Chapter Text
·꙳⋆𖢔𖠰𖢔·꙳⋆-`♡´-
Jason didn’t return to dinner.
He couldn’t.
Well.. he could.
He just didn’t want to.
Perhaps that wasn’t right either. He simply- it was nerve wracking. There was too much happening. Too many new pieces of information, new building blocks in a tower Jason had long since decided he’d completed. Like discovering a choice of punctuation which completely disorients the meaning of a sentence.
First, he felt anger.
It wasn’t like he and Bruce hadn’t spoken about it. They had- oh lord had they spoken about it, often and Jason’s behest. He brought it up time and time again. He was angry.
But then, mulling it over- Jason could understand in a way. Understand that whatever crippling OCD laden nature which drove Bruce to be The Bat would also cause him to lie about this. Cause him to create this unshakable rule. Bruce probably would genuinely believe that the joker dying anywhere that wasn’t a padded nursing home would be him indirectly excercising his revenge- and that would make Bruce a hypocrite.
Bruce hated hypocrites, just like Jason.
However, that reminded Jason that Bruce allowing Jason to live with the fantasy that Bruce really had abandoned him- really had chosen the rule over his son- well, that was the same as just using Jason for his own punishment. Manipulating him into fulfilling the role of warden in Bruce’s own- self imposed - purgatory in which he deserved punishment.
Bruce always insisted on being some goddamn kind of martyr.
Jason thought that was stupid.
So here he was, on the roof, listening to Dick chewing Bruce out for Jason’s absence just one room away from the family. Jason had left the window open when climbing out. He didn’t know why he’d stayed to listen.
Thinking about it, Jason didn’t really have the energy to be angry. He remembers most clearly the panic attack he had when Brown accidentally scraped a tool against the Batcave flooring- that grating, metallic- horribly warm and sinkingly desperate- darkness in a damp room with the ringing of a bomb only some meters away-
Jason remembered most clearly that Bruce had lifted him from his panic. Bruce had been the one to sit with him. Jason had been grateful at the time.
He was angry. Jason was always angry. He thought that if he was angry- if he managed to draw out Bruce’s anger in turn- then he would prove that he was right. And that he’d never meant anything to Bruce to begin with.
Maybe Jason was the one with the martyrdom complex now that he thought about it.
But most of all, after all the shit Bruce had clearly kept from them- from him- Jason just wanted his dad back, if only for a moment.
He wanted the man who had scooped him up off of the streets the seconds he saw the sweet signs of bruising marred into gaunt pale skin-
He wanted the man he’d trusted to teach him, house him, feed him, hold him.
He wanted Bruce- Batman- his father.
Jason wanted his dad.
He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, how long he had been curled up on the shingles of the Wayne manor. He must look like an idiot. Easily 6 feet tall, built wider than a line baker and huddling in the damp, half melted, snow which dusted their roof.
He was soggy and tired.
The dinner seemed to wrap up, Jason stifled a mirthless laugh as Bruce directed Clark to sleep in one of the guest rooms that night-
Then he was forced to realize that Bruce was telling Clark to sleep alone because Bruce thought it would protect Jason in the long run. Bruce was showing Clark that intervening with his and Jason’s relationship had consequences. Bruce wanted to make sure that Jason would never know about what Bruce had done following his funeral.
Suddenly Jason was angry again- desperate and oh so angry.
Why did Bruce get to keep shit like this to himself? Injuries, murderous intent- nothing seemed like things Bruce would bring to the family willingly.
Jason slipped back through the window, slinking into the room as soundlessly as someone of his stature could. Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt the fantom hands of Bruce guiding him to shift his weight when he was younger- Jason didn’t have the naturally affinity for stealth like Dick did. Jason had to learn it.
He snuck up the stairs. He didn’t know what he wanted, but his anger led the way.
Suddenly he was way Bruce’s door.
Another second slipped by and he’d pushed it open.
Jason felt the way his blood vessels heated under his eyes, the way a flush must be kreeping across him like it did when we was being a big baby- when he cried. He hated how his pale skin would soon bloom with a splotchy map of red anger..
“Jason..?” Bruce’s voice was tentative, his lil quivered ever so slightly. The man was in his pajama pants and seemed to be getting into bed. Alone.
Jason had caused that.
Eyes traced the growing map of vulnerability which stained Jason’s pale skin. “Jason, what’s wrong?” Bruce reached out a hand as quickly and he retracted it. He stayed back, but his chest heaved with worry.
Jason found his eyes tracing each and every scar which painted his father- trailing along everything from whip marks to stab wounds to even a brand or two.
