Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Categories:
Fandom:
Relationships:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Series:
Part 106 of Smile in a cornfield ~ a flower that has the breath of a thousand sunsets
Stats:
Published:
2024-06-04
Words:
1,572
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
26
Kudos:
90
Bookmarks:
5
Hits:
843

Trusting each others

Summary:

"I... I don't feel useful. Especially when I'm helping out in the barn," he muttered, skewering the waffles again to get a generous piece into his mouth. "Pa can lift a bunch of hay bales and he doesn't even look like he's trying."
"Of course you're useful, boy. Don't think for a moment it's the other way around. Jonathan has genetics on his side too, you shouldn't--"
"But you don't, and yet look at you."
"Me?" Damian blinked, genuinely surprised. Then he huffed hilariously, massaging his neck, obviously uncomfortable. "There are... a few things you need to know about me, boy."
"If you're going to tell me that you're an alien, too..."
This time Damian laughed with gusto, holding his son closer to him. "No. None of that," he reassured, meeting his son's curious eyes. If he really wanted to, he might as well dance. Especially if Thomas seemed so worried about the situation. "It's a little more... complicated."

Work Text:

Thomas stepped out of the shower and, with a towel around his waist, looked in the mirror, his right biceps swollen and poked with a contrite finger.

Lately, eager to help out on the farm more than he was used to and pulling up a fair amount of hay bales, he had begun training to put on muscle mass; he had made weights out of plastic bottles filled with dirt, one pound each, to get started, and had been doing lifts for a few weeks now, albeit with poor results. He admitted that he had even looked up some tutorials on the Internet, stuff like "how to work out at home" or "do-it-yourself training," but all that training had been a real rip-off and his arms still looked mushy. Not that he expected miracles, but he wouldn't have minded seeing some muscular results.

With a sigh, Tommy shook his head and mumbled to himself as he started to dry himself off as he made his way to his room, rummaging through the closets for something to put on; he grabbed a pair of jeans that he quickly pulled on and a slightly faded t-shirt that he could work in the barn with without too much concern, dressing as he went downstairs. A good smell of waffles hit him before he even stepped downstairs and he saw his baba standing in front of the stove with his back to him, humming who knows what to himself as he made breakfast.

"Good morning, eaziz," Damian greeted him, and Tommy gasped, wondering again how he could hear him without turning around.

"Morning, baba," he said in return as he sat down on the stool, glancing around a little furtively. Ace's bowl was empty, a symbol that the big dog had already eaten and was probably out as usual, but he did not hear the sound of the tractor. "Listen, mhn... where's Pa?"

"He's sleeping." Damian tossed a couple of waffles onto a plate and set it in the middle of the counter, grabbing the maple syrup before glancing at his son. "Why?" he asked, and Tommy shrugged his shoulders.

"Mhn... nothing," he dismissed the matter, poking his fork into a syrup-laden waffle. Maybe he should have exercised a lot more, increased the weight of the bottles and...

"Something wrong, son?"

Tommy blinked at the question. "No, no, it's just..." he sighed, poking a corner of his waffles. "It's... a stupid thing."

"If it makes you make that face, it's not so stupid."

Tommy bit his lip, drumming his fingers on the edge of the counter. He had never had a problem talking to his parents, he had always told them everything and they had always helped and advised him, but his desire to gain muscle mass seemed more like a whim - dictated by jealousy? He didn't know - than a real problem. "Well... you, Pop, Uncle Jay, Grandpa Clark, Sidi Bruce... well, you're all... so big." Tommy exaggeratedly spread his arms for demonstration. "And I, on the other hand, I'm an anchovy, even for my age, and I wanted - yeah, I wanted to have muscles like you and be able to help out on the farm."

The silence stretched for moments that seemed interminable, the two of them looking at each other thoughtfully, and Tommy felt a bizarre pressure in his stomach and looked away as his baba sat down beside him, a hand resting on one shoulder.

"Was that what was bothering you?"

Tommy let out a sigh. "Yeah, I know, it's stupid. I shouldn't-"

"It's not stupid, Eaziz." Damian stopped him before his son could add any more, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "You must never think that what you want to do is stupid."

"It's just... I don't feel useful. Especially when I'm helping out in the barn," he muttered, skewering the waffles again to get a generous piece into his mouth. "Pa can lift a bunch of hay bales and he doesn't even look like he's trying."

