11 Years Before The Wedding

She took a deep breath in, then held for a moment, wriggled her nose and let it all out. It was the lady's way to do things, to control oneself, and she would be a lady, she was a lady, had to act the part. Especially right then. Right then, it was absolutely imperative that she appear as much the embodiment of femininity as her mother. That was what drew men in, that was what stole hearts and conquered lands and started wars, the perfect woman. That's what she had to be. She scolded herself, untying her fists from her dress and using her thin fingers to smooth out the wrinkles she'd caused. She could feel her father's eyes on her back, expecting so many miles ahead of what she could see, preparation for admonishment.

Cain set a warm hand over her own, to still her, and she relaxed. He was smiling at her, small, comforting, the way his fists felt in the guts of the schoolyard bullies in the past. An ever-protective guardian, a man who would one day pass her on to another, her dearest companion and oldest friend, even when he didn't want to be. Focus on your breathing , he said in his playful eyes. Be a lady now and a swooning maiden later . She nodded, to him or to herself, and breathed out.

"Aiden Barnett."

She heard the door creek open, the clambering of heels as her father rose from his seat. "Talia Al Ghul."

"Pleasure to see you again."

"The pleasure," there was a meaningful pause, and as she turned, she caught her father eyeing The Demon Heiress she so little knew from toe to eye, "... is all mine."

Talia smiled at him with a wise glint in her batting eye.

But that wasn't what had her attention. Standing, to her delight, a few inches taller than her, was a boy with tan skin the very color of an arabian night, with eyes just as cold as the passing desert winds, raven hair that made the breathtaking green of his eyes all the more awe-inspiring. She swore they shined greener than any emerald she'd held in the palm of her hand, of which she'd been gifted many. Darker than any merelani mint garnet, clearer than any bloodstone, but capturing her heart and her eyes the same as a crown-encrusted demantoid or jade jewel. He was so pretty for a boy, but the cut of his jaw left little contemplation, as did the broadness of his shoulders and the way he held himself, hands folded behind his back, clad in a suit of black and white. Same as she'd seen him only months ago, but he stole the weight from her body and the air from her tongue the same as he had the first time. He appeared untouched by company, devastatingly neutral and so, so very far away even though he was just a moment's touch before her. His eye caught hers, and she reminded herself to speak. "Hello, Damian."

He stared at her and raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"

"Mind yourself, Damian," Talia scolded him. "She is the daughter of our ally."

She pinched her skirt between her fingers and curtsied. "My name is Abele," she said, "it is so nice to meet you." He said nothing, did nothing, stared only at her until the next moment, when Cain offered a hand and a pleasant smile.

"And I am Cain. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Damian glanced down at his hand, nose wrinkling. Her dear brother, never one to trip, regained his hand, using his other to nudge her with his elbow and a cheeky smile. She startled. "Ah! We saw you training the last time we visited! Your footwork was marvelous, I was… hoping I could see you in action, again?"

That seemed to wipe the inattention off of his face. Damian turned to his mother with the faintest hint of excitement in those jeweled eyes of his. "Mother, may I?"

Talia smiled at him, and she guessed that was the pride of a mother, unfamiliar as it was. "Please, Damian. Show them how you've grown."

She saw her father's eyes light up as Talia called for her men, and Damian stripped the nearest wall of a sword she supposed was more than decor. He shifted it from its seal, raised it and swung it around, playing tricks with the hilt between his fingers as it sliced through the air with an audible hiss. The men in all black, with faces she couldn't see, bodies she'd never recall, crouched into fighting stance, and Damian seemed unbothered by that, didn't so much as blink or bend his knees. Talia raised her hand as her father took three steps back, then brought it down the way a guillotine dropped, and the heads would surely follow.

Damian moved forward, and blood splattered across the floor. Bright red against tan tile, painting it, glistening over in a puddle that reached like the bony hand of death across the way, reaching and growing until it met the tip of her toe.

