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Jon looks at his white uniform with disappointment, 'cause it's now stained with blood on the sleeves and chest.
The 'S' of the House of El is barely visible among all that dark red, but the man lying at his feet deserved his fate for daring to hurt the Head of the Demon. No one but Jon can touch him or leave marks on his skin and hope to survive, especially if they are an enemy of the League. Once those humans realise that all resistance is futile, Jon will no longer enjoy killing them, but for now, eliminating anyone who tries to revolt against their regime is what he does best.
Jon licks his fingers, trembling at the taste of blood on his tongue. He closes his eyes for a moment, savouring it fully. Unlike Damian's blood, it doesn't leave an aftertaste of Lazarus water and kryptonite radiation. However, Jon can make an exception because this blood partially quenches his thirst and calms him down, preventing him from flying to Gotham to carry out a massacre. He doesn't have time for that now, though; he has to take care of Damian and ensure he receives proper treatment from Koru.
He flexes his legs, bending his knees as he leaps into the clouds, tearing through them as he passes on his way to the snow-capped peaks of Nanda Parbat. When he crashes down into the courtyard, the guards bow and pay him homage as he passes, guiding him towards the entrance and through the corridors. The silence is so palpable that it could be cut with a knife until it is suddenly broken by a groan of pain echoing off the stone walls, followed by Goliath's growl. Jon quickens his pace, rushing through the corridors and kicking down the door to Damian's room. Damian lies among the silky, embroidered sheets. His bare chest reveals a bandage around his torso that is already completely soaked with blood. Jon's nostrils flare at the smell that permeates the room. The blood loss is excessive, his heartbeat is stronger than it should be and his complexion is pale, yet he smiles. Damian has literally risked death, yet he smiles. And, despite everything, Jon finds him beautiful.
Jon immediately pays his respects, falling to one knee. He closes his right hand into a fist and presses it against the shoulder, bringing his left arm behind the back, he bows his head, avoiding eye contact. But Damian snorts with laughter and Jon notices the wave of his hand out of the corner of his eye.
"Get up."
Damian's voice is clear and intimidating, but deep down, Jon can see all the love they feel for each other. He lifts his head with a smile as he flies silently towards Damian, who brushes his bandages. Jon sees him rest his fingers on the back of his hand.
"I'm fine, beloved," he whispers. Jon looks at him so deeply that one could drown in the murky blue of his eyes.
"I know you. I can hear your lies," Jon says, placing his palm on Damian's heart, which beats slowly in his chest. "You are seriously injured."
Damian clicks his tongue with amusement under his palate, stroking the muzzle of Goliath, who has bent down towards him. "Nothing the waters of Lazarus can't heal," he says, and Jon straightens his back.
"Then let me take you there."
"You know I can walk on my own."
"Just as you know I don't care."
Damian laughs as he stands up, but his laughter makes his nose wrinkle, and he lets out a groan, putting a hand on his side and squinting his eyes. Jon immediately helps him up and Damian waves his hand slightly, as if to reassure Jon that he's fine. Nevertheless, he allows Jon to carry him through the corridors to the underground chambers where the wells bubble, their surfaces reflecting against the stone walls that seem to close in on them. Jon dives in, still holding Damian tight, and witnesses the miracle while Damian grits his teeth and lets the well work its magic.
They remain there in the healing waters of Lazarus, glistening with an intense, Mephistophelean green kryptonite light.