Whumptober Day Five: betrayal | misunderstanding | broken nose

[Jon Kent & Damian Wayne]

-!!!-

   When Jon first felt the heat of the red sun, he had fallen to his knees in burning agony, his bones roaring in waves of pain at the uncanny feeling of being so human. His fists weakly pounded against the glass – something he used to break with a single touch – and screamed until this throat couldn't anymore.

In seconds, all he had left had evapourated, turning into nothing but fine mist.

He refused food or water, the events of the past few hours running in his inner eye, along with the feeling of heartbreak. He was not his mother, who could deduce something from a person just by looking for it, or his father, who always saw the best in people. Jon didn't look past what they gave but placed his trust in them completely.

It was the same with these people, but he could tell they didn't trust him.

Another shiver wracked his body, sending goosebumps trailing down his arms and the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The heat gnawed at his skin, digging into his bones and melting his marrow. The sealed bottle called at him, a drop of condensation dripping from the plastic grooves.

But it was Damian who whispered into his ear, telling him that these people were complete strangers, and it had to be true because Damian was Robin, and he was rarely wrong. Every time Jon messed up, or couldn't do something, it was Damian who righted the wrong and, through some snide comment or the other, comforted him and told him everything was going to be fine.

Glancing around, he realized that he was all alone, no mom, no dad, no Damian.

He wouldn't know, Jon thought as he uncurled himself, It'll only be a sip, no more.

He curled his fingers around the bottle, before hastily retreating as there was a flash of gold and blue, with mean, too accusing, eyes that were narrowed and harsh shoves along with tight grips and scorching glares.

"You can't trust everyone," Robin had told him, sinking his teeth into an apple he had gotten from a kind street vendor, "Sometimes people are not capable of kindness, or deserving of trust. I had to learn it the hard way, but in this field of work, saving everyone is not possible."

Did Jon go under the category of everyone? For once in his life, he felt hopeless and weak, unable to even uncurl from his fetal position for more than a handful of seconds. He needed someone, anyone, because he couldn't save himself from such a simple thing like heat.

"Not if I had a say in it," he had told Robin, bashfully tossing his head and ignoring the reaction of his friend.

Shivering and pulling his limbs closer to himself, Jon blinked tears into his ratty jeans. He didn't understand Damian, but he did know people did things when they were scared, and they were scared of him, even though he didn't so much as lift a finger against the people he often looked up to, the heroes and heroines of the world.

But now? He wished he did. Wished he had taken off into the air and escaped and hidden, safely tucked away in a probably long-forgotten Fortress of Attitude. Damian would come and save him, like he always did.

Because he would.

Right?

... right?

-???-

This had a lot more comfort when I wrote it first, but then went "this is whumptober, you go big or you go home."

 B L A M.

Have a cup of hurt no comfort. 

Gnahhhhh -

 Okay, I feel like a monster, so I'll explain why everybody was so mean.

(I included this in the comfort version I had, darn it)

Jon fell into the Injustice Universe where, unfortunately, newbies Blue Beetle and Firestorm react a little harsh towards the bright-as-day 'S' and lock him up without consent from Bats. Bruce comes to free Jon and realizes that it was not a clone or younger version of Clark, but Superman's unborn son. Kara freaks of - "I'm an aunt!!!" - Bruce freaks out - "You're ten?!" - and Jon is so, so confused.

*sniffles into computer* There. Hurt no comfort ruins me.