Chapter Text
It had been a failure. Again.
Another black mark in a long list of them. Another day Jason might be… Another night his son might be…
He clutched his own armour in his hand, squeezing it to the point it was groaning under his fingers. The guilt inside him rolled and curled and hissing its poison into his throat. He had kept it bottled for so long at this point he just wanted to scream.
To scream and shatter something and make everything around him feel as broken as he felt. As if the pain would somehow become payment to bring Jason back.
Instead, he forced himself to calm (as calm as he could be with Jason gone) and let it out in a heavy sigh. His body remained tight with the anxiety that hadn’t left since he realised his son was missing. He took off the cowl and the leather never felt so fake.
He continued getting out of the uniform and put it away. The other versions of the Batsuit all stared at him like ghosts, ethereal beings coming back from the grave to judge him.
Was it because he put another in their ranks?
Somewhere in the dark of the Cave, a torn, bloody uniform floated in a case like a phantom.
He sighed again and rested his forehead against one of the uniform cases.
The glass reflected his face back to him. Worn, torn, marked with the signs of Jason’s disappearance. The bags under his eyes were prominent and his wrinkles were deeper. The stress was weighing him down and he could physically see it changing him.
He hated to acknowledge it, but things were breaking. Him. His family. His everything. What would be left if it never came back together?
He didn’t even know how to fix it.
He had to be able to fix it. But how…
The silence of the Cave yawned around him, curling its dark tongue on his back. The lack of sound was oppressive and only showed exactly how alone he was.
Even though it was late, usually someone was down here when he got back. Most of the time it was Tim typing away at the Batcomputer with one of his siblings at his elbow helping him on a case or trying to drag him to bed. If Dick was in Gotham, he would usually be coming home around the same time as Bruce and suiting down. Damian would be waiting up for him, using his request for Bruce’s presence as a way to put off going to bed. Jason, if he had decided to come home at all, was almost always the last one to go up into the Manor. He disguised his actions as something else like cleaning his guns or working on his motorbike, but he always stayed up and waited till each of his siblings had come back before coming to bed himself.
But ever since Jason’s disappearance (not death, never death), the Cave had grown empty and Manor didn’t have its laughter anymore. All of his boys could feel the difference, the lack of an essential part of their family. He needed to fix this. His family was the most important thing in his life. If he couldn’t protect his family, then what would stop the evil in the world from taking another one of his children… and another… and...
No.
He couldn’t let himself think like that. Jason was alive, dammit, and he was going to bring his boy back home. He could protect his family.
Tonight was supposed to be the night he had brought Jason back home. He had been tracking the Pierce gang for weeks. He knew that the gang had something to do with Jason’s disappearance. He even suspected that they had Jason in their clutches.
He had been so sure about it.
But when he crashed into the warehouse, ready to bring his boy back him, all he found was nothing. Well, not exactly nothing, he found the gang, but not a trace of his son. Just another place where Jason’s disappearance sunk into every corner.
He took his anger out on the goons.
Jason would have been proud.
His eyes stung as the thought entered his mind and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Dick’s chastised him on losing his temper. No one was dead, of course, but some of the men might have trouble walking correctly in the future.
He knew he should care. He had been getting too reckless. His fists swung too easily. He waited too long to launch his grappling hook. He wasn’t taking the same precautions that he usually took and he had new scars to show for it.
But every time he thought about trying to slow down and think about his actions more, images of Jason’s broken body flashed into his head. Guilt roared in his body and told him he wasn’t doing enough, he wasn’t caring enough, he wasn’t going to get there in time as Jason would end up dead again.
No!
He swung a fist forward and into the glass. The material vibrated under his hand, but it didn’t break. He almost wished it did.
Bruce sighed, exhaustion hanging heavy on his shoulders. He needed to regroup and figure out where he went wrong with his suspicions about the Pierce gang. He had been so sure that it hurt. He had really, truly thought that he was going to find his son tonight and now that that hope was shattered, the broken pieces of it tore his insides apart. He didn’t know where he could have possibly gotten incorrect information, but he was definitely going to be spending tonight figuring it out.
