had taken over his conscience--the same kind he’d felt in Ultraman’s volcano. And it just seemed to be getting worse, despite its source being far away, in an entirely separate world.
Everyone walking on eggshells around him didn't make it better. He was essentially a stranger to his own family, now. A reminder of the little boy they once knew. So he didn’t need to guess why his mom was crying in the middle of the night, on the opposite side of the apartment.
Lois Lane rarely shed tears, and her equanimity in the face of challenging situations was what made her a renowned journalist. She was probably one of the few people who could handle being married to Superman, and that was stressful. But this was damage that couldn't be fixed.
If the strongest woman he knew couldn't accept what happened to him, how was he ever supposed to come to terms with it?
He pressed a pillow over his head and tried to remember a time when being Superboy felt like a blessing rather than a curse.
May 12th, 2019.
Six years ago for Jon. Four weeks ago for everyone else on Earth-Prime.
His father described enhanced hearing as being controlled like a dial rather than an on/off switch.
Flying long distances with his father was rare, but on a much-anticipated Sunday, Jon and Clark flew to Smallville to visit the senior Kents.
Ma Kent’s pot roast was the main occasion, but it was also an opportunity to “calibrate” his superhearing, in a sense.
They stood in the middle of a large field in the hopes of avoiding any immediate noise pollution.
“You know how the radio in the car works, Jon? This is kinda like that!” Clark sent a grin his way, “It might sound odd, but you can just keep turning that mental ‘dial’ until what you’re searching for becomes clear.”
Jon had shut his eyes tight, searching. For what, exactly?
He wasn’t entirely sure.
But he managed to lock onto the buzz of a lone honeybee, and then, the aggressive whoosh of a windmill. There was the rustle of leaves on a cottonwood tree, which was quickly drowned out by the mechanical whirr of a tractor.
The soft purr of a cat. A crying baby. The keys of a piano. A train horn.
There was the deafening roar of a jet engine, so loud it felt like his brain was rattling inside his skull.
And then—a familiar rhythmic thump-thump. Consistent and strong in a way that slightly differed from most human heartbeats. The one that was right next to him—his dad’s.
He subconsciously went for the safe option, go figure.
He evened his breathing and focused on ‘tuning out’ each extraneous sound one by one. It wasn’t too tricky, as the sound he was attempting to focus on was literally right next to him.
A few minutes passed, and he found himself having to fight the background noise less and less, until the rhythm of his dad’s heart was all he could hear. The sound was comforting and safe, and he listened for a few moments before drawing his super-hearing back.
His father’s pulse faded back into the familiar chaos of the world.
“I focused on your heartbeat, Dad,” Jon said, “But that's kinda cheating—you’re right next to me anyway.”
Clark let out a small laugh as he patted him on the back, “It’s a start, kiddo. What do you say to coming back here next week?”
“I mean… as long as there’s more of Ma’s apple pie?” Jon grinned up at his father.
“I’m sure we can arrange that, bud.”
They were racing each other back to the Kent’s farmhouse (his dad was clearly letting him win) when Jon faltered midair. Nearly four hundred feet up, he heard a rhythm—a heartbeat.
It wasn’t his dad’s. It definitely wasn’t his Mom’s, whose heartbeat was typically a bit amped up due to her caffeine and sugar tendencies.
It was different—sharp and consistent as if controlled by a metronome. Mechanically perfect, and therefore slightly uncanny, but undeniably human. The pulse of someone who held their breath on purpose.
He could tell it wasn’t close to him at all, yet it was clear as day.
Comforting. Somehow.
“You okay, Jon?” His dad’s voice snapped him out of a trance.
Jon blinked, looking at the ground far beneath him, realizing he was hovering in place rather than flying.
“Yeah—uh, sorry, Dad.” The heartbeat had faded back into obscurity. “I was just… distracted.”
Jon kept what he’d heard to himself, an instinct urging him to hold it close until he understood what it was— who it was.
His father accepted his answer with little inquiry, and they continued on their flight to the farmhouse, coasting rather than racing. The sunset was monotone in color, a pale orange, but beautiful nonetheless. Peaceful. He found himself looking forward to their next Smallville trip.
But unfortunately, the next lesson never came—and neither did the pie, which was even worse.
The following week, Jon was aboard Jor-El’s ship, unaware of just how terribly wrong things would end up going.
He couldn’t hear his father’s heart that deep in space.
And for a long time, he didn’t hear anything at all. Time spent in Ultraman's volcano ensured he wasn’t able to utilize his hearing, nor the rest of the powers gifted to him via the yellow sun.
But sometimes, when his captor hadn’t returned to the volcano, Jon felt safe enough to curl up and sleep. Sometimes he imagined things—heard things, right before he drifted off.
A melodic voice reading to him. Krypto barking. The trilling of Smallville crickets.
Sometimes, it was someone screaming his name, causing him to wake up in a panic. Only to remember where he was, yet again.
And once in a while, as sleep was about to overtake him, he would hear a heartbeat he never identified, familiar yet distant.