A part of Jason wanted to build on the myriad of scars on that body. Wanted Bruce to resemble Jason after that bomb took his life-
Ice blue met forest green, their eyes locked and in a moment Jason felt that bone deep exhaustion which had over taken him when he had hid in the bearings of the Batcave, listening to Bruce confess his horrid secret. Maybe Clark had been right.
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. He drew a breath, Jason interrupted.
“I heard you.”
“What?”
“In the cave. I heard you.” He didn’t need to clarify. Bruce’s eyes widened and tears crept along the waterline. Horror dawned on his face and his posture collapsed into a confused guard of hurt and regret.
There where many things Bruce should’ve said in that momen. He gaped a couple times- as if resembling a fish would help him swallow enough sense to navigate this situation. All he managed was a simple confession. “I wish you hadn’t.”
Jason nodded. “I figured.” He was too tired to be angry. To tired to mull over the fact that even now Bruce looked squared up for conflict.
Bruce looked tired too. “Jason, what…” he paused to look out the doors of the balcony. Jason followed his gaze. He kind of thought the evergreen forest resembled his eyes. “What can I do?”
Jason wasn’t sure what that question was supposed to mean. Perhaps it made more sense to Bruce. “I don’t think there’s anything to do.”
Stepping forward, cringe enveloped Jason’s chest as Bruce seemed to shy away, gearing up for conflict.
Then, Bruce sat down on his bed. Gently, he folded his hands in his lap.
The bed dipped when Jason sat down next to him.
“I’ve thought about telling you.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Jason hummed. “Why?”
Bruce shrugged. “I don’t think I can explain it.”
Just as Jason readied to argue that he wasn’t stupid, Bruce contributed,
“Actually, I don’t think I get it either.” He huffed. “Sometimes I think I’m not fully in control when it comes to my morals. My body just seizes up when I try to do anything against them. Acts on its own- decides on its own what is and isn’t allowed.”
Jason didn’t think describing OCD would help Bruce right now, besides, it may have been a combination of issues. Even so, he could empathize. This may have been the first time he felt this for his father.
“I wanted you to know- but I felt like I’d be buying you back with a feeling. And it’s not like I killed him in the end. I still chose the rule over you.”
Shaking his head, Jason took a breath. “It was never about you actually killing him.” He considered for a moment. “Well, maybe it was…” another moment, “maybe it still is. But, I think it was the thought that I mattered so little- that my body in your arms had so little impact- that you were able to keep control.”
Jason wished Bruce would look at him. All Bruce did was stare at his socks- who wore socks to sleep? Not the point- leave it to Jason’s mind to try and get distracted.
“But you didn’t keep control.” He sighed, Jason plopped down into the ridiculously soft bedding behind him. “You tried to kill him.”
“Hm.” Bruce hummed, staring resolutely at the floor. “Part of me wishes I had.”
“Really?”
“I think so.”
Jason nodded, the ruffle of the sheets was enough to convey the motion.
The were silent for a long time, neither of them saying anything until Bruce let out a soft grumble- his signature version of a chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
“I just remember a detail I thought you’d enjoy.”
“Oh?”
“Do you know why Clark was able to stop me?”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Did he make you see the immoral nature of your ways- saving your morality like the white knight he is?”
Bruce chuckled a little as Jason’s theatrics. “No, it’s a lot dumber than that.”
Jason rolled onto his side to kick at Bruce’s thigh lightly. “Well, out with it.”
“Somehow- I’m not really sure what on earth the reason was- but the Joker had become a diplomat.”
“Huh?” Jason really had to google this later.
Bruce’s rueful smile could be heard in his voice. “Yep, the ambassador of Iran- I believe.”
Never in his life has Jason launched to sit so quickly. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am unfortunately very serious.” Bruce smiled down at the floor.
Shifting to sit with him side by side, Jason shook his head a little before leaning his head on Bruce’s shoulder. “So what- you couldn’t avenge me because you would have stated some kind of war?”
Another warm grumble- had the gravel of Bruce’s laugh always been so comforting? As a matter of fact, had Jason even heard it since he died?- “Pretty much.”
They were quiet for a while.
“It’s pretty stupid, huh?”
“The stupidest.” Jason agreed. “Not even Shakespeare could’ve produced something so contrived.”
Bruce hummed in agreement. Then they were quiet some more.
“I’m still angry.”
“I know.”
“It’ll take a while.”
“As it should.”
Another hum. “But more so..”
Bruce gave him a minute.
