Work Text:
Time travel, as it turns out, was not as simple as people made it out to be. There was no glossy retro-futuristic pod with hissing steam and a pair of young, white, virgin explorers destined to populate a world barren of humans, and nor was there a thundercrack of power followed by a mind-bending journey through time itself. There wasn’t even a villain, despite time-fuckery being more-than common among metas.
For Jason, time travel was as simple as succumbing to exhaustion in his safe-house bed after a night of Tetch-induced headaches - he would never see caterpillars the same again - and opening his eyes in a world he’d outgrown by nearly a decade.
Waking up in the same physical space, ten years in the past, meant that the first thing Jason experienced was a hurtling sensation as his bed gave way beneath him. It took him several more seconds to realize that it wasn’t just his bed, the whole building seemed to have vanished into thin air, the blue sky and distant towers of the diamond district visible where there ought to have been walls.
Jason crashed into the ground with a loud thud and a yelp, suddenly glad that his safehouse was only on the building's second floor. He took a few minutes to recover, slouched against the brownstone brick of the closest building, wondering how exactly his entire apartment had disappeared and why he, of all people, hadn’t vanished with it.
After checking his pockets, revealing a gun, his phone, and one of his decoy wallets, Jason found himself wandering towards the city center. The apartment building vanishing would have set off at least one of the sensors Bruce hid there, but neither him nor any of the rest of the Bats had reached out.
Rude, if you asked him, so Jason decided to ignore them right back. If they didn’t want to reach out after his fucking house vanished, that was on them.
Eight minutes and thirty-five seconds later, Jason realized why no one had reached out, why the Gotham skyline was a cheery blue, and why the air didn’t hurt to breathe, even a little. He stared at the newspaper, an actual, physical newspaper, and the headlines of March 12, 2015 stared back. It had been October 27th of 2024 the day before, a fact which broke Jason’s brain a little. Bruce had contingencies for time-travel, like he did for everything, but Jason saw it as comically unlikely as Diana turning evil or Bruce welcoming him back with open arms. Those kinds of things didn’t just happen.
While wracking his brain to remember whether Bruce’s time travel contingency plan even existed this long ago, Jason’s grip on the newspaper tightened to the point of strangulation. This earned him a shifty look from the hawker. When Jason failed to reply to his question, probably something about buying the newspaper he was in the process of murdering, the hawker made to grab the paper from his hand.
Stupid, really. Assuming strangers were safe was a habit bred out of Gothamites ten years in the future, but apparently the man had yet to get the memo. The memo yet to be. Trying to properly tense his situation was giving Jason a headache worse than the time travel had.
A flash of movement caught Jason’s attention. He reacted without thinking. The punch caught the hawker in the chest and sent him sprawling into his own cart, newspapers and paperback books flying across the sidewalk and into the gutter, still wet with spring run-off.
Jason pulled a ten, definitely overpaying, from his wallet and threw it at the man before breaking out into a dead sprint. He stopped several blocks away and caught his breath after clambering onto a rooftop overlooking the sunken terraces of the Bowery, behind which sat the sparkling city center.
The skyline was straight out of his earliest memories, complete with the old Wayne Tower, a brutalist’s concrete wet dream, and without the gashes of shattered steel and glass left by the quake.
Had Tim succeeded in badgering Bruce into taking on another Robin yet? Jason tried to remember, but given that he had been preoccupied with being dead at the time, the year or so after Ethiopia was fuzzy at best.
Jason’s breath caught in his throat.
He’d been busy being dead. Jason had lain in the ground and rotted for six months after Ethiopia, give or take a week or two.
Jason ran the numbers in his head once, then again on his phone. Talia had estimated the timeline of his resurrection based on his hospital stay, but even she didn’t know the exact dates, and all he remembered was pouring rain. It was perfectly conceivable that his younger self might still be rotting in that coffin.
A rapidfire barrage of memories hit like a rogue wave, drowning him in fragments of the past. Waking up in his coffin, the velvet cage surrounding him, hammering against the best wood money could buy. Waking up again, free to move as he re-became, neurons repairing and rewiring into something in the shape of Jason, but not quite. Hot blood pouring out of his neck, desperately trying to hold his jugular together with sheer will.
Everything that happened to him, but had yet to occur.
Jason knew there were rules about time-travel designed to prevent paradoxes, and that his first priority should have been finding his way back to his time. But his heart had been made up the moment he realized he was still dead.
All he had ever wanted was to be the most important thing in someone’s life. He’d come second to work and drugs, then the mission. The past ten years had taught him that coming first just didn’t happen to him. The people that loved him only loved what he did, or their nostalgia-tinted idea of what he could be.
Now he had the chance to give this alternate self the love he’d always wanted. Jason wiped his tears away.
–
It took three days of camping for the worst rainstorm of 2014 to roll over Gotham Bay, hanging over the city like a headsman's axe.
In the proceeding days Jason had stolen a camping set from a shed behind a Bristol mansion and hunkered in a patch of thicket close to his gravesite, keeping eyes on the granite slab whenever he was awake. He’d also managed to connect his phone to a roaming league satellite, giving him ample time to research the year he’d found himself in.
Apparently, most of the Justice League was off-world, dealing with some sort of threat the public knew very little about. Jason was equally as stumped, having been deceased for the whole affair, but knew that it meant Bruce would be off-world. Dick too, if this were a true all-hands on deck sort of situation.That left him with plenty of room to breathe without Bruce and his little gang watching his every move, which mostly consisted of sleeping, running several body-weight exercises, and grabbing whatever he could from the crematorium’s vending machine.
By the time the first raindrops prickled the back of his neck, Jason was looking and feeling pretty ripe from several days without a shower. He was pretty sure one of the groundskeepers had seen him, but had been kind enough to give him a wide berth. At least common sense wasn’t completely lost on past Gotham.
Starting to dig as night fell, Jason’s freshly liberated shovel hit the hardwood top of the casket with a bell-gong thunk. Jason looked to the night sky, at the few beads of light visible past the light pollution of the city, and prayed that his timing was right.
A thump came from inside the casket, something hitting the lid with force. The sound made Jason jump and he nearly lost his footing on the mud-slick surface.
Ah, that would be the man of the hour, finally awake. Jason liked to think he was good at time-management, and it seemed it was a life-long trait.
Hopping off the top of the coffin, Jason flung open the lid, and offered the hand he’d always wanted.
–
Sometime later the two Jasons were crowded beneath a thin-leafed tree, hiding from the rain coming down in angry sheets. While not thrilled at the proceedings, his younger self had taken the whole resurrection situation better than he’d expected, or imagined he might.