Sharp and deliberate.
And somehow, still clear as day.
June 20th, 2019 - Early Morning
Jon's second week back on Earth-Prime.
Jon never fully learned to control his super-hearing. Nor could he avoid any auditory hallucinations that found him as he drifted off.
That heartbeat he couldn’t ever place—it had followed him home. It followed him everywhere.
For years, he was weak and fragile. His bones broke, his muscles tore, and his skin scarred. It wasn’t like Kryptonite poisoning—there was no immediate recovery upon his oppressor’s absence. The pain remained, visceral and human.
The only physical remnant of those years was the scar that still marred his right cheek, which refused to heal upon reintroduction to the yellow sun. His yellow sun—the very one he was born under—had no power to heal him.
It felt like rejection. It felt as if Jon’s home planet no longer had a place for him.
But for now, his place was still his parents’ apartment in Metropolis. Blackout curtains drawn, blocking out the light pollution of the city. The only source of interior light was his open laptop on the desk, and the pale gleam of glow-in-the-dark stars adhered to his ceiling.
Lying on the linoleum floor, in a pair of his father’s embarrassingly Batman-themed pajama pants and a ratty, oversized hoodie, Jon had never felt more pathetic.
On his abandoned laptop, YouTube must’ve been on its twentieth autoplay. He didn’t remember what he was originally watching, but whatever song had just begun was infinitely better than Watch Mojo’s “Top Ten Sexiest Gotham Villains.” Ew.
It was well into the early morning hours, and Jon was wide awake. He could hear his mother aggressively typing on her laptop in the living room. On the roof of the apartment building, a plethora of AC units hummed, several emitting the irritating squeak of loose bearings.
Beneath it all was a cacophony of human voices—talking, laughing, crying, screaming.
They all blended into a familiar static.
Among those voices was his dad’s, speaking in a quiet yet serious tone, presumably to another Justice League member. He focused on it for a few moments before a sharp headache pulled him out of his concentration.
Breathe—2, 3, 4
Hold—2, 3, 4
He closed his eyes and drew his hearing back in, focusing on the music playing from the laptop speakers. He only vaguely registered that the language wasn’t English; the syllables were rounded and smooth, with tonal qualities unlike those of Latin-based languages.
Out—2, 3, 4
He was just getting the hang of his breathing exercises when he registered a very slight swish outside. Probably his imagination.
Pause—2, 3, 4
Then, what sounded like Jon's bedroom window sliding open. Please let it be a burglar.
Breathe—2, 3, 4
A muted thump of boots on linoleum. Not a burglar... unless this one was just really good.
Hold—2, 3, 4
It was all wishful thinking. There was only only other type of person that broke into his room at this hour. Someone Jon wasn't ready to face.
Out—
“I didn’t take you for a Korean Pop enthusiast, Jonathan.”
The voice was droll and achingly familiar, enunciating his name with practiced precision.
He scanned the room and found Damian leaning against the edge of his desk, arms crossed. Jon took another breath, suddenly feeling self-conscious from his position on the floor.
But the other boy wasn’t looking at him.
Green eyes, obscured by the domino mask adhered to his face, studied the contents of Jon’s laptop screen. His lips were in a slight downturn. For whatever reason, he stole a sticky note from the collection on Jon’s desk. If Jon didn’t know better, he would assume Damian was bored.
But he knew better. His best friend looked on edge. Unsure.
The song ended. An awkward silence filled the room, only broken by the soft click of Damian hitting the laptop's space bar, presumably to pause the video before the next ad. He lifted his head and fixed Jon with an unreadable look, further obstructed by the mask covering his eyes.
Jon pulled himself into a sitting position, meeting the other boy's gaze, but found himself unable to see through the mask's white lenses. He could barely even focus on Damian's form in the darkness—Kryptonian vision, usually perfect, now hazy and unfocused.
“Hi…” He forced his vocal cords to produce the word, voice hoarse from disuse. At that, Damian's gaze morphed into something odd, almost expectant. Jon wasn't sure how to decipher that, and Rao did his head hurt.
Improvise.
He awkwardly cleared his throat before gesturing to the faded Bat symbols on his pajama pants. “You like the pants? If I knew you were coming, I would’ve worn my matching cowl.” He attempted to punctuate the joke with a smile, but it just didn’t feel right.
If things were back to normal, he would’ve seen Damian roll his eyes under the mask. Call him an idiot, among other choice names. Maybe toss a Birdarang at him with a decent amount of force.
Nothing was normal anymore.
The other boy ignored the failed quip, continuing to seemingly study Jon’s appearance. His hands were folding the sticky note he took from Jon’s desk into a small square.
Jon fidgeted with the frayed edge of his hoodie.
“You look like a seasoned vagrant,” Damian deadpanned. “When was the last time you bathed?”
“That’s it?” Jon shot back, half-heartedly defending himself, “You broke in just to stare and insult me?”
Damian's eyebrows pinched together through the Robin mask, which would look silly if it didn't indicate Jon was about to be read for filth.
