Description: "You have five minutes." Y/N's father says. It's almost like he doesn't want to do this to us, to her, but there is something he knows that is making him. He glares at Jon and I. I remain tight under Dr. L/N's harshness, but Jon shrinks back and bows his head. The doctor gives his daughter a sympathetic look when she begins to weep. It is sympathetic because he pities her, not relates or empathizes with her as Jon and I do. He touches her shoulder,"You should be grateful that I'm at least giving you that."

Words: 2097

Notes: YES THERE WILL BE A PART FOUR. This is from Damian's POV. Part four will be third person. Hope you enjoy! Get your tissues!!

But I have a bonus question if you're up for it; what's your favorite line from this, and is there a double meaning or something else you can say about it?

_

"You have five minutes." Y/N's father says. It's almost like he doesn't want to do this to us, to her, but there is something he knows that is making him. He glares at Jon and I. I remain tight under Dr. L/N's harshness, but Jon shrinks back and bows his head. The doctor gives his daughter a sympathetic look when she begins to weep. It is sympathetic because he pities her, not relates or empathizes with her as Jon and I do. He touches her shoulder,"You should be grateful that I'm at least giving you that."

Y/N buries her face in her hands and promptly shoves him off. He closes the front door, just barely shy of a slam.

Jon doesn't waste any time. His arms coil around her instantly, almost enveloping her entire body, then presses his nose into her hair and murmurs promises we can't keep. I turn away when I hear him whisper,"We can find a way around this. We always do, right?" Not always.

I find my stomach churning as my fists ball. I want to punch something, I want to kick and scream, throw a tantrum like the young man I once was. Was, meaning I can no longer behave in such a way. I am an Al-Ghul. I am a Wayne. I have a reputation to uphold, and I will do so even if it kills me.

"Jon," She tries to speak, but the words die in her throat and are conquered by a cracking sob. Her breath hitches repeatedly, like a stuttering engine, and I now understand why my mother told me to never love; love is weakness. Weakness is death. Death is being forgotten.

But I would be forgotten a thousand times for them. I would die a thousand times too, by any death one could name, all for them.

Why just can't they understand? Even I, a boy raised to torture and murder, can accept something as simple as love. We are so fortunate to have one another... we are happy, and isn't that all that matters? Why can't I just have one thing? Why can't we just stay together? Why must they break us apart?

I am sure that her father will give us less than five minutes. I'm sure that my hands are shaking as I watch them, and Y/N's sobs cut through me more painfully than any weapon ever has before. Jon is wilting as if she is made of Kryptonite, and yet he still holds her tight, one of his only weaknesses.

I want to say it more than I have wanted to say anything. The need in my chest is so strong it makes me realize that, despite what everyone has told me, I do have a heart. It is burning and bleeding as I watch them mourn their love together. I realize I am mourning too. So I say it.

My fingers card down her face, smoothing back the locks that she taught Jon to braid with, that I have put behind her ear millions of times, that look beautiful when windswept and remind me of stupid memories. When she and Jon got sick flying in the rain so they could see me back from a mission, their hair clinging to their foreheads and hiding their giggling. When she would brush it in the morning after a sleepover, and then I would tell her how she's horrible at simple hygiene and do it for her... just so I could feel the silk-like strands. How she would move it out of the way before we helped Jon on the farm, flashing me one of those dazzling smiles. I realize. I tell them.

I say it first in Arabic. Neither understand, but I feel safer that way. That incredible arrogance and useless apathy can still surround me when I say it in my mother tongue, protect them from knowing but still give me the reaction I want. Then I say it in English for the first time. They both freeze.

Jon looks at me with big, watery blue eyes. He smiles despite everything, tries to smile for us, but it ends up looking broken. I can't smile back. She glances at me but only for a second. When she does her lips part like she wants to voice another thought. Not a second later do I feel her wrap her arms around me, breath me in and try to level her own inhales and exhales. I decide for one moment, just a moment, I don't need to be Damian Wayne. I don't need to be the grandson of the demon's head, the son of Batman, or Robin. So I hold her to my chest as hard as I can without breaking her fragile body.

"I love you too." She choked. Y/N lifted her head from my chest, wiping tears in a useless effort to stop them, before she looked at Jon and reached out for him. He comes closer and tilts his cheek into her hand. Y/N's thumb strokes his skin, and she emphasizes,"I love you both, so much." She cried weakly.

It is not a statement. It's not something that you repeat over and over, at the end of a phone call, after every parting conversation. Her words are a promise that gives Jon and I more hope than we deserve. I know this will not work. I know that I will never see her again. I know that my feelings will never leave me. I know that she wants me to remember that, at least I have Jon, but neither of us can find ourselves being that selfish.