Jason didn’t remember much of his own experience of this night, save for the overwhelming smell of petrichor, and recurring nightmares in which he fell into an inescapable mud. Not hard to draw a connection to this night, where mud became so waterlogged it flowed like water.
“So you’re me.”
‘That’s right.” Jason leaned against a nearby tree, his younger self sitting cross legged in the wet grass in slacks that had once been nice, and were now rotted and mud-soaked.
“But you’re so big.” Younger Jason gestured vaguely at his older self’s bulk.
Jason had shot up in height and weight class after his dip in the pit and the brutal re-feeding regime that followed, looking worlds away from the wiry teenager who sat a few feet away, still in the grips of childhood poverty.
“Just eat your wheaties, kid, and you’ll grow up big and strong like me.”
“Like me, you mean.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jason waved at the younger boy. “Pronouns and shit.”
His younger self had the gall to look aghast. “How dare you! It’s not just pronouns. If you’re really who you say you are, you’d know that.”
Jason sighed. “Yeah, ‘course I know that. It’s just a little complicated as-is, you being me, and me being me. Makes sentences a little weird.”
“I’m not you.”
“We’re literally the same person. Do you need my damn DNA?”
“Ugh.” The younger Jason had the gall to roll his eyes. “You're way older than me. And you’ve clearly lived a while longer. That would be like saying J’onn becomes the same as a person when he experiences their memories. On a surface level, maybe, but we’re clearly not the same.”
“Shit. Was I always such a nerd?”
“You’re like a Jason of Theseus. Are we still the same person if you’ve had all your bits replaced?”
“Oh shut up. I didn’t have everything replaced, just some parts.” Jason pressed down the urge to put his younger self in a head-lock and muss his hair. A strangely familial gesture, though they were technically family. He was like a younger brother that just happened to share one hundred percent of his DNA with.
“What do you mean you’ve had things replaced?”
The younger Jason looked aghast, sitting upright and paling, drops of rain slipping off the leaves of the tree above and landing in his wavy hair.
“Seriously kid, you don’t want to know. Nothing like that is ever going to happen to you, I promise. So forget about the whole thing.”
He was given a dubious expression in return.
“Listen to me, kid. The only reason I’m here is for you. Us.”
Jason growled and slammed his fist against the tree and stood to his feet. The pronoun games were exhausting, as was mentally separating himself from this other Jason, who had accurately pointed out that they weren’t the same person. Not really.
“Call me Jay. It’ll be easier,” Jay piped up.
“No kidding. This is giving me a headache worse than being blown up.”
Jay was quiet for a long time, and when Jason looked up, he was shock-white again and trembling slightly. He was still a kid, a slender fifteen-year old who’s last memory was his mother chain smoking while the Joker beat him half to death, and trying desperately to save her regardless. Fifteen, terrified, and soaking wet in a Gotham downpour.
“It’s a bad habit of mine. Sorry kid.”
“That’s alright,” Jay fiddled with his hair when he lied, a tell he’d never been able to fully quash.
Jason offered a hand to Jay, helping him stand.
“Are we going to see dad now?”
After several seconds of stunned silence, and several more spent trying not to burst into nihilistic giggles, Jason managed to reign his feelings into something more useful. While he and the old man had become more cordial over the years, fewer gunshots and decapitations, and a net zero batarangs through the neck, Bruce would never be his dad.
“No mini-me, you’re better off without that asshole.”
A few paces behind him, Jay stopped in his tracks.
“What do you mean? He’s our dad.”
Resentment burned up Jason’s throat. “Bruce stopped being my dad a long time ago. If he ever was.”
Jay was fully stopped, his tiny body motionless with barely-repressed anger. Not the glowing-eyed bitch of the pit but good old fashioned teenage angst. Yeah, he’d been a real bitch at this age.
“How can you say that!”
“‘Cause it’s true.” Jason was not interested in indulging his younger self’s dramatics, no matter how warranted they might be.
“He took me in and adopted me, so we’re both legally his son. He never did that for Dick.” Jay sucked in a breath. “Bruce chose me. He loves me! He has to.”
“Legally, we’re both dead, and how much did Bruce choose you after Garzonas, huh? He had zero faith in us then, and he hasn’t for a single moment since. Get some better points.”
“Maybe he just doesn’t have faith in you.”
Jason dropped the pretense of leaving the graveyard, facing Jay head on. He wasn’t regretting saving the loudmouth yet, but if he kept running his mouth about Bruce they might have a problem.
“What did you say to me?”
“You heard me. Unless you lost your hearing with your looks.” Jay looked ready to start biting, and gave Jason a full once-over. “I’m still Robin, but you’ve clearly washed out. I mean what are those? Sweatpants?”
Jason blew out a breath, his nostrils flaring from the force. The heavy rain penetrated his jacket and dripped onto his back. If they didn’t get out of the rain soon, both of them would be soaking wet, but Jay seemed insistent on running back to Bruce.
“I’m giving you a chance to back down. As a rule, I don’t hit kids, but it’s negotiable if the kids a real asshole.”
“Robin never backs down.”
Dodging Jason’s first grab with an acrobatic leap, Jay wheeled over a row of gravestones and landed cleanly despite the muddy ground. Jason jumped after him and narrowly missed his younger self’s collar, then his jacket.
Jason knew what Jay was doing. Bantering, fighting. He was stalling for time, certain that Bruce was coming. Poor kid. He really still believed.
Their short chase through the dark graveyard was cut short by the loss of Jay’s left shoe, which caused him to slip on a patch of wet grass, land on his ass, and gave Jason the chance to haul him up by his collar like a squirming ferret.
“He’s not coming. Wayne Manor is eight minutes away by car, three by plane. He doesn’t even know you’re alive, because he never bothered to put sensors in your coffin, because he doesn’t care about you.”
“Stop it! Stop it! You’re wrong. I’m his Robin, he’ll come for me.” Jay wriggled in an attempt to bite Jason’s arm.
It was an impressively pointless endeavor, as Jason had the back of his well-made collar gripped firmly, and Jay’s feet dangled nearly a foot above the ground.
“You’re not anymore. His Robin, that is. There’s a brand new boy wonder hopping over the rooftops, kicking villain ass, solving cases, and it’s not us. Bruce learned his lesson and stuck to the tax-bracket he knows best this time.”
Jay stopped squirming, a look of intense contemplation covering his face like a shroud.
“Here.” Jason held his phone out. “Look if you don’t believe me. I’ll be waiting.”