There was another scream, and more blood- across her dress, across her face. Her eyes flew wide and she could taste copper, metal, wet on her tongue between her opened lips. Her hands trembled at her sides, and she raised one tremoring hand slowly, upwards, willing her body to stop the bout of endless shaking that had so suddenly overcome her. She had to remind herself, be a lady, be a lady, be the sugar and spice and the warm cotton on his arm, be the lavender to calm his muscles so he can rise the next day to rip at the throats of his enemies, be a lady . Her fingers shook and felt frigid and hot as they smeared the gorish wetness at her eye.

Her fingers were red, so red, and he'd done that- Damian had done that . In one second, he'd used that sword to draw the life and blood and soul of a trained man, then another, and he'd done it all so effortlessly, so unfazed, and the way he was moving then, if she glanced- light on his feet, a thimble lost in a sea of cannons that couldn't fire fast enough or accurately enough to hit him. His face was drawn, wrecked with concentration but unbothered by the way the man at the other end of his sword choked on the blood spilling from his fissured throat, screaming, clawing, and she might have watched as that man fell to the ground in the blood of his brothers, but Damian was onto the next, and that blood was still on her face.

Her heart was pounding . Her lips quirked upwards in silent delight. "A true knight…"

Her brother turned to her and smiled, brushing a drop of blood from his cheek with his thumb, and in his eyes she could see that he was grieving something she could not grieve beside him. "For a true princess." She smiled back at him with cheeks that could never be as red as the blood on her face.

19 Days Before The Wedding

Horseback riding. To say he'd never done it before would have been a lie, but to say he was well-versed would have been just as, if not more, factually incorrect. Abele seemed more than competent, riding her horse with her legs to the side, catching the summer breeze in her hair with her upturned chin. She appeared a preening animal in the sun. Cain glanced at him from the side as he tightened the saddle at his horse's back. It was as white as a horse came, with a beach yellow mane that was groomed so finely that he swore the poor thing must have had hairdressers and guards. It had no name though, Cain had informed him, so Damian had taken to calling it Aphrodite . "You seem nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

He could hear a woman giggle, and he turned to the raised patio deck where Aiden and Gertrude sat, her with a fan over her chattering lips and him with the rim of a teacup at his. She'd been laughing not at him, but at something her husband said, clearly, but it still ticked him nevertheless. His eye twitched.

Cain chuckled and shook his head. "You know, you could just ride in my lap, My Love. It would save us time." Damian said nothing, but as Cain climbed upon Aphrodite's back, he approached the side. Cain settled in before he blinked down at him, tilting his head to the side in confusion. He could see the metaphorical ears flattening and raising at the top of his golden head. Damian glared up at him and offered no other explanation but raising his hand expectantly. Cain blinked down at it, then back down at Damian, who turned his head away to hide the searing red that was starting to form on his cheeks. The gears turned in Cain's head until his eyes lit in understanding, lips coiling in absolute glee. Damian scoffed to himself. Idiot . He took his hand and pulled Damian up to Aphrodite's back, and Damian threw his leg over one side and allowed himself to sink back into Cain's embrace. It was closer than they'd ever been, or closer than he remembered them ever being, and the thought sent an almost excited chill through his spine as his hips brushed squarely against Cain's. Don't pay attention to it, don't pay attention to it …

Cain reached around him and gripped the reins, setting his chin at Damian's shoulder as he purred in his ear. "How does my lap feel, My Love?"

He hissed back. "You won't have a lap if you keep this up."

Cain threw his head back and laughed, then raised the reins until Aphrodite began trotting along the vast fields of the Barnett Estate.

The flowers in bloom riding up to the manor were insignificant compared to what he was seeing, now. Tulips, the same bright red, yellow, petals loose and amist in the wind as it blew by on their saddled ride. The sun was high in the sky, surrounded by clouds heavenly white and full, circling the miles ahead of them. As far as he could see, green grass, long but kempt, trees billowing in sweet, hot winds, petals dancing, and they were at the center of it all. So perfect, so undeniably ethereal, he couldn't find it in himself to see anything but the beauty. Cain took the reins in one hand and wrapped the other around his waist. He could feel warm lips at the shell of his ear, and he almost leaned into it- nobody could prove that he had. "Hold tight, My Love!"

