Chapter Text
Kon held tightly to Jon’s hand as they approached the door to Wayne Manor. Mrs. Harrison stood in front of them, and she confidently raises her hand to tap the doorbell, but before she can, the large and heavy looking front door opens, revealing a tall and thin man dressed in a suit with a bow tie. “Mrs. Harrison,” the man, who is very old looking with a wrinkly face and stark white hair says, “Kents,” both Kon and Jon stiffen when the man makes eye contact with the two boys. “Me and the masters have been expecting you,”
Mrs. Harrison nods, and as they’re lead into the manor, speaks. “I assume you’re this Alfred Pennyworth I’ve heard so much about?”
“Yes ma’am,” He has a British accent, and based on the way he addressed the rest of the household – ‘Masters’ – he must be a butler of some sort. “Hello there,” Alfred Pennyworth smiles gently when he makes eye contact with Jon, who has been staring at the man with wide and curious eyes the entire time.
“Hi,” Jon barely whispers, moving to hide behind Kon’s body a bit.
“Hello, sir,” Kon sets his luggage down on the floor, reaching his now free hand out to shake the other’s. “It’s nice to meet you,”
“As to you, Master Conner,” Conner blinks a little, and lets his hand fall loose from Mr. Pennyworth’s, a little taken aback at the title.
“Just Conner, Mr. Pennyworth,” he smiles sheepishly.
“Then it is just Alfred,” Mr. Pennyworth, now Alfred, smiles in the way only a kind old man can. “Come on then, the family is waiting down the hall,” So, the three of them, Kon carrying most of the luggage, make their way down the hall. Kon had seen the inside of Wayne Manor before; his dad had been friends with Bruce Wayne and sometimes, mostly when Kon was younger, he would come with his dad to the holiday galas and some of the other child-appropriate ones. It was grand, with a big staircase at the foyer and marble floors with two large, dark, wooden doors that lead to the ballroom. The chandeliers and the baseboards, the wallpapers and the carved pillars that were spattered on the walls; all of it was more expensive than anything Kon had ever dreamed.
The social worker’s shoes clacked on the beautiful floors, the dark yellow and blue marble shining like it’d just been polished. Kon and Jon’s shoes, just sneakers, were quieter, but Kon thought he might be able to pull a tap dance in the room. Alfred led them past anywhere the public had seen, to a big wooden double door. Jon pulled himself closer to Conner when he heard the voices inside. Alfred pushes one of the doors open, revealing the array of unique faces that belong to the famous Wayne family; and Kon comes to the sickening realization:
This is Conner and Jonathan’s family now.
“Conner, Jonathan,” Bruce Wayne himself, with his dark hair and dark blue eyes, stands from where he had been leaned on a couch, and walks to the boys. “It’s so nice to see you two again. I wish… I wish it had been under better circumstances. Your parents were amazing people,”
Conner takes Bruce’s hand, shaking it gently before pulling it away quickly, instead placing his hands on Jon’s shoulders, positioning the boy in front of Kon with his back pressed tightly against his torso. Jon, his shy little self, looks at Bruce with his sweet little face, and lifts his tiny hand to shake Bruce’s. Bruce smiles gently. With his free hand, he reaches into the pocket of his blazer, returning it with a piece of candy. Jon gasps in delight. “Do you like candy?”
“Uh- I- yes sir!” Jon gives a barely toothy smile, biting his bottom lip softly. “Thank you,” He unwrapped the candy, a little orange circle of hard candy, and pops it in his mouth. Conner, a little anxious because he knows he is about to meet an array of people, picks Jonathan up in his arms, the boy making only a huff of noise at the familiar action.
“No problem, chum,” Bruce leads the three guests into the room further, where he motions for them to sit on an empty couch. On the other side of the room, another couch, is five people. Conner can recognize a few of them at a glance – he remembers once again that he is now part of one of the most famous families on earth – Dick Grayson stands out the most, his gently tan skin and long tight curls that fall around his shoulders. Tim Drake is another face he knows well: they’re the same age, and Dad was always telling Kon that the boy was admirable and should be looked at as motivation; he was almost sixteen and already had multiple college degrees. His hair is stringy and black, and it looked like it hadn’t been cut or trimmed in a while. His eyes are cold blue and his skin an almost unearthly pale with the deep dark circles under his eyes. The last face he knew was the face of Cassandra Cain, the only daughter. Her hair was cut into a short bob, but it looked a little grown out and was a little sharp at the bangs. She had a soft smile on her face, one that looked pleasant with her cable knit sweater and long pleated skirt; she looked like a kindergarten teacher.