Before it did, though, he needed to check on his other children. Thoughts Jason’s death already haunted him, licking up his spine, digging fangs into his flesh. They burned bright and consuming and the flames of them threatened to swallow the rest of his family. He needed to see the rest of his boys— if only to calm his frantic, tearing nerves.
And then he could spend the rest of the night figuring out how he failed again.
He climbed the stairs into the Manor and quietly began to head to the family wing. Usually, coming up into the Manor filled him with a sense of relaxation, a completion that only his family could bring him. But now, it felt as empty as the place in his heart where Jason was supposed to be.
“Master Bruce,” Alfred’s voice startled him, and he whipped around to see his butler holding a candle. Alfred was one of the only people able to sneak up on him and he was glad to see that at least one thing hadn’t changed.
“Alfred,” Bruce said through a tired smile. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
The butler matched his smile and the warm light of the candle flickered over his features. “You didn’t actually. I heard Master Dick come in and was hoping to greet him before he went to bed. He entered through the front door, which is strange because he always goes through the Cave when he comes back from patrol.”
“That is strange,” Bruce looked up towards the family wing. “But a lot is strange right now.”
Alfred looked towards the ground, his smile turning into a deep frown. He looked impossibly older than he had just a few moments ago. “Indeed, it is.” There was a pause before he spoke again. “I take it your latest efforts to retrieve Master Jason have failed?”
Bruce sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. “No. Not a trace of him.”
Alfred matched his sigh and put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Do not despair, Master Bruce. We will bring him home in due time. For now, though,” he looked towards the bedrooms of the other boys, “you must care for the children you have present.”
The sentence hit him like a punch to the gut because of the implication. The implication that one wasn’t there. This was all so wrong. So terribly wrong. He had gotten Jason back, so why couldn’t he hold on to him? Why did his boys constantly slip through his fingers?
Some of his pain must have shown on his face because Alfred stepped forward to put a hand on his arm. The weight of it was calming and ground him in what he had instead of what he was missing.
“You’re right as always,” Bruce said, following his butler’s gaze. He knew that he needed to be better and that his actions were affecting his family. Dick had told him multiple times (more like yelled it to him), and he knew the stress was beginning to break his eldest. He hadn’t been fair unloading all the responsibility on to Dick, but he couldn’t.
He just couldn’t.
Not when every time he wasn’t working on Jason’s case, images of Jason dead taunted him and made him feel like he was drowning.
“I was just going to check on them,” Bruce said, trying to get the images of Jason’s death out of his head. The flames and the smoke of the explosion began to stalk towards his other children’s innocent bodies.
“Go back to bed, Alfred. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Of course,” the butler said, but instead of turning around, he hesitated a moment. For a second, he looked unsure like he was about to ask a question but thought better of it. It was rare to see the confident butler doubting himself.
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh, nothing Master Bruce, it’s just that…” he paused before continuing, “I swear I heard multiple voices when Master Dick came in. I believe it was just Master Tim and Master Damian, but…”
“But what?”
“Nothing. I think it was just the wishful thinking of an old man because I thought I also heard Master Jason.”
Bruce’s head fell and his guilt sunk its teeth into his heart. It hurt more than any blow by a villain. “I know what you mean. Sometimes I swear I hear his voice too.”
They both sighed, not able to meet each other’s gaze. They had both lived through Jason’s first death. They had both cried for him and felt the pain of losing a family member. They had both barely recovered.
Jason’s disappearance was forcing them to relive it again, opening wounds that had never fully healed.
“Look at us,” Alfred’s voice shook him out of his own thoughts. “Two old men reminiscing when they should be sleeping.”
Bruce tried to laugh, but the sound never fully developed. “I’m the only old man here. You don’t look like you’ve aged at all.”
That was enough to finally draw a smile back on Alfred’s lips. “Goodnight, Master Bruce. I will see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight, Alfred. I will see you in the morning.” Bruce repeated the butler’s words and watched as the man returned to his room.
When he had talked with Alfred, he had begun to feel lighter, like the darkness of the house was a little less oppressive. But now as his father figure left, he felt the weight of it returning to his shoulders.