“The clone noted you seemed relatively functional upon your return.” Damian stated, before adding, “But your current state only validates other concerns."
“What concerns?” Jon’s scar itched under the weight of the other’s gaze.
Without answering, Damian removed a stack of books from Jon’s chair and spun it to face him. He perched on the edge of the seat, leaning forward with padded elbows resting on padded knees, posture still rigid. His hands were fiddling with the sticky note.
Jon pressed further.
“What do you mean by ‘concerns’, Damian?”
The other boy let out an exasperated sigh, “Several people close to you believe your emotional state has severely declined. I can see why they feel that way."
“People close to me?” Jon asked in disbelief. His head felt like it was being split open.
“You haven’t set foot in the sunlight for, what, six days?”
“I–”
“After forty-eight hours without yellow sun exposure, Kryptonian powers begin fading,” Damian said, cutting him off. “At ninety-six, you’re essentially reduced to an above-average human. ”
“My powers are fine—” Jon lied through his teeth, and saw a flash of something in Damian’s eyes that made him feel like prey.
“Look at yourself, Kent!” Damian snapped, seemingly annoyed. He rose to his feet—and so did Jon, stumbling slightly and catching himself on the edge of his bed.
The caped boy approached him, jabbing a finger at Jon’s chest—who vaguely registered how much their height difference had increased. Years ago, he would’ve pointed it out and laughed, but now he just felt sick.
“We are well past the ninety-six-hour mark; therefore, I find your statement highly doubtful.” Damian asserted, before dropping the gloved hand to his side and taking a step back.
A tense silence followed.
Damian soundlessly exhaled, his shoulders dropping slightly.
“Why have you decided to do this to yourself?” He asked in a low voice, “After everything you did to free yourself—why claw your way out, only to build a new cage the second you’re free?”
Before Jon knew it, he was the one stepping forward, guided by a rush of anger laced with something far more vulnerable. Damian stayed put, holding his ground and unflinchingly keeping eye contact.
“You came here to belittle me, Damian? Is that it?” Jon nearly shouted, incredulous. His skull continued to throb. "You have no idea what I've had to deal with!"
That apparently did something, as he saw Damian’s fingers twitch briefly at his utility belt—a rare crack in an otherwise unreadable facade. Damian quickly acknowledged the nervous habit and crossed his arms, the protective material of his Robin suit shifting.
“I am not here to belittle you, Jonathan,” Damian’s voice had softened, just a fraction, though his posture was still rigid.
Jon let out a humorless laugh. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes—caused by physical or emotional pain, he wasn’t really sure. A shaky breath pushed past his lips.
“I’ve spent the last two weeks waiting. Wondering if my best friend would reach out. I thought that maybe I should be patient. That maybe you were coming to terms with this—” He gestured to himself, voice thick, “—like I was.”
Damian opened his mouth, as if to respond, but then closed it.
Jon's chest tightened, words spilling out before he could stop them.
“But part of me was relieved when I didn’t hear from you. I- I thought that maybe you figured it out on your own—” He gestured to the Little League trophies gathering dust on a shelf, “that I’m not that kid anymore.”
The pain migrated to his temple like a warning, but he pressed on.
“That I wouldn’t have to watch you, in real time, figure out that I’m broken.” His voice cracked slightly as he emphasized the last word, “But no, you’re here after two weeks—six fucking years—and you’re trying to have some sort of intervention when all I need is for things to go back to normal!"
Damian’s jaw tightened. The watch on his wrist beeped several times, but he ignored it.
"I want things to go back to normal as well." The admission sounded uncharacteristically childlike—Because he is a child, Jon's conscience supplied.
The sentiment was there, but Jon knew it wasn't that simple. It hurt. Everything hurt.
“Damian, please go.”
For a second, Jon thought the other boy might argue. A stubborn set to his jaw told Jon he wanted to.
He didn't. “If that’s what you want, Jonathan.”
And before he knew it, Damian had slipped back into the night, silent and undetectable.
The open window made the curtains stir with warm night air, the city lights once again casting shadows on his walls.
He walked across the room and closed the window, adjusting his curtains to block out the light once again. Then, walked back to his desk, where his computer still presented a YouTube screen— “BTS - Tomorrow [Color Coded Lyrics/Han/Rom/Eng].”
Jon had no idea what that gobbledygook meant.
He lifted his hand to shut the laptop, but noticed a small, pointed object resting on the touchpad. He hesitantly picked it up, turning it over in his hand.
A paper star—faded yellow, matching the other sticky notes strewn about his desk.
The sticky note Damian had been fidgeting with was now a perfect origami star.
Jon quickly shut his laptop, dropping the star on its closed lid. Silent tears slipped down his face, tracing the jagged line on his cheek.
He took several steps in the direction of his bed, collapsing into it and burrowing himself in the blue comforter. He forced his eyes shut, taking a few deep breaths, trying to will the ache away.
He hadn’t realized he was drifting off until he heard the steady thump of a heartbeat.
His eyes shot open, searching the darkness.
But all he found was silence.