There are two more faces that Conner doesn’t know.
Before Bruce can say something, a little boy stands, placing his hands on his hips and looking at the two brothers with a proud look on his face. “I am Damian Wayne, only blood son of Bruce Wayne. You’d do good to remember that,” Conner can hear the groans across the room, and he swears that Tim Drake rolls his eyes. Damian is short, with spiky black hair – though the warm lighting of the room made it look brown – and had striking green eyes, they almost seemed to glow. He had a small scar across the bridge of his nose, and oddly, a slit on his ear that left a small gap. His skin was darker than most in the room, and honestly, if it had not been for the clear structure of his face, most would probably have a hard time recognizing him as Bruce’s biological child.
“Hey,” The final one, a young man who looked just a bit younger than Conner, says. His skin is dark and warm, and he has a bright smile to match. His hair is cut short, in tiny little curls. His eyes are a hazel that looks yellow. He wears a bright yellow t-shirt with a mustard colored long sleeve underneath, and Conner seems to get an idea of what this kid’s favorite color is. “I’m Duke Thomas. I’m also a foster kid!” He smiles and leans over the couch to Conner, who shakes his hand for a few seconds. Jon offers a tiny wave, sinking backwards into Conner. “Just ignore Damian, he doesn’t know how to talk to people,” Damian sputters, but doesn’t get the chance to speak before Dick talks.
“Dick Grayson,” Dick does the same handshake, and Jon, who is probably exhausted from the long drive and the stress, and the packing, offers the same small wave and sheepish smile. “The tired one is Tim, and the pretty one is Cass,” He points to each of them as he introduces them. Tim offers a wave, and Cassandra an enthusiastic wave.
“Hi! Cute brothers,” She points to them, flipping the direction of her finger at the both of them.
“These are my children, as you can see,” Bruce pats Cassandra’s head as he shoves himself between Duke and Cass, putting a hand on both their shoulders. “I hope you’ll become nicely antiquated with them all, even if some are harder to speak to than others,” There’s a reminiscent look on his face for a moment. “I know that what the two of you have been through,” Bruce sighs, shaking his head softly. “It’s almost unimaginable. I would know,”
Conner knows who Bruce Wayne is. The famous orphan. He’d been famous before his parents death, but the murder and the horrible crime scene photos skyrocketed Bruce’s fame in particular. Even today, almost 35 years later, the pictures still circulated online; Conner had seen them (He didn’t think he’d ever forget the tiny and traumatized look on eight year old Bruce Wayne’s face, blurry from the paparazzi photos taken so far away. Thinking about it now, it might have been Alfred Pennyworth himself that had been the slender man in the trench coat next to Bruce who had been photographed speaking to the police while Bruce stared at a bloody spot on the ground with a glassy look in his eyes).
“We’re here for you, all of us. You aren’t alone, and I want you both to know that,” Though Bruce is looking at Jon, and his big almost teary eyed face, he emphasizes the ‘both’ in his sentence and it sends a chill up Kon’s spine. Bruce stands again with a sigh. He looks to Mrs. Harrison, “I assume you have some legal things to speak with me about?” The two leave the room.
“Why don’t we show you to your rooms?” Dick asks, standing up as well. Jon, who’s eyes are closing and opening slowly, murmurs in Kon’s arm. It’s illegible, but Kon knows the boy is asking to go lay down. Alfred grabs one of the bags by the door, so does Duke and Tim. Damian walks with his nose in the air, and like he owns the place, which honestly, he’s probably the closest in the room to owning the manor.
They end back in the foyer, but they go up the stairs. None of the gala guests have ever been up the stairs. Kon feels like he’s breaking the rules, honestly. Photos begin to line the walls the higher they get up the stairs. It starts with pictures of what looks like a child Dick Grayson, big blue eyes and tousled black hair and a broken-toothed smile at the camera. Based on the blazer and the school logo, it must have been from a school picture. There are some of Dick with Bruce, and a photo that makes Kon freeze.
“Why is Dad here?” It’s Clark Kent, a big smile on his face. Dick Grayson is sitting on Kon’s Dad’s shoulders, a smile on his face and a cone of cotton candy in his hand. Dad holds an old looking elephant plush with a blue gingham bow around it’s neck, and there’s the faint impression of a thumb in the corner of the picture.