"Of course you're useful, boy. Don't think for a moment it's the other way around. Jonathan has genetics on his side too, you shouldn't-"

"But you don't, and yet look at you."

"Me?" Damian blinked, genuinely surprised. Then he huffed hilariously, massaging his neck, obviously uncomfortable. "There are... a few things you need to know about me, boy."

"If you're going to tell me that you're an alien, too..."

This time Damian laughed with gusto, holding his son closer to him. "No. None of that," he reassured, meeting his son's curious eyes. If he really wanted to, he might as well dance. Especially if Thomas seemed so worried about the situation. "It's a little more... complicated."

"More complicated than finding out the family history and being the son of a Kryptonian?"

Damian couldn't tell if he was more encouraged by the skepticism in his son's voice or not. It certainly seemed that they had changed the subject and that Thomas' curiosity was somehow starting to get the better of him. "I guess that depends on your point of view, eaziz." Damian took a moment to think about what to say, especially how to explain it to the boy, but could it ever be that difficult? "You see, I was... raised in an incubator," he plucked up courage, massaging the back of his neck as he felt Thomas's strange gaze on him.

"What? And what about Jedda?"

"You... know my past and your grandmother's..." Damian took the conversation in stride, inhaling deeply even though Tommy had nodded without saying anything. Talking about what he had done was always stressful for him. "And your grandmother, like her father before her, had always strived for perfection. So she thought of combining her genes with those of the one man she had always loved."

"Sidi," Thomas said, and Damian nodded.

"Your great-grandfather had always admired his tenacity; he thought that a child born from the union of his and his daughter's genes would be the perfect heir to rule his empire."

Tommy frowned and scratched his head. "I don't understand, Baba. Why not - well, if the grandparents loved each other so much, why not have you born like all normal children?"
 
"That's where the tricky part comes in, boy." Damian took more time, but finally sighed heavily. "Precisely 'cause I was supposed to be the perfect heir... growing up in an incubator would allow them to mold me in their image; therefore, dysgenic imperfections were removed to promote only those physical and mental traits deemed worthy."

"Are you saying you were raised artificially?" Tommy asked, and Damian nodded.

Tommy was silent for a long time, so long that Damian almost regretted speaking for a moment. Maybe it had been too much, maybe he could have spared a lot of details and kept this part of his past secret for more years, but ... he knew he couldn't. His son deserved to know the truth about everything, and perhaps it was no coincidence that this speech had come up that very day. And it was Damian himself who broke the silence, letting out a laugh before pulling his son into a tight embrace.

"It's water under the bridge now, so don't make that face, boy." Damian looked him straight in the face and smiled. "I've learned over the years that it's not how you're born that makes you who you are, it's what you do. And if you think it's your muscles that make the difference, that make you useful to people -- look at your Uncle Timothy."

Tommy returned the look, tried not to, and held back, but finally chuckled, sinking his face into the crook of his baba's neck. "Uncle Tim is so puny."

"He is, and yet he's always done so much." Damian tapped his son's nose, which blinked a little. "Just like you." The smile Thomas gave him was more than Damian had hoped for, and it also ruffled his hair a few moments later. "But if you want to put on muscle mass as well, Dad and I will help you. There is no need to doubt that."

Tommy smiled more and ate with more gusto, remaining silent on the subject until his father finally joined them; he followed him down to the barn after breakfast, trying to help as much as he could and making an effort to be helpful, shortly after feeling a hand from his father on his back and then around his shoulders.

"A little bird told me you wanted to practice a little," he said, and Tommy laughed, turning around with the bale of hay in his arms.

"That little bird sings a lot."

"Maybe. But I had Uncle Conner get you something. Check the tool shed."

Tommy arched an eyebrow, but played along, putting down the bale and walking over to the cabinet, stunned at the sight of the equipment all to himself. "Wow! Real weights!" Excited, even though it seemed like no big deal, Tommy ran up to his father and hugged him. "Thank you, thank you!"

"If we had known about this desire of yours, we would have taken it from you sooner, champ," Jon shouted, ruffling his hair, and Tommy stuck out his tongue.

"It doesn't matter. It's okay."

"If you need us, we'll be there. Know that we will always help you."

Tommy nodded and hugged him with a big smile. He had never doubted that.