–
“So Mom’s dead, I’m dead, and he just replaced me?”
Jason had wrangled Jay into his tent, where they squished in the cramped space to wait out the downpour. Rain pelted the polyester top like tiny gunshots, although that may have just been actual gunshots ringing across the channel between Bristol and Gotham.
“Yep. It’s rough, isn’t it?”
“Rough? Are you kidding? Everything’s wrong. He’s my dad. He’s supposed to love me, not throw me away.”
“Don’t take it personally. Plus, you’ve got me now, if it’s any comfort.”
“Oh boy, the only person who loves me is literally me.”
“Give us more credit, mini-me, it could be worse.”
Jay looked incredulous. “Literally who could be worse?”
“Guy.”
“Gardner? Bowl-cut?”
“Yep.”
“Oh my god.”
“Exactly. I’d rather be alone than have him as my only friend. And that’s coming from someone who’s been alone. A lot.”
Jason put a hand on Jay’s back, grimacing through the feeling of half-rotted wet wool. He meant it as a friendly gesture but found it felt oddly familial. Jay was a little shit, but he’d dealt with coming back to life and learning he’d been replaced better than Jason ever had. No one had died, that had to be some sort of personal best.
Maybe it was the pit, or the lost days spent wandering Gotham that had changed him, but Jason knew the same series of tragic mistakes would never happen to Jay. He wouldn’t allow it.
“Hey,” Jay said, snapping his fingers in front of Jason. “It looks like the rain is stopping.”
Outside the tent, the clouds had parted and a sliver of silver light reflected off the waterlogged ground like a pool of mercury glass. The night sky and the glowing city were mirrored, dimming only when the now-sparse clouds obscured the waning moon.
–
Jason and Jay left the graveyard together.
They stayed together during the long hike along the interstate back to Gotham, avoiding oncoming headlights and dodging traffic cameras, and through every crosswalk and alley they traversed. During their overnight wait in the bus terminal, far too brightly lit for two a.m., Jay clung to Jason like a limpet. He fell asleep as the hour hand passed three, hair drying into a cloud of ill-defined curls swallowing part of Jason’s shoulder.
Jay’s appearance was concerning, even to Gothamites who regularly had their television’s hijacked by crazed clowns and plant-people. He’d slipped the lady behind the ticket counter a fifty to keep her from calling the cops, and alternated between grumbling and glaring at the other passengers waiting in the terminal's musty chairs, which kept them at bay, but not far enough for his liking.
When the bus to Metropolis pulled into the station, Jason carried Jay with one arm, a backpack of small goods slung over a shoulder and their tickets in his free hand.
“You two brothers?” asked the white-bearded driver as he scanned their tickets.
“Yeah.”
“I can see the resemblance. Getting out of Gotham?”
Jason’s eyes went to the security camera behind the driver, wondering if it was recording audio as well as visual.
“That’s the plan, Sir. Had just about enough of this city.”
The driver chuckled. “Well good luck to you boys. The Big Apricot will treat you better than Gotham, that’s for sure.”
Jason certainly hoped so. The few times he’d been to Metropolis, years in the future, he’d found the shiny lights and genial attitude of the city off putting. Or maybe it was that he’d been there as a favour to Bruce, helping with a gang of Gotham smugglers trying their luck across the bay. Metropolis was situated due south of Gotham, along a placid stretch of Atlantic coast barely visible from his home city on a good day. Jason could have taken Jay anywhere in the world, but knew that there were very few boundaries Bruce wasn’t willing to break when he felt justified.
Clark’s home turf was one of the few Bruce’s wouldn’t overstep. Whether it was because of their very, very close friendship, or because Batman couldn’t be seen in a city with actual sunlight, it would take a world-ending disaster for Bruce to set foot in the shining city. Perfect for Jason’s need to stay undercover and the city had excellent public education, which gave Jay a chance to be more than a good soldier.
Jason’s hand unconsciously clenched his thinly carpeted armrest.
He was under no illusions. Bruce would find out that Jay was alive someday, and he would come for him. Staying in Metropolis under Clark’s protection would give them time to bug out, if nothing else. Clark had no reason to listen for either Jasons, so he wouldn’t be an issue either, he told himself.
It was the perfect solution, as far as Jason was concerned. He’d get a real job, or if that failed, see if Metropolis’s criminals were any smarter than Gotham’s, and make sure Jay stayed in school and out of trouble. Simple. Easy.
Jay stirred in his sleep. Nightmares probably, the poor kid would be dealing with those the rest of his life. Jason knew the heart-clenching terror memories could inflict, spending nights awake just to avoid them.
“Wake up.”
Like a cat, Jay made a noise of discontent but opened his eyes. They were a gentle almond shape and a deep blue that could be mistaken for black in warm lights, another difference between them.
“We’re almost there. Grab the bag, we don’t want to be caught on camera.”
Jay nodded, immediately falling into Robin-like obedience. While he didn’t like the way it made him feel like he needed to wash his hands, the instinctive obedience trained into his younger self made controlling him easier.
The bus crested a hill and the Metropolis skyline came into view, shiny chrome and glass skyscrapers backlit by a bright yellow sunrise. Jason found that his hand instinctively reached for Jay’s, who didn’t stop him.
–
As it happens, raising a child version of yourself when you don’t legally exist, let alone a vigilante child, was neither simple nor easy.
Obtaining fake identification was one thing. Jason knew a guy in Metropolis, although the guy had yet to know him and was very surprised by his visit, who legalized the familial connection between them and provided enough documents to fool most official offices.
From there, getting an apartment in a decent neighborhood and enrolling Jay in a well-funded school district was simple enough, as was finding an overnight job in a warehouse which paid enough to afford their two-bedroom apartment in downtown Metropolis.
What was hard was convincing Jay that superheroics were best left to adults. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but snuck up on Jason like a bat. Twice in the past three months, he’d caught his younger self sneaking out of their shared apartment, through the bathroom window and his own. Not as Robin, thank god, but with the intent to patrol the streets of Metropolis for crime.
Which was ridiculous. White-collar crime was all the rage in Metropolis, fraud and embezzlement, crimes people thought was below the notice of Superman, but street-level crime was effectively stymied by the threat of Big Brother in red and blue. The best Jay would find would be crimes of opportunity. He’d dismissively told Jay that being an independent journalist would do more to fight crime than sneaking out, which he’d apparently taken as a challenge. Now, when Jay wasn’t in his sophomore year of high school, physical therapy, or playing for his intramural rugby team, his time was split between the Metropolis public library and his laptop.