“Oh,” Is what comes out of Dick’s mouth. He stands next to Kon, and pulls the photo off the wall. Jon, who’s fallen asleep in Kon’s arms, shifts a little. “Clark was like an uncle to me,” Dick says it like it hurts, shrugging sadly. “I was at the funeral,” Kon remembers the two figures at the back that were tall and imposing. Never would he have guessed they were Waynes. “I called him Uncle Clark when I was little. You must have only been a toddler when this was taken,”
“I didn’t know you knew him like that,” Is what Conner says before he turns to walk back down the hall. His eyes catch on photos of the rest of the family, and some of what seem to be a young Bruce Wayne with his own parents. He doesn’t ask who the red haired boy is, he doesn’t want to stir more emotions.
“Well,” Duke says, stopping in front of a door. “We figured Conner could have this one, and Jon could be in this one,” He points to one door, then the door across the hall. “You two can decide whichever you want,”
“Which one gets the most sun in the morning?” Kon asks, peering into the rooms. It’s high afternoon at this point, so there’s no way for Conner to tell. “Jon likes to see the sun in the morning,” It turns out to be the one that they’d already chosen. Conner lays Jon in the bed, carefully sifting through their bags to find his favorite stuffed animal. A white dog, one that looked like Aunt Kara’s dog Krypto, aptly named Kyrpto by Jon. They’re alone at this point, so Conner presses a kiss to Jon’s forehead, turns off the lights in the room, and steps into the hall. He leans against, the door, and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
He finds himself standing in the hallway, staring at the photo of Dad and Dick. Of all the feeling she could feel, staring at this picture, he felt jealousy.
Dad had never wanted Conner. He had made it clear when Conner was little. They never went to the park together, he skipped school events, he didn’t kiss the scrapes on Kon’s knees, even when it hurt. There was no one for Kon to turn to when he had nightmares, not like in TV. Until Kon was seven years old, when Jon was born and when Dad, Clark, decided to be a better parent, Kon had felt alone in the world. He didn’t know the person who gave birth to him, his dad hated him, and the woman who tried to be his mother, she did her best, but until Jon was born, she had always been so busy and she never had the time to baby Kon or mother him and the like.
So, why did Dick get to have moments that Kon would kill for? By the time Dad had came around to Kon being his son, Conner had been so bitter and sad that he didn’t want to spend time with the man. They had fought, even when Kon was a little kid. But Dick got the version of Clark that was a dad, not the version that was an emotionally neglectful father.
Kon takes the photo off the wall and stares at it. The fabric of his leather jacket feels heavy, suddenly. He feels wrong, suddenly. Conner though, did Dad… know everything that would be wrong with Kon? Did he know his son was going to be a screwed up, angry, failing math class, teenager? Did he disapprove of a boy who listened to his rock music a little too loud and looked at pretty boys a little too long?
Dick Grayson, the perfect little boy. A famous acrobat, turned pitiful orphan. The son of his friend, a boy who admired Clark without question who was sweet and graceful.
A boy that was asked for.
Kon realizes, that was the difference. Conner wasn’t loved because he wasn’t asked for. Conner scowls, and hangs the picture back up. He’s made up his mind. Clark Kent isn’t Conner’s father anymore. He may have been Jon’s, but Clark Kent was dead now, and Conner decides.
He’s going to live his own life now. He won’t let himself down in grief for a man who didn’t want to love him.
It’s several hours till Jon wakes. “Kon?” The boy asks, peeking his head out from the bundle of blankets under him. Conner, who is lounging on a chair scrolling on his phone, looks up to his brother. Jon stretches, the hem of his long sleeves falling around his wrists. “How long did I sleep?” Jon slips out of the bed quickly, climbing onto the chair with Conner and sitting halfway on the arm and on Kon’s lap.
“Only three hours, you were really tired,” Conner smiles at his brother. He boops Jon’s red little nose. “You had a really long day,” Jon leans into Kon, resting his head on Kon’s shoulder.
“I’m hungry,” Jon pouts. Ever since the accident, Jon has been quiet and distant. Usually, he’d be constantly talking about something, either a show he likes or the story he’s made up with his action figures. But now, he was more quiet, and only really spoke to Conner.
“Why don’t we go see if someone can’t get us some food, yeah?” Jon nods and slips off the chair, grabbing Conner’s hand as they leave the room. Jon doesn’t see the picture of Clark on the wall, he’s too focused on following the floor like he always does when he walks.