“I’m tired.” Jason shifted to hide his face in Bruce’s neck, refusing to be seen right now. “And really- I just-“ the hiccup of a sob cut through the feeling which had perveyed in every moment of happiness Jason had ever felt since the pit. “I miss my Dad, Bruce-“
Bruce stiffened and some part of Jason wanted to make sure he was being understood. Probably the same part of him which knew he’d never say any of this again.
“I miss you.”
A quiver shook Bruce’s solid foundation, Bruce turned where he sat, letting a tentative hand rested upon Jason’s neck- waiting- and with a hum of consent and a swift nod Jason was being bodied in what could only be described as a bear hug.
Tremours wracked through them both, they shook as though they were both children afraid of the dark. And perhaps in that moment that’s all they were.
Jason clung to Bruce like he’d die if he didn’t. Bruce clung to Jason as though Jason may disappear.
Both had been true in the past.
At some point they fell back onto the sheets, Jason let himself be used as some kind of weighed blanket, more than happy to rest on Bruce- not that either of them would admit to any of this come morning. Some habits were simply hard to kick.
Exhaustion seeped back through Jason, heavy like lead and weighing him down. He felt Bruce go lax underneath him.
The world tilted on its axis and Jason was twelve again. Safe and sound kept together by his fathers embrace.
Everything melted away, darkness enveloped them and Jason swore he’d never been so quick to sleep in his life.
Then the world returned to its axis, then somehow Dickhead was all up in his business. The sun was shining through the gauzy curtains of the Wayne manor, casting a hazy glow on the warm wooden tones of the room.
A shutter sound told Jason that he was about to be blackmailed for life. He tried to bolt up and sit, but the full weight of Batman’s arms is rather hefty, and he stumbled to find a way to sit.
It gave that little turd Tim Drake enough time to bolt out of the room like his life depended on it.
Then Jason was pinned underneath the full weight of his stupid older brother- sock footed feet pounded on hardwood to return to the bedroom to take another photo. Then Tim cackled and ran. Again.
Dipshit.
Dick seemed to be rather enamored with cuddle time. Jason, suddenly, was not.
“Ugh- let me out of this prison!”
“Nuh-uh! This is the prison of familial love and affection.”
Bruce grumbled underneath them, he’d become a heavy sleeper since the start of his relationship with Clark.
“Dickhead- I swear to god!”
“And that’s enough of that.” Clark’s stern but kind Superman voice cut through Dick’s malicious giggles. Jason felt his brother being lifted from him in a manner not unlike a wet kitten being scooped by its mother.
Jason shifted off of Bruce, he was about to be hasty about it- but then he saw his father scrunch his nose, and Jason decided to gently slip off of Bruce before murdering his brothers.
Still, when Jason’s bare feet met hardwood- he set off after Tim.
Dick soon followed them laughing happily along the way.
For the rest of the day, Jason tried desperately to find Tim. And for the rest of the day, he was shown just why die hard Batman fanatics claim that RedRobin was the best of their strange flock.
He was slippery and stupidly fast.
When Jason and the others broke for lunch- when his entire family with their noses down in copies of the photos- Jason caught Bruce chastising Clark.
They were both standing by the counter while the kids sat around the kitchen island. Bruce’s arms where crossed and his eyes trailed over his many many- many kids. Clark stood with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched in the way he had them when he was Clark Kent the reporter.
“You knew he was there, didn’t you.” It was a statement, not a question.
Clark huffed. “I don’t regret it.”
Bruce rolled his eyes. “Oh you fucking will.” Clark stiffened beside Bruce. “Still.. thank you.” Bruce seemed to think for a moment. “Even if you should be thanking Jason that your stupid plan worked out.”
Jason whipped his gaze away just in time to miss Bruce’s eyes tracing over him with a look of proud affection. Jason refused to be looked at with too much love- he wasn’t quite ready for that.
But being leveled with the same look which he’d seen Bruce direct at the others in recent times, it settled a warmth in his chest.
Jason heard light feet tap into the dining room and then rapidly pivot.
He had a chance to catch that fucker.
“Damien- I’ll let you borrow my guns if you help me catch Drake!” He bargained as he hopped out of his chair.
The cheer he roused from Damien followed by the gruff startled protest of Bruce put a genuine smile on his face.
He’d so be coming back for Christmas next year, maybe he’d insist on Clark coming too- he kinda wanted to thank the guy, but mostly he wanted to mess with Clark and Bruce at the same time.
Clark made Bruce happy. And Clark was naive enough to have blind faith in Bruce and Jason loving each other. In the end he was right.
Mostly, Jason was excited to achieve a normal Christmas next year.
·꙳⋆𖢔𖠰𖢔·꙳⋆-`♡´-