By the end of the fourth month there were at least six completed case files on Jay’s laptop, and more in-progress.
And you’re just sitting on this? He’d asked Jay, after reading through the files documenting a large-scale bribery effort connected to several of the city’s judges and a crime ring operating out of the east end.
Later that same day, an anonymous file appeared in the Daily Planet’s front desk. The next week, the story broke, three judges were removed from office, and Jay’s restlessness finally smoothed into a steady energy.
Jason and Jay continued in relative peace for nearly a year. They celebrated Jay’s sixteenth birthday at the Metropolis History Museum, visiting a travelling exhibition of Themysciran artifacts. Afterwards they ate ice cream until they were both sick, and once Jay had gone to bed, Jason cried into his pillow for the first time in years.
Luck ran out as the first snowfall dusted the shining spires of the city, winter roosting over most of the eastern states, and inescapable fate finally finding them.
Jason came home to an empty apartment. Being a school day meant that Jay blew out of bed and through the apartment, showering and dressing, leaving destruction in his wake, a little before eight. But there was no gently-snoring lump in his bed, or anywhere else in their small apartment.
There were also no signs of a struggle, not so much as a curtain out of place. Jay either left by himself, or trusted the kidnapper. Grimly, Jason hoped for the first scenario.
Knowing that taking the boy out of Gotham wouldn’t stop him from brooding, Jason checked the building’s roof before completely devolving into panic. They’d both taken to slipping past the unsecured exit and watching the skyline in all its modernist glory.
The chair Jason had dragged up four flights of stairs and placed under the awning of the steam-pipe was empty. Jason clamped down on the dread in his chest. Was this how Bruce felt, when he’d discovered Jason had run away to Ethiopia, run away to the promise of a parent who might love him.
The next minutes were spent furiously phoning Jay, each call going directly to voicemail.
So the little shit had been sneaking out, and his luck had run dry. It’s what he would have done, if he’d lost Robin and hadn’t had several years of murderous globe hopping to dull the injustice.
–
The knock came while Jason was digging through the duffle bag of supplies he’d hid behind the radiator painted a chipping of landlord white. His tools, two handguns, a machete, several rounds of cash, and an untraceable cell phone were laid haphazard on his bed as he donned his nondescript body armour.
There was no place for the Red Hood in Metropolis, and Jason learned his lesson the first time. Nothing in his power would make Bruce bend, and he wasn’t interested in the perpetual agony of trying.
Startled by the knocking, Jason slunk to the front door, carefully pacing his movement to minimize noise. With a loaded glock in one hand and fifteen pounds of kevlar protecting his vitals, he peered through the peephole. Clark Kent, picking nervously at his oversized sweater, was not even on the list of potential suspects he expected beyond the door. Leaning on the wall behind him was a pissed-off looking Jay, who tapped his foot relentlessly while glancing up and down the hall.
Once the gun was safely holstered, Jason opened the door. Focusing on more reasonable expenses like food and rent limited his selection for lead-lined doors, which meant Clark had seen every moment of his approach and was just polite enough to pretend he hadn’t. What a good guy.
Behind his thick-lensed glasses, Clark’s eyes went wide as the door swung open. Maybe he hadn’t been spying. He looked at Jason’s face, scrutinizing the detail with Kryptonian magnification, then at Jay’s.
“Oh wow. You were being serious.”
“Course I was Uncle Clark. That would be a stupid thing to lie about.”
Jay bee-lined through the door and past Jason, shooting him a dirty look, then jumping on the kitchen counter and swinging his legs. He was wearing dark clothing, but was unarmoured. Stealth over durability.
“No heroics for either of us. Isn’t that what you said?”
“It’s for an emergency! You were gone.” Jason snapped back.
“I was dropping off notes at the Planet, not kidnapped by the Russian Mob. This stupid city doesn’t even have one of those.”
“Which led you to Clark?”
“Not my fault,” Jay insisted.
Clark chimed in from the hallway, looking awkwardly oversized in the narrow space. “He’s right about that. No one else would have even noticed he was in the building, I just happened to hear his heartbeat. And then…”
Of course Mr. Midwest was playing peacekeeper.
Jason turned back to Jay. “What happened last time we vanished, huh? Sue me for being a little paranoid. It would have saved our asses.”
The reminder of bad memories shut Jay up, which let Jason turn his attention back to Clark. He could feel bad about that later, once he’d made sure they wouldn’t have tall, dark and brooding knocking on their door.
“Hi Clark. Thanks for bringing Jay to me. You should probably come in.”
–
After walking Jay to the bus stop, who dragged his feet the entire way, Jason and Clark returned to his apartment. He’d seen the man often while living with Bruce, both in and out of costume, coming to know him as Uncle Clark. In the years since his death, he’d only seen Superman at a distance, and hadn’t talked to him at all. Until his re-arrangement of the timeline, his Clark might very well have believed that Jason was still dead. Bruce preferred to keep his greatest failures in the family, and there was no greater failure than Jason.
This meant Jason was uniquely unprepared to handle the man across the table from him. He’d already shared the basics, time travel, saving himself from serious brain damage, moving to Metropolis, but could see Clark was already connecting dots better left alone.
“Just spit it out.”
Clark went wide-eyed. “I don’t want to intrude, really.”
“But you want to ask about Bruce.”
“He’s Jason’s father, legally and emotionally. I just want to understand why you haven’t contacted him.”
Jason contained his snort, but Clark probably still heard it. Damn Kryptonians and their senses.
“Do you want the simple answer?”
Clark took a sip of his tea, a considerate look crossing his wide face.
“I know you. You’re a good kid and you loved Bruce a lot. You wouldn’t avoid him for this long if you didn’t have a good reason, and you certainly wouldn’t have taken Jay with you. The truth, please.”
Not even Jay knew the full-picture of Jason’s life before. He’d wanted to spare him the failed revenge plan and the batarang to the neck, and other grimy details that would hurt more than they would reveal. But Clark was a big boy, he could handle it.
“In my time, no one knew I came back. The League was off-world and by the time Bruce thought to visit my grave, it was like nothing had ever happened. One of the maintenance men covered it up, apparently.”
“Makes sense. Bruce would have noticed if anything was wrong.”
“Hah, hah. No.”
Clark raised an eyebrow.
“No, he really wouldn’t.” Jason snapped, before taking a sip of his own tea. Herbal notes of mint and lemon balm, sweetened with honey, helped chain the pit.
“I don’t remember how long it took to dig my way out, but I know it was hours. Do you know how much air is in the average coffin? Not hours worth, that’s for damn sure.”