He slapped the reins down, and Aphrodite broke into a full sprint, and he bobbed along so wildly that he had to steady himself with one hand at the saddle and the other at Cain's wrist, snug around him. He couldn't help it, because of the easy summer day, because of the red tulip petals that swept around them in a whirlwind as they passed, because of the jostle of Aphrodite's body as she rushed into nothing but open fields, Damian laughed. His head leaned back, against Cain's shoulder, and Cain leaned forward with a toothy grin on his face, like a jockey in a gambled race. "Hee-yah!" He squeezed at Damian's waist, his thumb rubbing a playful, soothing line into his skin.

They rode free and wild like that for a mile, then Aphrodite began to tire, and she dropped to a slower trot once more. Cain relaxed his grip, but the warm arm around him was still very much there, and for once, Damian didn't feel the urge to remove it. Instead he leaned back into Cain's chest and watched the streams and trees pass by as they galloped through the open woods. Cain said little, for once, mayhaps lulled by the same atmosphere he could feel in the company of the running water and the harmony of chirping birds. He glanced up to find some robins chatting animatedly despite the distance between the trees they'd perched upon, beaks unlatching as they sang and stomped around, red and black feathers and white-rimmed eyes standing out among the green leaves of the aider trees. There was no echo, but they heard each other just fine, no need to scream, no dead air, just chirping and skipping from one side of the branch to the other. He smiled to himself, wondered what his brothers were doing. Cain glanced up to see what he was smiling at, and then he smiled too.

"I've missed this."

"Your home?"

"Yes," Cain shifted his weight to better balance himself on Aphrodite's back. "I quite prefer the danger of Gotham, but the sounds and smells of my family grounds, well…"

"Nostalgic." He nodded. He understood. He too, preferred Gotham, but there were certain things that made him long for the long-gone familiarity with the incense of his mother's room, the way the nights were cool against his battle-torn skin, things Gotham could not give to him. He wondered if, someday, there would be things that London could not give to him that Gotham could, if one day, he'd call the Barnett Estate his home. He'd miss the city lights, the memories, the first he'd been allowed- and expected- to treasure, the taste of Alfred's meals and the quiet of the library. But, he thought, he'd gain the love of the Barnetts, a new mother, a new father, even a sister, and he'd have a husband who sought to love him despite the walls he'd been forcing between them every step of the way. Maybe there would be less pain, maybe he could steer his in-laws away from business with his mother, so long as they had him at their side, and maybe he'd find a proper sibling in Abele, and he'd know, for once, what it was like to feel accepted , close , like he didn't have to prove himself every damn step of the way, like he could be turned away, left alone at any moment. They knew of him, knew what he'd done, maybe had hands just as bloody, and they'd already accepted him- Cain had already accepted him. Maybe, he'd come to feel London was home.

"Ameli," He turned his head over his shoulder, and Cain turned so that their noses were brushing. Close enough to kiss, a voice in the back of Damian's mind whispered, a voice that sounded almost like he wanted to. Cain hummed, and Damian hesitated for a moment, "... could we come here, after we're married? Back to London?" Cain's brows furrowed in confusion.

"You would want that?"

"Yes, I would."

"Your family?"

"You said you'd be my family, now." Cain watched him for a moment, parakeet eyes darker as they passed through the shade of a towering pine tree. His eyes, fleeting for a moment down to his lips, the back to his face. Damian's parted as they looked at each other. Cain licked his lips.

"If that's what you want, it's yours."

"So you've said."

Cain exhaled a laugh and his lips twitched into a smile. "Feeling cheeky, are we?"

Damian turned to face forward, a small smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "Must learn to keep up with you."