It took a herculean effort to bring himself to climb the stairs and walk towards his sons’ bedrooms again. So much of him wanted to go back into the cave and lose himself in finding Jason, but he forced himself to check on his other sons, just to know they were all safe and still there.
Dick’s bedroom as closest. The first one to be occupied and the nearest one to Bruce’s room. It had the door closed now, which was strange because Dick almost compulsively left his door open. Dick’s door almost seemed to dare his family members to wander in and talk with him, even when he was asleep.
Seeing the closed door made Bruce pause, hesitating before turning the handle. He nearly turned around, ready to give up and go back down to the Cave. It was hard to walk into a sleeping Robin’s room and a closed door just made it even harder. He didn’t want to wake Dick when he had just gotten back from patrol.
But something in him kept nudging him forward, urged him to carefully enter the room.
The room was dim, only lit by the moonlight and a Nightwing nightlight that Dick had near the bathroom doorway. Despite the darkness though, he could make out multiple shapes on the bed.
The sight brought a smile to Bruce’s face and, even though his heart had been cold since he realised that Jason was gone, a warm affection lit inside him.
How could it not? There were his sons all curled up on top of each other and impossibly safe from the horrors of the outside world. Bruce wished that he could capture them at this moment and keep them safe from anything that would threaten them. Bruce wished that he was able to and that one of his sons hadn’t already succumbed to the danger.
He wished that it were all of his boys nestled in the bed and not an incomplete set.
Silently, he walked forward careful to not wake the figures on the bed. He easily made out Dick hugging Damian to his chest like he was clutching a stuffed animal. Damian, for his part, didn’t seem to mind it, but did have his face twisted in a scowl even while sleeping. Tim somehow horizontal on the bed, leveraged with his legs on Dick’s hip and his face smooshed into Jason’s stomach.
He froze.
And looked again.
And Jason was still there used like a pillow by his little brother and making sleepy noises that borderlined on a snore.
No, no. This couldn’t be true right? This had to be some kind of dream? A wishful delusion? His brain playing into what he wanted to see and manifesting it before his eyes?
His boy. His son.
He couldn’t be here.
That would have been too easy. Too much like a miracle or something that edged into a fairy tale ending. Things in his life were never that impossibly easy, which meant that it must be fake.
He looked at Jason, taking in the lax angles of his face and how perfect of an illusion this was. It looked so real, sleeping there with Tim pressed into him. It was a memory of him, perfect and painful, echoing into the present of Bruce’s grief.
Tears came to his eyes, and he didn’t try to hold them back. This was painful, a blessing and a curse all mixed into one blinding oasis.
He reached out, unable to hold himself back, even though he knew it would break the illusion. He couldn’t help himself, though, not when Jason seemed so here and startlingly alive.
Bruce’s hand was shaking slightly and he placed it on the crown of Jason’s head. The skin was warm under his touch. The fine strands along his hairline were soft and painfully familiar. He gently brushed along the white streak in his son’s hair and waited.
He waited for all of this to dissolve.
To crumb into dust between his fingers.
For it to be revealed that this wasn’t Jason.
He waited…
And waited…
But the illusion held and began to flutter its eyes open.
Jason groaned, blinked and then, squeezed his eyes shut and tried to bury further into the bed. He moved to roll over, only to be stopped by Tim’s top half which pinned him into position. “Five more minutes,” he grumbled in a voice rough with sleep.
Bruce felt his knees go weak, unable to hold his weight any longer. He crashed to the ground, loud enough to wake every Robin on the bed and put them into high alert.
But he didn’t care about that, not with Jason blearily waking up and not slipping away into nothingness.
“Jaylad,” He breathed the name, hoping that he wouldn’t break the spell by naming it. “Jason, you’re…”
He felt four sets of eyes snap onto him, but he only met one of their gazes.
Jason was quiet, assessing him in a way that made him seem both older and younger at the same time. His face was unreadable and, for a second, Bruce thought that he was really going to disappear into thin air. But he didn’t and his faraway expression melted into something soft and delicate.
“Hey Dad,”
Bruce broke with two words. He had faced supervillains and criminals and all the evil that the world has to offer, but, in the end, he was brought down by two simple words.