Clark studied him again, hand twitching reflectively, likely used to taking notes during interviews.
“The brain damage would be catastrophic, but you seem-”
“Fine? Yeah, no. I was nearly catatonic for months afterwards, hence the lack of memory.”
“But?” Clark gestured at Jason’s apparent wholeness. “Something changed?”
“The world’s worst day spa. Fixed me up, rewired my brain, and left me with an unquenchable blood-lust. You know, like a typical resort.”
“A Lazarus Pit?”
Jason groaned. “Bruce told you about the pits? I didn’t know about them until I woke up in one.”
“Diana, actually. But that does beg the question. Where was Bruce in all of this?”
As illogical as it was, he’d been hoping to avoid this line of questioning. He didn’t owe Clark anything, but something about the earnest expression on his face, his thick hug-worthy arms, and the stupid curl hanging in the center of his forehead made Jason want to spill his darkest secrets. Where Bruce would extract, Clark would coax, and Jason was defenseless against a gentle touch.
“Brooding, self-flagellating, playing house with the pretender. Take your pick. And I was in Pakistan, then Germany, then Sudan, then India. Our path’s didn’t cross.”
Clark’s head tilted towards the window, listening to a noise only perceptible to his species. He tensed for a moment, and Jason worried the ceramic mug he’d bought second-hand would shatter. Then the moment passed.
“Sorry, I had to make sure that was handled.”
Jason waved him away.
“But-” Clark started. “I wish you could be honest with me.”
Cutting Jason’s protests off, Clark gently placed his mug on the table. His unnerving gaze turned to the window and his shoulders slumped. He was trying to soothe the animal part of Jason’s brain that understood how other, how dangerous, he was. It worked, the muscles along his back loosening involuntarily.
“Jason, I make my living as an investigative journalist. I’m paid to understand human psychology, to connect the unconnected, and to find legal avenues to pursue truth. I’m also good at what I do, and I’m telling you right now, I don’t believe for a second you would have left Bruce alone after what happened to you.”
“Don’t think I can stand on my own?”
“You have a big heart, Jason. You always have. And that heart, that made you an amazing Robin, also means that you’re not capable of walking away from something this big. So tell me what happened.”
Conflicting emotions crashed into Jason like a tidal wave. Elation that Clark - Superman - confirmed that he had been a great Robin, one who cared about the downtrodden and saw the system for what it was. A stab of emerald nostalgia remembering when the times were good, when the dynamic duo had been a duo, when Jason had a father he trusted.
Then the tide washed out, leaving a barren and rocky beach behind. Too many betrayals to count. Bruce, Shelia, Catherine and Willis, each one unable or unwilling to choose the child that needed them.
“I made him choose.”
Jason’s eyes were squeezed shut as he focused on drowning out the laughter.
“I made him choose between me and the clown, and he didn't choose me.”
Clark’s hand touched Jason’s forearm, abnormally warm. The weight stopped the shudders crashing into his ribcage and down his arms, and the knowledge that even if he slipped into green-tinted rage, there was nothing that could hurt Clark dulled his anxiety to a low whisper.
“I didn’t want to bring up bad memories, but is this related to your neck?”
All Jason could do was nod. It felt like the scar had reopened, a fibrous mass choking his words.
“God. It’s a miracle you lived.”
“A miracle. Right.”
If the pit let him die, Jason would have happily done so in the bombed-out ruins of his life.
“You’re saying Bruce did this. To you? Did he know who you were?”
It seemed anyone in capes and tights was pathologically unable to not give Bruce the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was a meta, and had the power of presumed innocence.
“Why? Going to rat me out? Hand Jay back over to him so he can keep fucking up?”
Jason blinked away the wetness forming along his lash line, the hairs forming dark clumps, but refused to break eye contact with Clark.
“He’s my best friend, but Bruce is a deeply flawed person. He’s one of the brightest minds on the planet and also incredibly myopic. I want to say I’m surprised about the way he acted.” Clark took his hand off of Jason’s arm. “But that would be a lie.”
Wiping his cheeks, Jason chuckled.
“That’s an interesting way of saying Bruce is an idiot.”
“Like I said. He’s my best friend, but even I have eyes.”
“So you’re not going to rat on me or Jay?”
Clark smiled, and Jason understood why Superman consistently ranked as number one most trusted hero in America. He’d forgotten what it was like to have an adult look at him without fear, suspicion, or fucked-up grief, and found he liked it. A lot.
“Jay’s in school and keeping his head out of trouble?”
“As much as any kid in his position can be. It was a hard-won fight, but I’m older and a little more patient than he is. Plus, I know all his tricks and have a few of my own.”
Leaning back in his chair, Clark took another long sip of coffee.
Through their conversation, Jason had been running through contingencies. How to neutralize Clark’s knowledge if he decided Bruce had a right to Jay, where to run where no one could find them. Each path came to a dead end, either Bruce found them, or Clark did.
“You’re still a good kid, and Jay seems happy with you. Happier than he was those last few months with Bruce, at least. I don’t see any reason to put my foot where it’s not wanted.”
Jason’s shoulders dropped and his head felt like it was floating away.
“But I’m not going to lie, if he asks. It won’t convince him.”
“Please. Jay can’t go back to that.”
What would Bruce do? If he knew that Jay was alive and being raised, or corrupted, by the living incarnation of his own failure. Their situation was objectively good, even Clark knew it, but Bruce had a knack for convincing himself that he was singularly visionary, and uniquely right.
“Your death nearly killed him and he’s still barely holding on. I’m not going to deny a grieving father relief. Bruce loves Jay, and you, more than you know.”
“He should learn to express it. It’s not Jay’s job to navigate around Bruce’s problems for a chance at a dad.”
Clark held up his hands in a pacifying motion. “And I agree.”
“But you still think Bruce should know.”
“It would destroy me, if I had a child in your position.”
“Yeah, you. Bruce doesn’t work like us mere mortals.”
“He certainly likes to believe that. But I was there right after he lost you-”
“When he was bust blaming me for running off alone and getting myself killed. I know what he thinks of me, best left as a warning to future Robins. Listen to me or else you’ll be beat to death by the psycho with a crowbar that I let run live.”
“Right after he lost you, he nearly killed the Joker.”
Jason felt his cheeks redden as blood rushed to his face. “What?”
“Bruce nearly shot down the helicopter he was escaping in. I had to step in.”
“WHAT?”
Jason’s understanding of his world fell apart, and he found himself no longer comforted by Clark’s invulnerability. His hand twitched towards his holstered gun, even knowing that the high-calibre bullets would as much harm the man as a mouse.