"Won't be hard, just ask and I'll slow down."

"Don't you dare."

He laughed to himself, and Cain raised the reins to gear Aphrodite back to the manor.

It was on the trot home that the rain started to pour. Heavy, unrelenting. Cain stripped himself of his jacket and Damian held it over their heads as they picked up pace and hurried back to shelter. London summers were notorious for their heavy downpours and sun showers, and indeed it was the former. The white round bands like brushed portraits in the sky turned to darker, foreboding handfuls of grey that shrouded the sun and the blue that had been.

Cain's mother and father had returned to the safety and warmth of the Barnett's Estate's roofs and blankets, but a dozen maids and butlers stood in the cold rain like a flock of squawking ducks, eyes wide, glancing around, like they had something to search for in an nonexistent crowd. In the rain. His eyes narrowed. Signs of panic, in all of them. Tense shoulders, hushed whispers, wrung hands in towels that had long since soaked through to the red and raw hands beneath. Cain steered Aphrodite into the stall, but Damian tapped him twice on the thigh while there was still space to hop off. Cain halted, though confused, and Damian nodded to get Aphrodite in her pen. Cain cocked an eyebrow, but did as asked (gestured), and Damian turned on his heel and made his way to the servants. The flock startled as he approached.

"What is the meaning of this? Have you all nothing better to do for your wage?"

"Master Damian!" One maid, an average woman, hair in a sopping wet bun, loose strands sticking uncomfortably to her face, grasped at his arms then thought better of it. She snatched them away like she'd been burned. "Lady Abele hasn't returned! We cannot find her!" He glanced up at the stalls, and sure enough, the horse with the green saddle was indeed missing from its pen, and it appeared Cain had realized this, as well. His eyes grew wide with the same adrenaline coursing through the trembling, shaking hands of every servant, and he was on his feet and out of the pen, charging towards the flock the moment it hit him.

"Abele! Which direction did she go?"

A servant should have told him that they'd find her on their own, would have told the master not to worry, would have told him that they had things under control no matter how far from the truth that really was, but these maids and butlers seemed to have been waiting for him. They did not relax, but they grew hopeful, and the maid who had reached for Damian pointed frantically at the woods. "There, Young Master! Where Master Barnett forbade!"

Cain nodded, and turned on his heel at the direction of the woods. He didn't need to ask, Damian was right behind him. The direction Aiden forbade was a trail pathed only from travel, a dirt trail turned to mud in the downpour, that circle and coiled around the trees like a snake, leaving just enough room for a horse and its girl. He could see why a girl like Abele would like it. From what he'd gathered of her in his few days at the manor, Abele was a girl who loved the pretty things, who subscribed and slaved to beauty and nature, apparent in the crocheted flowers she wore on her elaborate dresses, in the perfect ringlets she wore in her hair. The path she favored was strewn in flowers of all colors, and carried along a river he imagined was crystal blue in the sunlight that now hid behind storm clouds. But it was a strong stream, coursed more like a brimming river, dangerous in times of overflow, in times of London's frequent rains.

"I'll go right, you go left." Damian gestured vaguely, but Cain was hardly listening. He took the direction and hurried, and Damian took the opposite.

The wet ground and branching trees made it hard to navigate, but he had to keep going. Abele, she was going to be his sister, his chance to prove he could be a brother, a good brother, that it was possible to love and be loved by somebody with his same name, by his married blood. She was a part of the future he wasn't willing to let go of yet, a future he'd just begun to paint for himself, to accept, just begun to want , truly. He'd done this a million times before, saved a million lives in a million climates as Robin, and taken twice as many as the Demon Heir. He could save her, had to save her, or the skill would be for not. He'd never forgive himself. Cain would never forgive him, he'd lose the only people who had ever wanted him despite the blood on his hands, who could save him from being an Al Ghul the rest of his life-!