They find themselves in the kitchen, where it looks like Alfred is beginning to make dinner. The stove clock reads that it’s five thirty in the evening. “Hello there,” Alfred turns to them, wiping his hands with a small towel. There’s a bowl of chicken on the counter, suggesting that Alfred has just washed his hands. “Are you two hungry? I’m making a large dinner, seeing as the whole family wants to be here to meet you,” The phrase ‘whole family’ makes Kon nervous, because he bets there’s more than just the butler and the six Waynes that he’ll be meeting.
“Jon told me he was hungry,” Kon nods. Alfred smiles, and soon sets Jon up with a small fruit plate to hold him off till dinner. “Do you want to explore the Manor?”
Jon nods excitedly, and they begin in the foyer. Kon shows Jon the ballroom, where the boy is entranced by the large glass chandeliers. Up the stairs, they peek into open doors, getting a good look at what Conner guesses is Cassandra’s bedroom, based on the mostly black colors, with splashes of purple and yellow. He can also see ballet stuff.
The find a library on the second floor, one that leads into the first floor. Jon, who had been holding Kon’s hand the whole time, suddenly gasps and lets go, running across the room. “Kitty!” He yells, and Conner panics to follow him.
“Jon! Jon, don’t run off!” Conner calls after him, but for a boy that spends a third of the year sick in his bed, Jon can run surprisingly fast, and the boy disappears behind a bookshelf. Then, there’s soft talking.
Conner slows, turning the corner slowly. The sight he sees is cute: Jon is crouched on the floor, petting a black and white cat who proudly weaves between his hand. Damian Wayne is sat in a chair a few feet away, a sketchbook and a large thick book with pictures in it next to him. He doesn’t smile, but the look on his face is content. “His name is Alfred,” Damian says. “After Pennyworth,”
Jon turns around to Conner, scooping the cat into his arms gently, then lifting it to his brother. “Look, Kon! I found a cat!”
“You did,” Conner almost sighs in relief, glad that the cat is kind and isn’t trying to maim his baby brother. “He’s sweet, ain’t he?” Conner accepts the cat into his arm, letting the cat lay on his back in Conner’s arms. He rubs the cat’s stomach with his fingers, earning a wiggle and a stuttering purr.
“He is trained very well. Father would not accept a rude or violent pet around his son,” Damian stands, folding close the sketchbook and walking next to Conner, petting the cat in between it’s ears. “As Drake would say, ‘he only has two brain cells’.” Damian takes Alfred from Kon, then turns to Jon, who is still crouched on the floor, staring at the wooden floor. “Would you like to meet my other pets? I have quite the array,”
Jon lights up, and nods frantically.
Jon seems to be in a much better mood at dinner than he had been in the morning. Damian had, all to himself apparently, a list of pets: Alfred the Cat, Batcow (named after the Batman shaped fur on her face), Jerry the Turkey (Who had tried to peck out Jon’s eye, but Jon had found it funny and he wasn’t hurt so Kon wasn’t mad), and Titus the Dog. Kon wouldn’t tell, of course, but there was also a small bundle of kittens in Batcow’s barn, of which Damian planned to take to the shelter once he was done bottle feeding them.
Jon had loved meeting the animals. He smiled at the dining table, though he held Kon’s hand under the table. When the family started to flood in, there were a few new face. Most notably, a red haired woman and a blonde woman, and another woman with even darker red hair. The first woman, who was also in a wheelchair, introduced herself as Barbara Gordon. He recalled her name, she had been a major news story in America for a week or two, after her house had been broken into and she had been left paralyzed in the attack. Conner felt bad for her, but she seemed to be doing well.
She seemed to be good with Jon, too, smiling at him and making him giggle a little with her witty remarks.
The second woman, who was actually more akin to a teenager, introduced herself with vibrant colors. “Hi! Oh, you’re so cute,” She told Jon, ruffling his hair and making him blush a little. “You look like a little bug,” Her big bouncy blonde curls fell around her shoulders, reminding Conner a bit of Aunt Kara. “I’m Stephanie, but you can call me Steph,” She shook Conner’s hand, and complimented his jacket. “I can help you add some more patches and studs, if you want,” Conner thought he might accept the offer.
The last woman was much more docile than the other two. Her hair was beautifully dark and red, almost like blood, and her face was sharp as were her eyes. She was a bit intimidating. “I’m Kate,” She said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “I’m Bruce’s cousin, but you wont see me too much. I figured I’d see his new wards though,”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Conner shakes her hand from across the table, and hopes the nervous sweat that drips from his hairline isn’t too obvious.
“Don’t call me ma’am,” She laughs softly, and she definitely sounds rich, “It makes me feel old, I’m only forty,” Conner laughs awkwardly.