“Jason, Jason, Jason,” he repeated his son’s name and wrapped him in a hug. It was awkward with Jason still laying on the bed and Bruce partially kneeled on the floor, but somehow it was also perfect.
He felt Jason’s breath on his neck, and he felt his son vibrantly alive beside him and he felt a warmth that he thought had been banished forever.
Jason was alive. Jason was here.
“I’m sorry to break up the moment,” Tim’s voice came through muffled. “But you’re crushing me.”
Bruce blinked and realised that hugging Jason also meant hugging Tim who had been using Jason as a pillow. Tim who was now currently squeezed between them.
Bruce saw a flash of Jason’s smirk, and his son was, suddenly, returning the hug with a tight squeeze. “What’s that, Replacement? Am I smothering you?”
Bruce felt Tim begin to struggle and received a sharp jab to the hip. He grunted with the force of it and felt Tim suddenly still.
“Shit, sorry B, that was meant for Jason.”
“Jason, stop making Tim hit Bruce.” Dick’s voice piped up from the other side of the bed.
“Drake, your aim is horrific. How could you possibly mistake the hooligan for someone like Father?”
“Hey, watch yourself, you little shit.”
It was their banter, so familiar, but something that he hadn’t heard in three months and that he had begun to think he wouldn’t hear again. He was supposed to be stopping it, but right now, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.
He could have listened to it all night, but Tim’s struggles were increasing, and Damian had started actively rooting for “Todd to defeat Drake and give him an embarrassing end”.
“Boys,” Bruce’s voice cut through the bickering and Tim finally managed to pop his head out. “I think you have some explaining to do.”
There was a prolonged silence before Dick did a little happy bounce on the bed and chirped. “The Jason Protocol worked!”
Bruce furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “What?”
“The Jason Protocol. You know our plans on what to do if someone has returned from the de—” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the word and served into the rest of the sentence “—and needs to return to the family after being gone for a long time.”
His memory was coming back to him now. It had been probably about a year ago maybe more, and Dick had shoved a sparkly binder into his hands and told him that their family had protocols now. He remembered nearly crying when he realised the first protocol was one to bring them all home.
Dick was giving him a flat look, clearly thinking that he had forgotten about the family manual and continued into a lecture.
“Well, Jason did not forget about the commitments he made to his family.”
Beside him, Jason mumbled something that might have been a curse on his so-called ‘commitments’.
“And when he needed to be picked up. He followed his individualised protocol and safely arranged a contact with me so I could return him home.”
Jason scrunched his nose in disagreement. “I texted you ‘I lived bitch’ with a selfie that I’m 95% sure you almost ignored because you thought it was fake.”
Dick smiled sweetly. “You have no proof of that.”
“Yes, I do. I was there. I heard you mumble about thinking it had been a prank text.”
“Lies.”
Bruce watched Jason square up about to launch himself into bickering with Dick and he really wondered how he found this beautiful just a couple of minutes ago.
“Jason. Dick. Don’t fight.” He cut off the argument before they could begin. He fixed his gaze on his eldest.
“These protocols. Wouldn’t it make more sense to have one streamlined version, instead of individual sub-protocols?”
Dick shook his head like Bruce had said something blasphemous. “No, B. Every member of the family personally created their version of the protocol. It’s specifically designed in order to prevent a Dildo Contingency.”
He heard the other three boys snicker, even though when he met their eyes, they all had matching looks of graver seriousness.
Bruce took a deep breath and realised that this wasn’t something that he was going to win. Dick had that gleam in his eye, and honestly, how could he fault something that brought Jason back home.
If it worked, then that was all that mattered.
“Alright, so you picked Jason up and brought him back here.” Dick nodded and Bruce turned to his second oldest. “Any injuries?”
He shrugged. “They hadn’t roughed me up for a while until I made my escape. My ankle is fucked. My body feels like a huge bruise and I think I broke my wrist and it healed wrong, but other than that I’m pretty okay.”
That was good. Not great. Bruce would have rathered Jason come back in perfect health, but they were injuries they could work with.
For the first time in months, he felt the dread of death lift from his shoulders. Jason was here. He wasn’t dying. He was home.