He saw her. Alive, crying, soaked in her big heavy dress, with her ankle stuck in a fallen tree trunk, and the water level was getting higher. Her perfect ringlets were only murky, mud-covered strands that stuck like the grime to her cheeks, no longer round and bouncy but dead and limp, unlike her, unlike Abele, who was still struggling, tugging desperately at her leg as the water threatened to swallow her whole. "I've got you," he reached out, and she looked at him with wide eyes and whimpered. "I've got you!" He bent down and tried to pull her limb free himself, but it was jammed, and the efforts to pull made her cry out in pain, from the burns his hands left on her skin or the tension in her bone, he wasn't sure. Best not to find out. Thunder roared above, and he grimaced as the waves grew stronger, as they hit the trunk and crashed against his face as he shielded her. "Just hold on!"

Her ankle was swollen, that was exactly why she couldn't get it unstuck, too large. It was no use tugging, he had to get her out another way. Another way, another way … The swelling, if he could get the swelling down, he could pull her to safety. He spared her crying face a glance and gave her his best Bat-Everything-Will-Be-Fine stare (the kind he'd seen Grayson give civilians, the kind he'd seen his father give children who weren't him, never him). "I'm sorry." He reached into his pants and secured a small dirk, and she screamed and pulled at the hand in which he held the blade, begging.

"No, no, please! I can't lose my-!"

"You won't lose your foot, calm yourself."

He reached down to the swollen twist in her ankle, gave her no room to prepare as he raised his blade and cut her flesh. She cried, but he watched as the blood spewed from the bone-deep cut and the swelling seeped away like the blood in the saltwater. He pulled, and she came loose, and he tucked her under his arm and pulled her to the side, to the safety of the mud and grass and fallen tulip petals, covered and hidden in the muck. "You're okay, you can stop crying now."

Abele blinked up at him and laughed through the tears, shaking her head in disbelief, in herself, in him, in the life she still had years to live, he couldn't know. Jon had always dealt with the emotions, showed him how to, but again, he was lost without him. His grip on her arms tightened. "How close I was to becoming Ophelia, how close I was, just now…" Her arms, so skinny, so frigid and sick with trembling, wrapped around his neck as she buried her head in his shoulder. "Oh thank you, thank you!"

A twig broke. Damian glanced up, up to where there was a small waterfall in the stream, where there was a stone to overlook the river where the trunk had so blatantly shifted roles and nearly stilled the running water. It was Cain who stood upon that ridge, and it was his eyes he met. It was in Cain's eyes he saw right then, he was sure of it, even in the dark shroud of the shade of the trees and the overcast that thundered above, striking behind Cain's deeply green eyes- mortal animosity.

He didn't know what the meeting was about. He hadn't been paying attention. Damian was usually the one giving the reports, talking above everyone else, rolling his eyes at suggestions he didn't like. Jon, for the most part, spent his time in the meetings watching him, or glancing starstruck at his teammates with wonder he still hadn't quite kicked. But if he looked to his right, like he'd been struggling against this whole hour, he'd find Damian's seat empty. And if he looked at Starfire, he'd find her watching that seat with unease, watching him with questions he couldn't answer fully in her matronly eyes. Nightwing was there, though, and he had to tell her, had to have told her. Damian wasn't there because he was off in London meeting his new family, and he was on the arm of a boy Jon had never met, and it had nothing to do with Jon . That's what Damian had told him, but that was a lie, wasn't it? He'd said as much, but that didn't make the knife in his gut twist any less.

The meeting ended, and Jon stood with the intention of heading to the rooftop so he could fly home.

"Superboy," Nightwing's jovial voice, a lot like his dad's, hit the door before he could. "Could you hang back a sec?" The meeting room was empty by then, super-hearing negated, he couldn't pretend he hadn't heard him. Starfire and Nightwing circled around the table, and he stared longingly at the door only a few feet away.

Jon sighed and gave them an awkward half-smile as he rubbed at the back of his neck, wanting to go home and stare at the pages of his old grade school essay, but nodding anyway.