Dinner is served, and it tastes pretty good. Jon huffs a bit about the asparagus on his plate, so Kon takes them and gives Jon more of his carrots, which Jon likes. He’s otherwise pretty silent.
“Why does Damian have a different plate,” Jon whispers into Kon’s ear, and Kon shrugs.
“Master Damian is a vegetarian, lad,” Alfred spooks Jon, who flushes and sinks down into his seat. Kon pats his brother’s shoulder comfortingly.
“Conner, why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?” Bruce asks.
“Uh, well, I like… skateboarding,” He mutters, suddenly unable to think of anything about himself.
“Oh, so does Tim!” Dick smiles widely, and Conner can tell it’s pure joy. Tim blushes and pulls the front of his jacket up his face a little. “He’s a bit of a pro, but he hasn’t gone to any skate parks in a while. Maybe you two should go sometime!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Conner looks down at his plate. “They aren’t really safe for Jon, he’s kind of fragile,” He deflects. “I like Legally Blonde,” It spills out, just trying to avoid socializing with this family. “Chick flicks, I guess. I like them,” He bites his lip, trying not to talk.
“Oh no,” Is heard from Duke, just as it seems Dick and Steph gear up to gush about their favorite movies. Thank god, Bruce interjects again. “Jon, what about you?” Jon doesn’t reply, just smiling a little and scooting closer to Kon. “Are you shy,” Bruce asks playfully.
“he’s usually really talkative,” Conner says lowly. “He’s been pretty depressed recently, cause of all the, well, you know,” He waves a hand in the air dismissively. “He loves farm animals and space, and he’s really good at video games,” Conner ruffles his brother’s curly messy hair. “I’m sure soon he’ll be jumping off the walls. He does get sick pretty often though,” In an almost Pavlov-ish way, Jon sniffs and wipes his nose. “Oh, I’m sure you’re wondering, but the thing with his eyes, it’s called waardenburg syndrome,” Jon’s eyes had always been something he’d been teased about at school; they were spread further apart than people without the syndrome. They were also light purple, but that was something he had inherited from Lois, his mother.
“I think it’s cute,” Steph says, and Cass nods along. “He’s so adorable, I just wanna eat him up,” Jon blushes and giggles, hiding his face in Kon’s jacket.
“I’m sure you and Damian will get along if you both like animals,” Dick says, but Damian huffs.
“I will not like him anymore than I like you, Richard,”
In a tiny, sweet, and brave voice, Jon speaks. “I like Batman,” It’s almost a mumble, but it’s as though everyone at the table hear, which honestly, they probably do, because they held silence for him.
“Oh, Jon loves Batman,” Conner starts, trying not to hold silence for too long, not wanting to embarrass Jon. “He has a bunch of action figures, of all the Gotham vigilantes. I think he was a little excited about moving here, because he has a chance of seeing them in real life,”
Jon mutters a barely audible ‘Kon’. Kon rubs his brother’s back.
“You know who he likes more than Batman, though?” He is quiet for a second, but it seems everyone’s attention is on him. They are all watching Kon with intense attention. “Sword Robin,”
Damian, though it’s hard to see, gets a little flustered, face going a few shades darker. “Oh, that’s sweet,” Bruce says. Dinner ends soon after, with no real notable conversation.
Kon had fallen asleep a little while ago, his arms wrapped around Jon. But Jon is thirsty and can’t sleep. He decides to be sneaky and slip into the kitchen to get some water. He slips out of the warm bed, feet pattering on the cold floor. He’s fast, tip toeing down the hall. The stairs are a bit of a challenge, they creak a bit, but the house is silent so it seems he’s alone.
He nears the kitchen, and then he hears something. A door opens, one he can’t see. “So, how are the brats adjusting?” an unfamiliar voice.
“Don’t call them that,” A gruff voice, but recognizable as Mr. Bruce. “And they seem to be doing fine. It’s day one, you know it’s going to take a while,”
“When will I meet them?” there’s the sound of the sink, and a bit of a hollow clink on the table.
“Probably not for a long time. They don’t know about our,” a pause, “Nightlife. You're supposed to be dead, and that's what they think. Jon, the little one, likes me and Robin though,”
Me?
Supposed to be dead? Were Dad and Mom here? But that voice, he didn't know that voice. And Jon hadn’t said anything about Bruce Wayne at Dinner, he said he liked…
oh.
oh.
Jon can feel the hair on his arms stick up. With this new revelation, he turns around and runs to his bedroom as fast as he can, yearning for his brother’s warm arms, and forgetting about the water.