Why hadn’t Bruce said anything? He was ashamed, likely. Ashamed of giving him the one thing Jason wanted. Ashamed of choosing him over the Joker, over his mission, and over his one stupid rule. And he nearly had, driven by grief of a lost son to an old enemy.
If this were true in his timeline, and there was no reason to think it wasn’t, Jason almost had everything he wanted. A father that loved him enough to kill, a half-life that wasn’t consumed with trying, and failing to prove he was loved by that very father.
“You’re owed the truth, not what I’d like the past to be.”
Clark waited out Jason’s anger, unphased as it whirled and lashed just beneath the skin. But to him, who regularly fought gods to a standstill and had saved the universe countless times, Jason’s anger must have been a small thing indeed.
“Why would you do that? Bruce is an adult, he can make his own choices.”
Jason was still trying to wrap his head around why Clark, gentle Clark, who knew that killing was sometimes the kindest option, would do this to him.
“Not ones that would destroy him. Do you think Bruce would really be okay, if I had let him shoot down that helicopter? If I had let him kill, under his own free will and power?”
“I don’t care. It’s always about him, everything revolves around what he wants, his rules, his trauma.”
Clark sighed, and Jason noticed the thin lines forming near the edges of his eyes.
“And he’s my best friend. I know that, but I also knew I couldn’t let him destroy himself. I am sorry, if that’s worth anything to you. Bruce and I disagree on his handling of the Joker, but Gotham and her monsters are his to manage.”
Clark fiddled with his glasses, a nervous tic of his. “But I have to ask. He killed you and Jay, but as far as I’m aware the Joker is still detained in Arkham. You’re a skilled fighter and don’t seem averse to violence, and you clearly want him dead. Why is he still alive?”
For the past year in Metropolis, Jason had been avoiding asking himself the same question. He’d thrown himself into parenting Jay, making parents wildly uncomfortable at PTA meetings, attending teacher conferences, helping with the homework he’d never had a chance to do himself. Night-work had been convenient for his schedule and kept him busy when the pit whispered the loudest, screaming in his ear for justice.
Between those activities and the file hidden in his bed frame, documenting every villain and disaster in the years to come, Jason had been too busy to feel the discord creeping into his heart.
“I don’t think I want to kill him.” Jason paused, taken aback at the sudden admission. “Don’t get me wrong, I think he’d be better off dead, but I don’t want to be the one that does it.”
That would risk Jay going back to Bruce. Nearly a year out of the grave, and his younger self was finally starting to settle. His physio visits had dropped to twice a month, and his nightmares were fewer and less intense. If Jason were to sneak into Arkham and put a bullet into the clown’s heart, or wait until his next escape and hunt him down, Batman would come sniffing. He wouldn’t stop until everything Jason had built was blown apart.
Clark lived a double-life, and understood Jason’s dilemma personally.
“Well,” he said, after clearing his throat. “It seems like you’re doing good for Jay. You have nothing to worry about from me, and actually, I’d like you two to come over for dinner sometime. Lois would be thrilled to see the young man you’ve become and I'd like to talk to Jay about internships.”
“Internships?”
“We have an outreach program at the Planet for high school aged youths interested in journalism. He really has a knack for it. I’ve been working on some of the files he’s dropped to us and wow, his work is thorough and compelling.”
Good for Jay, putting his skills towards something useful.
“We both learned the hard way. Be thorough or risk sending the wrong person to Arkham.”
“That comes with the profession, I guess. It’s easier for me, most of my enemies are straightforward. Usually I just wait to see who tries to hold the city hostage, or if someone’s stockpiling kryptonite.”
“Oh my god. I’d literally kill for a straightforward villain. No schemes, no riddles. Just a good old-fashioned fight.”
Having Clark’s tacit approval to continue raising Jay without Bruce’s interference lifted the ten-ton pressure from Jason’s back, and the rest of the morning slipped by. Clark left just after lunch, after extracting a promise to visit from Jason, and ensuring that he would personally deal with any files Jay left at the Planet.
He spent the rest of the day waiting for Jay to get home, chest so light he felt like floating. The house he’d built had weathered the first storm, and Clark had seen him for what he was, not his worst moments.
Despite the rough start to the day, Jay seemed especially chatty that evening. He rambled about class, apparently the school’s translation of the Iliad was lacking, his friends, and how he’d outran almost everyone in P.E.
Jay didn’t mention Clark once, which meant it was probably all he could think about, but he lacked the words to start the conversation. Jason gave Jay until they had finished their reheated soup before broaching the subject.
“Clark’s not going to say anything to Bruce”
“Really?” Jay’s tone was relieved but laced with an undercurrent of disappointment.
“And he wants to have dinner. You don’t have anything Wednesday nights, do you? I told him we were both free.”
“Dinner with both of us?”
“And Lois.” He purposely neglected to mention the internship, Clark deserved Jay’s excitement.
“Wow, that’s… That’s really good news.” Jay clenched his hand, the way Jason did whenever he wanted out of a conversation. “Bruce isn’t coming?”
Jason didn’t know what to think of Bruce. This Bruce specifically, who hadn’t seen the worst Jason had to offer, who had tried to kill for him and was stopped for his own good. How could he hold a grudge against Bruce for letting the Joker live, but not Clark for stopping him? Was it because Clark apologized, and Bruce would rather lose a son than admit he was wrong?
“Would you like him to?”
“I mean, no. I know what he did to you, sorry, us.” Jay’s eyes darted to Jason’s face, wearing an apprehensive look.
He was placing Jason’s wants above his own, watching for approval before overstepping. The way he’d done with Bruce, and Willis before him. Jason’s stomach sank.
“Jesus, Jay. I’m not going to start yelling if you don’t agree with me. I want to know what you want.”
Jay went red and he puffed up like an angry cat. “I want to see him.”
Biting back his own feelings about Bruce, Jason nodded. “Okay. Are you sure you’re ready? You know he might not be what you remember.”
“Duh. I know that. I’m not what he remembers either and if he can’t deal with that, it’s on him.”
Jay’s confidence was so nonchalant it took Jason off-guard. He smiled, despite himself.
“Yeah kid, you’re right. It is on him.”
–
Clark had laughed when Jason put in the request to have Bruce attend their dinner. After Jason confirmed that he was serious, and willing to suffer through Bruce’s presence as long as it made Jay happy, he grew concerned. After a few minutes of placating, wherein Jason explained that he was maybe less mad at Bruce than before, he agreed to host five instead of four.