Nightwing was smiling at him, arms crossed, gentle, comforting tilt of the head that read I understand you , and he couldn't help but to think he wouldn't. Starfire was beside him, brushing her hair from her eyes, standing close to Nightwing, so close he was surprised she didn't take his arm and hold it. But they were professionals, and this was a professional conversation… maybe. "Superboy, please, Robin hasn't attended a meeting in weeks-"

He raised one hand and gave a playful roll of his eyes. "Nightwing didn't tell you? Robin's getting married !" The word felt like utter venom and he never thought he'd hate such a sweet word before. "He's just busy, that's all!"

"Jon, c'mon," Nightwing's easy smile faded. "You and I both know this started before Damian even met Cain."

"So what? I know what happened?"

"You're his best friend ." Well, Jon scoffed, not anymore.

Starfire frowned, then took a step towards him, one hand outstretched, gentle. "I'm worried about you, too, Jonathan. Your eyes, have you been sleeping?"

"No, not really." He subconsciously wiped his thumb over one eye, the one that felt somehow a little heavier than the other. "I'm fine, just a little off schedule." Bad excuse. What schedule? It was summer, he had nothing to do but chores and Titans stuff, and none of that required that he wake up any earlier than noon. "Haven't been sleeping well."

Nightwing raised an eyebrow. "Because of Damian?" He flinched and said nothing, turning his head so he could hide his face in his own shoulder, where they couldn't see all of him, the whole story. "Jon, we know you and Damian got into a fight."

"It's more than that." The words came out unbidden.

Starfire frowned and glanced at Nightwing, who shook his head and shrugged. "Jonathan, you can speak to us if-"

"I can't." He nearly bit down on his lip. "You wouldn't understand." Wouldn't understand why he'd broken Damian's heart, why he threw away their friendship because he mistakenly thought he'd had feelings that weren't really there. Nightwing might kill him, and then Jason and Tim wouldn't be far behind, and even his dad couldn't stop Batman himself if he decided his kid's broken heart and sudden shotgun wedding were his fault. And they were, they were all his fault. This whole thing was his fault. Damian not coming to the meetings, getting married, hiding from his brothers the way he hadn't done since he was 13 and trying to prove he fit in.

Nightwing stood by Starfire's side, then, offering him that same gentle smile, but this time with a sympathetic furrow of the brows. "I'd understand more than you think."

He rubbed at his arm, glanced away, and said nothing.

Starfire frowned, the faintest hint of indignance in her nose. "Iris has been stopping by the tower looking for you. She says you haven't been answering her calls, that she's been worried." Oh, Iris. She felt too much to handle, right then. He liked her, liked her so, so much, and after the dream he'd had, he wanted nothing more than to show her just what his kryptonian biology was really for, but he just couldn't focus on her. Not when Damian's face was on every newspaper in the country with a ring the color of his eyes on his finger. Not when he hadn't heard anything about the wedding since he got the invitation, since his family had RSVP'd. Did Damian really want him there? Could he stand there in the crowd and let his best friend get married without him by his side? Would it be uncouth to bring Iris as his plus one? How could he explain all of that to her without explaining…?

Nightwing frowned. "Iris doesn't know what's going on with you either, does she? Damian's been rubbing off on you, it's not like you Supers to internalize like this. Jon, you don't have to talk to us, but why don't you at least talk to your-?"

" Because she's why Damian and I broke up !"

Oh no. He'd said it. The words were out, the truth sitting on open air and Nightwing and Starfire were gawking at him with open jaws and wide eyes, and his heart was breaking because it was the truth and that's exactly why he couldn't see her, couldn't touch her, because she was why he'd done what he had. He'd forsaken his friendship with Damian for her, lost Damian for her, thought he and Damian could withstand it but he'd been wrong, and her lips and her walk and her voice were just reminders that he'd broken Damian . How could he forgive himself? How could he ever get his friend back? How could they ever go back to the way things used to be? He loved him, he loved him so much, but he couldn't love him like that , and he was paying the price for thinking he could.