Bruce stood, taking in the sight of all his children curled up on the bed and looking up at him with wide eyes. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve this, but it was more than he could have ever hoped for.
“I’m sorry I woke you all up. I suppose I should let you go back to sleep.” He forced the words out, not quite willing to give up this image, but knowing his children needed sleep.
Jason was giving him that faraway look again before suddenly he was swinging his legs out of the bed. “You know what, I think I’m awake now and want a hot chocolate.”
A yawn almost escaped him, but he bit it back.
“You know what me too.” Dick said, catching on to Jason’s implication immediately.
“Me three,” Tim flailed a bit and managed to untangle himself for the blankets.
Damian only wrinkled his face in distaste. “Are you insane? It’s much too late for hot chocolate and clearly, you are all exhau—”
“Nope,” Dick cut him off with a sharp edge to his voice. “We are all going to the kitchen and drinking hot chocolate with Dad.”
Damian glared at him, but eventually relented with a grumbled “fine”. He leveraged himself off the bed and began to stomp to the kitchen. His lip was stuck up in a pout that was definitely adorable, though Bruce knew that his youngest would never accept it.
Dick followed after him with Tim behind him, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His second youngest paused in the doorway, risking a look back to Bruce and Jason. His eyes flickered between them, before landing on Jason.
A silent conversation passed between them and Jason gave a swift, but firm nod. Tim’s shoulders relaxed minutely and he padded out the door and towards the kitchen.
Then, suddenly, it was just them. Him and his son that he had thought dead too many times. Jason was as still as a statue, except for a small twitch in his fingers. He didn’t meet Bruce’s eyes and instead stared at the rumpled blankets on the bed like they were the most interesting thing in the world.
Which was fine. Bruce could wait until his son was ready.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and the words were rough in the soft darkness. “I knew I should have asked before I came here. I’ll leave soon once I figure out if my safehouses are fucked or not. I just need some time to…”
Jason kept up his anxious ramblings, fingers twitching more the further he got into it. Instantly, he looked thirteen again, full of fight and fear that one wrong move would have him thrown on to the streets. He had never lost that wariness, even though most of the time it faded into the background. Every time it came back into the forefront, though, it made Bruce’s heart ache and want to hold Jason close and ensure he had a home.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Bruce said, cutting Jason off.
His boy’s shoulders hunched forward, still refusing to look at Bruce. “You don’t have to say that. I remember how shitty my last return was.” Jason gave in an almost invisible flinch. “I get that you wouldn’t want to go through it again, so I’ll save you the trouble and kick myself out.”
Bruce thinks he heard his own heart crack in half. How could Jason not know how much Bruce wanted him here? Jason was his son, his second-born, his miracle child that had been taken and given back. Yes, they had their differences, but none of that would ever shake his devotion to him.
Jason had to know that.
Jason had to know that.
… Jason knew that right?
“Jay,” Bruce started and Jason shot his head up, meeting Bruce with a glare.
“Stop it,” he growled, anxious fingers turning into tight fists. His gaze was as hard as steel.
“Jaylad,”
“Don’t fucking call me that! I’m not that kid.”
He turned to the anger, like he always did, aiming at the places he knew would hurt Bruce. Bruce had risen to the bait before, but now he saw it as the deflection it was. “I’m giving you a way out. I’m telling you, you can dump me, no hard feelings. So just take it!”
Jason was yelling now, voice ringing in the otherwise peaceful room. Every part of his body was tense, waiting for a blow. The hurt was still full in his eyes, even though he was trying to use anger to cover it up.
“Well, I refuse,” he said plainly, not rising to Jason’s anger.
His son startled, visibly shocked before quickly shoving it down. “What do you mean you refuse?”
“I mean, I don’t want your deal.” There was a pause in which Jason still stared at him in disbelief. “Jaylad, I want you here. I want you home.”
Jason shook his head and tried to back up but was stopped by the bed. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You can’t.” Jason’s voice was hitching on itself now, stuttering over words. “You can’t… I’m not right. I’m not good for you or them.”
Bruce hummed, fighting to keep calm even though his whole body ached with the need to bring Jason close. “I think I can be the one to decide that.”