“And why can’t I tell him in advance?” Clark asked for the third time.
“Call it catharsis. Plus, he’d ambush Jay the minute he knew he was alive. He’s adjusted to civilian life well, and I don’t want that kind of attention on him."
That conversation led to Jason and Jay standing outside of the Kent-Lane apartment. The weather had turned again and dumped a load of puffy snow over the city, frosting everything in a thick white coat.
Jay was shaking snow from his hair, curls grown past his ears, when the door opened and Clark beckoned them in. During hurried introductions, during which Jay did most of the talking, Jason felt the fear he’d been ignoring finally rear its head.
He breathed in.
It was just Bruce. He’d handled Bruce at his ugliest a thousand times.
And out.
“You okay? Clark filled me in, this can’t be easy.” Lois asked, having snuck up beside him. Behind her glasses, her dark eyes were filled with curiosity.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
Jay was in the kitchen, his head stuck in the fridge, while Clark stirred a pot of rich-smelling food. He looked comically oversized in the small space, but seemed at ease.
“Clark doesn’t get it. He’s got two sets of parents that love him more than anything, enough to save his life, and enough to raise a foundling baby. That’s given him the impression that all parents love unconditionally, even if it’s deep down.”
“I’m assuming you don’t think the same.”
Lois chuckled into her wine glass.
“God no. I don’t think I know someone more perpetually disappointed than my dad, although it sounds like Bruce could give him some competition. He never liked that I went into journalism, or that I’m dating some unambitious country bumpkin. And he made sure I knew it, every time I saw him. So now I don’t.”
“Never?”
“Unless he decides to change,” Lois said with the same tone as when pigs fly. “What I mean is that if Bruce decides he’d rather be in control than be a father, the door can hit him on the way out. You don’t need to put up with that.”
As much as he hated Bruce, raged against him and his principles, Jason couldn’t imagine a world without him. The thought of cutting him off completely, rather than viewing the life he and Jay had as doomed, struck him worse than any blow. Life had been defined by Bruce, as his partner, as his son, and as his antithesis. Jason wasn’t sure who he would be without that, or if he wanted to know.
“You don’t have to do anything now,” Lois said, reading the distress in his face. “But it took me years to realize that myself, thought a shortcut might be appreciated.”
Lois drifted into the kitchen, putting her hand on the small of Clark’s back and chatting quietly as if she hadn’t upturned Jason’s world. They both had a way of doing that, revealing things that short-circuited the loops which Bruce had wired into his brain.
Jason didn’t get more time to process. A knock came from the door. Clark had scheduled arrivals so Jay, and by extension, Jason would have time to settle into the space before Bruce arrived.
Jay bounded from the kitchen to the hallway, beaming and followed by Clark, just as Jason slunk around the corner to the living room. He couldn’t do this. The apartment was only on the third floor, he could slip out a window and shimmy to the street undetected.
Bruce didn’t have to know he was here. He could have his son back without the baggage of ten years of bullshit. It would be like an early Christmas gift.
As he heard the click of the door opening, Jason couldn’t help himself from hoping. He peeked around the corner.
Bruce was in his favourite long black winter coat, a high turtleneck, and understated slacks that likely cost more than a year's rent. He had a wine bottle in one hand and a bag in the other, gifts for his hosts for what he thought was a normal dinner.
Meeting Clark’s gaze with his own ice-cold one, Bruce’s focus then snapped to Jay, whose diminutive figure only came to Clark’s chest. The wine bottle dropped from his grip, rolling down the carpeted hallway. His eyes tightened and neck bobbed, but was otherwise frozen in the doorway.
Bruce’s mouth narrowed. A melt down was incoming any second now. Jason wondered what it would be, would he think Jay was a clone, a fake, or would he accuse Clark of hiding his son from him?
For once, instead of being a paranoid asshole, Bruce caved. Falling through the doorway, he collapsed to his knees and pulled Jay into a bone-crushing hug. A keening noise escaped him, half a wail and half a laugh.
“Jay-lad. You’re here. You’re real,” Bruce said as if he were experiencing a revelation, one which would disappear if he so much as blinked. His hands remained wrapped around Jay, who squirmed a little.
“Yeah B, I’m here. I missed you so much.”
“My son. My son.” Bruce cradled Jay’s head, likely checking for injuries. “You’ve gotten bigger. What happened?”
Jason pushed down an emotion he hadn’t felt in years. Seething jealousy, courtesy of his own underwhelming reveal to Bruce, nearly choked him. He’d gone to Batman looking for a father, which really, was his mistake.
“It’s a long story,” Clark interrupted. “But you should come in. You’ll catch a cold out there.”
Bruce looked up like he’d forgotten anyone but he and Jay existed, but made his way into the apartment after Clark chased down the rogue wine bottle and herded him through the door.
Lois had waited in the hallway and shot Jason a look. He could still leave and no one would know, Bruce wouldn’t have noticed a robbery past Jay, let alone a lurking figure. But just maybe he didn’t want to. Because of Jason, Jay had a chance to lead a real life. And maybe this Bruce deserved the chance to avoid the mistakes of his future self.
While Jason deliberated, Jay had led Bruce down the hall towards the living room. The only warning Jason had was the sound of Jay’s voice as it neared the corner.
“B, I’d like you to meet someone.”
Without time to prepare, or wipe the tears from his eyes, Jason came face to face with Bruce. The man’s pale eyes narrowed as he conducted a full-body sweep. Jason wore a button-down under a thick maroon sweater, which helped to soften him, but did nothing to hide his facial scarring or the lock of white hair pulled into his bun.
“I wasn’t aware Willis and Sheila had another son. It’s a pleasure-”
Jason cut him off. “They didn’t.”
Bruce glanced at Jay, looking at the clear resemblance between the two. He was probably trying to figure out their relationship. But there was no need for that.
“Hey B. It’s been a while.”
–
Clark had chosen to wait until after Bruce’s arrival to tell Jay about the internship program.The two were huddled together in the study, flipping through Jay’s currently active files and whispering like a couple of conspiracy theorists. Lois had also vanished, leaving Jason and Bruce alone.
“Jay’s been alive for nearly a year, and I came back a little before then.”
“Hm. The timing makes sense. Fighting Superboy Prime took a lot from all of us, I wasn’t back Earth-side for another week after that date, and I was out of commission for longer.”
Jason snorted. “I’ve heard that excuse before.”
“From your future version of me, given your tone.”
“Got it in one Old Man,” Jason said, despite the fact that this Bruce was closer in age to him than Jay was, his face unnervingly youthful and hair still fully black.