Nightwing opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to process, trying to form words that would sound right, but Jon could see he was coming up blank. "You… and Dami…?"

He froze, unsure of himself, shocked that he'd said it, terrified because there was no going back. He had to explain himself, or things would get worse, so, so much worse. Jon swallowed, hard, and squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his attention to his feet. He didn't want to see what Nightwing was thinking. "We kept it a secret. I… I didn't want anybody to know that I, maybe kinda, ya know…" liked guys . He winced at himself. "I- I really thought- I really thought I liked him, but then Iris showed up, and I started feeling things, and-!" He shook his head. His mom told him he got like this when he was in a frenzy, talked fast, didn't make a lot of sense. He had to make sense, here. "I.. I had to figure out how I felt, and I just realized that I… wanted Iris. Damian is my best friend, and that's what I felt for him, the love anyone feels for their partner in crime, you know? Er, partner in beating crime."

Because he liked holding hands with Damian, liked kissing him, but they'd never gone any further than that, even though, sometimes, he'd wanted to. Iris didn't need to touch him to turn him on, just looking at the sway of her hips did it, or her pouting lips, even if the way she grabbed his arm did funny things to him. That was why, that was why he had to break things off with Damian, because Damian didn't do that to him, didn't make him drool at just the thought of his lips in private places, he didn't . "I'm… not that guy, I know that now. I was just confused." He'd never loved a friend the way he'd loved Dami, was what he wanted to say, but then the next part would sound worse, and he scowled at himself, his past self, his current self. "Damian didn't feel the same way. He… told me he loved me. I…" he couldn't say it back, not if he was going to mean it.

His shoulders felt so heavy all of a sudden, and he knew why, knew that he could see Damian's face in the back of his mind, see the blush on his cheeks as he'd turned his head down, pouted at the ground and crossed his arms, so shy, so uncharacteristic for him while he mumbled I love you, Jon. And not far behind that image was the wide-eyed wounded face that came moments after. He could still see the tears Damian never would admit to shedding, the ones that had built in his eyes but hadn't fallen because Jon had unintentionally drawn all of his armor up at once. He'd spent years peeling every layer back, getting closer, and closer, until he could touch Damian's skin, feel the heat of the blood that ran in his veins, his biggest virtue and his deepest insecurity. Every piece was a fight, but he'd done it, stripped Damian to his weakest self, his truest self, and Damian had let him see his wounds and let him touch them with hands meant to heal. And then he'd used those same hands to burn him instead. Damian had raised fields of barriers between the two of them, more than had ever been there before, all in an effort to hide how Jon had made him bleed. Rao, he'd cut him so deep, how could he fix that?

He shouldn't have brought Iris around on his arm so soon, should have waited until Damian was better, until they could see each other at the tower and Damian could meet his eyes. And he'd been stupid instead, took her hand in front of everyone and kissed her pink lips until he'd been satisfied with the way she smiled into it, and when he'd opened his eyes, Damian's back was turned to leave and he hadn't stepped a foot through the tower doors since. He'd wanted so badly to run after him, to make things right, to hold his hand and press their foreheads together and make him laugh until he got embarrassed and called him an idiot, all as he buried his head under his chin and pretended Jon didn't know he was nuzzling into the dip of his throat. He wanted to bury his nose in Damian's hair and feel the muscles of his back relax under his hands, hold him close and promise him, promise him , he'd never hurt him again. But he couldn't, because he'd chosen her, and that meant he had to let go of Damian's hand. "I told him I wasn't gay."

And now Damian was getting married, and Damian didn't want to see him anymore.

Nightwing blinked, and Starfire frowned, and they glanced at each other, speaking in silence, the way he'd used to be able to do with Damian. To his surprise, Nightwing shot him an empathetic, jesting smile. "You wouldn't be the first man to be tempted by a beautiful woman, Superboy." Starfire elbowed him in the ribs, and he choked but laughed and shot her an apologetic smile.