Y/N kisses him first. Their tears leak down their faces and mix with their taste, and Jon squeezes his eyes shut as tight as he possibly can. I notice that he tries to chase her when she parts from him. Ruddy and red from crying, she gazes at him and hopes that her expression is enough for him to understand. I see it all when she stares back at me.

This is the most depressed I have ever seen Y/N. Whatever she is feeling goes beyond simple heartbreak and is something so much more—it is not the cause of negative gossip at school, a good-intentioned newspaper headline, but the end. It is the end of her feelings, and this statement is so true that I can almost see the greyness crawl up her arms and legs. Numbness and it's skeletal hands wrap around her heart and squeeze, and every part of her—the part that had taught me what love was, the part that showed me spring, the piece that brought me back and gave me the security I needed to say "I love you, Jonathan Kent and Y/N L/N"—that shows when she smiles slips through my fingers like sand.

When her mother calls Y/N listens only because she has no idea who to listen to anymore. I release her and she stands between us, just one last breath of air shared between the three of us, before she turns on her heel and starts up the stairs to her porch. Jon cries out. At least he got a last kiss.

"Y/N, please," Jon begs. He doesn't dare touch her, because at the intensity and sob in his voice her hands tremble. She pauses again. But she doesn't turn around, and it is then that I hear the fissure in her heart finally tear all the way through. I wield one half of her broken heart and Jon cradles the other.

"I'm sorry." I hate how steady her voice suddenly is. I hate how I stand and do nothing as Jon fights his way back up her driveway, jogging to catch up with her quick and desperate feet. She just wants to escape the heartbreak. He wants to have it if it means he can be with her. At least he got a last kiss, I remind myself as the front door slams in Jon's face.

Jon stands at her door for a moment. I'm too far away to know if he's using his x-ray vision to see where she's gone, but I know him well enough to know what he's going to do next.

"We should go," I told him. I beg my voice to stay strong, to keep even and as emotionless as I am capable.

Jon whirls around so fast the air is stolen from my lungs, and he stomps down the stairs, fisting his hands and approaching me wildly."Why are you just standing there?!" He yelled. Jon shoves me, and hard, but I let him. He deserves to let it out. He deserves to let it out on me, because I wasn't cautious and I wasn't vigilant. He deserves the freedom and anger of youth. But I am an Al Ghul. I am a Wayne. I have a reputation to a uphold, and I must stay strong for him.

When I don't give a reaction, Jon huffs. He starts to march back up to the door again,"I'm staying." He said firmly. Jon slid down the siding of her home, fisting his hands and folding his knees up to his chest. I know he will wait for her, and I know that I want to as well.

"Beloved." I try a different angle. I have met Y/N's father and he is a stubborn man. Whatever reason he has from banning her from seeing us is strong, so strong he would even put it above her own happiness. Unlike her father, I put her happiness above my own, knowing that staying and fighting for her will only make things worse.

"Please," I tell him as softly as I can manage. Jon buries his face in his legs as I stand above him, and it takes no time for his shoulders begin to shake with pain. I feel my eyes begin to sting when he takes my hand. I pull him upward and promise myself to stay strong and remember what she wants me to; at least I have Jon.

She has no one.

He can barely stand, giving out against me and falling into my chest in the same way she did. I wrap my arm around his waist and give a final glance to her home. I think of everything here and everything we've done together; the old rotting dog house in the backyard stares at me like I am to blame; the blinds of her bedroom window are suddenly harshly thrown shut; the sunset crests over the roof of her home and I think of our first kiss.

"I mean, I really like you... both." Y/N giggled awkwardly,"It's not a bad idea. I would... I would love to."

"Seal the deal with a kiss and a pinkie swear?" Jon raised his pinkie invitingly. Y/N accepts with a heavy blush, wrapping their pinkies together. He, being respectful, leans in and supplies nothing but a short peck with my shared consent.

"I... um..." Y/N looked at me nervously, unsure if I was ready or not. I find myself smirking at her, childishly raising my pinkie, before I cock an eyebrow,"What? Scared you're gonna get cooties?" I asked her. She wrapped her pinkie with mine before she kissed me. Jon smiles.

She fell back into Jon as the two giggled together for no real reason at all. She flashed a smile at the both of us. The wind blows her hair into her face, the dying orange and purple sunset making her and Jon look more beautiful than ever. I'm a very, very lucky young man.

"Oh, shut up." She laughed.

I close my eyes as I hear their laughter ringing in my ears and feel the last of the sun's light stroke my face. I say their because that's not who we are anymore. We is no longer Damian Wayne, Y/N L/N, and Jon Kent. We is Damian and Jon.

_

When I drive down the street, I can't help but glance at her home one final time. The windows on the house suddenly burst with white light, but it pulses, flickers and dies out before I can question why. I pass it off as the lights malfunctioning, turning down the street that will take my boyfriend Jon and I—a statement that already feels like it's missing something—home. I lay my hand between us. He squeezes it and I don't scold him for crying.