“It’s clear you don’t like me.”
“No, really?” It was too easy to fall back into old habits, bickering with Bruce to avoid his judgement.
“Is that why you took Jason, instead of bringing him to me?”
“Wow, it’s like you’re a detective or something. Anyone ever told you to do this for a job?”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “You kept Jason safe and happy, and you’ll always have my gratitude for that. I’m not going to hate you, no matter how much you keep expecting it.”
“That’s…” What, not fair? Nothing was fair, especially not when it came to Bruce. “Fine. Be all reasonable. See if I care.”
Jason had been Jay’s de facto parent for months, and an adult for years, but being around Bruce made him feel nineteen again. Angry with a still-bleeding heart that was sharpened into competence beyond his maturity.
“This might be one of the best nights of my life,” Bruce said suddenly, with more emotion than Jason knew he could muster. “You’ve given me my son back, twofold. I won’t pretend to know the future, but I know I meant what I said all those years ago. You’re my sons. Both of you.”
All he could do tonight was cry. Jason blinked away more tears. Why did Bruce have to be so reasonable? The Bruce he knew would have hated Jason for keeping Jay, instead he just seemed thankful.
“God, you’re the worst. You can’t even argue right.”
“Hm.”
“Oh don’t give me that. You don’t know me, or what I’ve done. My Bruce hated me for a reason. I’ve killed and enjoyed it, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise for your sake.”
Bruce went silent. The sounds of Jay’s laughter drifted down the hallway, and Jason tensed himself for the blow that would follow his confession. Hopefully Bruce would be quiet about it, so Jay’s night wouldn’t be ruined.
“I assume you had a reason?”
“Of course I had a goddamn reason. Every two-bit lunatic locked up in Arkham has a reason to kill. You would have put me there, if I didn’t know your little secret.”
Bruce didn’t rise to the barb. “Let me rephrase. Are you still the boy I raised? My Jason wouldn’t cross that line without a good reason, and I assume you’re the same. Did you help people, did you make the world a better place through taking lives, and can you live with the weight of that?”
“Despite what you might think, I’m not crazy. I put down rabid animals, so innocent people don’t have to suffer.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy, Jason. I think you’re in full possession of your mind.”
Nothing was going the way he expected. Despite the calm, Jason felt the situation spiralling out of control. He knew how to handle Bruce, what buttons to push and guilt to lever when his patience for Jason’s methods ran out. This calm, non-judgemental Bruce made his skin crawl.
“Stop it. Stop being so nice. I know what you think of murderers, that you’re so above them because of your precious code. You don’t need to pretend for my sake, I’ve already seen it all.”
Bruce’s eye twitched, and he wore the expression of a man half-way to snapping. Jason braced again, sure this time Bruce would lash out.
“I’m not your Bruce. I don’t know what he’s said or done to you, and I’m not going to apologize for things that have yet to happen. And you shouldn’t act like I did them.”
Jason grit his teeth. Too much was happening, and yet nothing was going to plan. Tightness seized his chest and the room seemed to shrink around them.
Bruce continued. “You were given a chance to erase the past, change who you were and what you did, and you used it to save my son from years of pain. Those aren’t the actions of a bad person, or of the criminally insane. You’ve always cared too much, but it’s also your greatest strength.”
“But the killing. Why don’t you care? This is the line. It’s unforgivable, you’ve made that crystal fucking clear!”
“Clark has killed. Diana does so frequently. They are also my closest confidantes and the people I trust the most in the world. You’re not operating in Gotham, and by my estimates, none of those people are even dead yet. What you’ve done in the future doesn’t define what you do now. Tell me why I should care.”
Jason couldn’t hold back any more. A tear slipped from his eye, followed by a deluge.
“I hate you so much.”
Bruce’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, a mirror to the hug he gave Jay. Jason leaned into the embrace, into everything he’d ever wanted to hear from Bruce, but had resigned himself to never getting.
“Hate me if you need to. Just never stop being my son.”
“Please,” Jason snarked through tears. “I’m almost as old as you are. Calling you daddy would be weird.”
“Dick will be thrilled to have someone his age around.”
Jason disentangled himself and wiped the tears and snot from his face. His hair had come undone, thick curls hanging down his neck.
“Oh my god. He’s just a baby. I think I’m older than him.”
“You did say you were from ten years in the future.” Bruce inclined his head. “Congratulations, you’re the oldest child now.”
“Oh shut up B. I don’t have to worry about breaking your fragile old-man bones any more, so keep talking and see what happens.”
Thudding footsteps raced down the hallway. Clark had probably listened to the whole thing, the snoop, and chose to send Jay back when it was safe.
“Dad, Jason. Clark wants me to work at the Planet next year!” He practically bowled Jason over as he jumped into a hug.
“Of course he does, mini-me.”
“Congratulations. A well-earned opportunity.”
Bruce and Jason spoke in unison, and turned to each other in mild horror. Coparenting himself with his dad was not on the list of things Jason ever thought would happen, and the constipated look on Bruce’s face meant he came to the same realization.
“He’s a bright kid, better than we normally take for the internship program.” Lois followed Jay into the room. “Now if you’re all done, Clark is setting the dinner table.”
Jay breezed past them at the promise of food, and Bruce excused himself to help Clark.
“So?” Lois nudged Jason, kindly refraining from commenting on his face.
“I think someone kidnapped the real Bruce, and they sent Pod-Bruce.”
“That bad? I can make him leave.”
“Worse. He was reasonable and kind. I think something terrible has happened.”
Lois let out an exaggerated gasp. “Or maybe he’s happy that his son’s alive?”
“Oh, not you too. Is it the apartment, does it have some sort of reality warping generator in the basement or something? Everyone’s so nice it’s making my skin crawl.”
“Get used to it. I hear Bruce humming on his way to the kitchen. Humming. I’ve known him for years and I’ve never seen him so much as grin.”
The thought of Bruce humming, or doing anything else remotely human, was probably the sign of the end times. Maybe his presence in the timeline had thrown the universe into disarray, and it was finally unraveling at the seams.
“Yep. You’re screwed. Bruce isn’t going to let either of you go now.”
Attached to the kitchen by a low archway, the dining room was full of movement. Clark hauled a heavy crock onto the table, and Jay flitted around him like a moth. Bruce was in the middle of setting out spoons when they arrived, and paused when he caught Jason’s eye.
He smiled, stepping back and pulled out a seat, gesturing for Jason to sit next to him. For the first time he could remember, Bruce’s affection felt like anything but a trap.