She turned to Jon, brows furrowed, eyes so sad, big green eyes an uncharacteristic blue in light of the pause and frown that could make any man take a knee and beg to make it better. That was the power of a Tamaranian princess, he guessed. "Jonathan, all wounds heal with time. Damian will heal on his own, have some patience. All strifes pass, and this is no exception."

He scoffed, and he felt like a little brat for it, but he didn't care all that much, not right then. "Giving him time doesn't stop him from getting married."

"Well," Nightwing set a hand at his shoulder, still smiles. Jon wished he had it in him to smile. "He hasn't asked any of us to be his Best Man, yet." Jon frowned.

What he'd really wanted to say was… well, it would have been meddling-y, the kind a group of kids and their dog got yelled at for. He'd held back, because Damian wouldn't have wanted him sticking his nose between Robin & Superboy, but it was so, so hard. Because he knew that look in Jon's eyes- regret, loss, a very painful type of yearning that came from massively dicking things up. More so, he knew that every time he'd looked like that, he hadn't been wishing he could just joke around and go on patrol with Starfire. Maybe it was because he'd always stayed friends with his exes, for the most part, but every time he'd seen that look on his face in the mirror, when he saw his reflection and he looked about a foot out earth's heavenly door, and he couldn't sleep, couldn't smile, couldn't function , he knew he had to let his pride take a knee. And it'd gotten him wonderful things, more than he could have imagined, and he knew there was so much more to come. He smiled at her as she sauntered over to him from where he'd plopped down on the couch, arms spread over the back. She had the devil in her eyes, behind the concern and exhaustion, and he knew she was thinking the same things he was.

She sighed. "That could have gone better."

"I knew Damian must have had a thing for Jon but…" But they'd been together, all along, or at least awhile. Long enough that Damian had let down the rest of his walls, long enough that it'd killed him when he'd gotten punished for it. God, it made so much sense. His baby brother was nursing a broken heart, so of course- of course somebody had come along to take advantage, of course Damian had convinced himself it was all his idea, of course. That's what happens when you walk away from a boy who'd seen turned backs before, who feared them more than anything else, who'd trusted you with every cell of their body and their heart. So he'd turned to somebody who was promising him their wrists up in shackles, somebody who was offering Damian the chain. He was trying to close the gaping wound in his heart by placing a bandaid he mistook for a sewing kit over the deepest of it. It wouldn't work. He'd get hurt, the kind of hurt somebody didn't come back from, especially if the Barnetts were as shady as he suspected. Damian had come so far, made so much progress, and he couldn't stomach it if some stupid mistake tore all of that away, if Damian became a shell of the boy who'd been such a fiery storm of a beacon. He wouldn't lose the boy who pouted when he ruffled his hair, the one who spent his weekends sketching his cat with an unarmed, content smile, who still rushed to hug him every time he came to visit the manor. So it was up to him to save his brother. He had to stop this wedding, or at least convince Damian to.

Starfire drew closer. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that Damian is going to be in London visiting the in-laws for the rest of the week."

"Mm…" She nodded, and he lifted the arm he'd laid over his eyes as he'd thrown his head back over the headboard of the couch. She was smiling at him, and god, he loved the way that mischief twinkled in her eyes. She was gorgeous, unearthly. Doing trapeze may not have made his heart skip a beat anymore but she always would. "An opportune time to do some digging into the family he's promised his hand to." He raised an eyebrow. She laughed and came closer, lifting a leg to straddle his lap as she wrapped her arms over his shoulders. He took her waist in his hands, and he could hide the way his eyes glanced her body up and down as she slowly sunk upon his lap, but he couldn't hide the way he loved her when she giggled and he smiled. "I've been with you too long to not recognize that snooping face of yours when I see it, Dick Grayson."

He chuckled. "Guess not. So," he raised an eyebrow as she pressed her forehead to his, "where do we start?"