Jason looked at him with watery, disbelieving eyes and he gave into the ache. He crossed the small distance between them and wrapped Jason in a hug. The boy squeaked in his arms but didn’t fight it. He didn’t pull away, even though he was as stiff as a statue and obviously not comfortable.
But then, ever so slowly, the tension trickled out of him and he relaxed into the hug. Jason laid his head on Bruce’s shoulder, and he felt his son’s hair tickle his neck. And most, miraculously, he felt Jason’s heart beating like a drum on his own chest. Bruce tightened his arms around his son, feeling how alive and present he was.
A happy part of his mind just kept repeating the words: Jason. Here. Alive.
God, he had missed Jason. He had missed him so much it hurt and, now that he was here, that broken part of him was being healed.
Jason always had his limits though, and after about a minute of being held, he was being to squirm. Again, Bruce got hit with the memory of young Jason who had approached him with the wariness of a beaten dog, but had adamantly wanted attention. Jason was full of contradiction like that, and as confusing as it was to keep up with, it was one of the parts of him that endeared him to Bruce.
“Okay, B, that’s enough. Between you and Dickiebird, I’ve completely filled up my hug quota for the next six months.”
Bruce tightened his arms one last time, before letting his son go. Jason backed away with a huff that might have been affectionate in the right light.
Bruce chuckled, ruffling Jason’s hair as he passed by him to go to the kitchen. “Come on, old sport, we need to make sure your brothers haven’t burned anything down.”
Jason quirked a smile, following after him. “’Old sport’ who in this century says that?”
He didn’t answer and only smiled to himself. They both knew that the only reason he said the term was because of reading the Great Gatsby with Jason when he was younger. That Jason had always giggled with he heard the words, and even older Jason huffed a subdued laugh.
They heard the brothers before they saw them.
“Tim, you can’t put coffee in your hot chocolate. It’s not the right time of day for that.”
“Those are brave words from a man who tried to put cereal in his hot chocolate.”
“Hey, that was a genius creation. It’s like a Kit Kat in a cup!”
“Master Dick, I must ask you to please refrain from making any more of your so-called ‘creations’ in my kitchen.”
“Heh, even Pennyworth cannot stand your terrible ideas Grayson.”
Bruce walked into the kitchen first, grateful that nothing seemed to be actively on fire. Damian and Tim were perched on the kitchen island stools, each clutched a mug to their chests. They were both snickering at their oldest brother who seemed to be in a standoff with the butler.
Dick was crouched like he was about to launch into a fight maneuver. Alfred was standing calmly with his back perfectly straight, but also subtly guarding a box of cereal against Dick’s grabby fingers.
All in all, the average warzone that the Wayne family kitchen was.
Alfred turned his attention to Bruce when he entered the room. “Ah, Master Bruce, I—”
His face went white and froze as he caught sight of the figure behind Bruce. There was a moment where no one moved, and then, ever unflappable, Alfred accepted it and his face melted into a warm smile.
Jason stood awkwardly in the doorway, trying his damnedest to look smaller. He kept flickering his eyes up to Alfred before bringing them down to the floor again.
“You know, Master Bruce, when I said you would bring him home soon, I had no idea you would be so prompt.”
Bruce chuckled, pouring hot chocolate into a mug of his own. “I couldn’t bear to keep you waiting any longer.”
Alfred’s smile widened marginally. “Master Jason,” the boy’s head snapped up immediately. “I’m glad to have you home.”
Jason gave his rarest, shy smile that only Alfred could manage to draw out. “Thanks, Alfred, I’m happy to be back.”
Alfred’s smile didn’t waver as he went to prepare a mug of hot chocolate. In the distraction, Dick made a tactical assault on the cereal box, which was stopped by a quick rap on the knuckles with a spoon. Tim had fallen asleep on the kitchen counter and Damian was now trying to sack strips of paper on Tim’s head.
Jason scooted himself on the other side of his sleeping brother and was now also stacking things on top of Tim.
Bruce knew that he should stop it, but he didn’t. This was his family in its natural state, now complete and whole and vibrantly alive. He just smiled and let the familiar chaos laugh around him.